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sapphire-weapon · 1 year

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In re4 it says in the intro:

Specifically want to focus on "protecting the new president's family"

In the OG it's his first time meeting ashley, but would this presumably have meant he was planned to be on the president's secret service? We never really see this in any of the other material following RE4 (I think???), so I'm not sure if he ever follows through with this.

We also don't see it in the remake! So would you say this was retconned, or did I maybe misinterpret this?

Leon also says in the intro of OG:

"Soon after [the incident at the Spencer Mansion (aka the events of RE1)], the news was out to the whole world revealing that it was the fault of a secret viral experiment conducted by the international pharmaceutical enterprise, Umbrella. [...] With the whole affair gone public, the United States government issued an indefinite suspension of business decree to Umbrella."

and yet in RE6 the entire inciting incident that kicks off Leon's campaign is that the president is going to "reveal the truth about what happened in Raccoon City"????

Like???

Literally what is still being kept secret, exactly??

And it bothered me for the longest fucking time until RE4make was announced to be in development and someone went and interviewed Shinji Mikami regarding his thoughts on it, and Mikami's response was (paraphrased) "I support any attempt at a remake as long as they fix the story and give it a better one. We wrote literally the entire story of RE4 in two weeks because we'd spent so much time perfecting the gameplay that we legit forgot to write a story."

And then all the pieces clicked together and it finally started to make sense.

So we really gotta keep in mind what RE4 OG actually was at the time of release. Prior to RE4, the last two major RE releases were REmake and RE0, both of which completely and utterly fucking bombed. Mikami, to this day, considers REmake his magnum opus, and for it to sell like complete and utter dogshit to the point where it almost legit ended his career was literally traumatic for him. In 2013-2014 leading up to the launch of The Evil Within, he would say in interviews that he still had nightmares about how badly REmake performed after he'd poured so much into it.

In those same interviews, he also talked about how RE4 was a make or break moment not just for his career, but for the entire RE franchise. If RE4 underperformed, not only would he get fired from Capcom, but they were going to pull the plug on Resident Evil all together. This is a huge reason why RE4 took so long to come out compared to previous RE titles and why two different completely viable builds for RE4 got scrapped (one became Haunting Ground and one became Devil May Cry) before they settled on the version of the game that was actually released.

It's also why they fixated so hard on the gameplay and let the story go by the wayside.

So, Leon's voiceover in the original RE4 literally only exists for two reasons:

to get players who have never played an RE game before relatively up to speed with what's happened in the story up to this point

to give some explanation to existing fans why Leon is in Spain looking for the game's escort mission when, the last time we heard about him, he was just... nebulously with the government and was working as a point of contact between Claire and Chris in CVX.

Basically, neither Mikami nor Capcom had a plan for Leon's character at the time RE4 was being made. It had already been established in the RE3 epilogues that Leon and Sherry had been kidnapped by the US Government and that the gov't was holding Sherry hostage and forcing Leon to work for them, but... that was about it. That was the only sort of baseline that Mikami and his team were working off of, so they basically were making it up as they went along and taking whatever liberties with his character and the base lore that they needed to in order to make the game coherent and successful.

We also need to keep in mind that Mikami left Capcom in the time between RE4's Gamecube release and its PS2 release (and that's a whole fucking drama all on its own), so he was not at all involved in the writing or creation of Separate Ways.

So, the father of the entire Resident Evil franchise, who developed the whole fucking idea himself, and who created and directed RE4's base game fucking dipped out right after release, leaving absolutely no notes behind because Capcom fucked him over, which left the PS2 team to just kind of fucking... figure it out on their own during the creation of Separate Ways, because Sony wanted exclusive content for their version of the game. So now, in addition to Mikami taking liberties with Leon's character for the creation of the base game, the B-team now had to take even more liberties because they didn't know what the fuck to even do.

Like.

Degeneration is a bad fucking movie and it's a huge shitshow, but I do not at ALL fault or envy the writers or directors of that movie, because I wouldn't even know where to START when it came to working off of the spaghetti plot that RE4 just kind of threw at the wall and hoped stuck.

And there's more I can go into about Degeneration, too, and why that's such a shitshow and how half of it doesn't make sense, but. That's for another post.

So, all of this to say... don't take Leon's voiceover in the intro to RE4 OG too seriously. It was literally just a way for Mikami and his team to really quickly just be like "okay, so, there were zombies and shit in the previous games, but now that's over and Leon's a government agent, and he's going after the president's kidnapped daughter. everyone follow me??? yes??? ok good let's start the game." because the story was a rush job, and the game was developed under extreme duress, and all that mattered was that it made enough sense to not put people off.

Like... does it suck, as a Leon/Ashley shipper, to see in the intro that he was actually, at one point, specifically assigned to her? And that the rest of the series then just ignored that? Yes. It does suck. But, the only reason why that was said in the first place was just as a scene-setter, and, realistically, there was no way to keep Leon relevant in the RE series if he was just assigned to presidential security detail. And of course they were going to want to make sure Leon stayed relevant in RE because of how much of a cultural phenomenon RE4 actually became. They'd have been stupid to not change the role of his character to one that could be used over and over and over again for different stories.

But at the time, Mikami and his team didn't know -- and had no way of knowing -- just how successful RE4 was going to become. It was just as likely that RE4 was going to go the way of REmake, and the series was going to die with its release. So, if it died, at least it ended with Umbrella being defeated and long gone, and Leon having a mostly happily-ever-after in a cushy gov't job protecting the president's family.

We know now that that's not how it went, so things had to change, but. It would've been a fine way for things to have ended, if they did, in fact, end there.

So it just kind of... is what it is.

#resident evil 4 #leon kennedy #and this is why you keep a certified RE Old in your back pocket #to give you context like this #i just happen to be an RE Old who's also a massive mikami fan #so i probably know more than most by default anyway #at least when it comes to shit like this

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piccolo-reads · 4 months

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thoughts from chapters 7-10

- katniss is truly a teenage girl sometimes like she spends an hour crying her eyes out (it was for a valid reason i’ll give her that) and then “i taste the salty fish soup and it reminds me of my tears” okay you little emo

- katniss and cinna are such a sweet pair (not even in a romantic way just even as friends they’re so lovely). like the way she didn’t want to disappoint him or nullify his hard work, the way he’s the one (not haymitch) to figure out how to get her through the interview, the way he asks to be a friend and genuinely sympathises with her and her sister, the “if i could i’d bet on you” UGH

- it seems so intentional that the sections move from The Tributes to The Games immediately after peeta announces his love for katniss. it’s almost as if his very strategic declaration, his playing the games, starts the games for real. and it’s even more significant to me because when peeta says he “doesn’t want to be a piece in their games” i always thought that he already had been by virtue of dropping these twists and truth bombs

- i did not even clock the first time reading this that the arenas become tourist destinations after. yuck.

- (i had begun to think that what it is is just one arena, changed internally each year to a different landscape but ultimately one location. but no it’s a different location each time oops i forgot)

#have i ever told anyone i used to ship katniss and cinna #still do tbh #when i was younger i refused to participate in the love triangle #now that i understand Symbolism and Thematic Relevance i fully support everlark #but cinna/katniss holds a place in my heart #the hunger games #thg #khanh rereads the hunger games #khanh reads

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matildasgonemad · 1 year

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Football Player Mirio x Reader (Discontinued)

Warnings: Quirkless AU, Angst (Cheating), Out-of-Character, Baby

Note: This is my first fanfic, sorry if it’s kinda bland 💀

Mirio had been acting strange. You didn’t know if it was the stress from having your first child, or the constant bomb rush of paparazzi and die-hard fans, but you knew one thing; your husband wasn’t acting right. Mirio was a busy guy, constantly having to travel to different cities in Japan for his games. On the rare occasion that he was home for an extended period, he just wanted to relax and play with his kid. That was understandable to you because your husband enjoyed playing with children. As cute as it was, you had an unsettling feeling in your gut. As the weeks went by, your mind was beginning to run out of excuses, you had to confront him. He was interviewing an entertainment network, and when he got home, you’d confront him then. Knowing that Mirio was going to be home in a couple of hours, you made dinner for yourself and mushed some vegetables for the baby. After a bit of struggle, you were able to put the baby to sleep before going into your room and changing into your pajamas. Plopping down on the bed you rested for a while until you heard the door open from downstairs. You perked up, eyes peeling from the television as you heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Your husband soon came through the door and greeted you with a soft smile.

You told him that you wanted to talk about something that has been on your mind for a while. His eyes widened a bit before he sat down on the edge of the bed. Leg slightly bouncing and eyes looking everywhere but on you, he asked you what was the matter.

“I don’t like how you’re acting around me.” You said, he glanced at you for a hot second,

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re acting like I don’t exist. It’s like you go out doing who-knows-what, and coming back in like it’s nothing.”

“I’m a grown adult, I can go out whenever I want.” Mirio was beginning to get frustrated.

“Don’t give me that shit. I know you, Mirio, something is wrong.” You scooted closer to him, wrapping your arms around one of his. “You can tell me anything, I’m your spouse.” He pulled his arm away from you.

“Nothing is wrong.”

“Mirio-”

“Nothing is wrong!” He repeated before storming out of the room. You got up, attempting to grab him. Chasing him down the steps you managed to get a hold of him once you both reached the bottom.

“I just want to talk! Please, please, please.” You could feel tears beginning to form in your eyes. He scoffed,

“You want to know what’s up? I’ve been cheating on you!” You stepped back in disbelief.

“What-”

“I’ve been cheating on you, I was just waiting for the right time to tell you, but since you want to be so damn insistent, I might as well rip the band-aid off.” You had to sit down on one of the steps in disbelief, trying to grasp what your husband was saying. You felt tears trickle down your face before bawling your eyes out. You could barely let out a coherent sentence,

“You, you selfish mon-monster! How could you do this to me? How could you do this to your child?!” You sat there shaking and crying. All Mirio could do was watch, knowing that no matter what he did, it would only make the situation worse. You got up slowly from off the steps as you approached him. In one swift move you slapped him across the face, so powerful that it made him stumble back. But you weren’t done, you took your hand and smacked him in the face again. This time, he let out a groan. “I want a fucking divorce.” Was the only thing you could say before heading upstairs. You opted to sleep in the guest bedroom. You didn’t want to be anywhere near that sick bastard. Slamming the door shut, you threw yourself on the bed,

“He will pay,” You wailed, “That son-of-a-bitch is gonna pay.” You drifted off to sleep with nothing but your tears and the sweet thought of revenge keeping you at bay.

#mirio #mirio x reader #my hero acedamia #bnha x reader #angst #au #boku no hero academia #mirio togata #bnha fanfiction #fanfic

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gchoate17 · 4 months

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I read 25 books this year, nine of which were fiction. I went down a Malcolm Gladwell hole (that I thought I'd already been down) for a bit, and I read a few good books written by friends, but it's worth noting that I would gladly lose friends before I put a book on this list that didn't deserve to be there. Here were my top 11, ranked in the order that I enjoyed them:

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood (1985)

A perfect futuristic dystopian novel in that it feels like a such a real-world possibility and doesn't overlook the finest of details -- the obvious ones, as well as the subtle ones. I'm eager to pick up the next one.

2. The Bomber Mafia by Malcolm Galdwell (2021)

A fascinating perspective on the advancement of air power and bombing in the years leading up to (and during) World War II. As with most honest war stories, there is no clear good and evil after digging beneath the surface, and Gladwell does a phenomenal job of digging. I highly recommend the audiobook because of the use of recorded interviews.

3. The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell (2000)

Somehow I accidentally deleted my review of this one and now I'm going to lose sleep over it. What I remember, seven months after reading it, is that I'm a connector and I need to collaborate with mavens if I really want to get an idea off the ground. And also that I should be pushing Blues Clues onto my children, even though I'm a die-hard Sesame Streeter.

4. The Lost Son by Stephanie Vanderslice (2022)

I struggled with the back and forth in time and place at first — as I normally do — but settled into it after the first 50 pages, when the narrative takes off. A good gut-punch will tether you to a story no matter where it goes in space and time. In this book, Vanderslice gives us a solid World War II family drama that pulls especially hard on the ties that bind siblings to each other, and parents to their children. I finished this one with a quiet, snotty cry next to a stranger on an airplane.

5. Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell (2008)

Gladwell tells a good story and I'm a big fan of debunking the myth that "genius" alone leads to success -- one also needs resources and the luck of generational timing. As a dad, though, my major takeaway is that my kids should be going to school year-round.

6. The Testaments by Margaret Atwood (2019)

I appreciated the distance in perspective from what Atwood gave us in The Handmaid's Tale. I especially enjoyed Aunt Lydia's perspective and the story of her indoctrination. As the three narratives drifted closer together, I found myself eager for further development of the tale instead of hearing the same tale from different points of view. Still, this should be required reading for the contemporary age.

7. Bettyville by George Hodgman (2015)

Hodgman pieces together vignettes that seem at times unrelated to the next or the last, but he somehow manages to weave together a narrative that is as complete as one can hope. The relationships he gives us are at once sad and humorous, and painfully true when it comes to hiding our fears from the ones we love. This book is ultimately a declaration of the love and forgiveness he has for his mother. And ultimately, oddly, it's also a demonstration of the love she has for him.

8. Crying in H Mart by Michelle Zauner (2021)

This memoir written about a time of sorrow and unknowing follows the writer's exploration of her memories and she applies them to her present day in that common humanistic attempt to make sense of it all. The journey of this book feels authentic, especially because Zauner provides a fantastic soundtrack through Japanese Breakfast that corroborates and reiterates the feelings in the book. She has so much love for her mother and it comes through. (Also, I want to go to Korea and eat all the things now.)

9. Homegrown by Jeffrey Toobin (2023)

It's amazing that we (and Toobin) have access to so many pieces of evidence of McVeigh's life. This book feels exhaustive, but I was glued to everything right up until McVeigh goes into custody. The early sections of the court case got a little dry, but keeping those sections were the right editorial choice because it showed the excessive expenses associated with his defense. Toobin lured me back in. My wife was glad when I finished this one because I finally stopped coming home and saying, "Back to Tim McVeigh -- GET THIS!" and launching into what I learned about him/the case. The whole thing is fascinating.

10. On Animals by Susan Orlean (2021)

An interesting look at how humans interact with various animals in a specific time and place, but also throughout history. Well researched, but full of warm language. A plethora of interesting tidbits to share with the wife (that she doesn't really care about probably, but she humors me and listens).

11. We Hold Our Breath by Micah Fields (2023)

Though I've visited a half-dozen or so times, Houston has never had a definable personality for me. I appreciated the personality of the city Fields gives us here, but his real accomplishment is the portrait he provides of his imperfect mother. It's in how he writes honestly about her flaws that we see the love he has for her. That's not easy to do.

Previous Book Lists: 2022, 2021, 2020, 2019, 2018, 2017, 2016, 2015, 2014, 2013, 2012, 2011.

#book lists #books #reading #best of 2023 #2023 books #malcolm gladwell #a handmaid's tale #margaret atwood #stephanie vanderslice #micah fields #michelle zauner #jeffrey toobin #george hodgman #susan orlean

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

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Someone hurts Y/N at work; and Harry’s owner of the company.

Angry young man CEO!H very protective of his lovie :)))))))))))))

It was Tuesday. Tiring Tuesday is what Y/N calls them to be because they lurk in the middle of week and drags you after a Monday. Today, it’s the worst fucking Tuesday since the day she started working at this company.

Harry offered her. More to say tried to convince her with his sweet puppy tactics, tried to lure her in with his seductive begging and would mumble the same thing in her sweaty neck while balls deep in her, “Please sweet toots ... promise I wouldn’t be there to take ye' interview, please work in my company.” He squished her sides in desperation. Y/N whined, mind too occupied in the way he’s leaking into her, the head of his cock angled to rub at her spongy wall making her hug herself into him.

“I could be a very hard boss in my office, ‘s all ‘m saying.” He wiggled his brows at her playfully, hissing when his double joke earned him a tight fit around his prick and he was soon forgetting all of it when she canted her hips to let him slick deeper inside her.

It’s not that; Y/N doesn’t wants to work at his company. When her boyfriend asked her so sweetly and stout-heartedly. Call him a sap but he actually wants to be closer to her in every possible chance he gets – she gives him an unyielding amount of comfort and happiness when she’s with him.

There’s this silver of pride he wants to take (since he’s the biggest narcissists) in being a power couple, because in the end everything will be theirs.

But she doesn’t want to seem like she took advantage of him. She didn’t study and worked hard many years to be called dependent on her boyfriend. She wanted to find her first proper job herself – feel all the odds and jitters of her firsts after UNI.

Harry called the battles off knowing his little stubborn baby’s too much a wiggler and he believes in her and he’s very proud of her previous achievements, he just wants to see her happy working with him or not.

She indeed got it. She was finally a design editor at a grand magazine company, excited to meet her boss who’s one of her absolute favourite graphic designers in the industry.

Harry and her celebrated her baby step towards her success by going out at this cafe which had cats you can pet and love on.

He was blissed to see her this happy, considering it a win win situation. But she doesn’t need to know? Does she? And Harry didn’t do anything suspicious? Did he? Nobody even know who she's! And if Y/N wants that, he’ll have it that way.

Soon her enthusiasm deflated like a sorrowful balloon whirling in the air for seconds before falling on the ground and getting it’s existence neglected, because, her boss was the meanest bitch alive.

At the moment, Y/N forced the pertinacious lump of pathetic tears down her throat, not blinking to dry out the moisture threatening to fall from her waterline feeling humiliation creep up her skin and making her want to shrink into herself and never show her face.

She listens patiently and optimistically as her boss practically screams at her for not liking the designs Y/N worked to modify for damn 62 hours and the Karen still had an audacity to degrade, Y/N.

Y/N gasped, stumbling back in fright shock when the file that had her precious designs composed in it flew and hit Y/N, the ragged corner of it scratching Y/N’s delicate skin and her boss was spinning away from her to stare coldly at the bustling city outside through the window drowning into fumes and anger.

Y/N opened her mouth, guppy like. Wanting to say something back and call her out on her act but she felt like her voice got strangled into her chest.

ShitShitShitShit.

Hammering in her brain when she felt something warm oozing from her skin and she’s panicking, wiping a vicious streak of blood from her jaw with her trembly fingers and scuttled straight to the washroom before anyone was able to see her in such vulnerable condition.

She had enough of it and left out of there without a word to anyone, not even to her cubby mate. She bottled all the emotions that were rattling against her bones to flood out of her each pore, until she could reach her home and once she did she was having a humongous and ominously scary breakdown, glad that Harry was stuck in meetings and the house was all of hers to cry ugly.

Once she was all blue lips, puffy and swelled up cheeks and eyes, nest of a hairstyle and all burned up lungs she was calming herself down with deep breaths just Harry taught her.

Scrubbing and cleaning herself off then going to bed without waiting for Harry, something very rare and the right hit in the nail for him to know she isn’t feeling well.

He was welcomed by silence. No dinner, just leftovers in fridge and his insides became all crummy and not very pleasant when he tailed to the living room and wasn’t met by his lovebug; either cramming her head to sketch down designs with an ipad in her lap while a buzz of random Netflix show accompanies her, dossing off cutely with hundreds of her study journals and magazines messed around her on the floor, or her in sleeping pyjamas with food already set up on the coffee table and brightening the whole room with her squeals when Harry announces his presence.

None of that instead he finds her in their bedroom, drowned under layers of blankies and her stuffies with room lit dark.

He coos softly, mattress dipping down from his weight and his heart expands and melts all around his other organs at how adorable she looks sleeping in his hoodie. He chuckles shaking his head at the way she has the strings of the hoodie squeezed around her head, not sure how she’s able to breath at how tight it seems around her neck.

Doing his own routine he was slipping into the bed, sighing from the warmth and how toasty she has made the bed already.

He bunched her against his chest and kissed her head then spooned her up in his arms, lips fluttering into a smile when she hummed and sniffed basking into his scent.

“Oi sleepy.” He whispers down at her cupping her neck and giggles softly when she whines mushing her cheek against his chest only to grunt sleepily and muffle her yelps into his sweatshirt.

Harry’s brows shoots up into slight bafflement then dips down into a frown when he slipped his calloused palm under her hoodie to cradle her jaw and felt something graze against his thumb that was about to press into her soft skin to bring her for a night kiss.

“Hey...” He perches himself on elbows, switching on the lamps and ignores her groans grasping the blanket she was about to pull over herself, huffing at him to let her sleep but Harry’s more stubborn than her if it involves assuring himself she’s okay and right now she’s not and Harry was already feeling it in his bones.

“Lemme see.” He persists gently, peeling the blankets and the hoodie off her head while she’s still stirring into sleep not able to open her eyes how much she tries because of the exhaustion dumped on her from whole day.

He stares at the wound she did a shit effort to cover with a gauze messily over her jaw and tiny bit area of her neck, a long bandage reaching to her ear and Harry tries to think rationally and not freak out as he touches it with cautious fingertips.

“What ... the –- fuck, Y/N what is...is this?” His mouth falls slack. His ears buzzing for a moment and he wraps his arm around her shoulder to bring her up as he leans them against the bedhead.

He feels bad when she knuckles at her eyes warily and mumbles something that’s barely audible.

“What happened, baby? Talk t’me? How did y'hurt yourself so bad?” Worried and fearful. He bombs her with questions not waiting for her to be fully awake and his heart breaks miserly upon focusing his gaze on her face, her angelic face that’s now soaked with sadness –- she’s been crying.

His loves been crying and he wasn’t there for her.

“Who did this to you?” Y/N's eyes widens abruptly. The alertness in them vivid for Harry to see under the lamp glow and she gasps, nose twitching and lip wobbling as Harry grabbed her chin and ducked to her eyelevel to ask her tenderly with a layer of strictness under his tone, “’M asking, Who did this to you, Y/N?” Her fragile heart could already take so much and she strangled out a sob lowering her head down in embarrassment.

“’M.. I’m —-.. no –..not telli –-..telling you,” She hiccups breathlessly, shaky fingers fisting onto the blanket thrown over Harry’s lap and he holds her hands kissing them gently, “I’ll know it one way or another baby. Don’t force me to get outta my way to find —–“ His soul stabbing glare was enough for Y/N to ramble and at first he thought he didn’t heard her right, that she was mumbling too much but when the reality seeped in gradually Harry almost froze in his spot.

“I know it’s very shameful —..” Y/N stammers barely able to get in a breather and Harry’s head snapped at her words, removing his nails away from making little graves in his palms and his jaw which almost felt like breaking from the hinges from how painfully furious he had it set relaxes as he tries to calm himself down and not to grab his keys and drive to that bitch's house to trash her place.

Because how fucking dare she treat anyone like that in his own fucking company.

“Hey, hey. Now none of that toots. Look at me darling, oh my sweet moppet ... shh.” It slices his heart in pain to see Y/N like this -- so small and disheartened. How dare she hurt his such delicate, sweet, loving girl like that? How!?

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of yourself moppet. She should be, fo’ being such a heartless prick.” He spat, his guts full of bitter and hatred. His skin hot, his grip on her tightening protectively and his chin quivers trying to lock all his anger inside and not to burst out like a pressure cooker.

“I’ll deal with her tomorrow.” He nods curtly to himself, poking his tongue to wet his grimacing lips and Y/N was too woolly to get what’s he’s saying.

His gaze flitters back on her. His demeanour turned incredibly soft and gentle for her smooching a big generous kiss to her salty lips and then to both of her cheeks cared in both of his palms, “Are y'okay? D'you want me to take you to hospital?” She shakes her head mewling and melting and caressing herself into his wrist.

“Why didn’t you call me baby?” He asks her doing anything in his power to mask the hurt in his tone and sighs touching his forehead to her's when Y/N sniffled, “Didn’t wan’ you to worry.” He slid his forearm under her bum and scooched her atop of him, patching tiny careful pecks to her jaw.

“But, that’s love moppet. Worryin’ bout you, takin’ care of ye' and beating anyone raw who even dares to have evil intentions towards you,”

“Remember the time y'snubbed that one guy’s oh so expensive shoes who was very rude to me at one of your graduations party?” His simper turning into a proper ironic grin when she giggled hoarsely nodding along and the tension in his muscles released watching her getting better.

“Proper broke his big toe with your heel darling.” He giggles with her and then Y/N realised how sad and awful Harry’s feeling, how it’s hurting him the same way it hurt her an year ago.

“How about we have a glass of milk .... it’ll help us sleep less grumpy y'know.” He murmurs in the crook of her neck, elbow cocooned safely around her shoulder blade as he kisses the side of her head again and again nose buried in her hair to smell her treacly smell.

In the morning he was tragic to hear Y/N sound so heartbroken and dejected as she told him, “I’m going to resign and accept your offer.” Her smile small and sad, hugging him looping her limbs around his torso lazily.

“’kay baby, but first eat your brekkie.” He kissed her hair and squished her pout when he moved away to make some calls to his assistant.

Y/N had no-idea what he was upto. Glad that he was driving her to the company and that he was immensely supportive of her decision, her insides pooled with warmth and giddiness when he tried to cheer her up with his silly jokes and singing along the radio murmuring rubbish whenever he forgot the lyrics.

She was utterly confused when upon reaching he was giving the keys to valet boy to park his car and interviewing their fingers in a strong grip before leading her inside, even though she should be the one to do so.

She sputters a, “Huh?” when instead of telling her he’d wait for her in the lobby he’s rounding the corner towards the elevators and turns his wrist to push her infront of him to keep her closer to himself all the time.

When the doors are sliding apart the people scurrying outside halts for a moment, not looking Harry in eyes and keeping their heads low.

Phones were already rung in the building that Mr. Styles will be coming un-announced and everyone should be prepared to face the consequences if they stumble upon him – because well he isn’t in such a nice mood to start with.

“Harry.” She pokes him in ribs feebly, stepping away from him feeling timid due to few pair of eyes in elevator watching her awkwardly and maybe judgingly.

The tension in space could be cut through knife, as if everyone’s holding their breaths and she pouts taking a good look at Harry who’s smirking smugly confident in his element.

Do they all think her boyfriend’s way too intimidating and out of reach for them? They should know he’s such a sweetie!

Y/N huffs. Folding her arms over chest when Harry paws at her hips and pulls her back against his chest resting his chin atop of her head with a shit eating grin.

In all seriousness. Showing them that’s she’s his's and belongs under his wings, which will keep her safe and protected till his death.

“How did you know my boss's office’s on tenth floor?” She squints up at him suspiciously.

“Hmm. Dunno, moppet. Magical powers or summat?” He teases her, putting a hand at the small of her back to nudge her forward making her blush pink and ducks down to whisper in her ear, “You got this toots.” Biting her earlobe playfully to stroke down her anxiety upon sensing her hesitancy to step in the hallway that has cubicles lined up.

He already got this. He ordered his assistant to get the resign letter ready and showing her who’s the boss here’s not much of hurdle for him.

It’s weird. Bloody weird. Y/N wants to turn back and run away because the moment they step inside the whole damn hallway falls eerily pin drop silent and everyone’s peeking up from the short walls of their cubicles and then diverting their eyes immediately in embarrassment and apology seeing Harry behind her.

The ones who’re standing bows their heads lightly in respect for him and scurrying away to give him a way and that’s insanely surprising and weird.

Harry on the other hand was no stranger to those bogey looks. Of curiosity, uneasiness and dread when he passes through the crowd of his employs. Y/N is.

Slowly perhaps. It starts to sink in— jumbled and disoriented when she looks back at Harry. He’s keeping his head held high and shoulders tilted back with poise and conceitedness, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants and because though it makes him look like a proper snob— he is their boss and the owner of this company, he should act like one.

“Mr. Styles.” Y/N’s boss assistant Marina who’s usually very chirpy (and undeserving of all the yelling she gets from her boss) turns pale at Harry’s presence. She’s the only person Y/N's very keen of, now she’s fretting towards them with her head lowered and tries to stammer something but Harry’s walking past her with his lips pursued as he goes inside without knocking.

“Harry...” Y/N tattles behind him, lunging to clutch onto the hem of his suits coat, to scold him to stop babying her and let her handle it herself, too late since she’s already meeting with the sight of her overly stressed and upset boss.

Her knees almost gives in when Harry snaps his fingers for the employees that were inside to give them privacy and takes in the most relaxing breath of oxygen, feeling a gag of bitterness in his mouth from even looking at her.

Y/N gasped. Her boss (which she’s not sure is her boss anymore) gasped. The sweet assistant Marina gasped. When Harry told her in the most composing way– though his blood’s boiling absolutely sheathing through his veins.

“You’re fired.” His demeanour cold and voice monotone not giving a fuck how much she shakes and cries for his forgiveness.

“Mr. Styles. I..I can explain–-" She stammers rushing from the back of her desk and stops obediently when Harry gestures her to not to take another step forward.

“There’s no excuse for abuse. I don’t want your lame explanations, I can’t have an abusive asshole running my company for me ... we might be strict on our employees but we aren’t monsters.” He grits, his eyes flaring piercingly with rage and showing no empathy towards her as she pleads him to forgive her mistake– those bricks of money makes you work baby.

“You hurt someone so dearly to me ‘n think I’ll forgive ye'?” The assistance eye’s blows away at newfound information, Harry Styles love of life’s none other than Y/N. The girl she used to have smoked sandwiches and milkshakes with in their lunch breaks.

“I didn’t know ...” He chuckles ironically at her hypocrisy and that’s the last straw for him before he’s threatening her to call the security and she’s getting out of there cursing him under her breath but Harry grabs her from elbow roughly, conceding his brow at her dauntingly.

"Apologise to her right fuckin' now."

"Sorry, Mrs Styles. I'm very ashamed of what I did." She says nervously and Y/N nods not able to speak from the butterflies that are flapping around her stomach, which sure didn't go unnoticed at Harry's side and he smirks at Y/N.

When they’re left alone. Jovial cackles are bouncing against the walls and he’s pressing his hip to the desk, securing his hands around his triceps as he folds his arms infront of his chest entertaining himself to the cute and fuzzy reactions of his girl at what just happened.

“See. Told ya, nobody could defy my bossiness at work.” He grins at her, jerking his hand towards his chest to usher her closer to him and boops her nose smacking an obnoxiously loud kiss to her mouth when she toddles in his arms.

“The offers still there,” He looks down at her cheekily and she shakes her head, a small smile kicking up her lips at his determination and devotion.

“Couldn’t say no to you, could I? What will you be owning secretly next time?” She nips at him, planting her palms firmly against his midriff feeling the crispiness of his shirt underneath his jacket.

“A bakery shop ....?” He muses in the most pondering voice and she scoffs at him through pattering of giggles, “Suck it up Mr. Styles.”

“Hey! I know my prick’s huge but not tha’ much for me to suck it myself.”

Y/N chokes onto her own spit. Shaking her head at him.

“Your innocent employees knows how vulgar you’re?”

“Uhmm. Infact, She gets very hot hearin’ me like tha'.” He bobs his head grinning at her wickedly and she smacks his shoulder, “Harry!”

“Yeahhh! Tell everyone how good I make you feel babbbyy—....” Y/N clamps her hand around his mouth to muffle his lewd fake moaning.

“You’re so embarrassing.” She grumbles wiping his spit sticking to her palm down her skirt and spins around to head for the door expecting him to follow her.

“You don’t talk to boss like that!” He trails behind her, “Boss my ass!” She quips out a squeal looking around to make sure that nobody saw it when Harry slapped her bum.

“Boss someone’s ‘bout to get a pink ass.”

#ceo!harry #ceo!h x y/n #ceo!h x reader #ceo!h x fem!reader #harry stylss angsty drabble #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles smut #harry styles #cute harry #harry smut #harry styles fanfiction #fluff #harry angst #hsh #dom harry

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lololova · 3 years

Text

Beyond the words - 47 reasons

Prompt: “Fic prompt I’m throwing out there: 47 Seconds arc - Beckett receives the DC job offer during the time Castle starts shutting her out.” Tweeted by @/bunysliper

Hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it! Until next time, xxxx

----------------------------------------------------------

Kate Beckett looks down at her phone, still not sure if she should call or not. How is she supposed to make a decision like this? She thinks back to the conversation with the agent from F.B.I. who’d said she’d be a great addition to the bureau if she decided to make an appointment for a job interview. She thinks back to how badly she’d wanted to tell her partner but he’d been nowhere to be seen. She thinks back to the case and how he’d all of a sudden literally been nowhere to be found every time she wanted to discuss a new lead with him. She can’t stop thinking about the glances of - what? Hate? Disgust? - that he’s kept throwing at her the past week. And she can’t think of a reason why.

“It’s like he’s pulling away,” she’d told dr. Burke no more than a couple hours ago.

“What are you most afraid of Kate? That he won’t wait for you, or that he will?” he’d asked back and she’d held back a groan.

The therapist was of no use when it came to the talking about her partner. He never gave her a straight answer when she asked something. And today has been no different.

“Argh,” she groans as she once again puts away her phone. She wants to smash something, anything. But she also knows it won’t actually help.

One part of her just wants to make the call, do the interview, get the job, move and never look back ever again. But another part of her can’t even fathom the thought of leaving her partner to never see him again. Not when they were so close! Which brings her back to the constant thought screaming in her mind for the past week. WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO THEM?! Why has he pulled away? Why doesn’t he text her anymore? Why doesn’t he answer when she calls? Why is it killing her? You know why it kills you. She shrugs the voice away, tries to ignore it and pretends she didn’t hear it. But you did.

Kate feels the tears prickle her eyes as she picks up her phone once again. But instead of calling the DC-number she touches the screen until she has the photo of him covering the entire screen. It’s a photo she took not that long ago. She’d actually taken it without his knowledge, even though he’s staring at her she’d managed to take it without him figuring it was a photo she’d taken with her phone, and he just looked so relaxed and so in love with her that it made her sick to the stomach. He hasn’t been looking at her like that since their bomb case. What did she do?

Before she can do anything about it her cheeks are wet from the tears and she can’t stop the crying no matter how much she tries. Can’t stop feeling the pain of her heart aching inside her chest. It’s worse than she thought at first because suddenly it’s also hard to breathe. She tries taking deep, calming breaths, but she has a feeling it won’t help fully. What she needs is confirmation from her partner, any type of confirmation. She needs to know if he still loves her or if she’s screwed it up completely. Without thinking she’s calling his number, phone to ear as she hopes he’ll answer for once.

“Hi, you’ve reached Richard Castle. Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now but please, leave a message after the beep.” Beep.

Kate doesn’t know what to say, and so she just hangs up. Instead she goes to messages, and starts to type one out. Before she knows it she’s clicked “sent” and can see the message turn delivered before freezing. She actually sent it.

-Please give me a reason to stay in NY.-

To her surprise he answers within seconds.

-What do you mean?-

She takes a deep breath before typing out a reply. -They want me to do a job interview in DC. And right now I can’t see a reason to stay.-

She waits patiently, hoping he will answer soon.

-What makes you think I have a reason? You’ll do whatever you want anyway.-

Ouch. She sighs, thinking about all the conversations she’s had with dr. Burke about her partner. -You’re the only reason I want to stay.- She writes it and sends it before she can regret anything.

When he still hasn’t answered after ten minutes she feels disappointment in the pit of her belly. She lets her phone fall out of her hands before she sets her steps towards her bathroom. Once in there she starts to strip her clothes off. If she showers it won’t be as obvious that she’s crying. He doesn’t want her anymore and he can’t even find the words to say it.

“What are you most afraid of Kate? That he won’t wait for you, or that he will?”

That he won’t, she decides. Everything had been going so great and she knows it’s her fault it’s all falling apart but she can’t for the life of her figure out what she did. It’s killing her not knowing, but she has a feeling that even if she’d get the courage to ask him she wouldn’t get an answer. She’d just get an “We’re fine”.

Kate’s so focused on her thoughts, on trying to calm down her crying and take deep breaths, that she doesn’t hear her phone ring. She doesn’t hear the knocking later on either. It’s not until she’s walking out of the bathroom in only a towel wrapped around her body that she’s realizing she’s not alone. When she sets her foot inside the living room she lets go of a yelp when she sees her partner stand by her front door.

“I-sorry! S-sparekey,” he says as he clenches his eyes shut. “You didn’t answer,” he adds and she holds the towel a little bit tighter around her.

“What are you doing here, Castle?” she questions with a hoarse voice. She hopes he doesn’t figure out it’s because of her crying.

She observes him as he puts his hands over his eyes as if he’s making sure he won’t accidentally look at her.

“You can’t leave New York,” he says and she feels her pulse quicken.

Is he going to say what she’s hoped for during the last week?

“Why not?”

“You’re needed here, your dad is here, Ryan and Espo are here. How are they going to keep their jobs if you’re not there to help them keep the closing rate up? You already have forty-seven reasons to stay so why did you send that text to me? I don’t mean anything to you so why send those texts to me?”

She takes a step back, what makes him think she doesn’t care for him? Again, what did she do?!

“What are you talking about?” she asks, her voice raspy and she can hear the desperation herself.

He sighs and she can tell he’s about as irritated with her as she is with him. Maybe even more. “Call your dad and ask him what to do, you listen more to him than me anyway.” He starts to turn around and she sees his hands go down to reach for her apartment door again.

Oh no. She’s not going to let him get away that easily. Not when he’s the one to come to her apartment. She takes quick steps to put herself in front of him, and therefore in front of the door, blocking his way out. And she’s suddenly well aware of their height difference.

“What are you doing?” he asks and she sees his widened eyes flinch down to her chest before they focus on her eyes.

“What did I do?” she asks, emotion raw in her voice without her intention.

She’s standing here, right in front of him, literally open and naked. Completely vulnerable. With only a towel separating his eyes from seeing her body, her scar.

“Nothing, let…”

“No.” She stops him by putting one hand on his chest. “Don’t lie to me. Castle, I’m… sick and tired of this behavior! Rick, just tell me what I did to make you hate me so much!” she can’t stop the anger and frustration and pain from starting to spill from her eyes as she starts sobbing again. And here she thought she didn’t have any more tears.

She hides her face behind her hands, grateful she’d fastened the towel before she went out to the living room. Her knees start to give out and so she simply lets them, slowly moving down to a seated position on the floor. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to do, if she’s supposed to do anything else.

“Beckett?” she hears his hoarse voice ask before he clears his throat. “Kate, what… what’s going on?”

She shakes her head, she can’t form words anymore. She’s just focusing on her breathing and her attempts to stop the breakdown she’s feeling. Why is this happening right in front of him?

“Hey,” she feels his hands land on her shoulders, his thumbs electrifying against her naked skin. “Deep breaths, Kate, deep breaths,” he says in a slow soothing voice which she finally recognizes as his. The real him.

And so she does what he says, she starts taking deeper breaths to calm herself down. He keeps mumbling the mantra as she feels her body start to relax and find strength again. When she’s breathing normally again she feels his hands let go of her as he’s slumping down on the floor in front of her. She carefully looks through her lashes to glance at him.

“You okay?” he asks when his blue eyes meet hers.

She bites her lower lip before she shakes her head slightly. “No,” she tells him honestly. “One part of me wants to take that job interview to get away from you.”

He gulps. “And the other part?” he asks carefully.

She takes in a shaky breath. “One part of me… just wants… you.” She just whispers the last word, too scared to say it too loud. She’s still scared he’ll leave her and never talk to her again.

“I don’t think I can do this partnership anymore, if you only want me as a partner in crime I… I don’t think I can do it,” he tells her and she feels her insides clench.

“What do you mean? I don’t only want you at the precinct,” she whispers as she looks up at him.

He’s avoiding her eyes, concentrating on the fiddling of a piece of the rug that’s been crippled for months now.

“I heard you,” he confesses and she wrinkles her forehead. “In interrogation you told a suspect you remember everything from your shooting. You heard me telling you that I…” he sighs, “that I love you. And I assumed the reason you haven’t told me is because you don’t feel the same way. I can’t…”

Kate shakes her head violently. “No, that’s not… I was not ready to… hear it or deal with my feelings for you just yet.”

He looks up at her and she looks down as her hand runs through her hair, only to stay at her forehead, leaning against it.

“Your feelings?” he asks and she nods.

“I like you Castle,” she confesses. “I really like you. And the thought of losing you…” she has to stop to try and get the lump down her throat as she sniffs. “Just tell me now if it’s too late for us, because I can’t… I can’t…”

She feels her eyes tearing up again and isn’t able to stop them from going down her cheeks. She knows she won’t be able to talk without breaking down again.

“I still love you, I’ve tried not to but I do,” Castle confesses and Kate feels her heart skip a beat before her insides start to melt with relief.

Without missing another beat she crawls over to him and throws her arms around his neck in a hug. She’s surprised to find herself falling as he’s losing his balance, ending with Kate laying on top of him with his arms around the middle of her body.

“Sorry,” she mutters but doesn’t move away. In fact, she snuggles even closer with her head into his neck.

She hears him gulp as his hands don’t seem to know where to stay on her back. That’s when she realizes she’s still in her towel. Only her towel. She starts to roll off of him, carefully placing her hands to keep the towel from falling off. As soon as she’s off she’s sitting up, eyes on him as he, too, sits up.

“Sorry, I should probably go… get dressed,” she says with a blush exploding on her cheeks. “Will you stay?”

He nods without a word and she has a feeling it’s because he’s surprised about everything. She moves to stand and goes to her bedroom, quickly putting on some clothes, including some black yoga pants and a gray N.Y.P.D. shirt. She picks up the speed as her mind starts to wonder if he’ll actually stay or if he might’ve changed his mind and gone again without saying anything. What if he decides it was a bad idea coming here? The second her shirt is on she’s leaving her towel on the ground to go and find out if her partner is still here. When she returns to the living area she does find him in her kitchen, brewing coffee for the two of them. He looks up at her almost immediately, as if he can feel her coming into the room, or he just heard her.

“You stayed,” she breathes out in relief and he nods.

“I made coffee,” he says as he pours the black beverage into two cups. “Figured we could use some if we’re going to talk.”

“Yeah,” she says in a breath as she nods. “Good thinking.”

As she comes closer he holds out one of the cups for her to take and she accepts it with a smile and a thanks. Once he has his own cup in his hand she’s gesturing towards the couch and they both go there to sit down.

“So,” he says as she takes a sip of her coffee, “you’ve gotten a job offer in D.C.?”

She feels a blush come on. “It’s only an interview, but yeah,” she says.

“And you’re planning on…?” he asks and she looks at him with fear in her eyes.

“No,” she quickly says. “I want… I want to be with you, I want you. I don’t want to leave, I don’t want our partnership to fall apart.”

“I don’t want it to, either,” he says and she smiles. “But,” he says and her smile falters a bit, “does this mean you’re willing to give us a chance?”

She bites her lip as she looks down in her coffee for a second before he looks up again to meet his eyes. “Yes.”

“Good,” he mumbles as he takes another sip from his coffee but keeps his eyes set on hers.

She licks her lower lip and sees his eyes spark in that way they usually do when she flirts with him, or he observes her and she does those little extra teasing acts she does sometimes. Now that she knows he still loves her, she can’t help but feel the want to tease him even more. She pulls up her knees on the couch, setting her arms around them with her cup on top in order to take sips a bit now and then.

“So, do you want to stay for the night?” she asks, stretching her foot towards him to nudge his thigh with her toes.

His eyes widen a bit before they narrow with his lips turning into a smirk. His free hand, the one that doesn’t still hold his cup to his lips, sneaks down and lets his fingers run up and down her foot, making her shiver.

“If you allow me to, I will,” he promises in that deep voice he’s used so many times without even knowing the effect it has on her. He will soon.

She nods, taking the last sip of her coffee before setting the cup on her coffee table. His soon joins hers and she locks eyes with him as soon as his fingers climb from her foot to her knee along with his body growing closer to her. She sits up and meets his lips halfway, the kiss a lot more passionate than either of them had intended. Probably because of all the tension between them that went unanswered for so long. Too long. His hand on her leg doesn’t stop at her knee but keeps stroking its way up to the hem of her shirt where it continues to slide under to end up at her hip, his hand slightly touching her naked skin at the hem of her yoga pants. She gasps at the feel of his thumb stroking her skin and his mouth immediately takes advantage of her parting lips by letting his tongue find hers. As his taste fills her senses she finds herself moaning and one of her hands lands on his cheek, her fingertips moving into his hair as she holds him close. She deepens the kiss which makes him groan with her and she smiles at that, their lips pulling apart.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” she whispers against his lips, her fingers caressing his scalp.

He pulls slightly back in order to look at her and he smiles. She giggles when he kisses her nose carefully. “Always,” he says their promise to her and she feels such relief to hear it once again.

She runs her teeth on her lower lip again as she lets go of his cheek to reach for his hand, intertwining their fingers. “I’m staying,” she says and sees his eyes fill with relief of its own. “I can’t say it just yet but I really want you. Just you.”

“I understand,” he assures her and she nods.

“Good,” she mumbles before she stands up and pulls him with her. “What do you say we go to bed?”

He smirks, but it’s so much more than just a smirk. “Lead the way.”

And so she does. And she doesn’t regret sending that text, desperately needing a reason to stay. She didn’t need the 47 other reasons he suggested she had, she only needed one. Him. And looks like she got it.

The end

#Castle #Caskett #Beckett #Rick Castle #Kate Beckett #Castle fic #Caskett fic

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whisperlullaby · 3 years

Text

When Can You Start

Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader

Words: 1385

Warnings: SMUT (18+), explicit language

A/N: This was written for my very own @syntheticavenger from a prompt she sent me “ Andy Barber hiring you even though you are a nervous wreck because you felt you bombed the interview. “ I took some liberties with the plot of Defending Jacob. I’m not entirely sure where this came from. There is basically no plot. Minors DNI this is 18+ only. A special thank you to @river-soul for assuring me that this was not cringy. ENJOY MY THURSDAY THOTS.

You had absolutely no idea how you landed the job as Andy Barber’s paralegal. When you went in for the interview you knew what people said about him. The rumors about his now deceased family, his fierceness in the courtroom, and not to mention the fact he was practically a Greek God in Hugo Boss. When you heard your name called you stood up and turned around ready to make a good impression, but when you saw Andy you actually fell over the chair you had been sitting in. If that wasn’t bad enough during the interview you couldn’t stop staring at his mouth and asking him to repeat his questions several times. You had never been so thrown off during an interview, constantly squirming because his piercing gaze was turning you on in a way you would have never imagined. You all but ran out of the office when the interview had concluded, completely mortified by your behavior.

You were shocked when you got a call the next day telling you that you were hired.

When you arrived at the office you were determined to make a better impression. Unfortunately, your first day went just about as well as your interview. The second you saw Mr. Barber your face heated up and you had to fight back a whimper that rose in your throat. He was wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a silk tie, and dress pants you were sure no one had the right to look that good in.

You had managed to spill coffee, twice, when Andy called for a case file. You tripped over your heels on the way into his office and when you turned to leave, you ran right into the potted fern.

“Are you okay?” Andy asked as he got up from his desk and made his way towards you.

“Yes, totally fine, just extra clumsy today,” you muttered nervously. “First day jitters.”

You looked up to see Andy in front of you with his hands on his hips looking at you with concern. You felt nerves bubbling inside you.

“I’m not even sure why you hired me,” you huffed. “I’m clearly a mess.”

Andy dropped his hands from his hips and stalked over to you. He reached around you and shut the door to his office, keeping you pressed between him and the door.

“Oh, honey, you’re not a mess.” Andy cooed in your ear. “Not yet anyway.”

“Mr. Barber, what are you doing?” You glanced into his eyes and saw they were blown black with lust.

“I’m gonna tell you exactly what I was thinking when I hired you.”

Andy moved his hands down your sides and lifted up your tight skirt to reveal your black lace panties. Your breathing hitched as Andy ran his fingers over your covered cunt. His mouth ghosting over the exposed skin of your neck.

“You see, I knew I was going to need to have you the second you walked through the door” Andy explained as he slowly pushed aside your panties, gathering your slick on his fingers before pressing two into you, causing you to whine. “You spent the whole interview fantasizing about me, I could tell by the way you were looking at me, biting your lip. You were squirming the whole time, thinking I wouldn’t notice? You needed any relief you could get, pretty girl.”

Andy kept sliding his fingers in and out of you at a slow and steady pace. You couldn’t help each whimper and moan that came from his expert ministrations. He pressed his thumb in small circles on your clit while nipping the skin on your neck.

“I can feel you squeezing my fingers honey, so eager to please. Cum for me and then I’ll bend you over my desk and fuck you. You’ll need to be quiet though, don’t want the office to hear you”

You came with a soft cry as Andy used his fingers to fuck you through your orgasm. After, he brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean. You drew your bottom lip in between your teeth when you heard him hum with pleasure.

“You taste so good, sweetheart.”

Andy gripped the back of your legs causing you to jump and circle your legs around his waist. He made his way over to his desk with quick strides.

He sat you down on top of his desk as he worked at his belt to free his hardened cock. You licked your lips in anticipation looking up at Andy through lidded eyes. He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you in for a searing kiss as you pulled at his tie to deepen the kiss. He broke away for a moment to remove the tie from his neck and grabbing your wrists he wrapped the fabric tight around them. You were humming with anticipation when you felt the soft material tighten around your skin.

“I hired you because I could tell you would be such a good girl for me. You would do anything to make me happy.”

He spun you around and pushed your chest onto the cool wood of the desk, holding your arms above your head.

“Isn’t that right honey? You want to make me happy.”

A flood of arousal hit your core.

“Yes, Mr. Barber. I just want to make you happy.”

Andy brought a hand down to slap your ass and you moaned at the contact. He pushed aside your panties again as he lined himself up with your dripping core.

“Gonna give you my cock now honey. Fill you up, make you sit through the rest of the day with my cum leaking out of you.”

You whimpered when you felt the tip of his cock press against your entrance. Your fingertips gripped the edge of the desk as he slowly pushed in.

“Fuck, sweetheart, if you keep clenching around me like that I’m not gonna last long. So fucking warm and tight.”

Andy gripped your hips and set a bruising pace as you tried to stifle your moans, knowing anyone could walk in and see what was happening. You started rocking your hips back to meet his thrusts as you felt your orgasm build in your belly.

“Fuck Mr. Barber, I’m gonna cum,” you whined as he increased his pace and brought his hand down to your clit flicking it.

“When you cum you’re going to scream my name, not Mr. Barber. Remember though honey, not too loud. We wouldn’t want someone coming in seeing how fucked out you look”

With another flick of your clit you came, softly crying out Andy’s name. You could hear him give a low hum of approval before his pace started stuttering as he chased his own release cumming hard in you. As he pulled out you could feel him start to drip out of you as he pulled your panties back into place. You could faintly hear the sound of Andy’s belt and zipper as he walked to the front of the desk and removed the tie from your wrists. When your breathing returned to normal, you got up and straightened out your outfit. You were sure your makeup was ruined and were grateful that you thought to bring in an emergency kit with baby wipes today. You looked up at Andy who was grinning at you devilishly.

“I hired you because your resume was impressive and your references gave you glowing recommendations. You are as smart as you are beautiful. You just need to learn to relax.” Andy winked at you.

Your face heated up as the weight of what just happened settled in. You just fucked your boss, on your first day, in his office, before noon. Before you could spiral into how awful this would be for your reputation Andy spoke up again.

“And honey, if you ever need to relax just knock. Now, I need the files for the Monroe case.”

Andy opened his door for you to leave.

As you walked past him you looked into his eyes and knocked on the door. Andy gave a low growl and grabbed your waist pulling you back into his office and slamming the door.

“Insatiable.”

#Andy barber x reader #defending jacob #defending jacob fic #andy barber #andrew barber #Chris Evans #18+

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andvys · 2 years

Note

I'm the furthest from an expert in writing but... :

Part 1:

You had locked yourself in your compartment in district 13. You knew the war will always end in casualties but this death struck hard. It was all so sudden and unpredictable that it didn't immediately dawn upon you at first.

You felt guilty at closing everyone off after that, especially Finnick, but you couldn't find the strength to apologize. Thankfully, they were all very understanding and gave you the space. No matter how much it hurts Finnick, he gave you space but made sure to look after you from a far.

He'd leave a plate of food and water in front of your dorm every mealtime (it took lots of convincing for him to be granted permission to take it out of the dining room) and would write notes reminding you how much he loves you and is here for you.

( next ask has next part )

Also we're here for you bae 💕💕

You knew it was Finnick who'd been doing these. How could you not recognize the handwriting of your partner? You were also a victor of the hunger games, winning a few years after him. He was your mentor and became your best friend. And later your lover. (everlark wasn't so original as they thought) You've been dating in secret until the quarter quell where Finnick dropped the bomb in the interview.

Currently, you secretly slipped away and were now at the forest. The mockingjays picked up on your hum and was repeating it. You smiled at the tune that you used to sing with your family member.

You ignored the pang in your heart and failed to notice the footsteps approaching you. Turning, you caught the sight of Katniss Everdeen who looked awkward as ever. She wanted to say something, clearly, but it seemed as she was asking herself if she was crossing an invisible line between you two. You two weren't very close to each other but you both greeted one another if ever you crossed paths.

You offered her a small smile as she walked towards you, bow in hand. No doubt she was seeking refuge in the forest like you were, and heard the mockingjays.

"How are you?" Katniss mentally cursed herself for the stupid question. A look of sadness flashed in your eyes. "I'll be okay"

Silence took over until Katniss commented, " We were all worried.. Especially Finnick.." Your face dropped at the name. You'd been ignoring him for a while and didn't even realise it. Katniss picked up on this and said quietly, "He's in his room you know... Looking like a lost puppy for the longest of time and it's starting to get annoying."

----

You mentally prepared yourself for what to say as you knocked softly on his door. After not getting a response, you sighed and turned around. Right as you did, the door opened and you were greeted with the sound of Finnick's voice. "Y/N?"

You froze and suddenly all the emotions came back to you when you faced him. Finnick recognized the look and was quick to wrap you in the comforts of his arms, almost as if shielding you from the horrors of the world.

Your tears were staining his shirt but it was the least of his concern. He soothed you, petting your hair while doing so. "Finnick I-" You began to apologize for ignoring him but he wouldn't let you do that. He made eye contact with you and kissed your forehead with such love that you melted in his touch.

The small box in Finnick's pocket never felt heavier than it did then. He wanted nothing more than to declare his love for you to the whole world but now wasn't the time. You were grieving and he didn't think you'd appreciate if he got down on one knee to propose while you were crying your eyes out.

Even though you still looked like the most beautiful person on earth to him, he decided that he'd propose when the time was right. And that time ended up being the next morning.

( im really bad at writing but I already sent the first part so I decided to just send the rest 😭)

BESTIE!! how dare you say you’re bad at writing this is literally fucking amazing 😭 i’m literally crying right now🥲💗 this is so so sweet and this just put a smile on my face 😭💕 thank you so much for this, i appreciate this and you! 🥲💗 you are such a sweetheart, i love you 😭💖 me rn:

I PROMISE TO WRITE YOU THE FLUFFIEST IMAGINE EVER WHEN I FEEL BETTER 🥲💗 and also… you should really keep writing cause you’re fucking amazing at it😭💖

#anon you are so fucking sweet 🥲💖#i will read this over and over again #the ring tho >>>>>>#finnick being a lost puppy #😭💕💕

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cheesybadgers · 3 years

Text

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 3)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

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Masterlist

Moodboard for this chapter by beecastle ❤️

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 4,334

Summary: Set loosely during You Will Cry Tears Of Blood (season 1, ep 7), Javier and Horacio attempt to deal with the aftermath of their mission in Tolú, whilst Escobar’s violence escalates and both men are caught in the middle of it. As the stakes get higher, so do their feelings and cravings for each other.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Canon-typical violence and the discussions thereof, guns, anal sex, unprotected sex, anal fingering, cockwarming, power dynamics, swearing, angst, smoking.

Notes: I had hoped to get this out sooner, but I kept getting distracted, oops. Thanks again to anyone who has interacted with previous chapters on AO3 or Tumblr. Your lovely comments have made me smile, especially as this fic is probably the most I’ve challenged myself with my writing so far ❤️ I will try to work on chapter 4 as soon as possible!

Whilst obviously I do not own Narcos or its characters, please do not copy, re-post, or plagiarize this fic in any capacity on this or other platforms. If you wish to create any fan works inspired by it, please provide a credit or send me a message if in doubt.

Chapter 3: Convergence

Javier and Horacio had still been attempting to process the events of their mission in Tolú when Escobar’s war ramped up several notches again, unleashing yet more violence on the already battle-weary people of Colombia. From his meeting with Steve and the Ambassador, Javier learnt that it was thanks to his partner that César Gaviria hadn’t boarded Avianca Flight 203. A significant political crisis averted, but something of a Pyrrhic victory for those not fortunate enough to have federal agents watching their backs.

The aftermath of the atrocity led Javier and Steve straight back to Medellín to interview the girlfriend of the suspected bomber. Horacio headed the investigation with the DEA’s assistance, but apart from a handful of lingering glances unseen by those around them, contact between Horacio and Javier had been strictly business.

Even though there were far more urgent and serious matters at hand, Javier was still struck by the gentle coaxing tone of Horacio’s voice as he interviewed the frightened young woman, whose name was Natalie. He’d seen Colonel Carrillo destroy countless informants and suspects with little more than a menacing glare and a quiet threat, but there were no signs of that here. He was offering to protect her – albeit in exchange for the truth – reminding her that Pablo’s men would most likely want her dead. She frustratingly wouldn’t cooperate and Javier had to remember that they couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to be helped.

Little did anyone know that the plane bombing was just the start of Escobar’s insatiable hunger for fear and intimidation, or ‘negotiating’ as he thought of it as. Bombings became a regular occurrence and Search Bloc were kept occupied with raid after raid, yet they still somehow got no closer to a major breakthrough. Horacio was exhausted. The deep-rooted kind of weariness that seeped into his limbs and tightened every muscle like a wound-up coil, but no amount of sleep eased. Every day felt like one step forwards followed by two steps back. Morale was low among his men and the weight of grief and guilt sat heavily on his shoulders, relentlessly bearing down and crushing him as the collateral damage rapidly stacked up. He considered himself a resilient man, but even he was being tested to the brink.

The current volatile situation also meant neither Horacio or Javier had much time for a life outside of work. Bureaucracy had largely relegated the Americans to the side-lines for the time being, meaning Javier and Steve often found themselves stuck on desk duties at the Embassy, with the exception of an unauthorised operation between the DEA and Search Bloc, which involved the tracking of sicarios’ vehicles around Medellín.

Horacio couldn’t be certain, but he strongly suspected Javier pushed a lot harder than Murphy for that one; a thought which raised an uncharacteristic smirk from Horacio as the three of them stood around the desk in his office planning their next move. Or perhaps it was the heady notes of Javier’s aftershave lingering in his senses, half-drugging him with tantalising memories of bare skin and shared body heat; or the casual yet electric way their fingers collided across the table for the briefest of seconds as they passed photographs back and forth; or it could even have been the fact that Murphy was stood only feet away blissfully unaware of what they had been up to when his back was turned. The sound of Javier clearing his throat snapped Horacio out of his thoughts, and back to Murphy looking expectantly at him, waiting for an answer to a question he hadn’t heard.

Beyond that, they’d hardly seen each other since Tolú, although not from lack of want. With Horacio leading regular raids, Javier began hovering around the surveillance team at the Embassy more than usual. If he got wind of an ongoing Search Bloc operation, he increasingly found himself checking in over the radio. He kept conversation brief and formal, so as not to rouse suspicions; anything to hear Horacio’s voice, to know that he was safe. Equally, Javier’s almost nightly contact stirred a flicker of warmth in Horacio’s chest as he and his men repeatedly charged headfirst into danger. It was always a strange, conflicting ache of relief that Javier was safe, crossed with a selfish desire for him to be by his side.

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Then came the kidnappings. The children of the highly influential – including the former President’s daughter - were the next victims of Escobar’s terrorism; plucked off the streets one by one to act as leverage in his pursuit of megalomania. Thanks to President Gaviria’s high-risk strategy to catch Escobar before he was forced to surrender to his negotiations, the CIA were authorised to undertake fly-overs in order to track sicarios via their satellite phones.

Javier and Steve happened to be driving around the streets of Medellín when they received a radio transmission from the surveillance team with the current location of some known sicarios. They were close by in Comuna 3, but only the two agents were on the ground ready to go, with no Colombian back-up in the vicinity. They knew it was downright dangerous and reckless to venture into the comunas alone, but there was no way they could turn down the chance to potentially catch some of Escobar’s right-hand men.

As soon as they pulled up in Campo Valdés, bullets began to fly. The two sicarios in question – Poison and Sure Shot, as it turned out – had Javier and Steve clambering up and down rooftops, weaving in and out of doorways and knocking over residents’ garden furniture and drying laundry. Javier was pretty sure he was too old for this, as he scrambled over a wall, his knuckles grazing harshly along the sharp edges of broken bricks as he hauled himself upwards.

He thought he’d finally got his man, as he and Sure Shot stood face-to-face, with Javier shouting for him to drop his weapon. Sure Shot obeyed, tossing the gun to the floor and raising his arms in surrender.

Before Javier could celebrate his victory, he noticed a small boy – who couldn’t have been more than eight or nine – out of the corner of his eye. More alarmingly, he clocked the gun in his hand that was now pointing directly at him.

“Let him go!” the boy shouted, his gun never leaving its intended target. Javier was trapped in the middle, his own weapon still trained on the sicario in front of him.

“I don’t want to have to kill you,” Javier warned, but he knew – or at least fucking hoped – it was an idle threat and that the boy probably knew that too.

With Javier’s attention elsewhere, Sure Shot fled the scene, leaving Javier alone in a stand-off with the child, as he turned to face him, both still armed. They stared each other down for several seconds, Javier visibly breathing harder than the boy.

Eventually, the boy ran off without any shots being fired. Javier’s heart pounded painfully in his chest as he collapsed against the wall behind him, grateful for the weight to be taken off his feet before his legs buckled. He glanced down at his gun; suddenly aware it was shaking in his hand. He shoved it in the back of his jeans, unable to stomach looking at it for now, before closing his eyes and huffing out an elongated breath, more from relief that he hadn’t pulled the trigger than anything else.

Steve’s chase had been just as fruitless, with Poison making his escape on a motorbike. Out of breath and battered and bruised, they made their way into the house they’d initially arrived at, only to be met with the horrifying sight of a baby in a highchair with her mother’s bloody and lifeless body lying in the doorway, along with that of her mother’s friend. Javier quickly recognised one of the dead women as Natalie. Horacio had been right and Javier was already feeling the guilt taking hold for not doing more, not that he had any real idea how. The reality of this war had never felt starker as he and Steve crouched down in front of the baby, wondering what the fuck they were going to do with her now.

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It was late afternoon when Javier pulled up at the Carlos Holguín School; the sun dipping low enough for him to need his aviators whilst he’d been driving, but its heat no less forgiving. Steve had made the rash but necessary decision to take the baby back to his and Connie’s in the interim and they’d figure out what to do from there. It went without saying that of the two of them, Steve was the better equipped for childcare responsibilities. Babies were absolutely not Javier’s forte.

With Steve needing to get straight back to Bogotá, Javier was at a loose end. Although, he quite easily could have caught the same flight as Steve, but he’d made an excuse and told him he had planned to meet a potential CI. Under normal circumstances, that would have led to the third degree from Steve, but he was unsurprisingly too distracted and preoccupied to question it this time. The truth was, Javier somehow felt drawn here. He was still digesting the last few hours and there was only one person he wanted – or rather needed – to see. Not that he imagined Horacio would be too happy about his and Steve’s lone adventure into the comunas.

Javier had been right, of course.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing? No back-up, no vests. Do you gringos have a death wish?”

“Well hello to you too,” Javier deadpanned as he shut the door to Horacio’s office. Someone had filled him in already, then. His greeting apparently hadn’t softened Horacio’s stern expression in the slightest.

“I’m serious, Javier.”

“I can see that. Look, I know it was stupid, but what choice did we have?”

“You could have called me, for a start.”

“There wasn’t time! If we’d waited, they’d have been long gone. And – they probably would have killed the baby as well,” Javier explained, his last sentence practically choked out in revulsion.

Horacio couldn’t disagree with that. “Where’s the baby now?” he asked instead.

Even after all this time, Javier still wasn’t used to the abrupt way Horacio’s entire demeanour could shift from one moment to the next. His last question was full of concern and his voice softer, much like it had been when he was interviewing Natalie.

“Steve and his wife took her in for the time being. No fucking clue what they’re gonna do with her.”

Horacio nodded slowly, whilst Javier’s eyes were resolutely angled down to the floor as he overworked his jaw and rested his hands on his hips; both men now at a loss at what to say or do, as they stood in a sombre silence.

“Did something else happen?” Horacio finally queried, scanning Javier’s face for any hint of what he seemed to be holding back.

Javier didn’t respond, but instead moved purposefully away from the door and towards Horacio, who was stood in a small alcove in the corner of the room by one of his desks.

Javier pinned him with a look that seemed to be asking everything and nothing of him all at once. His chest prominently rose and fell as he closed the gap between them; his hands moving up to steady himself on Horacio’s waist as he leaned in to press their foreheads together. He closed his eyes and for the first time in hours – or perhaps days, even weeks – allowed himself to properly breathe. A slow, steady exhale followed by a deep, grounding inhale that was full of Horacio. Faint traces of cigarettes and aftershave provoked his senses, only adding fuel to the fire already blazing inside of him.

Horacio was as still as a mill pond; his arms frozen by his side; unused to this kind of contact in such an exposed setting. He didn’t try to shrug Javier away though; instead allowing him to take what he needed, but not able to fully reciprocate either.

“We can’t do this here. Someone might see us,” Horacio warned in a low whisper.

“Where then?” Javier mumbled in response, as he slowly brushed his nose over Horacio’s and ran his thumbs in circles up and down his sides, catching on the edges of his uniform as the material ghosted over his skin and elicited shivers in its wake.

Horacio was silent for a moment, swallowing stiffly and clenching his fists so tightly, he could feel his own nails digging into his palms. He knew he shouldn’t be letting this happen when he was still working. Any of his men could burst through the door at any moment. Not to mention, he had a stack of paperwork and wiretaps to go through, which usually would have kept him busy well into the night.

“Meet me by my car in ten minutes,” Horacio eventually confirmed, his lips faintly grazing over Javier’s, before he reluctantly stepped out of his hold.

Javier nodded and left the office, swiftly lighting up once outside, anything to distract himself whilst he waited. A thread of tension was running through his body from head to toe, winding so tightly around him, he knew it was in danger of snapping or breaking him at any moment. He just needed to hold on a bit longer.

Meanwhile, Horacio excused himself with a vague cover story that involved following up on some leads across town. He knew no one would dare question him further, plus he was contactable and close by if anything urgent cropped up. A sinking feeling of guilt mixed with a rush of adrenaline simultaneously pulled inside him. He’d never done anything like this before. He knew it was reckless, stupid and irresponsible given his position, and yet a part of him – a part that was currently winning the battle in his head – just couldn’t resist.

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The short drive back to Horacio’s apartment was quiet yet loaded. Javier’s mind weighed heavy with the events of the day, but he couldn’t allow himself to dwell. Not yet. That would come later. For now, his only thoughts were of Horacio. Of how much he needed him in whatever way he was allowed to have him. He stared vacantly out of the window from the passenger’s seat for the majority of the journey, his hands impatiently twitching as they rested on his thighs. Horacio wasn’t faring much better; his grip on the steering wheel becoming more and more vice-like each time he stopped at a traffic light.

Once behind the safety of a closed, locked door, they were all over each other. Frantic, messy kisses in between shedding their outer layers of clothing and shoes, as they moved through the hallway, briefly stopping several times as each man took turns to push the other roughly against the wall before devouring him again.

They eventually made it to Horacio’s bedroom, clumsily stripping out of the rest of their clothes and climbing on to the bed whilst attempting to catch their breath in between heated kisses that were more tongue and teeth than anything else.

Javier soon found himself in Horacio’s lap, straddling his firm thighs as Horacio sat up to chase his lips, securing him in place against his chest with the sheer strength of his arms.

Javier groaned and squirmed as his hardened cock pressed against Horacio’s stomach, unable to resist grinding downwards as he clutched at Horacio’s broad back. So much solid muscle and his fair share of scars and bruises; an indication of just how embroiled Horacio had been in this war and the toll it had taken on his body, yet he’d somehow withstood it all.

“Keep doing that and this will be over far too quickly,” Horacio moaned against Javier’s mouth.

“Doing what exactly? Oh, you mean this?” Javier rasped, as he ground his hips down harder, the change in position surging their cocks together and pulling a string of breathless expletives from each of them in turn.

They were both so wound up and desperate, but Horacio wasn’t ready for this to be over yet. Before Javier could react further, Horacio flipped him over on to his stomach on the bed.

“This is what happens when you get cocky,” Horacio teased, as he reached over to the drawer in his nightstand and pulled out a bottle of lube – noticing the way Javier turned his head to the side with a quirked brow and eyed the bottle with a surprised smirk – before spreading Javier’s legs wider and positioning himself in the space he’d forged.

He liberally applied the lube to his fingers, before circling a digit across Javier’s entrance. Javier keened and arched his back, his nerve endings alight just from the slightest touch.

Horacio continued, sliding one finger in and gradually working past the resistance he felt as he eased it back and forth several times, before adding a second and rubbing his free hand soothingly across Javier’s lower back in a bid to relax him further. Ideally, he would have taken more time dragging this part out, but Javier was already whimpering and writhing beneath him and even Horacio had his limits.

He coated his own length in lube, before lining himself up and pushing into Javier, causing them both to gasp in unison at the overwhelming relief. Finally. The last few weeks had been torturous for many reasons, but this was what they’d both been craving; needing to find release and comfort in each other amid the chaos and devastation that surrounded them. Of course, they knew it would all still be there waiting for them tomorrow, but for now, there was only the two of them joined together, lost in the sensation and the heat of each other’s bodies.

Horacio began to move, slow yet deep. Each thrust pushing him further inside of Javier and extracting a plethora of pleasing noises that still managed to consume Horacio’s senses despite being dulled by the pillow Javier was moaning into.

For several moments, Horacio kept still; allowing his full weight to be supported by Javier’s back, as his arms fell forwards pinning him in place. He could feel himself throbbing against Javier’s tight walls and knew how easy it would be just to nudge forwards, yet for a short while he resisted. Instead, luxuriating in being held inside him, feeling the exquisite warmth and stretch around his leaking cock, their shaky breaths and his own pulse loud in his ears.

All Javier could do was grasp at Horacio’s fingers on the bed, any attempt to shift his hips backwards immediately denied by the imposing strength above him.

“Horacio, please,” Javier eventually whined, delirious and aching for any sort of movement.

“Please, what?”

“Please fuck me,” Javier pleaded. In any other circumstance and with anyone else, he would have loathed sounding so needy, but this was what Horacio drove him to.

Hearing Javier beg to be fucked was all it took for Horacio’s hips to plough forwards, not holding anything back this time. He repeated the motion over and over in a relentless rhythm, grunting with the force of each movement; pounding Javier further into the mattress and causing his cock to inadvertently rut against it at the same time.

Javier was powerless to do anything but take everything Horacio had to give him, his jaw slack against the pillow and his mewling growing louder each time Horacio hit at just the right angle.

They both knew this couldn’t last for long. It was all so much, more than they were used to, more than anything they’d experienced before.

It took several more vigorous thrusts before Horacio’s hips stilled and his breath caught in his chest as though the air had just been punched out of him. Javier felt more than heard the shuddering growl behind him. The vibrations reverberated through their connected bodies as Horacio emptied himself deep inside of Javier, his torso and arms possessively caging him in as he climaxed.

A familiar word was in danger of escaping Horacio’s lips as he came, but he held it in by the skin of his teeth. A word that had echoed around his head every day since they had arrived back from Tolú, every day they had been kept apart by circumstances beyond their control. A word he probably had no real right to think, let alone speak out loud, but feared one day he would, because the urge was too visceral not to. Mine.

The sensation of hot, thick spurts filling him was enough to push Javier over the edge as the thread that had threatened to snap for weeks finally gave way; his back arching and his toes curling as he spilled copiously over the sheets and his stomach. His strangled groans were muted by the pillow; stars forming behind his lidded eyes from the all-consuming pleasure surging through his veins as he finally had gotten what he’d needed, what he’d stayed in Medellín for, what he’d craved with every fibre of his being.

Horacio stayed buried inside of Javier for a short while as their breathing evened out. His mouth peppered tender kisses across Javier’s neck and shoulders; confident that a lot of the tension had been dispelled from his tight, aching muscles, as he felt similar respite in his own for the first time in weeks.

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They had no concept of time as they lay tangled together, dozing lightly as they tried to pretend for as long as possible that the outside world didn’t exist. The sun had long since set and there appeared to be an unspoken agreement that Javier was staying the night. It wasn’t unusual for him to stop over in hotels in Medellín, especially if he’d made use of one of the local brothels – either for work or pleasure – but this was a first. He’d never even been inside Horacio’s apartment before, let alone in his bed. He was more accustomed to brief encounters that ended with either him or his bedfellow disappearing into the night. Between tonight and what happened in Tolú, it – whatever it was – was starting to become a habit. An addictive, intoxicating habit at that.

Javier eventually sat up against the headboard, post-coital cigarette in place between his lips. Horacio lay facing him, one arm propped up on the pillow whilst he used his other to lazily trace patterns up and down Javier’s bare skin.

“You ready to talk about it yet?” Horacio dared to ask, bursting the bubble they had cocooned themselves in.

Javier indulged in his cigarette before sighing in defeat. He had always assumed it was the way Horacio posed his questions and the tone he used when asking them. But if he was honest with himself, a pattern was starting to emerge, suggesting it was something else repeatedly compelling him to talk.

“There was another kid. Besides the baby, I mean. He pulled a gun on me. Couldn’t have been more than eight or nine.”

“Fuck,” was all Horacio could say for a moment. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t shoot him if that’s what you’re asking. But it crossed my mind that I might have to. Told him I didn’t want to kill him before he ran off – as if that makes it any better.” Javier let out a humourless laugh and rubbed the heel of his hand across his forehead with his cigarette still dangling between his fingers.

“You were held at gunpoint. Sometimes, you just have to do whatever it takes to survive.”

“And that includes shooting kids now, does it? Jesus Christ, Horacio.”

Javier hadn’t eaten for several hours, but he was confident the gnawing discomfort in his stomach was disgust rather than hunger. Disgust that the cartels so routinely used local kids to do their dirty work for them but mostly disgust for allowing himself to be put in that position in the first place, for contemplating pulling the trigger even for a fraction of a second, for trying to rationalise the difference in his head between what he could have done and what the sicarios could have done to the now orphaned baby sleeping in Steve’s and Connie’s apartment.

“Except you didn’t shoot him,” Horacio countered.

“No, but I could have done.”

“I don’t think you really believe that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you made a choice, Javier. You could have been killed, and you still didn’t do it. That’s how I’m sure.”

Before Javier had chance to argue further, Horacio leaned in and kissed him, slow and tender. It seemingly had the desired effect on Javier, who responded at an equally unhurried pace, his dark, racing thoughts soon melting away to be replaced with Horacio’s soft lips and warm body.

Despite everything, sleep came easier to both of them than it had done in weeks, as once more Javier drifted off with Horacio’s arms encasing him. However, they awoke in the early hours, seeking out each other’s mouths and touch in the half-light of the bedroom. There was still an unsated edge of desperation in the way they explored, tasted and gratified; unsure when they would get the opportunity for this again. Uncertain of the dangers ahead for them both and unwilling to admit that fear out loud, but this feeling like the closest thing to a confession.

For there were always dangers and unknowns lurking on the horizon when a country was at war. Moments of calm, escape or solace had to be cherished and savoured, as there were no guarantees. All they could do was cling to each other whenever they got the chance; taking what they needed before heading back to the frontline for more of the same. Except, nothing was the same, now. The stakes had been raised and without even necessarily knowing it, both men had more to lose than ever before.

#Narcos fic #Narcos #Javier Peña #Horacio Carrillo #Carrillo #Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo #Pedro Pascal #Maurice Compte #My Narcos fic #Narcos fanfic #Narcos fan fic #My Fan Fic #Fan Fiction #Fan Fic #Narcos fanfiction #Narcos fan fiction

49 notes · View notes

aliaslua · 3 years

Text

Right to live

Chapter 02 of my on going series: In broad daylight

Chapter summary: Michelangelo has a productive therapy session after his interview. April and Casey announce their wedding and in a jealousy crisis, Donatello has his first one-night-stand. Warning: This chapter contain light smut (mature, not explicit) if you're a minor please DON'T INTERACT. TW: Trauma mention (nothing too graphic or descriptive, but it does contain a short account of a panic attack).

Michelangelo started therapy after his first panic attack.

It was - maybe - the worst night of his life. At that point in time he didn’t even knew what a trigger was - and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to identify or anticipate his reaction. If felt like he was dying in a literal, visceral sense. It was like having a bomb growing inside his shell, the beating counting down to a heart attack, he felt his lips cold, his head heavy and the touch of Donatello’s hand in his shoulders felt cold against his skin for the first time in his life. He could still remembers his brothers calling to him and his inhuman effort to look them in the eyes, just as he gazed into the house he grew up in and didn’t recognize the color of the new floor tiles.

The rest was a blur.

Dr. Miller was April’s last effort to persuade Leo and Raph that Mikey needed professional counseling. At this point, Mikey didn't have enough will to have a strong opinion on his treatment, he didn't have the will to do anything, really. All his days were spent sleeping by day and having terrible night anxiety, followed by an earth-shattering cry until morning, when he went back to sleep. Despite their best effort to care for and protect the younger sibling, all of his brothers knew that he had become impossible to handle - and more important than that, his emotional and physical dependency got so intense that it was perfectly clear that there was nothing they could do: Michelangelo need help, professional help.

On the first day they entered Dr. Miller’s office, April had reassured everybody she had send the therapist recent photos of Mikey and explained all his possible triggers in detail. The clinic would open two hours early so that they could have privacy and that this first encounter would include Mikey, his brothers and Sara Miller only.

Mikey was so nervous he felt like this situation alone would end up triggering his next attack: his hands were sweaty, his chest heavy and the feeling in his stomach made him realize that maybe he would throw up all those recent pizza slices. When the door to her office opened, he felt an immediate relief upon looking at her.

Sara (as he would start calling her later) was a 67 years old black woman, wearing a knitted cardigan and a puffy ponytail. She looked at him with eyes free from any king of judgment: any kind of feeling at all, actually, it was very… neutral. After gazing at him and his brothers she had smiled lightly and then calmly said:

"Good morning. I am Dr. Miller. Are you Michelangelo?" Mikey just nodded " Welcome. Please, come in.”

So he did, on that Monday morning and all the next yet to come, for two years straight.

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

“Did you see the interview?” Mikey asked just as he entered her office, not even worrying about greeting Sara.

“Yes I did.” She answered with the same peaceful deep voice, unbothered by the absence of a greet “You looked very handsome.”

“I sure did!” The mutant turtle seated at the large red sofa, his body melting in the comfortable cushions, he grabbed one of the small pillows behind him and held it tight against his chest “Ugh! It was so fun!”

Sara smiled. She always gave him a kind of smile that made Mikey feel like she was the perfect embodiment of a fairytale grandma and for the first time, Michelangelo actually considered she might actually be someone else’s grandmother.

“I am glad to hear that. Did you do the exercises he practiced?”

Mikey hummed “It helped. But what really made all difference was that Leo was there. And April. Oh, April is getting married!” He announced “She and Casey told us about the engagement just after we all saw the interview air. It was a great night.” He stopped for a minute and laid his head against the couch, focusing on the abstract painting that always caught his attention since the first day he sat there, he knew his voice let out a sadness he was trying to hide. He didn’t need to pretend there.

“It was… Weird, I guess… Like, I should be happy for them, right? Casey is a nice man, he treats her right, they already have a life together, an apartment with a huge TV and an aquarium… I can’t argue with that, right? Right?” Sara didn’t answer, Michelangelo laid his head completely on the couch, staring at the sealing “She was my first love…. Or something like it. I feel so attached to her and…” He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, trying to measure all the feelings filling his chest “...I think I… Should I feel happy for her? Because I felt… Huh, I felt betrayed.”

“Do you feel resentment?” Dr. Miller finally asked, gazing calmly at him.

“Yeah, I guess… I didn’t know what I expected... and I don’t want to marry April. Not anymore, I mean. She is like a sister to me. No! It’s more than that… She’s like… I- It just.. it was all so fast! Everything is so fast right now, and she decided to announce just as the interview ended and I felt so… I felt so overshadowed!”

“You felt it was your night.”

“It WAS my night. And I don’t mean to sound selfish, you know? I just… Wished they had waited.”

Sara looked at her patient making a conscious effort to avoid giving away her own feelings, the enormous man in front her had a gloomy expression and tired eyes.

“Mikey, is not the first time you mention feeling like this.”

“Like what?”

“ Overshadowed .” She quoted him.

“Yeah… I guess it's something I’ve been feeling for a while.”

“You mentioned once that you felt… Smushed, is the word you used.”

“Yeah. Smushed between my brothers.”

“Hmm” Sara nodded “What about that?”

“Well, you know about that… They are all special in their own way. Leo is the leader, Raph is the muscle, Donnie is the genius, I am the… Comic relief?”

“You sound like you are all characters of a cartoon.”

“We look like it!” Mikey said, humorous. Sara did her best to contain a tiny smile that formed in her cheeks.

“Well, you are your own person, Mikey. You don’t have to fulfill an imaginary role you fantasized for yourself.”

“Yeah I feel like you’re always telling me that.” He sighed “What this has to do with April?”

“You were telling me about her engagement…”

“Yeah. It was crazy… I mean, me, Leo and Raph kept it together but Donnie just… Bolted.” A nervous laugh escaped him “She told the news and he just… Left. I guess it was too much for him. You know, April was the only person we knew for so long… It was only natural to fall for her, right? She’s so nice, kind, and after the expected first meeting shock she treated us with… Dignity is the world Master Splinter likes to use... But then we all grew out of it.”

A long silence followed before he complemented:

“I guess Donnie didn’t”

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

Donatello felt his feet too tight against the leather shoe and considered for the third time on that evening that maybe this was a terrible idea.

Ignoring his own better judgement, he knocked.

Alicia Ellis awakened in him two utterly contradictory and madding feelings: disgust and lust.

Many times he had tried - and succeeded- at disguising the amount of attention he paid to her body, especially since the context they first met didn’t allowed for flirtatious endeavors and despite knowing his physical body was searching it’s hormonal peak, Donatello proud himself on being utterly respectful: an effort that he felt he was making alone. Ellis never even tried to hide her indiscreet wants, playing with their encounters just enough to not be considered harassment, but clear enough to not allow ambiguity. Was that even possible? Donnie asked himself. Did it even matter now?

He felt disgusted mostly towards himself, actually, knowing full well why he had come to her apartment after that eventful night, just as the women he thought he could win over announced her engagement to the man he honestly felt he could one day surpass - pathetic, he beat himself again, cringing at the mere fact he once imagined a possible future for them, together. What a pathetic, emotional, delusional monster you are, dreaming about the pretty girl that once held your hand… And now you surrender to your most selfish desire, luring this woman who will be stupid enough to let you in.

This is going to ruin you. Was the last thing he thought before she opened the door.

She was astonishingly beautiful, with her thick luxurious wavy hair and round plump figure, pressed against a tight outfit he didn’t have enough interest to notice in detail.

“Took you long enough.” She said in a malicious tone, grabbing him by his belt. The apartment was warm, had a delicious floral smell and it was lit in subtle yellow light that mimicked candles. It was sexy, inviting and terribly scary, just like her.

This is going to ruin me . The feeling echoed towards Donnie as he willfully closed the door behind him.

It wasn’t hard for him to understand why a woman like her would take interest in being with a man like him, the internet had allowed Donnie to have a very indiscreet access to the human world - especially since people seemed really comfortable in sharing online things they wouldn’t even tell a best friend - and he knew way before they even came out to the surface that most probably wouldn’t be difficult to find someone willing to share a bed with him. Alicia was just a part of a very niche - yet not so small as one may think - group.

The thought brought him a small relief and a strike of courage that he much needed at that moment.

“I didn’t think you would come.” She said, bringing two glasses of a clear-yellow liquid. What an inappropriate move to bring a glass of white wine to a young adult not-yet-of-age , his better judgment told him as he accepted the glass, but wasn’t he 21 yet? Yes, he was... Maybe it was just judgment.

“Me neither” He answered after a sigh, too honest for his own sake.

“What changed your mind?” She mischievously asked, crossing her legs in an angle that brushed against his knee.

Donatello considered for a minute to said the truth, my heart was broken and honestly I really want to have sex, how would she respond to that? Was there a polite way of saying it? Instead, he said: “I’ve decided to change my approach on things.”

“Oh, really?” She smiled honestly “...And how’s that gonna happen?”

I will take every opportunity that life gives me, irrespective of its consequences, “I’ll stop sabotaging my wants…” He turned his body a little bit in her direction, he had planned a second sentence to follow but it seemed like he had already said all she needed to hear.

She slid her knee between his legs to climb his lap, brushing the space between the buttons of his shirt lightly. How quickly she hopped on top of him and how quickly his body responded to the feel of her warm perfumed breath against his neck. “That’s great to hear.”

It wasn’t Donatello’s first kiss but the tension of feeling the soft lips of a woman he barely knew nothing about added to the oh-so-suggestive friction of her thighs against his zipper made it an entirely new experience. If he granted himself a moment of reason, Donnie would most likely find her too hurried and eager - but again, what was his experience in this field? Wasn’t this how the encounter should go? What else was he expecting? Independent of what his reason may have considered, the friction of her palms against the now prominent bulge in his pants added to the delicious sounds coming from her throat made every single indecision go away.

He felt his head light and dizzy as their tongues danced against each other and the urge to feel relief made him bold. She answered the squeeze he gave her bottom with an audible moan that gave Donatello’s stomach a cold wave of shock along with the first visible stain in between his paints. She felt the thickness of his fluid against the fabric and smiled against his lips.

“Such a passionate… response.” She said in what sounded like a performative tone - well, she was a journalist.

He took her incentive and slide her tube dress above her ass, stoking it as he lowered his lips to her neck. Her skin was soft and the way it reacted to his mouth - the small flinches of her body and the building pressure between his legs could only compare to the amazing feeling of her silk soft thigh skin. She used her hands to guide his head further down, lowering the piece of garment herself, he instinctively took one of her nipples in his mouth, enjoying the contrast between the soft skin of her breasts and the beaded texture of her nipples.

When Alicia laid her body against him on the couch, he followed her moves and felt the soft pillow against his head, the discreet but unmistakable sound of his zipper being opened followed by her stocked gasp at his member followed by “Oh I’m gonna have fun tonight!”. Donatello held her waist closer to his own, trying to reach her lips again, wondering if he could say the same. The warmth between her legs and the delicious feeling that jolted through his body and she aligned him to her entry - and the irresistible pleasure of feeling his tip tease her plump lips - made him think that the most likely answer was yes .

...And what an unnecessary concern the wine proved to be: he didn’t even get to drink it.

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

“...you know, Raph made a friend.” Mikey had stood on his feet and now looked through the squared window. He had a regular habit of standing up during the sessions, usually as they were reaching the middle of the appointment. Sara it wrote down anyway, before adding:

“Really?”

Mikey hummed “...It’s a complicated story - but he left to buy a bear, this old man didn’t want to sell it to him, so he got really angry, so someone threatened to call the police, so he started to freak out and then this… girl appeared!” He was switching his body height between his legs “Clara. What a name! Heh- I don’t get to say that, huh? Well, her name was Clara and he said she looked like an anime version of a character from Fresh prince of bel air … Can you imagine?” He turned to look at her. Sara just nodded.

“Wanna hear some really crazy stuff? Raph told me that they were talking and she told him she saw my interview… and she said she was in love with me!” He offered his therapist an incredulous happy smile “ME! Can you believe it?”

Sara hummed and made another note.

“I know she was kidding, I don’t think she loves me. But saying it like this sounds like… Like I am a celebrity! Like she would like to know me… Like…”

“Like you have been seen.”

“HELL YEAH!” He exclaimed, sitting down on the couch again grabbing his trust-worthy pillow “... And that sucker didn’t even got her number…” A deep sigh followed silence. Very discreetly, Dr. Miller checked her watch.

“It doesn’t matter, really, it just made me realize… That I wished I had someone…”

More silence.

“-I know I already have someone, if that's what you’re gonna say… I know my brothers are my care net and that I have friends and confidants, and bla bla bla”.

“Well I wasn’t going to…” She said peacefully.

“ I want… A lover . Someone to be my special one. Someone to cherish and spoil and share my life with! Someone who can say they’re in love with me… For real.”

More deep silence.

“... And why don’t you?” She finally prompted. Michelangelo turned to look at her with a impatient expression:

“Are you kiddin’ me?”

“I am definitely not.”

“You can’t be that cynical!”

“I am not.”

“Sara…” He sighed uneasily “... not this again.” she heard pain in his words.

“You have the right to live, Mikey.” She gazed at him with the same kind eyes, letting her strong words get to him “...Just like anyone else.”

This time, that was an anxious silence. Michelangelo rubbed his hands together as if he was facing a cold storm “What if it happens again?”

“Then you will do what we practiced.” She waited for an answer that didn’t come “... Do you wanna remember it once again with me?”

He simply nodded.

“I am more…” She started.

“...than people perceive me.”

“I’ve the right…”

“...to occupy space.”

“No one…”

“No one can deny me my right to live.”

“That was great, Mikey.” Dr. Miller said kindly.

He squeezed the tears away from his eyes, not even realizing they were there. “...Yeah… Yeah, it was.”

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

It was certainly.... Memorable , Donatello thought, staring at his brand new shoes as they made the path back to the lair. How was it again that he found himself in that situation? That sad looking, empty feeling, walk-of-shame. Oh, yeah, Alicia Ellis.

Something felt terrible wrong about that whole endeavor. He tried to think about the details, to analyze the facts: it has been clearly consensual, sober, communicative sex. So why did he feel like some part of him had been left behind in that apartment? Was it his clear shyness when they finally consumed the act or her generous overlook at his even clearer lack of experience? Had him fail his mission? Factually not! He performed… Fine - it was hard to measure, but she seemed pleased enough. He was also pleased… Physically, at least.

So why did he feel so… Empty?

He walked among the streets of New York without the concern his older brother seemed to carry. Donatello was always really good at not carrying - just as he was good at carrying too much . Oh, yes, his overthinking nature was still going to kill him, no matter how hard he tried to pretend like it didn’t matter at all.

Nothing mattered, everything mattered. What a contradictory and childish state of mind. Could he ever find balance? Would he ever be able to take risks and still be prudent? To be disappointed and not lose all faith? To love deeply and move over from it, stronger and ready to love again? Did he ever truly love her ?

He remembered her ring shining against the light, mocking his defeat. A zirconium, Casey Jones… Can’t even buy her a real diamond . He muttered to himself and the night, kicking a small rock in the path.

The worst part, the real strike of the devil - was the fact that she looked immensely happy. Heartbreakingly happy. And there was nothing, nothing in this world that Donnie could think that could justify taking this away from her - not even the fantasy that she could be happier.

He took a deep breath and grabbed the keys in his pocket. That was no way out of it: we would have to get over her. At least now he knew that running away to unknown women’s homes was not a viable solution.

#TMNT #TMNT Michelangelo #TMNT Donatello #TMNT Bayverse #tmnt smut #tmnt fanfic #in broad daylight #it took so long but I am really proud #the response to the first chapter was been lukewarm but I am happy with it anyway #mikey is my baby

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ssajj · 4 years

Text

Francis Forever

Five years ago, you ran away from Spencer. When a case brings him back into your life, you both realize how unfinished you left things.

3.4k, fem!reader

Warnings for the past death of Y/N’s family, mental health struggles

It’s stupidly hard to breathe, even more difficult to not start cursing out your therapist, who had been the one to recommend this trip. Go home, she’d said. Tie up the loose ends that keep threatening to strangle you. Well, you’re here now and everything feels worse. But you’re sick of running, so you push your shoulders back and walk into the dingy check-in room at the motel you picked. Five minutes later, you walk back out, key digging into the palm of your hand.

It’s been almost five years since the last time you were here. You’d held out as long as you could, hesitant to leave him, even if it was killing you. He’d noticed, of course he had. He was too smart and caring not to, and so he’d been the one to buy you the train ticket.

You’d promised to call.

You hadn’t.

The last time you’d met up with her, your therapist had brought up the idea of calling him. You’d promptly gone into a panic attack, whimpering that you couldn’t see him, not after you’d run away from him, ignoring that his worst fear was abandonment, stomping on his fragile heart in an attempt to save yours. Once she’d settled you enough that the tears were drying, she agreed that you wouldn’t have to see him if you didn’t want to.

You miss him, though. You do. You think about him more often than you want to admit, wondering how he’s doing, if he’s eating enough, if he’s still in the same job, if he thinks about you, if he’s happy, if he’s moved on in a way you haven’t managed yet. There isn’t a good point in wondering all of those things, especially considering you have no plans on seeing him while you’re here. In fact, you’re aiming to leave the motel room as little as you possibly can.

In your sleep, you dream about him.

“Y/N!” Spencer laughs, grabbing you at the waist and sweeping you off your feet. He spins you around like you’re a princess. This has quickly become a habit: he’s gone for a long case and then smothers you in affection when he comes back. You’ve already told him that he doesn’t need to feel guilty for being gone for so long. So far, he hasn’t been listening.

Taking advantage of your sudden height, you kiss the top of his nose, liking the blush that spreads across his cheeks. He puts you down after another second. You stay close to him. Even if you don’t like it when he feels bad, you really did miss him.

“How was the case?” You ask.

Now that he isn’t touching you, he fiddles with the end of your scarf. Throughout your relationship, you’ve noticed that he likes being close. Some days he’s okay with physical touch and some days he isn’t; regardless, he’s always either hovering near you or playing with an item of your clothing when you’re together. It should be stifling, would be if it was anyone else, but it’s terribly endearing when it’s him. There’s a gentle air to everything he does, the love evident throughout his words and actions. You don’t know if you deserve it. Hell, one of your worst fights ever with him was about that exact topic. Even if you don’t deserve it though, it makes you feel safe. He makes you feel safe.

He pulls a little at the scarf. “Good. We got him before he could kill his last victim.”

You don’t know how Spencer sees the things he does at work. Every once in awhile, you’ll watch the press conferences the team does, look up the cases they’re on or they solved previously. Bile always rises in your throat. You love him, you love his team, but you hate his job. You hate that he’s in danger, that he could end up like your family did, dead and alone. He knows this. He also knows that you’d never ask him to quit.

He doesn’t seem to be aware that you’re thinking too hard, since he keeps talking. “Rossi’s having a family dinner at his house tomorrow night. He said I’m legally obligated to bring you.”

You snort. “Legally obligated?”

“The logic wasn’t very sound,” he agrees, letting go of your scarf to brush the hair that was falling into your face. “I agree with his premise, though. You should come. They all miss you.”

“Alright,” you say, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder. “I miss them too.”

Three days after you get to the city, you leave the motel room for the first time, bundled up in an oversized sweatshirt and jeans. Normally, you try to dress up a little more, although you weren’t one to make yourself uncomfortable to look cute. You respect the hell out of those girls, though. They always look bomb.

Walking around the city was nicer than you thought it was going to be. The weather was just as you remembered, crisp but not cold enough to make you shiver. You end up at a park, feet swinging back and forth. The bench isn’t terribly comfortable. You don’t mind, though. It’s been near impossible for you to relax, so sitting here is the closest you’ve been able to get. It looks like it’ll start raining soon and other people start clearing out of the area. You don’t move, though. Once it falls, you let it hit your skin, let it cool the burning panic that’s been lying dormant since you arrived.

The second week in, the person in the room next to you gets murdered. You wake up to a scream, can hear something banging around. An idiot would join in on the chaos, would get themselves killed. That isn’t you, though, so you wait quietly, grab the knife you keep at your nightstand. Five minutes after you hear a door slam, you figure you’re safe enough to make a phone call. Red and blue lights come not long after, making you kiss any opportunity of a good night’s sleep goodbye.

After they interview you, you can hear whispers about this turning serial. You know where you used to live, you know the area, you know who they’re going to call. You bow your head and do your best to mentally prepare for this.

The BAU is there within an hour. Hotch sees you first. His eyes widen, only for a second. He’s too much of a professional for your presence to throw him off your game, even if you do see him glance back. When he approaches you, only JJ is with him. She has a stronger reaction to seeing you.

“Y/N?” She asks, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

“Reid isn’t here,” Hotch tells you before you can answer. “He’s at another crime scene.”

You don’t know how you feel about that. Every emotion within you is at war. You wring your hands together, looking down in your lap. “My therapist suggested that I visit,” you shrug. “Exposure therapy or something.” They ask you the same questions that the officers ask you. You’ve never seen them mid investigation before, but they’re nothing like how they were back when you were still dating Spencer. Or maybe this was just because they hated you now.

Hotch walks off first, phone held tightly against his ear. That leaves you awkwardly hovering near JJ, who hasn’t taken her eyes off of you this entire time.

“What do you want to say?”

She flattens her lips, an expression Spencer told you a lot about. It was her angry face. “He’s going to find out that you’re back.”

“I know.”

“Were you going to tell him that you’re back?”

You shake your head. “I’m not staying, JJ. Like I said, this was my therapist’s idea.”

The disappointed look she gives you makes you want to rip your heart out and let her stomp on it.

“You need to talk to me!” Spencer is trying not to shout. You can tell by his posture, the way his voice catches at the end. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on!”

You’re angry. You’re angrier than you have any right to be. You know he’s just doing the best he can. Instead of saying any of that, you just keep yelling. “It’s none of your business!”

“You’re my girlfriend. I love you.”

The words make you flinch. You see him go completely still, like he just lost against Medusa. He probably thought Medusa was preferable to you right now. He’s hurt, you know he is. You’d never flinched away from him before, never had a reason to. You still don’t. Not a good one, anyway.

“I need to go,” you choke out. He lets you go without protest.

It takes eight hours for Spencer to show up outside your hotel room. Either Hotch and JJ kept your return a secret until the team was done for the night, or he knew and wasn’t allowed to leave.

He knocks on your door. You hesitate for a beat too long before answering, opening it just enough to let him inside.

“Y/N,” he breathes. You don’t look at him. You can’t. Earlier, you’d promised yourself that you wouldn’t run from this or cry over it. Your therapist better be god damn proud of you for this one. “You’re here.”

“Yeah.“

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him start to reach for you. He stops himself, his hand falling back to his side. “When did you get here?”

“The beginning of the month,” you tell him. “I don’t know if JJ or Hotch mentioned, but it’s a part of my therapy. Coming back for a little bit.”

He finally finds the nerve to touch you, tugging at your sleeve. “Why won’t you look at me?”

You take a deep breath before forcing your gaze up. He’s just as beautiful as you remember, almost angelic. It makes you want to crumble on the spot, especially once you register the heartbroken look on his face.

“Why are you here?” You finally ask.

When you were eight, your entire family was murdered. It’s something you wait months to tell Spencer, once he starts bringing up taking you to meet his mother.

“Oh, god,” he says after a moment. He gathers you in his arms, holds you as you cry into him, wipes away your tears when you finally pull away, kisses your cheeks, shushes you when you try to apologize.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

Spencer is sitting on your bed, legs curled underneath him. He tries to get you to sit with him, but you refuse. Something about standing during this makes you feel less like you’ve lost any and all control.

“You never called.”

You close your eyes. “I know.”

“I wanted to let you have your space, I just didn’t-” he cuts himself off momentarily. “I didn’t think you were going to leave me.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s not enough. It isn’t close to enough. “I wasn’t strong enough to come back. I’m a coward. And selfish. I shouldn’t have run like that.”

When you open your eyes, he’s blurry. You belatedly realize that you’re starting to cry, notice that he is too.

“It’s okay to run. I just wanted you to talk to me, or come back, or something. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

You start to say that he did nothing, but he shakes his head.

“No,” he protests. “Not nothing. I didn’t help you. I knew you were struggling, I knew your PTSD was flaring up again, and I did the wrong things. I let you pull away, I didn’t fight hard enough for you to go back to therapy.” He takes a few deep breaths. “When the love of your life is struggling to stand upright, you let her lean against you. And I was too busy with work to be there for you.”

You sit down on the bed.

It’s incredibly obvious how much Spencer loves his mother. He talks about her constantly, updates you on her life, and worries endlessly in the periods where she isn’t doing well. So before you ever meet her, you know that her opinion matters enough to him that it could end your relationship.

“Y/N?” You hear him call for you, poking his head into the room. “Are you ready? Oh, you look really nice.”

It’s about time to leave. You’re in the hotel room, having just gotten ready to go meet Diana. It took you an embarrassingly long time to pick your outfit, since you really wanted to impress her. If she doesn’t like you, you’re fully prepared to start freaking out.

“I’m ready,” you say with almost no confidence.

He must hear the nerves in your voice, since he comes fully into the room, approaching you and putting his arms around your waist. “She’ll love you.”

You’re not sure if you believe him. You go with him anyway, watching him chatting with all the nurses as you waved awkwardly at them. After a few minutes of this, you’re finally standing in front of Diana Reid.

She pulls you into a hug before you can say anything. “Y/N!”

“Mom, don’t smother her,” Spencer chides gently, pulling you away from her. You smile a little when you can see a blush growing across his face.

“Sorry, sorry,” Diana says, grinning. “It’s just so nice to finally meet you. He talks about you all the time, you know?”

You smirk, looking back at your boyfriend. “Oh, really?”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it.

Before long, Spencer has to leave the two of you alone so he can go talk to one of Diana’s doctors. You can tell he’s hesitant about it, but he kisses both of you on the top of your heads before he leaves.

“He’s happy,” she tells you. “He’s really happy with you.” Now you’re the one blushing. “I really love him,” you confess. “I don’t know what I did to deserve someone as amazing as your son, but I feel incredibly lucky.”

She grabs your hand and squeezes it. “Thank you for looking after him.”

Spencer gets called back to work before you two can finish talking.

“Please stay here until the case is over,” he takes your hand, squeezing it tight. “I’m not letting you slip away again, okay? If you don’t want me anymore, you’re going to have to say it to my face.”

You don’t say anything. A small smile tugs at Spencer’s lips. He kisses your forehead before he runs off.

“You know, I never pictured Reid settling down,” Morgan tells you.

You’re all at JJ’s house for Henry’s birthday. The two of you had snatched up a table early in the afternoon, lounging as you watch everyone. So far, you’ve seen Will give JJ a piggyback ride, Penelope down two jello shots before declaring that a life of crime and alcohol just wasn’t for her, Emily and Rossi fight over who has more money, Hotch finger painting with Jack, and Henry chase Spencer around the yard. Morgan’s drinking a beer, you’re drinking a juice box.

You hum. “Do you think he’s happy?”

“Who?” Morgan looks over at you. “Reid? Duh. He’s happier than I’ve ever seen him.”

“We’ve been fighting lately.”

“It happens,” Morgan shrugs. “You should see Will and JJ go at it. That is not a woman I’d want to piss off. It’ll be fine, Y/N.”

You nod, even as this feels like the beginning of the end.

The BAU doesn’t think you’re in any danger, although that doesn’t do much to soothe you. All you can picture is your family, how were all supposed to be safe, how you came home on a Thursday after school and found your entire world bleeding and lifeless on the floor. You think Spencer’s aware of this. He messages you constantly, sending updates on the case as well as cute animal pictures. The latter makes you laugh, even though it’s a little wet. He’s trying to be here for you.

You know the second the case ends. Twenty minutes later, Spencer is back at your door.

“I didn’t know if you’d still be here,” he says breathlessly, and you realize he must have rushed over as fast as possible.

“We have stuff to talk about,” you shrug.

The two of you sit on the bed and face each other. It’s silent for a long beat before either of you speak.

“I miss you.” Spencer talks first. “Y/N. I think- I think you’re it for me. And it’s okay if you don’t want to be with me. I’ll respect it. But I want to try again.”

You make yourself keep looking at him. “I hurt you.”

He nods. “We hurt each other, I think. I’m not saying we don’t have things to work on. We do. But I’m not ready to let you go again.”

The day after you leave Spencer, your phone never stops ringing. He’s usually the one calling, but there’s a few from Morgan and Garcia, too. You don’t answer any of them, choosing instead to sit alone and cry so hard you throw up.

When he kisses you for the first time in years, it feels familiar in the best possible way. He always kisses with his entire body, pressing up against you and framing your face with his hands. He holds you like you’re something special, like you’re a priceless treasure he’s protecting with his life. Tonight, you aren’t going to do anymore more than kiss. You’re both feeling vulnerable and uncertain, your second chance at a relationship newly established. You don’t need it to go any further, though. You already feel happy enough to burst at the seems.

Now that you’re back together, you promise each other to be better about working through bad days together. Needless to say, you’re both prone to bad days.

You haven’t officially moved back to the area yet, but you’ve been spending a lot of time there, thankful that you’re able to do a large portion of your job on your computer.

“Y/N!” You hear him shout when he comes into his apartment. You suck in a breath, taking note of the panic that’s laced through his voice. You put your computer down, rushing out into the living room. He practically slams into you, pulling you into a hug and picking you up. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around him to keep your balance.

“Hey, hey,” you soothe. “What’s going on?”

“Family annihilator. I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop thinking about you and I just-”

Your blood chills and you both hold onto each other a little tighter. “I know, sweetheart.”

He carries you to the bed, where he gently lays you down before settling his body on top of yours. You press kisses to the skin you can reach until he relaxes.

You fall asleep in each other’s arms.

“I’m having a bad day,” you whisper into the phone. It’s a weekend that you’re home, even if its been feeling less like home lately.

“What’s wrong, love?”

It’s hard to keep your voice from rising to a wail. “I don’t know.”

He tries to comfort you over the phone, but it’s only somewhat effective. When you two hang up, you’re still feeling weird and empty. He texts you periodically, making sure that you aren’t spiriling again and calling you the time you don’t answer him.

The next morning, he surprises you by showing up at your apartment. He sweeps you into a hug, closing the door behind him and resting his chin on the top of your head. You feel yourself melt into his arms. “What are you doing here?” “You needed me,” he says, like it’s that simple. Maybe it is. “So I’m here.”

Two months later, you wake up next to him, running your fingers through his hair. It’s a fluffy disaster, making it a bit of a task to not get your hand tangled up in it. You’d hardly want him to wake up because you were yanking his hair out accidentally.

He wakes up not long after you do, a smile already playing on his lips. “Morning,” he mumbles.

“Hey.”

“I love you,” he whispers, taking your hand out of his hair and holding it.

“Love you more,” you tell him, smiling when he shakes his head.

“Impossible.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds reader insert #spencer reid reader insert #dorothywrites

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cuddlepilefics · 3 years

Text

Balloon party

Fandom: Stray Kids, 3racha

Sickie: Jisung

Caregivers: 2basco (Chan, Changbin)

Jisung’s POV.:

It had been a while since we’ve last been on a game show, so the entire group was hyped for our afternoon schedule. Those shows were usually the most fun to participate in, so not even the grueling dance practice this morning could dampen my mood. I was really looking forward to a fun afternoon, using this thought to keep me going, ignoring the burning in my muscles. “Alright, we’re done with practice for today. Let’s head back to the dorm. Make sure you shower quickly, so everyone gets a chance to freshen up before we need to leave again”, Chan announced and I dropped down next to my bag. My sweaty back against the wall, I pulled out my water bottle, chugging the small amount of water that was still left. We didn’t really get a chance to rest very long before Chan dragged us back home to ensure we wouldn’t be late. I was starting to get more hyped up, the more time passed. While waiting for my turn to shower, I wanted to help Channie-hyung make lunch but apparently, he didn’t trust me to be of much help, so he sent me away. I passed the time playing games on my phone, hearing the leader chuckle: “He’s already bouncing off the walls now, what am I going to do with him after the show?” A small giggle escaped my lips. I wasn’t sure who my hyung was talking about, it was either me or Felix, the younger Aussie seemed to be just as excited as me.

Lunch was filled with lighthearted chatter and I noticed that everyone had missed going on game shows. They were a welcome change from all those serious interviews and way less tense than most public appearances, so it’s not too hard to see why we liked having them in our schedules. We finished our meal and cleaned the dishes. Before heading out, I grabbed a chocolate bar as dessert which I devoured on the way to the car. I startled a bit when I heard a loud voice behind me: “Yah! Who gave the squirrel chocolate? You know what sugar does to him.” Afraid my dessert would be taken away from me, I stuffed the last few bites into my mouth and turned around to give Changbin an innocent smile, with my cheeks still puffed up. “Sung, you know how energetic you get when you eat candy. Who gave you that?”, my hyung frowned. I swallowed and giggled a bit: “I gave it to myself. You know, Jisung is a big boy. Don’t worry, the fans love my energetic self.” – “Yeah, maybe the fans do but what about giving your hyungs a hard time?”, Changbin argued. I looked at him innocently, pretending not to know what he was talking about, and asked: “You mean like that?” Then I started to chase him in circles around the rest of the group, who just rolled their eyes at me.

We made it to the car and I collapsed into my seat still panting from our little chase. Changbin plopped into the seat in front of me, turning around to give me a death glare. Probably a warning to not sneak my hand forward to tickle his side. Did I care? Nope, I didn’t. Instead I continued to bother my hyung for the rest of the ride. At some point, even Chan turned around to warn me and I felt a bit sorry for not being able to keep my overflowing energy under control. I managed to pull myself together right as the car came to a halt. From now on I need to be professional, I reminded myself, as we went in to get our hair and makeup done. It wasn’t that hard to do, since the effects of my earlier snack were slowly tapering off. Especially the hyung-line kept watching me warily, expecting a prank from me at any time now. They weren’t wrong but I refrained from doing anything, instead just looking forward to the games we were going to play soon.

The first few games were really fun and I was truly enjoying myself. Until the third game of the afternoon was announced. We were supposed to pair up and dance with a balloon stuck between our bodies. The team whose balloon dropped or popped last wins the game. I cringed and barely had the time to mentally prepare myself before the staff brought in a bunch of balloons, a lot more than we’d need for the game, probably for aesthetic reasons. I didn’t care about those reasons, my eyes going wide at the sight of the colorful party decoration. Balloons, I had always despised them. The colors were always way to bright and unnatural, they felt weirdly squishy and made those awful squeaking noises when you touched them wrong. Worst of all, they were like a ticking timebomb, ready to explode at any given moment. I couldn’t touch them. ‘No! Not going to happen.’ They even said the balloon would probably explode between us while we dance. My hands started to shake and I shoved them into my pockets, so nobody would notice. Of course, we had some time to fool around before the actual game started but unlike earlier, I didn’t join my friends. I tried to stay as far away from the dangerous balls, squinting my eyes at them as a warning. ‘Don’t you dare explode on me!’

Hyunjin chased after Jeongin, waving a bright orange balloon in the air. He dragged his hand over the rubber material, triggering a shrill squeak. I flinched as a shiver ran down my back and I pleaded in my head for them to please be careful and not accidentally pop the balloon. Changbin must have seen my face because he suddenly appeared next to me, a pink balloon in his hand. Smirking, he dragged his fingers over it and I jumped at the sound. I was starting to flush hot and cold and my hands were sweating. “What? You don’t like that sound?”, the older asked innocently, “Guess what, I don’t like being tickled either.” – “H-Hyung, please don’t do this”, I pleaded, backing away. He gave a fake-confused look, dragging his finger over the rubber again and asking: “You mean this?” I nodded, backing away further as my shaking hands went up to cover my ears. Changbin only laughed and I thought I heard something along the lines of ‘too bad, this is your payback’, but I wasn’t sure because it was muffled by my hands. He held the pink bomb closer to me and instead of covering my ears, I shielded my face with my arms. He couldn’t see the tears stinging in my eyes as he went to produce that awful sound again. Except this time, it was different. The last thing I remembered was a loud ‘BOOM!’ before everything went black.

Changbin’s POV.:

I was just getting Jisung back for being an annoying squirrel on the way here. It was funny, he really seemed to hate the noise and I was certainly using that to tease him. Apparently, I had gripped it too tightly because the next thing I knew was the balloon popping in my hands. There was barely a second for me to get over the shock myself before a movement caught my eye. I cursed, jumping forward to secure my arms around Jisung’s waist to keep him from hitting the ground. Carefully, I lowered his to lay down on the floor and tapped his squishy cheek. No reaction. I shook his shoulder and called out his name, catching the attention of the remaining members. “What happened?”, Chan frowned crouching down next to us. I was starting to freak out and I cursed my voice for wavering when I replied: “I-I don’t know? The b-balloon popped and suddenly he was out.” A staff member joined us and felt my dongsaeng’s pulse, announcing that it was strong and fast. “Why don’t you take him back to the dressing room. There’s a couch you can put him on”, she asked and I immediately scooped the younger up. I couldn’t help but feel like this was all my fault.

I placed Jisung on the couch and studied his face. Chan put a comforting hand on my shoulder and it was only then that I noticed I was crying. He took Jisung’s wrist again and checked his pulse. It was still strong but beating steadily at an only slightly too fast pace. The rest of our group was asked to stay out of the room to give Jisung some space and I could only imagine how worried they must be, not being able to see him. I took Jisung’s limp hand in mine and cringed at how sweaty his palm was, was he scared? I gave it a gentle squeeze, mumbling ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again, till I felt his hand twitch in mine. Suddenly, the younger shot up and pulled his hand away, scaring me. His eyes darted around the room and he looked so small and so stressed. His breathing quickened and I patted his arm to catch his attention. “Hey, you’re okay, Sungie. You’re okay. Look at me!”, I said and he turned to face me. There were tears streaming down his puffy cheeks and I was almost thrown off balance when Jisung crashed into my chest, sobbing loudly. Taken aback, I wrapped my arms around him and stood up, pulling the shaking boy with me. I sat down on the couch, keeping the younger in my lap as he cried into my shoulder. Chan returned with some water and sat down next to us. “Hey Sung, can you tell us what happened?”, he asked carefully. The younger only continued to cry and I sighed: “It was the balloon, wasn’t it?” Jisung nodded against my shoulder, trying to pull himself together.

We waited in silence for our dongsaeng to calm down, so he could explain more to us and so I could apologize. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this guilty in my life but it didn’t seem like Jisung was mad at me, if he was, he’d be clinging to Chan and not me. Jisung’s cries quietened to soft sniffles and he looked up at us with swollen eyes, admitting: “I-I’ve always had that fear, I don’t think it’s bad enough to be called a phobia, -“ – “You passed out! I’m pretty sure it is bad enough to be called that”, I interrupted. “I don’t like balloons. I don’t like anything about them, not their color, not the way they feel or the sounds they make and even less the fact that they can explode at you any second. I’m pretty sure balloons are made by Satan to eliminate us”, Jisung rambled and I couldn’t help to feel even worse. How scared he must have been when I cornered him like that. My arms tightened around him and I buried my face in his hair mumbling ‘I’m sorry’. Jisung gave a weak smile and patted my head, whispering: “It’s okay, hyung. You didn’t know and you deserved to pay me back.”

“Talking about knowing. Why did you never tell us?”, Chan question his forehead creased. Jisung shrugged, blushing a bit, and replied: “One, it’s quite embarrassing and two, we do have a few pranksters in this group, so I guess I was afraid of the teasing and having that information used against me.” I nodded, it made sense but I could promise him: “Seeing how bad it is, none of us would ever dare using this against you, Sung.” Yes, we could tease each other endlessly but we knew our limits and wouldn’t harm any of our friends. He nodded and smiled when the rest of the group joined us. Not having heard our conversation earlier, Seungmin brought one of the balloons with him. I felt Jisung tense in my arms and was quick to ask Seungmin to take the balloon out of the room. He didn’t understand why and pouted a bit because he had planned to take it home with him but he sensed the seriousness in my voice and complied. Jisung hugged me closer and whispered a quiet ‘thank you’ in my ear. I squeezed his shoulder in reply. He didn’t have to tell the others about his situation right now and I totally understood if he’d rather explain it to the at home. Our manager came in and announced that we could go home now. “Why don’t you guys go first? I’m going to take Jisung for some cheesecake on the way home”, I asked, wanting to make it up to my dongsaeng. A wide smile spread on the younger’s face and he giggled: “You’re giving me sugar, hyung?” My eyes met Chan’s in horror. “Channie-hyung, help! What have I done?”, I panicked. He just laughed at me: “Nope, you brought that on yourself. I’m taking the others back to the dorm. Have fun!”

#stray kids #skz #sick #sickfic #angst #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #comfort #3racha #hanjisung #whump #seo changbin #bang chan #han jisung

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nightswithkookmin · 3 years

Note

With the grammy bomb im more than certain that there is a strain between jikook. They do interact but in a way that is so aloof. Their habitual gravitating towards one another doesnt happen anymore. And im talking about all the recent stuff from october onwards. Jk purposefully rear towards other members and i find jimin to be only open towards namjoon. All of his other interactions on cam are to make sure that everything is fine between him and others. And jk purposefully ignores or avoids jimin and doesnt have that unrestrainable affection towards him anymore. I say all this as a longtime jikook supporter. Honestly even if they had their 'fighting' periods i have never seen jk this dismissive. At least jimin isnt as affected as before. I dont understand how no supporter is admitting the obvious distance of jk.

Why are you being mean to me though😭

Please read my blogs. I think I have talked about this topic several times now.

May be I spoke 'too soon' before the loud moments that make these things obvious to most but still, I've addressed it nonetheless.

I feel if I respond to this, I'd just be repeating myself over and over at this point and frankly it gets boring for the people that read me- I think. Lol. I mean, once I start I never shut up. Lmho. So sorry in advance.

I agree with everything you've said, as well as all the observations you've made. I'm with you on it. Except, you made no definitive conclusions I could agree on, rebut, or share an opinion on. There is a strain on their relationship..... therefore? Lol.

I don't mean this in a rude way. I just don't think it's enough to point that out without drawing conclusions- unless you are simply taking notes of those moments? Or are you concluding that the strain is a sign Jikook are fighting, having problems or that they have broken up?

Not every tension between Jikook is a bad thing if you ask me or even as a result of them having issues in their relationship. This is something I keep regurgitating in my blogs. Not to say they don't have issues, they do. Hell, I get dragged by my roots on these streets for saying they fight, or even break up sometimes like any real couple would. They are real and they have real couple's problems sometimes too like any regular joe.

I'm glad you pointed out though, that Jimin doesn't seem as affected by JK's 'dismissive' attitude as before. Shouldn't that tell you that is a sign there is nothing wrong with their relationship this time around? Jikook is not one sided. JK isn't the only party to their relationship, neither is Jimin. They have an equal and sometimes opposite reaction to each other. One person's attitude or change in attitude tends to produce a ripple effect on the other. In my opinion.

If JK were to be 'dismissive' at all, it would emotionally and physically impact Jimin and he would have a reaction to it like he did in run 106. Compared to this, he didn't seem at all affected by JK's 'attitude' just as you've pointed out.

As I said a while ago, I honestly don't think or believe they are fighting or that they are broken up either- not to me anyway. Lol. I mean you could still pretty much see the intimacy between them in that footage. Jikook don't need to engage in skinship or overt and loud interactions to show they are intimate. And most times their overt and loud skinship and interactions are devoid of intimacy. That's the thing about intimacy, you can't fake it or hide it.

Jimin turning towards JK in his fit of excitement is a sign of intimacy between them regardless of whether he actually hugged JK or not. Then later on the couch, you could see him yearning for JK.

There were three people in that room- may be more if you count staff and yet JK was the only one Jimin seemed to want an answer from.

He was the one Jimin was emotionally inclined towards. The one who's comfort and affection he sought after- bless his heart, he hit his head on some solid rock knees and everything trying to pursue his need for physical closeness and affection from JK. If they were broken up or fighting, he wouldn't go to JK for his emotional needs.

He could try and 'interact' with JK, do the fanservice bit with him but he wouldn't go to him with his emotional needs- that would be inappropriate and unfair to JK. Jimin is an emotionally intelligent guy and he has a lot of thoughts and consideration for people's feelings and he is well aware of his limits and just how much he can push or get away with.

And I cite his Log with JK, where he announced he had started developing feelings for JK and then turned to JK to ask if he was ok with him saying that much on camera.

Thus, if he is emotionally 'gravitating' towards JK then it's indication there is a level of intimacy and a mutual understanding between them that JK fulfills an emotional need and ought to fulfill that emotional need for him.

And yes, I agree. Him hesitating when he wanted to hug JK is a sign there is something stressing their dynamics which is something I pointed out when that Grammy reaction video first came out. I knew something was stressing their dynamic but I couldn't figure out what because it was a very short video with not much going on in there.

The behind the scenes however, chilee. Lol.

I mean if you consider the fact JK went from moving a distance to console Jimin when he was crying on stage during the October ON:E concert, and you look at all the moments we've had from their overt flirting in 2021 season's greetings, the sexual innuendos in the BE behind scenes video, JK sniffing Jimin's hair in the Be unboxing video to that moment on the couch when Jimin hit his head on JK's knees- that shit look like it hurt. Damn. JK what is your knees made of! Lmho.

I am uncomfortable discussing a Jikook era or phase when it's on going on. I like to simply take note of certain moments and discuss them in post by reconstructing the timeline to place content in its rightful timeframe.

I can only share with you my working theory on such moments and for the most part, like I said previously I feel Jikook- especially JK is having issues with the company. Perhaps because the company stumbled on something they weren't supposed to see.

As for Jikook's personal development, I think we all saw this development coming, didn't we? After JM's birthday fiasco? I think I hypothesized at the time that whoever was in the 'wrong' in that situation would come swinging hard on their Jikook agenda in the aftermath. And with that whole GCF Tokyo reference, signing his name to JK's name at the pop up, the stealing looks at JK during interviews, checking him out left right left, trying to make Jk 'jealous' with RM at the Be press con red carpet, it's not hard to figure out who did what in that birthday situation.

I plan on writing a blog on this very topic, because I've received quite a few Asks about my thoughts on JK outing Jimin, military service and others that I find intriguing and want to discuss but I also want to discuss Vminkook dynamics, Jikook boundaries and I don't know which one to get into first. When I'm torn between options I end up not making a choice at all. Lol.

All I can say in regards to Jikook and their on going 'situation' is that- I love it. Lol. I love their dynamics, I love where they are at in their love journey, I love where they are heading. Jikook is just beautiful in every sense of the word.

I love what JK is doing. I love where he has gotten my bias to- which is confronting himself and figuring out what he wants from their relationship. Because, honestly you can't have your cake and eat it. It just doesn't work that way.

What you are seeing is just JK asserting himself against Jimin I'm afraid. It's the push and pull thingy all over again.

I keep talking about 'the boy in love with Jungkook' being a facade and persona Jimin hides behind to love JK and most people don't understand.

JK's persona is not the boy in love with Jimin. It's the boy cold and shy who rejects Jimin- well at least that was the persona he had in their early dynamics around debut.

He has since shed that persona and the bold, fearless, assertive JK we see on the screens is him choosing to unapologetically express his love and feelings for Jimin. And jimin enjoys that.

But you take a look at Jimin, and you don't see that drastic change in his persona or the way he expresses himself with JK- I mean let's call a spade a spade.

Do I think Jimin loves JK? Absolutely. Do I think he is being authentic in the way that he expresses those feelings to JK on camera? Only to an extent.

It's obvious who Jimin is to JK or even the way he expresses himself and his love for JK is slightly different off camera than the persona we see on our screens. For one, clearly JK is not used to seeing Jimin prioritize others over him or be overly affectionate with others besides him. I mean it's been seven years. Ten, if you count the periods before. You'd think JK would get used to JM doing skinship with others or showing affection for the others especially since they've lived together over half of the time and yet here we are, frying pans away from the apocalypse whenever any member breaths near Jimin. Damn JK. Lmho.

Do I think his persona is slightly exaggerated? Yes. But I also think JM downplays his love for Jk with his 'Mr I'm available' personality, his Kumbaya attitude, and his I'm just a nice guy on the block character, which often leads to people questioning whether or not he treats JK different from the group. Don't get me wrong JK does this too.

Jimin loves JK. But at this point the question is is he expressing that love in the way that meets JK's emotional needs? Is he allowing JK to love him and express the love he feels for him in the way that makes him happy?

I think that's what the birthday fiasco is all about.

If you don't want JK openly showing and expressing his love for you in a way that he wants to and in a way that holds meaning to him and makes him feel fulfilled as well in the relationship then what is the point of him holding on to the glass closet?

Two can play that game. Lol.

It's JK's needs above the groups and I feel he is putting it right up there next to JM's needs because they are both valid.

You should have seen JK's face when Jimin decided tell the truth about his location on September 1st in that BB press interview.

I remember pointing out that when JM started that narration with the first person pronoun he was going for a well curated narrative perhaps one the group had agreed on prior to avoid confirming his location on the JK's birthday like they had tried to do during the VLive but dropped that and went with the honest truth the moment he started talking about being with Jk and using 'we' instead of 'I' in his speech.

I'm glad the interviewer from his Weverse magazine interview confirmed and pointed out this tell or habit of Jimin when he speaks,

"When he’s talking, Jimin often starts his sentence with phrases like, “I just,” “it just,” “they just …” But then he immediately goes on to open up about his feelings, always providing a sincere response."

At least now we know for sure he wasn't lying about his location- for all those who called him a liar.

Anywho, my point is it makes JK happy when Jimin expresses his love and feelings for him. But it also makes him happy when he is able to show the world just how much JM means to him.

He didn't get those tattoos for nothing. He didn't do the GCFs for nothing. He didn't nibble on his ear in front of thousands of people for nothing- had he posted for Jimin on his birthday, given how he hadn't done that for anyone in a year, it wouldn't have been for nothing either. In my opinion.

When I tell y'all Jimin is gonna wake up one day with JK's ring on his finger and he wouldn't know what hit him. Chilee. Lmho.

Listen, JK is in love LOVE with Jimin. It's my opinion and I'm gonna treat it as fact because I believe it- if you disagree keep it to yourself. I don't wanna hear it. Lol.

That boy is in love with my bias. Ain't nobody gonna tell me nothing. Lol.

Seriously though, JK loves Jimin and he loves expressing those feelings for him. He goes overboard sometimes with it to the point it's borderline outing but we don't talk about that. Lol.

He's progressed through out the years from hiding his feelings for Jimin, whispering I love you's to JM when he thinks JM is alseep, slipping matching plasters onto his finger, all the way to Rosebowl.

If you ask me, he wants to be Jimin's equal in every sense of the word and as much as he loves to be at the recieving end of JM's affections, he enjoys being at the giving end.

And if JM has the cover of 'the boy in love with the Maknae' and it works perfectly for him not just as a persona but the perfect excuse for loving Jk then you gotta wonder what cover JK equally has for loving JM the way that he does. He has none. His every move is questioned by members, by staff, by fans- why do you film Jimin so much, why not put Tae in there for clicks, why are you constantly with Jimin and other invasive questions like that.

Jimin gets away with a lot of things than JK because of his personality and his persona. People would question the things JK does most of the time while dismissing the things Jimin does as either fanservice or as flowing from his personality. Whereas JK cannot get away with those same things.

We paint JK as Jeonlous and possessive but we forget most times he acts that way so Jimin doesn't have to. Jimin has said he doesn't share his friends and yet somehow we think he is ok with sharing his boyfriend with 5 other members or those 5 members with his boyfriend- this is code, let it sink in.

There is a lot of boundaries he instills there and it's equally an expression of possessiveness. Yet it's so subtle you might not even notice.

Jk makes Jimin look cool. He takes the fall so Jimin doesn't have to. When JK takes a step back that's when you see how whipped JM is- the neediness, the clinginess- PJMs give me a break. *rolling my eyes. It needs to be said. I love Jimin too but shit, it is what is. Lol.

I think it's gonna take a while for Jk to open back up to Jimin, to get in the space where he feels safe expressing himself with Jimin the way that he was doing before Jimin's birthday.

It doesn't mean he hates Jimin or doesn't love him or doesn't want him or doesn't care. But I think Jimin needs to step up to show he is on the same page as JK because JK is all about reciprocity. He ain't about to do the one sided unrequited nonsense. Lol.

Honestly all this is part of Jikook's dynamics. This not the first time Jk's closed himself off. The last time he did it was because they had gone through a nasty breakup- I said what I said. In my opinion nonetheless. Lol.

In the aftermath of it, he was expressing similar behavior. In Suga's Birthday Vlive this year for example, when Jimin was clinging to him and had his hands on his leg he didn't take the bait either- man was it frustrating to watch. Lol. But you could see JM wanted that physical connection with him. Did you see his smug face when Jimin was all over him?

I think he is just going through a phase where he needs reassurance of Jimin's love. Jimin is a big guy and he knows his man best and I think he knows exactly what he needs to do to get him to come around. Lol.

I mean he flew all the way from Paris to see him on his birthday didn't he?

I think we have to leave them to it. Just observe them. I hate commenting on a phase like this especially when it's on going. I'd rather talk about it after it's ended and a new phase has begun for them.

Part of supporting Jikook is knowing when to give them privacy and room to just unfold their story and be human. They are a living breathing love story after all.

Jk isn't being distant. He is just not interacting with JM the way we are used to seeing him do. But I feel that's part Bighit asking them to cool off and part him just wanting reassurance from Jimin.

At this point, I want to ask why you want people to acknowledge JK is closed off? To what end? I don't think anyone is denying that they are going through this phase- well the Kumbaya tradshippers are but why do you want me to acknowledge this fact? I already pointed out that there is something stressfing their dynamics.

They have their own personal stuff going on but I don't think it's much of an issue and at the same time they seem to be having issues with their company- You have to take all of that into consideration to see how that affects their dynamics as well.

You have to be aware of the timeline too. Because content is not released in chronological order, it may seem like a rollercoaster ride when in actual sense all of this may have happened with a specific time frame.

When it comes to Jikook always assume they are much closer than you think. Jikook is fine, I believe. Just take mental notes of these things for posterity. I wouldn't be worried about them.

As usual, this has been my opinion. Don't take it too seriously. Keep supporting Jikook. Jikook is real.

Signed,

GOLDY

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

previously on...

Chapter 1! Reader's job has no chill and Wanda means well (Tony does too), but, as we know, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Reader discovers the source of some peculiar things and can't help but be overcome with curiosity. F-bombs galore!

Fun fact: this story's main soundtrack is Claire de Lune, for some reason. Usually I can't stand classical music.

I didn't anticipate my first day at the bodega to be remarkful in any way but I was quickly proven wrong. My expectations were low: few customers, some of them flat-earthers of the garden variety, perhaps one or two of those 'witches' from social media blogging platforms and an overzealous Satanist or two, since I was pretty sure I saw an Ouija board and a silver pentagram hanging in Odette's office on the day of the interview.

Boy was I wrong.

We averaged a customer every fifteen minutes with each person requesting increasingly strange items: healing quartz and sage were on the closer end of normal; I felt like I had teleported to Hogwarts and was now attending Professor Snape's Advanced Potions class, having to race between the high shelves and memorize the exact location of each and every ingredient. In the end, I sacrificed a few dollars and bought one of the beautiful, leather-bound notebooks off Odette to write down the shelf and position number for the most commonly requested items and planned to begin memorizing them at home.

There's a little bit of Ravenclaw in all of us, I supposed. My curiosity only extended further: sometimes, a haggard looking person would come up and declare they had an appointment with Odette and was quickly whisked away by my boss to her office, coming out looking slightly less haggard in about half an hour or so.

I adapted to the routine fairly quickly, choosing to make my personal peace with the strange customers and Odette's mysterious meetings: after all, I got the job because I needed money - who was I to judge her for doing Tarot readings and spiritual séances for an extra dollar?

The bodega's atmosphere did grow on me rather quickly, as I had thought it would. It was warm and homely even on the rainiest afternoons, there was an unlimited supply of herbal tea, free of charge, and I grew to appreciate it just like I learned to find the positives in my job at the café. That remained a constant, mildly interesting affair too - my regulars, especially the superheroes, had started coming in during the morning hours and we were able to resume our chit-chats without a hitch.

Wanda still fished for my most recent, memorable reading and Dr. Banner left his incomprehensible scribbles on every napkin within an arm's reach for me to return to him on his next visit. The fully grown man with multiple PhDs didn't fail to blush like a schoolgirl every single time it happened, causing Mr. Stark to double on his own salacious jokes, should the engineer have had come with. They often came together, blabbering things I couldn't even fathom understanding even with the help of Google.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Wanda sounded surprisingly chipper for it was freaking seven in the morning.

I blanched, banging my arm against the display door painfully with a softly muttered, "Fuck!".

The witch frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I muttered, hoping my face wasn't portraying the mixture of confusion and fear that I felt. "Something weird happened at my other job yesterday, I'm still processing," I replied honestly, looking to the side.

In fairness, I didn't know what to think. The situation wasn't something that should have shocked me, with aliens and magic people an abundance in NYC, but seeing it with my own two eyes had been jarring.

A limping, paranoid young man had arrived for an appointment with Odette shortly before closing time; I had escorted him to her office without as much as a blink, only noticing he was dripping oddly colored blood when the door behind him had closed. I cleaned it up, dead set on confronting Odette about the obviously injured person - the blood, it was more of an attempt to clean it, since it merely stuck to the rag, refusing to wash off it with water or any of the organic cleaning solutions kept under the sink.

I had to leave the rag in a paper bag, acutely aware of the fact it could not have belonged to a normal person. My best guess was that a man was a mutant - NYC had plenty of them living behind a blue wall. Odette's office wasn't soundproof: I heard a pained yelp and then a vocalisation of relief as whatever was causing the man to bleed had been removed. In a few minutes while I was closing the cash register, he came out looking almost brand new - and as I paid him a more careful look, he was missing his scleras, leaving his eyes to look slightly terrifying.

And then he winked at me, a surprisingly human, boyish gesture - the smile that crawled up my face was purely automatic. I was sure it looked frozen. He disappeared without a word as Odette herself emerged from the backrooms, a tired sheen to her brow.

"Did you manage to clean up?" She asked, eyebrows raised at the lack of stains on the hardwood floors.

"It stuck to the rag," I replied, eyeing her warily. "The rag is in the unmarked bag next to the sink. I didn't know what else to do with it."

"Sometimes it does that," her sigh was very telling. This was to be expected to become a regular occurrence. She motioned for the notebook I got to keep track of everything in the store, rattling off a recipe for a cleaner and solvent combo, made purely from the items she had inside the store, giving me stern instructions to add the ingredients in the exact order I was told. I sighed but added the footnote. Odette was a far cry from the greasy git from Hogwarts so she deserved the benefit of the doubt at least.

I didn't dare to ask any more questions about the strange man; not that day, not after I had suprised Wanda with a quick recap of my story. It's not like I had anything against mutants - as long as they were peaceful and didn't harm humans with their abilities, I was content to co-habit, share my space and even be friends with them. A very nice old lady who came by three times a week had gills peeking out of the top of her turtleneck and she was just the most polite, sweetest thing.

Wanda's curiosity was understandable and not suspicious in any way: I was under the impression she was a mutant, too, along with her twin brother - so the feeling of dread that blossomed within me as soon as the two suited figures entered the small store I attributed to the larger size of the man and vulture eyes of the woman. They both appeared extremely out of place with their black two-pieces and badly hidden pistol holsters, topped off with badges I couldn't take a good look at without losing my customer service facade.

I decided to play it dumb, self-conscious of the thudding of my heart in my ribcage. My body screamed 'danger' at me. "Hello, how can I help you?"

The woman cast an observant look over me, my plain clothes, lingering on my star-patterned scarf and matching hair band. "Are you the owner of this store?"

"No," I frowned, not liking where this was going. "Do you have an appointment with Odette?"

"We'd like to see her," the man pointedly moved his arm, exposing the gun and the badge.

I dropped the nice act, staring him down in earnest. I never liked self-righteous, pushy government officials; even less so, when they didn't follow protocol and started the conversation with demands instead of proper introductions. As I shot a quick text to Odette, noting that there were 'strange people in uniform' looking for her, my suspicions were only confirmed when the woman looked around the store with eyes that knew what they were looking for. Those two definitely weren't cops or even feds, they were straight up shady.

Odette all but flew to the bodega, the imposing, suffocating aura I'd seen only once on full display. It was hard to breathe standing so close to her; with muted satisfaction, I noticed both agents squirm, their fingers twitching, as they took in shuddering inhales through their, undoubtedly, lying mouths.

The whole spectacle was over quickly. I had managed to serve and quickly usher out Ike, one of the Satanists (yes, we did, in fact, have a few of those as regulars) with his paper bag full of powdered goat horn and a fresh cat skull under his armpit before the curtains parted and the two agents left without saying a word. I thought their eyes looked - wrong, like glass marbles, dull, lifeless and unseeing.

Odette dismissed my worries with a frivolously waved hand: "They won't be bothering us anytime soon," closing the door to her office - it reeked of strong incense and horseradish, for some reason. Like she'd been making some hell salad in front of the two nosy officials.

I took a deep breath in and then a deep breath out. The weirdness should've bothered me more, I knew, but I couldn't bring myself to decide whether I wanted to know what that interaction was actually about or live in blissful ignorance, where my boss might be some sort of a mutant or an actual witch that helps other mutants.

The longer I thought about it, the louder anti-mutant propaganda articles screamed at me: children being killed or abandoned because one day, they woke up and could fly or move things with their mind; every potential situation could end up like Carrie or Brightburn - two movies so blatantly obvious in their point to instill fear against children that could grow to work alongside Earth's Mightiest Defenders.

Needless to say, my conscious calmed down pretty quickly. I had felt the hairs on my nape stand up as soon as the agents entered the room and in my experience, a reaction like that was never good. I had been taught to trust my gut.

Odette had cancelled her visits for the day, holing up in her office as the whole store rapidly filled up with the stench of horseradish, old blood and sage. The occasional noise came from the office, interrupted by mumbling, and I was quickly told to just turn up the old, vintage radio if it bothered me.

I was too busy taking in the contents of her office - the table that previously stood in the far end of it, stood in the middle, folded out into the shape of a circle. Something was drawn on it, something the color of dried blood, and there were light candles, white and blue, littered on almost every possible surface. The air was clouded with incense smoke, so thick, it made my eyes water.

Odette's grin was sardonic as she met my eyes, wide and shocked, that had previously landed on what looked like a pot- or a cauldron, emanating the strongest bitter stench that wafted even through the lead curtain of incense. No wonder the whole store reeked.

Before she gently shut the door in my face, I caught the centerfold of the whole show - an extremely large, tattered, leatherbound tome with yellowed pages and a heavy metal padlock laying next to it. Overcome by stupor, I didn't manage to make out the intricate silver letters on its cover.

Needless to say, walking home that day was an adventure. In part, I was cautious that the agents would find me, follow me home, interrogate me - I've never been arrested even by usual cops and it was unlikely that shady government agencies were delicate in their approach. A larger part of my brain was wondering about the implications of what I had seen, I'd nearly chewed off my fingernails remembering the vacant, lost face expressions on the agents' faces.

As soon as I got home, I set to do some serious googling. And find information, I did. Plethora of minor details - candle colors, herbs used, deeply individual incantations and mythical deities that chose to work with a particular witch. It was nothing short of a whole science; I'd go as far as to say it was a complete lifestyle. The use of magick bled into every aspect of daily life, from sleep to food to communication with others.

Part of me felt incredulity at the implication of sacrificing so much to get results that might be the opposite of the ones desired. A larger, braver part of me - the very same that used to push me to explore abandoned buildings with my friends and drink booze given by a stranger - admired the work and the dedication my boss and her kind put into their work.

Having received my first paycheck and successfully having made it through rent day without having to make excuses, my conscious allowed me to treat myself to a few items - I decided to give into my curiosity and placed an order for a few books on modern witchcraft, happily waiting for the package to arrive next afternoon. I went to sleep with my head full and a new world at my feet to explore.

The books were late - or more like, never showed. The refund couldn't come soon enough. My curiosity began to reach unbearable levels the longer I worked the front desk at Odette's. These days I didn't need much assistance anymore, ready to help any new or returning customer with the help of my notebook. Time after time, I noticed a certain working order, a pattern to things if you may - and was able to recommend a few things here and there. In short, I stepped over my initial apprehension and dove into the world of natural remedies and energetic manipulation headfirst.

It made all the sense that Odette would start to take absence from the bodega as my training progressed. On the days she had fewer or no appointments, she would don her favourite scarf and trot out the front door, large purse in tow, to run errands or restock on the rare, pricy items that couldn't get delivered directly to the shop. I'd grown accustomed to locking up on my own; the spare key to the entrance door was my pride and joy, the dull silver a warm comfort hanging on a chain around my neck. Its antique design made a fairly pretty necklace.

The customer coming to pick up a special order hardly disrupted my time. I had Janis Joplin blaring from the old radio, my skirt swayed to the rhythm of the song together with me. The elevated mood while working in the shop was something I appreciated fully - with a kind smile, I departed for the backrooms to search for the package with the customer's name, not finding it anywhere near the proper place. A call later, I was opening Odette's office and extracting the paper-wrapped shoebox from the fridge, passing it into the customer's arms with utmost care: 'FRAGILE. KEEP REFRIGERATED AT ALL TIMES.' read on it in Odette's sharp cursive.

The bell above the door rang as the woman departed but I was already inching behind the curtain, overcome by sudden inquisitiveness.

The book. It stood right in the middle of Odette's desk, shut, but missing its padlock, beckoning with the thick gothic letters spelling out 'PRACTICAL ALCHEMY'. I noticed it as soon as I stepped into the office, confused and puzzled by my own unbearable desire to approach it immediately. I knew something was amiss, yet, my legs had a mind of their own and my hands firmly placed themselves upon the heavy cover of the book, seemingly without the input from my brain.

"What the hell..." I muttered to myself, finding the books contents to be - for the lack of a better word - peculiar. "Protect a babe born on all Hallows Eve..." I numbly mouthed the first words that my eyes registered. The pages made a soft noise as my shaking fingers turned them, one after the other. "Bestow healing upon a barren womb... Punish a thief..." There were - spells, and potions, and so many plants I've never even heard about before.

The pages turned and handwritings changed - at the start, words were written out precisely, the cursive neat and sharp, obviously written by an ink pen. Some things were scribbles, pencil or charcoal, so barely intelligible I had to guess about a third of the words written. Towards the end of the book pages made with a typewriter appeared - blocky letters and numbers, language modern, ash and cigarette smell coming from the paper.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The longer my hands touched the pages, the stronger the tingling sensation became - I failed to notice it at first, attributing it to the exhilaration of finding something so strange yet so precious, but as I was finishing a page that contained a fairly short spell for protection of a witches' home, the discomfort of my palms rose into a mild stinging pain.

"Fuck," I yelped, casting a look at my fingers. They were hot, angry, as if I had briefly touched boiling oil - and the skin on my fingertips began to blister, little white pustules forming where I had gingerly held the pages of the book in place. "What the fuck?" Was my reasonable question to nobody in particular.

The books contents were, no doubt, interesting but I was more concerned with the state of my hands - had I ignored the pain for five more minutes, I might have had to go to the hospital to treat what was beginning to look like a second-degree burn. I slammed it shut none-too-gently, placing it exactly as I found it and winced when barely a second of touching it brought on more excruciating pain.

The healing peppermint oil salve I knew people bought for mild burns only soothed the initial sting, so I had to suffer until I clocked out, stopping by a drugstore on my way home to purchase some much-needed burn cream. And while it didn't make it worse, I knew that my next day at work was going to be Hell.

Most thankful, however, I was to my voice-to-text option on my cell. Not only it allowed me to communicate with my friends without hurting my abused skin even more, but it also dutifully saved the short, simple spell that was supposed to protect my house. There was no harm in trying it, I supposed, after seeing what I didn't doubt was the book's own protection wreak havoc on my snoopy little hands.

The tag list is open until the story is finished.

@couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

#bun writes #practical alchemy #tony stark x reader x stephen strange #tony stark x reader #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x y/n #tony stark x y/n #Stephen Strange x you #Tony Stark x you

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hopetofantasy · 3 years

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‘HUMO’s big youth survey - Politics, society and religion’ - With Nora Dari (part 1)

- TW: corona pandemic, mental health, sickness, religion, islamophobia, racism, cancel culture -

Who better to test out the results of HUMO’s brand new ‘youth survey’ than a trio of three young gods? Bouba Kalala (23) made the switch between ‘Studio Brussel’ and the social media-team of the ‘SP.A’ - sorry, ‘Vooruit’. Céleste Cockmartin (21), daughter of sexologist and politician Goedele Liekens, just started her third year of neuropsychology in Maastricht. Nora Dari (19) portrays the beautiful Yasmina in the wildly popular ‘wtFOCK’. ‘If we don’t rise up to the streets, a lot of things will remain the same.’

- Note from hopetofantasy: ‘SP.A’, soon to be rebranded as ‘Vooruit’, is a social democratic political party -

For the past quarter of the century, HUMO surveyed every new batch of youngsters, but never before did we had to include a pandemic in our questionnaire. It’s a first! And even though the youth isn’t the most popular target of the virus, they’ll emerge from the corona crisis with scars on them too.

Half of young people thinks life will never return to what it was before. The girls are even more pessimistic than the boys. Nora Dari: “I wouldn’t call us pessimistic: we weren’t on the right track at all. This is one big wake-up call. I’ve never felt as alone yet together as during lockdown. On social media, we were already used to our own bubble. Then suddenly, all these bubbles began to look the same and everyone kept talking about the same thing.”

Bouba Kalala: “For one moment, the crisis showed us how good the world could be. I even started to cry at the drone images of VTM. I think we’ll bring that unity with us to the post-corona era.” Nora Dari: “When my mom stepped on the bus with her hijab before this, she would have gotten the side-eye. Now people scowl at those without mouth-masks. Weird how fast everything can change.” Bouba Kalala: “My grandpa experienced the war, we lived through a pandemic. Shit happens. When the Germans threw bombs on England, everyone re-emerged after the bombardments, re-opened their shops and even made jokes about it - ‘Everything at explosive prices!’. That’s what we should do now: we have to take corona seriously and follow the measures, but being scared won’t help us more forward.”

Do young people have to give up too much, because of the corona crisis? Almost one out of three think they do. Céleste Cockmartin: “I don’t have the feeling I’m giving up on a lot. But young people really do try and avoid infecting the elderly. When I’m in Maastricht and only see my peers for weeks at a time, then I’ll be less restrained. But when visiting my parents, I’m very careful. It’s just a matter of not being selfish. What’s so difficult about wearing a mask and disinfecting your hands?” Nora Dari: “Quite a lot of people don’t believe in masks.” Bouba Kalala: “Really? I don’t know anyone who dismisses the rules and says: ‘I’m going to go anywhere and do what I want.’ But those that do, get a story in the news. As if every young person doesn’t give a fuck.” You do? Bouba Kalala: “I have to: my grandpa who’s 84, is staying with us. I did sin once, though. Going to a friend’s house for some drinks, other friends come over and suddenly you’re with ten people.” Nora Dari: “I’ve had corona and I was scared to death that I’d infect my parents. So I locked myself up in my bedroom for two weeks.” Céleste Cockmartin: “Seriously? I wouldn't be able to handle it mentally if I couldn't go out.” Nora Dari: “But I was incredibly sick, so the solitary confinement didn’t bother me. I’ve binged all there was to binge on Netflix.” Bouba Kalala: “And your sense of smell and taste?” Nora Dari: “Still gone! I can’t taste anything. Us, Moroccans, drink mint tea every day. Now, a month later, it still tastes like water.” Did the virus change you? Nora Dari: “I’m pretty religious. Corona has given me even more the understanding that everything is in God’s hands.” Faith is on the rise again: the number of young people claiming they’re atheist or non-religious declined from 50 to 41 percent. Céleste Cockmartin: “Everyone is looking for meaning and answers. I search these answers in science.” Bouba Kalala: “For me, science and God have the same worth. Believers can’t prove there is something, but science can’t disprove it either.” You believe there’s something? Bouba Kalala: “Yes, but what? I believe in the universe, the force of attraction, the power of positive thinking... I don’t want to sound too much like a hippie, but I also believe in the paranormal and UFOs. (*Céleste and Nora laugh out loud*) What? UFOs are my hobby. Even the American army admits there is something, so there must be something (*laughs*).” Nora Dari: “I often hear it: young people believe in something, but they don’t know (yet) in what they believe.” It’s all clear to you. Nora Dari: “Yes. I’m lucky to be born in a muslim family, but even then, there’s a moment where you think: is this the religion that really defines me? I’ve done research and began reading books, but my heart truly connected with the Islam. It feels like true love.” Céleste Cockmartin: “I can be jealous about that. I think it’s a shame sometimes, that I don’t have that faith. It seems to be a good solace during the hard times. For a lot of people, faith isn’t much more than a form of meditation.” Bouba Kalala: “The grandma from a friend of mine passed away recently. I found it hard to comfort her. I don’t have that issue with my Moroccan or Turkish friends, because we know she’s with God. The idea that she isn’t gone, brings peace.” In 2015, when we were still discussing the imminent terror attacks, 9 percent called themselves muslim. Now it’s 17 percent. Nora Dari: “I think it’s related to the terrorists. Because of them, muslims and non-muslims started asking questions about Islam. People studied the religion and concluded that it’s actually really beautiful.” When you were 13, you wore a hijab for a while. Nora Dari: “As a young girl, I often visited the community center in Winterslag. It closed down by the time I went to high school. From a tiny school with only two Belgians without an immigration background, to a school with a handful of muslims. Suddenly the world seemed bigger. I needed something familiar, something I could join and where I felt included. That was the Islam. After two years, I realized that my choice to wear the hijab, was too hasty. I wore it so I wouldn’t feel alone, but when I got older, I understood: I’m not alone. With or without hijab, God’s always with me.” Will you wear it again some day? Nora Dari: “I hope so. If someone asks me why I don’t wear it, I don’t have an excuse. It’s something so beautiful. Yet, right now, it doesn’t feel as if it’s something I need to do.” Do you feel, as a muslim, that you’re less of a target than a few years ago? Nora Dari: “Yes. That’s connected with the trend of being woke, being aware of everything and refusing to think anything is bad. Due to this, a lot of youngsters are becoming less critical. Which is a shame.” And here I thought, young people were only positive about being woke? Nora Dari: “But what is the meaning of ‘being woke’?” I was hoping you could tell me. Nora Dari: “No one knows. Everyone pretends to know (*laughs*).” Bouba Kalala: “That’s being woke, I think: not knowing everything, stop pretending like you have all the answers.” Nora Dari: “You know what bothers me? That we live in such a cancel culture. One bad tweet and you’re cancelled for life. There’s nothing woke about that?” Bouba Kalala: “Without social media, we wouldn’t have cancel culture: every brain fart continues to exist on the internet. Years later, someone will dig up a wrong statement and use it to take you down.” Nora Dari: “Young people would do well, if they followed the people they don’t agree with on social media.” Bouba Kalala: “Yes!” Nora Dari: “If I'd follow Dries Van Langenhove (= extreme right politician / activist) tomorrow, my followers would throw a fit: ‘Do you agree with him?’ No, the exact opposite! But how can I understand how he thinks, if I don’t follow him? If I only followed people whom I agree with, I’ll get tangled up into my own truths. The world doesn’t stop with my own Insta page.” Céleste Cockmartin: “That’s being woke: talking with your opponents. I once started a conversation with Dries Van Langenhove. I ran into him in Ghent, at the time of the ‘Schild & Vrienden’ TV report. I had to know: what’s the deal with that group? Unfortunately the conversation wasn’t very clear - it was the nightlife neighborhood. But I’ll stick with my statement: start a conversation with dissendents.” And the youth of today doesn’t do that? Nora Dari: “Not at all. We rather cancel each other.” Bouba Kalala: “I already know that I’ll get racist bullshit hurled at me after this interview. I've learned not to care. Hate posts are good for my algorithm.” You don’t reply to them? Bouba Kalala: “I do, every time. One time, I argued for hours with someone who sent a racist tweet. I kept going: ‘Why do you say that, Arno? Do you realize this hurts?’. In the end, he even thanked me. I went to my mom, showed her the conversation and we’ve high-fived each other. I know that Arno will vote for Vlaams Belang (= extreme right political party) again, but he did say ‘thank you’, while he started with that sick tweet.”

#wtfock #wtfam #part 1 of ...#because my Tumblr keeps glitching #I'm dropping part one already #nora dari

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