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bibbykins · 3 years

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Insufferable

A/N: The long-awaited flashback is here! It's short, but it is here! I hope this can really show the turning point in Jungkook's and MC's relationship and I would love to hear everyone's thoughts. As usual, tips are not required but greatly appreciate. Hope you all enjoy and have a wonderful day/night!

Note: This is a part (specifically a flashback) of The Household's Bunny series, so I recommend reading at least the Prologue before this one

Word count: 3.6k

Pairing: Soft Yandere! Jungkook x Chubby! Reader

Summary: Roommates are bound to have arguments, especially when one of them is as temperamental as Jungkook, but you didn't expect the first argument to get so unbelievably personal.

Warnings: abandonment issues, mommy issues, allusions to past abuse, family issues, crying, yelling, vomiting, panic attack, exhaustion, some soft yandere thoughts, some possessiveness, jungkook is mean and the MC gets a little mean too

There was something so constricting about memories of a shitty childhood. There were times when looking in the mirror felt like searching for the child in you so you could give her the hug she desperately needed. There were times when waking up felt like a check to make sure you were no longer in the home you had to grow up in far too quickly. However, the comfort of being in a different home only came so far when you didn't have anyone beside you or even emotionally available enough to talk to.

You stayed in bed for hours before it felt like a good idea to move, almost waiting for the mirage of change to fade before it brought you back to the gym with your mom or your uncle's apartment littered with whiskey bottles and leaky tear ducts.

Sometimes putting your best foot forward each day felt so hard with all-consuming loneliness clinging to your heels.

You had started your day going through your memory box. Hindsight said that was a poor idea. The box was a sure way to get you into a bad mood. You liked to think you breezed past all the stages of grief, but just because you accepted reality didn't make it hurt any less. The box was a strong reminder of that much as it sat with a melancholic aura. The creme color faded and the thorned vines connected to roses only added to the malicious undertones of its existence to your mental health. It was full of childhood photos, your birth certificate, school achievements, and the last known address your mom had.

Ah, your mom. What a way to bring clouds to your sunny day. You don’t know why you put yourself through the turmoil of the memory box. Maybe you were hoping it would be easier by now. You were always wrong. Looking through childhood photos and finding no love in the eyes of your mother when she looked at you and watching the love in your uncle’s eyes fade with your mother’s presence. You got to the fated birthday card, thumb rubbing over the defunct address longingly. You held the envelope in your hand, inspecting the birthday card she sent you. Three words in the repetitive note written on the inside caught your eye, and not the ones you so desperately wanted from her.

Feeling a familiar pressure behind your eyes, you tossed the card aside and stood. It was time to eat, go on a walk, do anything other than this. You found your way to the kitchen and came across a silent and solemn Jungkook. His jaw was clenched, but it felt like it always was around you.

Your relationship with Jungkook so far was not very complicated, in the way it was nonexistent. He either didn’t care about talking to you or he actively didn’t want to, you really couldn’t tell. This didn’t stop you from trying, though. Like an idiot.

“I’m making food, did you want any?” You asked from your place seated on the couch, and the silence that was his response for deafening, “Okaaaay.” You sang awkwardly, “I just know that you usually don’t eat throughout the day and-”

“And what do you know?!” He snapped, blinded by his pure and unbridled, but most important unprovoked, rage of you. Your eyes widened and your body jumped. Holy shit, you had never heard him yell like this, “You don’t know anything about me, or in general, so just stop trying so fucking hard!” He was harsh in his tone and it lit your whole nervous system on fire. What the hell did you do to him?

You shook your head, not sure why he was yelling about, but it made your throat feel like it was going to close, “Look, I was just trying to be polite, but you don’t need to talk about me like you understand-”

“Understand?! What’s there to understand?” He challenged, eyes wide like he was expecting you to say something but he continued, “You’re some spoiled girl living here rent-free because your precious dad doesn’t want to take care of you.”

Your heart caught in your throat as it shattered. He was right, your dad didn't want to take care of you, but not in the way he thought. Why was he doing this? Has he genuinely felt this way all along? Was he just holding in his anger until you poked the bear a little too hard? “You don’t need to yell at me.” You stated firmly and it seemed to only make things worse.

“And you don’t need to fucking be here in the first place!” He spoke, temper long lost and you could hear his voice mix in with Jungyoon’s, all he needed was a bottle of whisky and a set of calloused hands, “You didn’t need to fucking live here-”

“You don’t know anything about me.” You spat out. Now, you were losing your temper. You could take a beating, but for only so long, especially as an adult, "And it's not like you're paying rent either, so what do you know about me or my living arrangements?" You hissed and you watched his eyes flare, making you nearly regret your provocation.

“No, but I know how you look naked-”

“Fuck you.” You spit the word out at him, something you haven’t done to another person for a while “Don’t weaponize my work or play a game that you absolutely will lose.” You warned, “I know all about you, and I can use that, because you’ve been a star since you were 15, and that sucks, that makes you mad, doesn’t it?” Your temper effectively lost as you ripped into the rage-filled man before you, “Yet you don’t know anything about me, and that must piss you the fuck off, huh?” You stood from the couch, tears building in your eyes before you could stop it.

“I know enough, spoiled rich girl.” He seethed and you laughed humorlessly at this worldwide pop star calling you spoiled and rich.

“Not only are you wrong, but you’re also a poor listener.” You shot back, “I’ve told you all before Jungyoon isn’t my fucking dad, he’s my uncle.” His mouth opened but you cut him off before he could start, “He can’t stand the sight of me so he travels for work.” Your tears are undoubtedly falling, but you can’t stop, “And you’re talking to me like this because what? You had a scandal or something?” You gave him his chance to talk and boy, he took it.

“Mona told me you know your mom.” His voice was like venom, “So, why the fuck are you here? You have your blood relatives.” He exaggerated the word like it meant anything to you, “Why are you here, disrupting our lives, acting like an innocent orphan girl around actual fucking orphans-”

“I never said I was or acted like an orphan!” You exclaimed incredulously before scoffing, “That’s why you’re mad? Because you never knew your mom and I did? Because I know who my blood family is?” You could laugh at how ridiculous that was, “I know them, so what? Where does that get me?” You looked at him expectantly but he didn’t talk, “I knew my mom, and guess what? She just didn’t fucking want me.” He was silent, but you still couldn’t stop, “I’m sure if your mom could’ve got to know you, she would’ve kept you, because you’re not insufferable to be around, you’re just a fucking asshole.” You wiped at your cheeks furiously, “But me? I had 15 years to prove myself and it still wasn’t enough. I still wasn’t enough. Jungyoon never wanted me either, he got stuck with me and had to cope.” Your voice began to break and you had to take a breath, “I was the insufferable one, so-” You stopped, finally as you regained your sense of reality and watched Jungkook who had an unreadable expression and the realization of the word vomit you spilled out to him hit you like a train as you exhaled quickly, rage in your voice quickly replaced with soft melancholy “I am the insufferable one here, so there.” You shrugged, face a wet mess, “Hope that brings you peace.” Your stomach was churning as you turned on your heel, unable to hold in your sobs. You couldn’t bear the awkwardness of waiting for the elevator so you opted to take the stairs.

You sobbed louder as the door slammed shut behind you, but you didn’t want to linger so you bolted down the stairs, the bile in your stomach signaling that you needed to find the nearest trashcan and quickly. You made it to the ground floor and spilled your guts into the small trashcan. Yelling always made you unbelievably ill, whether it was getting yelled at or yelling, the sickness it made you feel overflowed. The yelling only reminded you of-

You vomited again at the mere thought. You cried harder when you finally finished, breathing becoming staggered as you began to panic.

Fuck, they’re gonna kick you out, and then you’ll be alone again. You lost your temper, people don’t like other people who lose their temper. Why couldn’t you just mind your own fucking business and leave him be? You’re stupid. Why do you think you’ve been alone all your life? It’s because people don’t want to be near you. You’re-

“Insufferable.” You mumbled, numb, even if for only a moment.

Sure, Jungkook provoked you, but you knew better. You didn't go to therapist after therapist throughout your adolescence for nothing. You felt as if you set yourself back eons after that outburst. He didn't need to know all that about you, ever. He probably didn't even care to know, and you said it anyway, like you were gunning for gold in the trauma Olympics. You didn't want to minimize his struggles, you just wanted him to shut up and stop yelling at you. You let your eyes flutter closed as you cried. How can you complain about being alone when you're like this?

You don’t know how long you stayed there, sitting next to a trash can full of your vomit as you wallowed in your self-hatred. The all-consuming loneliness the boisterous house subdued returning with full force. Jungkook was right. You didn’t need to be here. You were only disrupting their routine.

You blew out a sigh as you staggered to the elevator, fully set on going up to your room and crying yourself to sleep after you clean up. You brought the trashcan with you, not having the heart to just leave your puke down there. You thanked your lucky stars when Jungkook was no longer on the second floor as you went to the kitchen and rinsed your mouth before going to take out the trash and take out your burnt oven pizza. Finally, you were headed back up to your floor. You watched the numbers tick by with tired eyes. You glared at the empty trashcan, electing to take it with you instead of making the trip back down to put it back. Surely, they wouldn’t need it for a few hours.

The elevator dinged as you grabbed the black plastic bin and then you were met with Jungkook. Relief flashed across his face before irritation settled on it, “Where the fuck were you?!” He asked hurriedly as you trudged past him, too exhausted to fight. You were running on autopilot the whole way up here, and you couldn’t bear another spat.

“I was on the first floor.” Your voice was low, trying to communicate you were done arguing as you lifted the bin as proof. You then set it down and went to your bathroom and began brushing your teeth.

He scoffed, “You were on the first floor for 30 minutes?” He asked as if he caught you in a lie but you nodded as you rinsed your mouth.

You were down there for thirty minutes? No wonder you felt so tired.

“Yep.” You popped the last letter before correcting yourself, “Well, I spent like 10 minutes cleaning up that bin, so not exactly.”

“Why?” He asked as if you were being ridiculous, as if he wasn’t the one on your floor demanding answers.

“I vomited.” You spoke simply and before he could ask, “Yelling makes me puke.” You were so blase about it he sighed in frustration.

You walked to your room and froze when you saw your memory box strewn about, and it was like a dam broke all over again. You looked at the photos, at the eager little girl looking for love in places she would never find it.

Old habits die hard.

Before you could even stop yourself, you sunk to your knees in garbled sobs and broken cries, “Hey, hey, wait.” Jungkook’s shaky voice did nothing to bring you back to reality as you cried. His hands placed themselves on your shoulder, making you flinch violently, much to his horror.

Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know why you were crying, but he knew it was his fault, at least in part. Even if at this moment it wasn’t, his outburst surely didn’t help. Fuck, he’s so dumb. Fuck, he shouldn’t have talked to Mona just moments before seeing you.

The envy of even seeing your own mother’s face ate up at him and he took it out on you. Not to mention that he made you vomit from the yelling. He suddenly felt more like an arrogant asshole than he did before as his hands now hovered over your form and he took a moment to look at your room.

Scattered on the floor were childhood photos and ribbons from competitions. Things Mona kept in her own house, having a whole wall filled with every one of their achievements. Even Jin had a photo album of their things. And you, you kept all these for yourself. You were the only one who cared enough to save these things and he wondered how much you threw away to maintain space in the small empty box. Fuck, he didn’t know how to do this.

You sighed shakily, “You can just go.” You cried, “You don’t have to be here.” You don’t know what he could possibly gain from watching you cry.

“I know.” His voice was calm, even, “Can I help you up?” He asked and you wanted to look up at him in confusion but you didn't want him to see your tears.

You both had just ripped into each other, and here he was, wanting to help you. Why would he do that? Why would he stay when he doesn't have to? Why would he want to help you up after a fight?

Too tired to even think about questioning him and no longer angry at him, you simply scoffed, “Can you?” You sighed, not having the energy to stroke his ego and stand up without his help.

You never let people bear your dead weight, not wanting the awkwardness if they couldn’t carry you, but right now, you just wanted to lay down.

He snorted lightly, happy to hear anything other than a sob for you, “Don’t worry about me, you just cry and mind your business.” He spoke lightly, and the comment made you fight a smile. Then, he lifted you with so much ease, you figured he was trying to show off as he placed you on the bed. He looked at you after he sat on the floor before his eyes caught onto the gold foil of a 16th birthday card. You were wiping at your face as he read the card against his better judgment.

I know you must be confused, and I can’t help that. I wish I could pretend to be a mom, but I can’t. I can’t be your mom, and I never should have tried. It would be best if we forgot each other. I just can’t keep pretending, and I know you can see it, even if you don’t want to.

I’m so tired.

-Mom

Now, he felt even more like an asshole. He also felt a little bit angry that your mother could just leave you behind without so much as saying sorry. She wrote like she was a teenager and you were her mother. She obviously didn't put much thought into the seemingly last message to her daughter and it made his heartbreak for you, “That was the last I heard of her.” You snapped him from his thoughts and he looked at your puffy face, “She had left months earlier, and then I got that, but she moved before I could try to see her one more time.” There was a distant ache in your words as you looked at Jungkook sitting amongst your memories.

“Is she… still alive?” He asked, not sure why he felt the need to know.

“Not sure, but it doesn’t make much of a difference, I guess.” You blew out a sigh, before looking at your papers and folded posterboards, “I was cleaning out my memory box, and I’m not sure why I do it when I know it just upsets me.” You could still feel tears leaking from your eyes as Jungkook picked up a photo of you on your 14th birthday, posed between Jungyoon and your mom. You had a bright smile on your face and they looked at the camera with a tight expression, “You can really see how much they didn’t want to be there, but that's the happiest they look in all of the photos.”

He wanted to say you were wrong, but he could see it. He could see the happy little girl trying to make up for the unhappy adults around her. He knew he should’ve asked Mona why Jungyoon didn’t try to call or visit or why she was so eager to take you in if you knew your family. He should’ve just known better. Yeah, he understood how it felt to be alone growing up, they all did, but by the time they were all 17 they had a home that wanted them. You were going to graduate from college soon and you still felt unwanted.

No thanks to him.

“I’m sorry.” He blurted and you looked at him with wide eyes, “For being an asshole, I’m sorry- and for making you cry. I just…” He shrugged, “You’re right. I was jealous you knew your mom and I already was suspicious of you and I- I’m dumb, and I’m sorry.” He looked at you, eyes a bit glossy and you wondered when was the last time someone apologized for making you cry.

“It’s okay.” You smiled weakly, “You are dumb, but that’s okay.” You chuckled when he frowned, but eventually, he also broke into a short laugh, “I think… we’ve felt a lot of the same things in different ways, so I can’t blame you.” He wondered how you could be so forgiving, and he was scared of how many times that has gotten you hurt, “I like living here and I like all of you, so I hope I can get you all to like me too, even if just a little.”

“Don’t accept less than you deserve.” He spoke firmly before he started picking up your memory box, putting things neatly back in.

“Wh-”

He waved his hands nonchalantly, “You, sleep, I’ll clean this up and order some food.” He didn’t look at you as he said this, mostly to hide his blush, "If...If you want, I can give this to Jin. He has a whole place he keeps our stuff like this… he's really sentimental." He stumbled, still refusing to look at you.

However, he jumped when he heard you hiccup a cry. Ready to apologize, Jungkook was just about to turn to look at you until he heard you speak, "That… That sounds very sweet of you to do." You wiped a sentimental tear away as the blushing boy remained frozen.

"It's Jin's hobby, not mine." He deflected before waving his hand at you, "Sleep, I said." He frantically demanded.

You could see his ears getting red and you smiled, “Yes, sir.” You mocked in your work voice and made him freeze for a moment as you erupted into giggles while he whined, “Okay, okay, I’ll sleep.”

Eventually, you surrendered to your exhaustion as he delicately put away your papers and photos. He hummed lightly, smiling as he came across your debate team awards. No wonder he lost the fight before it even started. He turned around after lifting the box and sighed almost dreamily as he watched your sleeping face. You were beautiful, delicate, and puffy from the tears. He had the urge to keep apologizing for being such an asshole, but after looking through your achievements and your photos, he resolved to just keep proving it.

He wouldn’t let you get hurt again. Not by him or anyone, especially your mother, even Jungyoon was on thin ice.

His blood boiled at the thought of your mother for a reason he couldn’t understand. His hand extended shakily as he pulled the covers up to your shoulder and you hummed contently, making his heart melt a bit at the little smile you had. He wouldn’t fuck up with you again, not like this. He would be nice, at least a little, and first and foremost, he would order food you liked.

He froze.

Fuck, what food do you like?

He relaxed. Well, he could just ask the guys.

Fuck, they’re gonna ask questions.

Fuck, they’re gonna kill him when they found out he made you cry.

He looked back at your sleeping form, not having the heart to wake you up. He sighed, looks like he’ll just have to bite the bullet. He dreaded each moment as he quickly made an untitled group chat with the guys since you were added to their original one. He could only hope Taehyung wouldn’t change the group chat name to something stupid.

Tip Jar

#yandere bts #soft yandere bts #bts fanfic #bts series #yandere jungkook #bts angst #bts fluff #poly bts au

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pushpinsheep · 3 years

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Hopefully this puts things in greater perspective because some tourists just don’t get it and need to hear this. For those who are curious and looking to travel in the future I hope you find this is informative! :) We could all use more perspective on linguistics and traveling imho. I have made some of these mistakes in the past too. We can all learn to be better guests/tourists. This mindset people have that not only is it okay for tourists to exploit and mistreat local populations, but it’s something that should be encouraged is wrong. You’re not entitled to anything special as a tourist just because you have enough money to play around somewhere “exotic” for a few weeks. Regardless of where people travel to. As a guest in someone else’s home you should put more effort into not being a total asshat. You will have a better time and you might learn something cool along the way. I will mostly be using France as an example since I live here and have more insight, but everything I say applies outside of France as well. Note: This information only applies to tourists. Immigrants and refugees are a unique situation and thus face different challenges and have different needs. A tourist chooses where to go and has time (and money) to plan for their trip, which is often only a few weeks or days. Immigrants and refugees often don’t have that same luxury and remain in the country for far longer. (in many cases permanently) Moving to a country places a greater linguistic and cultural demand on an individual. Remember to check your privilege. tourism =/= immigration/asylum. A) English is not the only language in existence. It might be a widely spoken language, but it’s not the most widely spoken language (that honor goes to Chinese) nor is it the only lingua franca. Chinese, Hindu, Spanish, French, and Arabic are all widely spoken across multiple borders and where you are on the planet will obviously dictate which one of these people go with. If you expect that to be English because your sphere of the internet happens to put you in that bubble of “my language or bust” ignorance then like... that’s on you pal. Get with the times and stop assuming everyone should just speak English. English speakers are not the only tourists and English, though widely used, is not the only other language a person might need. I have a friend from Laos who speaks absolutely no English. He doesn’t need it and never has. (even now) He speaks Lao (the regional dialects can be as different as Thai is from Laotian btw), Chinese, a bit of Thai, and French because they still use a lot of French for business dealings there. (something I didn’t know ngl) Assuming he should just speak English because “everyone else does” is ignorant. It’s rude. It puts no thought into his situation. It’s entitled. He’s traveled to visit friends in England and he has an English phrase book. He doesn’t need a lot of English so like... the phrase book is absolutely perfect. Most of what he does in England is sight see and speak Chinese with his friends. Be more like my friend from Laos. B) Official languages may not be the only language a country speaks within its borders. Regional and native languages exist and expecting the locals to speak a 3rd language on top of all that is unbelievably entitled. France has a number of them. There are people who are born and raised in France who don’t speak French in their day to day life. (or at all) Basque, Breton, Occitan, Alsatian, Yiddish, Ladino, Arabic and a number of others are all spoken within French borders. Many are at risk of being permanently lost (that’s why our new regional language law is important btw) and as a result a greater emphasis is placed on preserving them as opposed to learning something new. Most people have to learn the official language as it’s the only language a lot of countries will accept for paperwork, but anything else is up to the individual and you can suck an egg if you don’t like that. (this also applies to immigrants and refugees btw) Heck there are places in the US where people don’t even speak English day to day! Some places actually speak French or Spanish. I heard more Spanish in my day to day life than I did English where I grew up in NC! (moved to Florida and Spanish exploded. loved it!) C) Borders are a thing. People working and living across borders exist and English is often not the language they chose to go with as a result. France borders Germany, Spain, Italy, Belgium, England, and Switzerland. People who share these borders often choose to go with these languages. English is in there, but please note it’s not the only one. D) Culturally speaking a country may not like [insert common language here] and as a result may refuse to speak it. That’s entirely their choice. If you don’t like that then don’t visit the country. It’s really that easy. Colonialism is often a major factor at play in these situations. Respect that choice. You do not get a say in how people reclaim their identity. As for France? This might come as a shock to some people, but France doesn’t like England. I’m 100% certain these two places exist solely to punch each other in the nuts. (ball tap. an international past time) As a result getting English people to speak French or French people to speak English is about as easy as pulling your own teeth. I’ve been spit on for speaking English because people here just assume I’m from England or they hate “annoying Americans” and after seeing how y’all responded to the last post I made... yeah I totally get it now. Granted, that’s no excuse for someone being hostile, but it is something to keep in mind when you visit and applies to more than just France too. E) Retail workers and small shop owners don’t owe you shit. You have absolutely no right waltzing into a shop and demanding the staff speak your language (I don’t care how common it is) for the two weeks you’ve decided to play around in their home. Always ask them first. If they can’t or choose not to then tough luck. This is why a phrase book is important!

Retail workers and small shop owners get treated like shit enough. Some of y’all have never worked retail a day in your life and WOW does it show. Please respect retail workers and small shop owners. You don’t know what their day or life has been like. If they’re tired and don’t want to speak to you in a foreign language then that’s their right. I have had no issues using my phone or a phrase book to help communicate concepts when there is a language barrier. (and I fucking live in France. I’m not even visiting) Emergencies also happen and a phrase book or medical card in the native and/or official language is absolutely essential! Even if you just have an allergy to something! This is a great way to stay safe! When you visit another country being aware of and researching cultural differences includes linguistic differences. Tourists are guests. You don’t live here, you don’t get a say. Remember, learning a second language (esp if you don’t use it often) is really hard. If you’re visiting a country do not expect them to just use whatever language you speak. Mind you a phrase book is also important because people within a country may not have a strong grasp on English even if they do speak it. You can very easily get lost or injured without a phrase book to help you. These things allow you to better experience a country and communicate without actually having to learn the entire language... or any of it. And, once again, they exist for free online! You do not need to learn an entire language to visit somewhere, but you need to be prepared for there to be a barrier. People assuming I mean you need to learn a whole language are uh... really something else. Like do you guys think half the people bending over backwards to communicate with you know the full language? Go ahead. Fuck around and find out. ;) Obviously I’m not saying you should be treated poorly when visiting if you don’t know the language. Unfortunately no matter how much effort you put in there will always be someone who’s a jerk and I’m sorry for that. All I’m saying is as a tourist you owe it to yourself and others to be better prepared. Trust me. You’ll have a better time in the end. (and if you did the research you’d find that Paris is not the best first place to visit... even if you’re french lol) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GS64ZT4eWUA Please watch this guy’s video. It is hilarious and touches on a lot of the same points I just made. Thank you for your time. :) ---------------- Cultural tidbit for those who are curious about where I live in France: I live in Alsace currently! (moved from Lyon, but my spouse is from here) In Alsace you might meet people who speak English, but it’s also entirely likely you won’t! Alsace is also a very tourist heavy area because it looks like a German fairy tale and has a lot of tiny villages with cool stuff to do! I highly recommend visiting here over Paris! We have so many storks! (clackclackclack)

Our logo is a pretzel!

That being said, Alsace has its own regional language!

It’s not uncommon to see bilingual signage or to pass someone on the street and hear them speaking Alsatian. You’ll usually hear it from older people, children, or those from rural areas. It’s really fun to listen to and absolutely wild to see written on museum signs! Kids here will start school learning French, regardless of what they speak at home, which has resulted in a downswing of Alsatian speakers in recent years. That’s why the new regional language law I mentioned waaaaaay above is so important. It’ll allow schools to teach most of the day in Alsatian instead of French with the goal being fully bilingual adults! :) As of right now, most kids here choose German or English (depending on the school) as their second language. Some kids pick Alsatian and honestly? Good for them! I’m glad!

#sheep.txt #long text post #very long #txt #traveling #france #alsace #europe #tourism #language #languages

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iamanartichoke · 3 years

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I wasn't sure if I was going to post this, but I may as well.

I keep starting to reply to things and then stopping bc the words just aren't there, and I suppose I figured out the core of what bothers me so much (and is making me have such a rollercoaster of a fan experience) about the show.

(cut for length)

It's not well-written. My opinion is my opinion, so I'm saying this subjectively, take it or leave it, but ... I feel that it's not well-written. The overall story is fine, and the plot is fine, but I don't know if it's because of the limited number of episodes not being enough to house the story, or because of the relative inexperience of the writer/showrunner+director, or both, or something else, but -

In an earlier reaction post to episode 4, I mentioned really wanting to sink my teeth into all of the subtext I picked up on. That was what made me initially enjoy the episode so much - there were a lot of little moments that I initially felt revealed so much about the characters and about Loki, and I wanted to analyze them. But at some point, as I gathered more information, my perspective changed and now I no longer want to analyze the subtext bc ... subtext = good. Subtext w/out payoff = not as good.

I'll go into more detail in a moment, but I think the tl;dr of it is that I feel like the narrative requires the audience to work way too hard to put together all of the moving pieces here and, like, I kinda just don't want to do that work? Not so much of it, and not in vain. A lot of the enjoyment of Loki's characterization is coming from fans who are rationalizing why he's behaving as he is, but the narrative never actually confirms those rationalizations. It's asking us to figure it out and maybe our conclusions will be correct but maybe they won't, though. At some point, subtext isn't enough without explicit follow-through.

I thought my issue was with the lack of character development - that is, not having enough narrative space to really earn the big things that are happening now, like Loki/Sylvie or Mobius turning against the TVA. And that's still true, to an extent; I still feel like the pacing is all very off and it seems like most of these things kinda came out of nowhere (but are not unbelievable - just undeveloped).

But, yknow, it is what it is, it's a limited series, and I can excuse some things. Ultimately, my issue isn't a problem with what the narrative isn't doing, it's a problem with what the narrative already failed to do and probably cannot recover from at this point.

The narrative has left out significant details that should at least help us do some of the work here. If a person turned on Loki and started episode 1 and had no background knowledge of the character besides that he tried to take over New York - how would that person interpret Loki? Would that person say, oh, well, he's been through X, Y, and Z, and plus A happened, not to mention B, C, and D, so really, it makes sense that he seems off-the-rails, or that he'd want to get ridiculously drunk at the worst time ever.

Maybe we'd like to believe they would, but how would they be getting to that conclusion? The narrative hasn't led them in that direction so, no, they would not say well we have to consider this, this, and that. It would be impossible to really understand Loki as a character from just what we've gotten in the series. The general audience would probably interpret Loki as being out of his element and so it becomes, I wonder how this character is going to get the upper hand here. And, while that's not wrong, it's just so limited.

The narrative at face value does not address Loki's identity crisis from Thor 2011. It does not address his hurt and devastation at being lied to, nor does it address how complicated his self-image is (bc it sucked to begin with and that was before he found out he was part of a race of "monsters," as he'd been taught his entire life). It does not reference Loki being so broken at the end of Thor 2011 that he deliberately let himself fall into the void of space (aka tried to kill himself). It does not reference that he was tortured by Thanos or even that he went through a seriously dark time in between Thor and Avengers, and it absolutely does not reference or address any influence or control of the mind stone.

These are all things that we, the fan audience, know because we've already invested our time into this character's story. But tons of people, the general audience, wouldn't know these things. Or if they did, bc they saw Thor and Avengers, they wouldn't be thinking about them as deeply as we would, nor contextualizing them with how Loki is behaving now, or why it would make sense that he needed to get drunk, or why it's understandable that he needs to keep going-going-going in order to not have a spare second to think or feel.

They'd probably look at Loki, again, as a character who was a villain and is now getting his comeuppance in a place where he has no power or control, and no literal powers, and even when he manages to escape and catch up to the variant, he proceeds to fuck up their plan for seemingly no real reason except that he wanted to get drunk bc he's hedonistic. Which Sylvie even berates him for! I mean. This is not exactly a complex character breakdown, nor a very flattering one, but that's what the narrative has given us.

(If the narrative has addressed Loki's mind control, his torture, his mental breakdown, his suicide attempt, and his general shitty self-esteem as a result of his upbringing, please point it out to me. If the narrative has explicitly acknowledged and referenced these things anywhere and I am missing it, please show me where. Please explain to me how the casual viewer would know any of these things that they need to know in order to actually understand what's happening in this story.)

So I mean, okay, we have a narrative that doesn't paint a full, accurate picture of Loki. Fine, sure. But because the general audience starts out on the wrong footing, they're not going to get out of the overall story what the writers probably intended them to. For example, in episode 3, a lot of us theorized that Loki had some kind of plan - that he broke the timepad on purpose, for some reason, bc otherwise it wasn't believable that he'd be such a failure. But episode 4 revealed that no, there was no bigger plan, Loki just plain old messed up. Which is fine if, again, one is only considering the surface-level portrayal here, but it's not true to Loki's actual characterization.

I mean. Loki is not perfect and Loki actually fails a lot, this is true. He fails for a lot of reasons, but incompetence has never been one of them. Usually it's that either things grew beyond his control, or there ended up being too many moving parts, or he had to change his plan at the last minute due to some roadblock or another being thrown his way, or even that he got in his own way - whatever the case may be for his plans' failures, he was always at least shown to know what he was doing.

That wasn't the case here. The "plan" to fix the Timepad failed as a direct result of Loki's actions, which were careless and made him seem incompetent, like he couldn't even handle this mission. "You had one job," etc. And there were pretty big consequences for this; they were not able to get off-world in time and would have been killed had the TVA not shown up at the last second.

And maybe none of these things matter bc the writers never intended any of this to be a reflection on Loki's character, positive or negative. The situation exists solely because the writers needed to put Loki and Sylvie together in some kind of hopeless scenario so that they could get closer, and thus the narrative could set up their romance. I get that - but, there were other ways to do it that didn't require Loki to look foolish.

Furthermore, the whole reason they needed to set up the romance is to show Loki eventually learning to love himself (like, figuratively but also literally). The audience is supposed to gather that Loki and Sylvie fell for one another, possibly due to the high emotional aspect of, yknow, being about to die (in addition to the variant-bond). The intent is clear: Loki and Sylvie almost die but get rescued at the last minute, having now created an emotional bond --> Loki and Sylvie team up and the narrative further establishes that Loki, at least, has caught feelings --> Loki might confess them but is pruned before he gets the chance --> he somehow survives, he and Sylvie are reunited and don't want to lose one another again, and the combined power of their love is enough to break the sacred timeline and spawn the multiverse, and the reason that the power of their love is so, well, powerful is because it's about self-love and self-acceptance as much as it is about having the capacity to love someone else. The end.

I get all that. The writers more or less said all that. And, I mean, it's certainly not the way I would have chosen to go about it, but it's a fair enough arc to explore. I don't really have an issue with the intent - but my question, however, is this: if the narrative has so far not addressed Loki's background issues (as outlined above), and has furthermore kinda gone out of its way to portray Loki as hedonistic and narcissistic, among other things (like kinda incompetent), and the context the audience starts with is that Loki's this villain who deserves what he gets -

- my question is 1, why should the audience care whether or not Loki gets to a point of loving and accepting himself (thus to make the theme of self-love, via the romance, hold weight) if they don't know that he hates himself to begin with and 2, why should the audience root for Loki to reach that point when so far the perception of him is that he's "kind of an asshole"? if he's a hedonistic narcissist, he probably already has a pretty inflated sense of himself, right? A misplaced inflated sense of himself, at that, because, again, the narrative has made him out to be not that capable of much of anything. (And it didn't start out that way! It seemed to start out with Loki being capable and intelligent but it's like episode 3, in trying to set up the romance, just jumbled it all up somewhere. I think this is why I'm harping on the Loki/Sylvie aspect so much - it's frustrating bc it kinda messes up the whole story and can't even accomplish what it's supposed to anyway.)

Anyway, that's beside the point. What I'm ultimately getting at is, at what point is the audience supposed to get invested in Loki's personal growth journey?

They can't, not really. Without understanding and having the context of everything Loki has been through up until now, and why he hates himself, and why it's so important that he learn to love himself, then the "payoff" becomes kinda pointless bc the significance of it is lost in translation. So suddenly we're left with this romance that comes off as either "Loki loves Sylvie bc of Reasons" (best-case scenario) or "Loki loves Sylvie bc he's vain, narcissistic, and kinda twisted" (worst-case scenario). Neither of these conclusions are what the writers intended or were going for, I'm positive, but there we are, regardless.

In order for the writers' intent in these storylines to land, they need to address the context of what makes these particular stakes high for Loki. So far, they haven't done that. They're asking the audience to pick up on all of these things, and they're showing things that subtextually make sense and are relatively in-character - but only if you realize there's subtext in the first place.

But you can't expect the audience to do all of the work for you. If you don't want the audience to think that Loki is a narcissistic asshole and instead you are trying to convey that, worst-case scenario, he thinks he's a narcissist but is an unreliable narrator, then you have to address that. If you need the audience to understand why you're going the selfcest route and why it's important to explore Loki's capacity to love himself and others, you have to address where that exploration is starting from and why it matters. Etc etc etc.

The narrative isn't doing any of that. And it isn't like it'd be that hard to do it. They don't need to reinvent the wheel here; a lot of the pieces are already there. A few lines of dialogue for context, a brief scene here or there addressing the issues, a little more care and consistency in how Loki handles things - these are all little things that could go a long fucking way in making the narrative stronger.

I'm rambling. My basic point is that my rollercoaster of emotions with this show is because

- as a part of the fan audience, not the general one, I can contextualize and analyze the subtext and come to the conclusions the show wants me to, and thus find the story and the characters more or less enjoyable,

- but I am also going to be using the subtext to come to conclusions that aren't there but probably should be (I think it would be a better story, for example, for Loki to confuse platonic love with romantic love bc it would pave the way to explore just how fucked up Loki's understanding of love - whether of other people or of himself, and the different forms it can take - actually is)

- and when they're ultimately not there, then I think, okay why am I bothering doing all this work just to ultimately feel very unfulfilled? They don't even have to write it the way I would, I'm not saying that, but they do have to do something to make the story feel rewarding.

If we don't get some confirmation of what Loki's been through, and where his headspace is, and why it matters for him to love himself, then the story remains pretty shallow and, for me, it's not fulfilling enough. It's not engaging enough. There isn't actually anything to sink my teeth into, so it becomes kind of boring. Maybe it's rewarding to other people, and that's great for them, but like - I need more than whatever this is.

So I'm just like - well, I had a lot of worries about this show, but my being bored wasn't one of them and now there's only two episodes left and am I really not going to get anything out of this, in the long run? No new canons, no new depths or layers, no new information on Loki's experiences? This is it?

I don't dislike it. I didn't start out disliking it, and I probably wont end up disliking it. I mean, there are a lot of good moments, and good things, and fan service-y things that I appreciate. As far as inspiration for fic goes, it's a goldmine, both plot-wise as well as aesthetic-wise. All of that is great. I don't dislike this show.

But I am disappointed in it, and I feel like I'll be watching the next two episodes lacking the sense of anticipation that would make it exciting. I'll still enjoy them, probably, if for nothing else just the sheer Loki content, but whatever it was I felt watching episodes 1 and 2 is gone and I'm sad about that, too. Because I really wanted to feel fulfilled by this series; I wanted it to fill up the void that Loki's death in IW created three years ago. And I just ... don't feel it. Maybe, maybe that'll change over the course of episodes 5 and 6. I don't know.

Everything that I end up enjoying long-term, I think, will come about as a result of my own interpretations and analysis and while theoretically there's nothing wrong with that, if I had known all I'd get out of this series was more headcanons or support for my current headcanons then, well - that's fine, I suppose, but I'll definitely a little bit robbed.

#loki spoilers #loki series negativity #loki tv series spoilers #loki series spoilers #long post

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cherryfabi · 3 years

Text

Angels Like You- 1

A/N: Hi! This will be a new series. It is inspired by Angels Like You by Miley Cyrus. I hope you like it! Feedback is always welcome.

Warnings: Cheating, smut, daddy kink. I think that's all.

Word Count: 2.5k

It all starts with a lie. People are used to saying them. At times they are necessary, but we find ourselves in trouble when more and more derive from them, creating a vicious circle.

It is foolish and irrational to believe that lies will never be known.

And for the past six months, Harry and Y/N have been doing just that. They’ve been lying. They've been seeing each other despite the fact that they both knew they shouldn't and couldn't, but they did anyway. We humans love the forbidden. We love everything that we know we cannot have. Every human falls into temptation, always. Harry and Y/N were no exception to this.

Both of them met when Y/N’s boss, Jeff, asked her to accompany him to an important dinner, she agreed. What she didn't know was that she was going to find the man of her dreams there, but unfortunately, he was already married.

It was none other than Mr. Harry Styles who Jeff was meeting that night. A serious, wealthy, attractive, and hardworking individual. He was well-known all over the world because he owned major corporations, hotels, and other businesses.

It is safe to say that he is everything a woman wishes for in a man. Every woman wanted to be with him. Everyone loved him because, after all, what's not to love about him? He’s successful, kind, respectful and handsome. What is there not to love? Well, maybe there is something... he's not who he appears to be.

Nothing is ever how it seems, and Harry is no exception; Y/N knows this better than no other person in the world.

It was late at night, and Harry was lying next to Y/N in her bed, talking about anything and everything. His business, his marriage, his life, and his issues. She cuddled up to him and listened to him. One of Harry's favorite things about her is how good of a listener she is. He also knows she’s trustable and nonjudgmental.

They lay in silence after Harry is finished, just enjoying each other's company.

“What’s on your mind?” Y/N asks him.

“You.” He answers immediately.

“Me?” He gives her a nod and she giggles.

“I’m thinking about all the things I want to do to you right now.” He says.

He kisses Y/N on the lips, she smiles and wishes it would never end.

“Let me get you out of these pajamas, princess.” Harry whispered in her ear.

Y/N quickly stands up and lets him get rid of her clothes.

He looks at her with hunger in his eyes and she can’t help but giggle a bit from how he’s looking at her.

“You look beautiful, angel.” He says. “Tits so nice, baby. So hard and perky for me.”

He leans down to reach her breasts and sucks on them. Harry loves her breasts, he always tells her how much he loves them.

“Could spend all day on your tits alone, but I know you're aching between your legs.” He says. “Right?”

“Yes, daddy.” Harry hated being called ‘daddy’, but that changed soon after the word slipped out of Y/N’s lips. Now, he loves being called that, but only if it is Y/N who’s saying it, otherwise he would find it weird.

He starts to kiss his way down to her crotch.

“I’ve barely done anything and you’re soaking, love.” He says once he reaches her pussy. “You smell so good,”

Just when he was about to have a taste of her, she interrupted him.

“Why do you still have clothes on? It's not fair, I’m the only one naked.” She pouts.

“Can you just let me do what I want?” He says. “You know what? I’ll just fuck you. I won’t even waste my time getting you ready, you’re already dripping.” He says, taking his clothes off.

His cock springs up hitting his abdomen. His tip swollen and red.

Seconds later she watches him position himself between her. He takes one of her legs and places them on his shoulder.

“This is what you wanted, didn’t you?” He asked.

“Yes, daddy.” Y/N answered. “Please, daddy, fuck me.”

“I don't want to hurt you, so tell me if it hurts.” She nods. “Love when you’re a good girl for me, makes me feel so good when you’re a good girl for me. Now, be a good girl and spread your legs for me.”

He stares at her pussy for some seconds before slamming into her causing her breath to hitch, and her walls to clench so tight around him she feels her pussy is pushing him out from the tightness.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight, nearly pushing my cock out.” He moans. “Clench around me.” He orders.

She listens to him and clenches her tight cunt around him. His trusts get harder by each passing second. He pushed his hips in a constant rhythm, pushing into her roughly. The thrusts got so rough that every time he’d thrust into her, the headboard would hit the wall with a loud noise.

“This is all you are to me, just a tight hole that I can fuck.” He moves one of his fingers to her clit and starts moving it in circular motions. Her moans get louder, and Harry starts to push into her faster and deeper, so fast that she can’t control the noises coming out of her mouth. The pleasure was too much for her and she tried to close her legs, but she didn’t succeed since Harry removed his finger from her clit and pressed her thighs really far apart. She knows that if he continued with this, she wouldn’t last too long and Harry would not let her come. It’s too soon, he would obviously not let her come just yet.

He starts circling her clit faster and harsher than before and she closes her eyes with pleasure. Even though she can’t see him, she knows what face he has right now. Eyebrows furrowed while he stares where their bodies connect. His breath getting uneven and his grunts increasing, meaning he’s not going to last either.

“I’ve fucked you so many times and you’re still so tight. Can barely move.” He moans.

He then starts to circle her clit again, trying to make her come.

In no time she feels that familiar build in her stomach. Her legs start to shake uncontrollably, fighting so hard to not come. She knows she can't come, not when he hasn't explicitly told her that she has permission to do so.

“Daddy, I’m about to come. Can I come?” She asks between moans, not sure if she could take it anymore.

He removes his finger from her clit. “Come,” He says.

So she does, she comes immediately after he says the word.

Soon after she feels him twitch inside of her and hears him grunt so deeply before talking to her.

“I can come inside of you, right?” He asks. She barely registers what he’s saying but nonetheless, she nods.

He thrusts into her slowly two more times before he spills all his warm come inside of her.

He stays inside of her for some seconds before slowly pulling out.

“You did so good, princess.” He tells her. She knows his orgasm hit him just as amazing as hers by the tone of his voice.

He lays back beside her. She cuddles him while they try to recover their breaths.

Y/N enjoys the comfortable silence there is, but she also does not like it. Everytime they finish fucking, she feels guilt. She feels guilty for messing around with a married man. Sure, she is aware that his marriage is failing and that Harry is dissatisfied with his current wife, but Y/N is also aware that this is not morally correct. She is well aware that she should not be doing this. And the ring on his left hand is proof of it.

She also feels pain, though. See, this is the thing about their affair: they both knew they had to keep whatever they had a secret. They couldn't reveal what was going on between them to the rest of the world. It would have been damaging for both of their reputations. She wished they could show the world how happy they were together, but they were unable to do so. Nonetheless, she wished for it.

Both he and she have enjoyed their secret relationship, of course, to different extents. Y/N knew Harry was only interested in her company and the incredible sex they shared, but Y/N fell for him, she knew the feeling was not reciprocal. She didn’t exactly know how to put into words what she felt for him, but whatever it was, she knew that this feeling was just one-sided. Whatever feelings she had for him were irrelevant at the end of the day; they couldn't be together for more than one reason.

“Harry?” She breaks the silence, he hums in response. “What are we? What am I to you?”

Harry turns to look at her.

"Y/N, I'm married, you know we can't be together even if I wanted to."

"Even if you wanted to?" She repeats. "So even if you weren't married, you still wouldn't want to be with me?" She gets out of bed and puts on her clothes.

"That's not what I meant, Y/N. Don't put words I didn't say in my mouth."

"Yes, you may not have said them, but isn't that the truth?" She sighed.

He doesn't respond and this infuriates her.

“I’m taking that as if I am just a good fuck to you.” She answers. He turns to look away. “I’m sick of this, Harry. I’m tired of the role I play in your life. I’m tired of the lies; I think we should stop this, we shouldn’t have started this in the first place.”

“You’re the only thing that makes me happy at the moment, I don’t want to lose you.” Harry spoke.

“You’re unbelievable! You're married, Harry! Right now, you should be with her, making your wife happy, and she should be making you happy as well, not me. You’re using me, and I'm not going to put up with whatever we've got right now.”

“How come you’re bringing this up now? We’ve been doing this for almost seven months now, and you have never complained about it, what’s different now?” He’s mad now too.

“If you want to stay with me, then divorce her. You always tell me you’re unhappy with her, then divorce her. I want a stable relationship; I'm tired of playing games; I want a normal relationship.”

“Y/N, you know I cannot give you what you’re asking for.”

“Then go, Harry. Get out of my house. Clearly you are never going to give me what I want, I’m done wasting my time.”

Harry sighed, knowing that there was nothing else he could do or say to make it better.

At the end of the day, she was right. He couldn’t give her what she wanted. So, really, what else could be done? Both of them stood in different places in their lives, and there was no way they could’ve made it work.

They both knew their relationship would end eventually, but neither expected it to end this way, on this day. Their relationship had ended for good; it was the most natural thing that could have happened.

Harry deep inside always knew that he didn’t deserve Y/N. He knew she deserves someone who would give her their entire love, someone who did not keep her a secret, she deserved someone much better than him... but he was too selfish to admit this.

“If that is your final decision, I will respect it. Bye, Y/N.”

And this is what Y/N meant when she said that she knows him and knows that he is not what people think he is. She knows that the only thing he cares about is himself, no one else, even if he tells you otherwise. And this is just what he has done. He’s trying to make her feel guilty for the decision she just made, but she will not let this affect her because she knows that he is as guilty as she is.

Harry might seem like a good and wise man, but on the inside he is a misery.

Y/N knows that he hurts people without remorse. And she has just experienced this firsthand.

Now all she has left to do is move on from this and live the normal life she used to have before she met Harry.

___

It's been two months since Y/N saw Harry for the last time. Two months since Y/N lies alone in her bed, not knowing anything about him. Two months since they shared their last kiss. Two months had passed since they called it quits.

After the breakup, Y/N is doing the best she can be. A breakup is never easy, but theirs was even worse. It was even harder for her to overcome because it was full of secrets, lies, and toxicity. But right now she’s alright. She has realized that she likes the life she has right now, there are no secrets, no lies… she likes it way better, but a part of her still misses him.

She deeply regrets getting with a married man. But on the other hand, she does not regret having met him. With him, she lived one of the best months of her life. She got to know a side of herself that if it weren't for Harry, she might never have known. Not everything with Harry was so bad at the end of it all.

“Y/N, I need to talk to you about something.” Jeff said to her.

“Yes?”

“Come in and take a seat.” Jeff said, indicating Y/N to come inside of his office. “So do you remember Mr. Styles?”

When Y/N heard his surname, a last name she thought she'd never hear again, she tensed up. “I do.”

“Good, well, he was just talking to me a few moments ago and said he needed an assistant, and I immediately thought of you.” He gave a warm smile. “I think you're a fantastic assistant, and you'll make a lot more money with him than you are here. He's also an amazing boss. What do you think? I believe this would be a fantastic opportunity for you.”

“But I’m your assistant.” Was all she managed to say.

“Don’t worry, at the moment I don’t think I need one, but he does. What do you think? Would you be interested?

Y/N knew that this would be a great opportunity, and she would have an amazing salary, but was it worth it? She was well aware that Harry and her were not on the best terms, but she knew that this job was a great opportunity.

“Sure, I’ll take it.” She said.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry smut #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles and reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst

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ssscentral · 3 years

Text

Devil like you

Summary: Your boyfriend has a revelation about who - or what - he really is as he invites over a friend to have some earth-shattering, toe-curling, out of this world fun with you.

Pairing : Demon!Namjoon x Reader x Demon! Jimin

Genre : Smut. Pure filth. It be dirty.

Warnings : Threesome, Demon summoning, Overstimulation, Swearing, Restraints, Surprise your boyfriend is a demon, Dom!Namjoon, Dom!Jimin, Sub!Reader, Light Edging, Dirty Talking, Oral Sex (f and m), Fingering

WC : 5.5k

Member : Duda || @biaswreckme

A/N : Hope you enjoy reading this, i’m quite proud of it :v It’s my first AU for BTS, so be gentle T.T This fic is the second part of the group prompt “Hell of a Ride”, each part with our own interpretation, so stay tuned because there is more to come! Any similarities with Supernatural are not coincidental, thank you Spn wikis for the words in Latin and the inspiration for some of the abilities of these demons. And thanks so much @fluffy-fluffu for being the beta ♥

taglist: @sugasbabiie

—————

You thought you should have known. You thought you should have seen the signs – and there were quite a few, thinking back on your relationship. It should not have surprised you like this. It should not have affected you like this. It should not make you wish for more, waiting for the next time it would happen. It should not… you should not… you should not want this as much as you did, right?

You should have seen it coming. It should not have caught you off guard like that, after all, who teaches this language with this much ease and what seems like almost natural and native knowledge? That should have been the first sign to strike your attention. He was not the first Latin professor in the language department at this university, but he was the best. But this department has a lot of languages, and Latin is part of the curriculum for some of the other languages. It was not weird to have a Latin professor. It was weird to have someone as hot as Namjoon teaching Latin. Hot, gods, you sound like a teenager again talking about boys and crushes. But yes, Kim Namjoon, one of the hottest teachers in the university – and it is a big one – teaches a dead language.

So when he asked you, the English teacher – not the only one in the department and you did not consider yourself to be one of the best-looking teachers there – out on a date, you said yes. It had been a while for you, issues with an ex left you being cautious about entering new relationships. It made you pay more attention to certain red flags, but there were none with Namjoon, at least not like those from before.

Kim Namjoon was considerate. Kim Namjoon was creative with his dates. Kim Namjoon was a romantic man, one that had you indeed feeling like a teenager dating for the first time, sneaking around the empty halls and classrooms, the butterflies in your stomach wild and making you giggle at the mere thought of him. Kim Namjoon paid attention to you and your problems. Kim Namjoon listened. And Kim Namjoon was great when it came to sex. Great actually did not really translate how incredible and mind-blowing sex with him was. He knew how to do things to your body like no one ever could before. He suggested some things – some kinky, oh, very kinky things indeed – to spice up the sex that you had only fantasized about but never had the courage to ask for, and he did not judge anything. It was almost as if his mission in bed was to give you utmost pleasure, even if it hurt sometimes – but it always hurt so good. Kim Namjoon was the perfect boyfriend. Maybe too perfect, so you think to yourself that you had ought to know better. No one could be this perfect. There had to be an explanation. And there was. You just never would have imagined that it would be this explanation.

The day had started just like any other, there was nothing special about it, at least to your knowledge. So why, oh, why did it have to be on this day? (Maybe you could ask them later.) You woke up to your alarm, as usual. You love your job, but you always found it difficult to get up this early in the mornings, so you always made sure to set more than one alarm. You got up, had breakfast – “breakfast” is a very general word, but you do eat a piece of toast while the coffee machine warms up. You had a shower, just a quick one to truly wake you up and get you going before getting dressed in your usual teaching outfit. Namjoon would be coming over later, so you would have time to shower again and get dressed up for date night after getting back from the university. You grab a travel mug on the way out, pouring the hot coffee in it, the smell invading your apartment just as you like it.

The classes go on without any issue; a slight problem with the projector in the beginning but nothing out of the ordinary and that would strike one’s attention, especially if one was used to dealing with the projectors in that older building the languages and literature department was stuck with. You crossed paths with Namjoon once the entire day, walking down the hallways of the old building; you were getting out of an English literature class, Joon going to teach his Latin II group. As your bodies got closer, both of you nodded in acknowledgment as if you were any other professor, but your hands discreetly touched in passing, just a small sign you had agreed on to let the other know everything is okay, have a good class, I love you, I will be waiting for you later. You knew he was going out on a field trip with an advanced class and he would have to leave during lunch, so you ate a sandwich in your office, watching some comedy series to relax and get energized for the rest of the day – of course, the hot and new cup of coffee helps -, every once in a while, pausing to chat with the other professor who chose to do something similar. The afternoon is not really that different from other Friday afternoons; no one usually comes during office hours, so no one came on this day. You spent your time alternating between counting the minutes on the ticking clock to be able to go home and get ready for the date and responding to some emails, starting the term report, and downloading some articles to read. You were alone in the office, so you have some music going to help distract you and try to make the time go by faster.

When you finally got home the first thing you did was hop on the shower again, but now taking some time for yourself, phone blasting your favorite songs as you washed the day away from your body, cleaning, shaving what you wanted, moisturizing with some shower oils Namjoon gave you and that you know he loved the scent of. You spent some time choosing your outfit for the evening, knowing it had to be good. You opted for a white lace and silk playsuit, the new lingerie that Namjoon had recently given you, and you knew it had to be expensive from the brand – expensive and fancy lingerie was a guilty pleasure you had that somehow Namjoon was able to indulge, and you had no complaints about it. It gave you an almost innocent look under the black dress, and you were curious to see Namjoon’s reaction. You did not do much for hair and makeup, choosing instead to keep it quite simple and natural – it was only going to be ruined later on anyways.

Soon you heard the bell ring and you looked at the small monitor near the door, letting him in. His hair was slicked back, giving him an edge that was not present in day-to-day life at university. He had his earrings on and paired up with his silver-rimmed glasses and that black blazer made him look unbelievably hot and so different from the pristine almost clumsy-like image of Professor Kim. He kissed you, murmuring a hi in the kiss, letting his hands roam over your dress. He paused and stepped back enough to look at you.

“Are you wearing the new gift?”

It only took a nod from you to have him pressing you against the wall, hitching your leg up and around his waist. His hands took advantage of the position and touched your skin, going up your thighs and bunching up your dress in the way, giving him access to feel the lace and silk on your body.

“Fuck,” he paused, almost breathless, “fuck the reservation, right? I need you now.”

You nodded in affirmation, almost as out of breath as him, “Fuck the reservation, fuck me instead.”

He didn’t need anything else to press you even harder against the wall, hoisting both of your legs; you wrapped them around his body, and he pushed his hips into yours, you could feel how hard he already was. You moaned into the kiss, his hardness was right against where you needed it the most, and when he started slightly moving his hips into yours, it made his length deliciously drag against your clit. The feeling was also enhanced by the lingerie; every time Namjoon canted his hips up, it made the lingerie move up together and tug on your skin, and it did not take long until it was snugged between your nether lips and you were certain you were staining the front of Namjoon’s pants with your wetness as he started nibbling on your earlobe, sucking and kissing your neck, the skin caught between his teeth to make sure it would leave bruises. And then he let you go, dropping your legs from around his body.

“Do you trust me?” He looked into your eyes, seeming unsure, which was unlike him. You could swear that his eyes got darker for a brief moment – and not in the way writers usually describe, with eyes darkening with pleasure or something akin to that. No, it seemed that they physically turned darker, almost black, but you thought you must be imagining things. It could not be humanly possible.

“I trust you, Joon.” You said without any hesitation, fingers entangling with his and taking him in the direction of your bedroom.

He started by taking off his glasses and carefully putting them on the wooden nightstand, taking a minute to take off his blazer and carefully drape it over the piece of furniture. He then turned to you and you felt nervous, his walk almost predatory towards you. He gripped your shoulders, taking the straps of your dress into his hands, and it felt like he was considering just ripping the piece out of your body and your breath faltered. So this was the mood today. But he must have thought better and let his hands caress the front of your body, squeezing your breasts, his fingers then gliding over your clothed nipples, feeling them harder under his touch. His hands moved down, grabbing the edge of your dress in his fists and then lifted it up and off your body, and then you were there, standing in front of him, the white lace and silk that covered your skin seemed almost virginal when contrasted with the current mood. You bit your lip, looking at Namjoon, gaging his reaction, and you saw his eyes widen, a smirk crossing his lips, his tongue unconsciously poking out to lick his top lip. There was a different look in his eyes, one that you did not recognize at all, and you were getting slightly more nervous now. What did he have in store for you this time? You tried to think back to conversations you had, discussing ideas in between cuddles and kisses on the bed, after one of the times you had some passionate lovemaking, his eyes glued to yours the entire time, his body encompassing yours, protecting you. Not every time was kinky, but there was no doubt tonight was going to be. You took a deep breath and stepped forward, your fingers going to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, slowly, your fingers shaking in anticipation.

“Remember when we were talking about maybe having another person in the bedroom with us?”

His question took you by surprise, your fingers stopping mid-action, and you looked at him. “Yes?”

“You are going to learn some things about me tonight, Y/n, but you don’t need to be scared.” He grabbed your hands, intertwining your fingers and kissing them while looking into your eyes. “I promise everything will be okay, and I’ll answer all your questions later. Now I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

And ok, now you were worried, and he could see that in your face, so he brought you closer to his body, hugging you, and your arms tightened around his body.

“You don’t have to be scared, love. It can be scary, but have I ever hurt you?”

“Well…” you started, giggling at the double possibilities to answer his question.

“I’m talking about real harm, Y/n. And might I remind you, who asked to be spanked again?” He chuckled, shaking his head, the mood getting a little lighter. “I can’t promise it’s not going to frighten you at first but keep an open mind. You have your safeword, you can stop this at any time, no matter what.”

“Ok. I can’t promise I won’t fear whatever it is… because you are scaring me a little bit, Joon. But I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me like that.” You raised your head from where it was resting on his chest, looking into his eyes again, and this time you could not be mistaken. They were black. Like black black; you could not see any of the previous colors in his irises, even the sclera was taken over by the color, and it hit you. You took a quick step back, letting go of his body, shocked. Was… was this real?

“I’m still me,” his voice was soft and his hands raised by his sides in that universal sign of I’m not going to hurt you. “It’s always been me.”

“So you’re not… possessed?” you laughed in disbelief.

“No. It’s always been me,” he repeated, taking one step closer to you with one of his hands reaching out, and hesitantly you grabbed it. “Let me show you. I promise you will have a good time.”

Your body was still shaking with fear when you let yourself get closer to him, but his words were starting to reassure you, calm you. If he had always been like this and never harmed you, you would be okay, right? The fear and worry were slowly starting to give way to curiosity and some slight confusion when he started muttering some words under his breath. Now, you did not understand Latin – it was a dead language, come on –, but you were able to pick up that he was almost chanting in it, words like te invoco, spiritus, infernalis, and daemon being spoken with more intensity. He finished saying it and kissed you deeply, his arms encircling your body and pulling you to him, when you suddenly felt another presence behind you, a second body pressing against you, feeling a hard chest pressing you into Namjoon even more. You stopped the kiss, looking over your shoulder, and your eyes stumbled upon another black-eyed figure. This man, this demon, was shorter than Namjoon, but with the way the front of his body was glued to your back, you could feel he was just as muscular, maybe even more, from what you were feeling from his thighs. There were no words for his face. You thought Namjoon was handsome, but this man’s face was on a whole other level of beauty, with those rounded full lips that would give Namjoon’s a run for their money. If it were not for his black eyes you would dare say his face was angelic even, with his light-colored hair parted in the middle. But something about the smirk and raised eyebrows let you know that there was nothing angelic about him.

“Damn, Namjoon. You’ve been hiding her this entire time?” He almost growled, shifting his hips, and you felt the hardness in his pants. “If I’d known, I’d have come sooner.”

“And this is Jimin, Y/n,” he started, scoffing at his… friend? “Now close your eyes and let us take care of you.”

He did not wait for an answer from you, and at the same time his lips found yours, you felt Jimin’s lips on your neck and his hands on your waist, and you could only sigh, close your eyes, and give into these new sensations. The two pairs of hands were roaming your body; the contrast of their clothed bodies against yours, almost naked, was heightening the sensation of your powerlessness, and you had to press your thighs together in an attempt to bring some pressure to your center and relieve some of the aching. You could feel their smirks when you did it, and then Jimin’s hand traveled downwards and on the front of your body, his fingers sneaking under the lingerie to feel your wetness.

“Fuck,” his voice was almost strained, “she’s dripping, Namjoon.” His fingers went all over your mound spreading your wetness around, careful to not touch you for too long to tease you.

“Is this right, Y/n?” Namjoon asked against your lips, then tilted his head back to look at you, his hand joining Jimin’s. “I know you get wet for me, but if I had known you would be dripping like this, I would have brought Jimin much sooner.” He stated as his fingers toyed with the straps of your playsuit, slowly lowering them. “And you are wearing this, today of all days… all in white…”

Namjoon’s fingers teased your nipples lightly at first, just caressing them while Jimin slowly lowered the lingerie down your body, giving open-mouthed kisses to your back and lower and he went down on his knees behind you. You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back and grabbing Namjoon’s biceps for balance when Jimin lifted your left feet first then the right, letting the playsuit fall to the ground off your body. You felt a pinch to your nipples, and you sighed, and shortly after you felt his tongue circling it, then his mouth sucking on it, tugging lightly with his teeth. You clenched your legs again, only for Jimin to spread them. You felt Jimin’s breath on your backside, and his hands made you arch your back so he could see you better from behind, but you felt nothing else but his warm breath very close to your center, his hands gripping your thighs from the inside to stop you from closing them. When Namjoon used the fatal combination of pinching down on a nipple harder and biting the other and sucking on it, Jimin chuckled.

“Do that again, Namjoon. She liked it, she just clenched down on nothing so hard.” His mouth was so close to you yet doing nothing, and to worsen the situation, he used his hands to help you spread your legs more. “Tilt your ass towards me, Y/n, I want to see you clench like that again.”

You did so without hesitation, arching your back more so he could see you better, and when Namjoon did it again, inverting touch and bite to the other nipple, you clenched again, needing their touch, needing something. And he combined pulling your nipple with his teeth with his other hand entangling in your hair and pulling it down hard, increasing your arch. You heard Jimin chuckle softly again and then his mouth was pressed to your inner thigh, licking upwards as he moaned, probably tasting the wetness that had started dripping. Namjoon was not being gentle anymore, using the amount of pressure and strength he knew you loved, much rougher than when you were making love, your nipples becoming more sensitive and abused under his ministrations. This moment, with his lips around your nipples, his teeth worrying them, while Jimin licked your thighs, was pure and unadulterated passion and desire. You let one of your hands fall to grab Jimin’s hair to try and direct him, but he let one of your thighs go to wrap his fingers around your wrist while he bit down on your thigh. You moaned in pain, but you loved it.

Your other hand moved from Namjoon’s biceps to the front of his shirt to undo the few buttons that were left, and he paused what he was doing to help you. When you went to unbutton his pants, you felt your arm being pinned to your back by the demon between your legs. You looked back and down, seeing Jimin licking his lips again while he got up. He pulled you against his body, murmuring that tonight was about you and not to worry about them. As he said these words, Namjoon’s long fingers undid his own pants, hooking them under his underwear to take them off at the same time. His erection slapped softly against his stomach, his cock long and thick, the bulbous head already a little wet with precum. He stepped out of his pants, his strong thighs flexing, and he came closer to kiss you again, letting you feel his hardness against your belly. He started to pull you towards the bed, turning your bodies so you could fall against the mattress with him on top, but he did not stay long. He got up, looking at Jimin, and raised his eyebrows.

“You look so innocent like this, wide-eyed looking at us about to devour you,” Jimin started, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, putting on a show for you.

The dark shirt Jimin was wearing opened to reveal toned muscles beneath, ones you had already felt against your back. His light purple hair was slightly messy from your attempt to grab it; his lips were turned up into a corner smile observing the way you were watching him. He let his hands caress down his body, feeling his own muscles, his luscious lips open now. One of his hands went to the button of his pants and the other grabbed his crotch, showing you the outline of his erection, and then he took the black garment off, and he was wearing no underwear. His hand went to his erection again, stroking himself up and down slowly, showing you his body and how proud he seemed of it. His cock was just as beautiful as the rest of him, the head a light pink color, and while he was thinner than Namjoon, he was just as long and curved upwards, and it made you wonder if he could hit that spot without much effort.

“We are going to destroy you, and you will take it all. You will be lying there on the bed, ruined, a sinner, and in the end, you will be begging for me to come back again and wreck you.” Jimin’s voice was deeper, his black eyes shining under the lights and the promise. And then he looked at Namjoon. “Have you done it yet?”

You looked confused for a moment, especially when Namjoon answered a no and Jimin chuckled. And then you understood. Jimin snapped his fingers and your arms were suddenly above your head, pressed on the pillow. You tried moving them but to no avail. Oh. Your chest went up and down quickly, your breath faster, but you smiled.

“Oh, this is new. Can you do it too, Joon?” You needed to know. Had he been hiding this from you this whole time? He licked his lips and snapped his fingers, and then your legs were up, an invisible force holding them up and wide open, spread apart for them. You bit your lip and clenched down on nothing, moaning softly, your head thrown back into the pillow. “This is fun.”

You smiled at them and saw them looking at each other smiling as well, but you could not even imagine what was going through their minds. Could they communicate like that? You had so many questions to ask Joon later, but before your mind could wander any further, your body was being dragged to the edge of the bed by Jimin, who was kneeling on the floor in front of it. You had never felt so exposed before and so without control, although you knew all you had to say was that one word and everything would end.

“She tastes delicious, Jimin. You’re going to love it.” Namjoon sat by you on the bed, looking down at the other man, and lowered his head to whisper in your ear, “you want to know another thing I’ve been hiding? We don’t get tired.”

Namjoon bit your earlobe at the same time that Jimin licked you where you needed the most, from bottom to top. You could only moan loudly and arch your back, your fingers closing into tight a fist and your thighs clenching, but you could not move them. You thought he would make you beg for it, considering all the teasing from before, but he wasted no time and started applying pressure to your clit with his soft tongue, short circular movements alternated with longer licks while his fingers kept your lower lips spread open for him. Unable to move, all you could do was take it, the pleasure intensified by your inability to move your legs; there was no escape from Jimin’s tongue on the underside of your clit, its hood up, leaving it exposed and so sensitive to his probing. While Jimin was doing this, Namjoon began playing with your nipples again. They were already hard and a little red from before, more sensitive, so when he started pinching them again the pain seemed to go straight down to your clit, enhancing your pleasure, and he seemed to know this. He became relentless in teasing them, pinching harder, lowering his body beside you to bite at them, tugging on your nipples and pulling them, letting his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin. Jimin’s tongue was also relentless on your clit, and the first time he felt you getting close to your orgasm, he stopped and looked at you.

“Please, please…” you sobbed and moaned; the desperation clear in your voice as Namjoon did not stop.

“Should we see if she can cum only by teasing her nipples?” Jimin’s voice was playful.

“No, please, please, no, please,” you begged.

“Oh, Namjoon, she begs so beautifully. But is it a no or is it a please, do it?” His tongue was between his teeth, his smile wider now, the look on his face pure teasing. You shook your head negatively, a sob caught in your throat, but he continued, “You’re clenching again, Y/n. I think you can do this. But maybe another day,” you let out a sigh in relief, “another day, when we will tease you for hours, edge you until even our breath will make you cum, how about that?”

Jimin wasted no more time and got back to licking you, making out with your pussy, encompassing it entirely with his mouth, and the moment his lips closed around your clit to suck it, you lost it. It took you by surprise; the sensation usually begins with a slight tingle on your belly, and then it spreads to your fingers, but this time your whole body clenched as pleasure overtook you, his tongue continuing to press on your clit while he sucked to prolong your orgasm. You did not know what sounds came out of your mouth, as your ears seemed to be ringing, numb to sounds. You could barely murmur out a weak stop, but he ignored it – which also relieved you, you did not really want to stop–, choosing to insert a finger and then two into you, moving them in and out at first and then pressing them upwards, looking for the spot inside you that made you see stars. You were about to say you were too sensitive for him to continue when he found it, and as you moaned loudly you heard Namjoon say something to him, but you couldn’t understand what it was, but Jimin’s response was to increase the pressure of his fingers and let your clit go. You were confused for a second but you soon understood when you felt one of Namjoon’s hands moving down, his fingers then making quick movements on your clit, knowing it was what you needed to get you there fast again. This time you felt the sensation growing, a tingling on the tips of your fingers, your toes, as it grew and permeated your entire body again. You thought they would relent, and then you remembered what Namjoon had said. They did not get tired.

You lost count after the fifth orgasm, or so you thought it was the fifth; your voice was hoarse from moaning and your clit was so sensitive from all of the overstimulation, and they did not seem like they wanted to stop anytime soon. You could feel the tears that had escaped your eyes wetting your cheeks, and every once in a while, one of them would lick them away while the other continued his assault on your clit, the pleasure relentlessly taking over you again and again. You did not know anymore when one orgasm ended and the other began, the tingling sensation a constant on your entire body. And then, finally, they snapped their fingers again, releasing your body from the invisible restraints.

You could barely move, but they helped shift and turn your body until you were on your hands and knees, Namjoon’s body behind you. You heard the sound of a small foil packet being opened, and then he was pressing inside you, his cock stretching you even though they had used their fingers before. It was always a stretch, Namjoon going in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size before starting to thrust his hips into you. On his first thrust forward, you opened your mouth on a moan and Jimin took advantage of the opportunity to press his cock into your lips, holding your hair with one of his hands while the other was at the base of his cock, holding and moving it to go over your lips. You licked around his engorged head and then opened your mouth wider, taking him inside and sucking. You could barely keep your body upright, so soon your hands faltered, and you fell to your elbows, the dip in your spine changing the angle slightly and it had Namjoon pressing into that one spot that had you almost screaming. Jimin lowered his body, sitting down with his legs open to fit you between them, inclining his body backward, bending his elbows to have a good view of you, and it made it easier for you to suck him. His view was nice, your body bent forward, your ass being held by Namjoon’s hands while he pounded into you, but your view was not bad at all.

Jimin’s muscly thighs flexed each time he pressed his hips up, fucking into your mouth, his abs clenching, and his face… his face, dark black eyes half-closed, mouth open in a sly smile, licking his full lips still wet with your taste. You maintained eye contact while you sucked him, bobbing your head up and down, sucking hard when his head was about to leave your mouth, and when you went down, you let your tongue lick the underside. It was sloppy, saliva leaving your mouth, making him wetter and easier for your hand to help whatever did not fit your mouth. You were moaning around him, figuring he would like it as much as Namjoon did, and you were rewarded with high pitched moans from Jimin, his head now thrown back. On a hard suck downwards you felt his thighs clench and his release spill on your mouth at the same time Namjoon played with your clit, and you screamed and soon saw nothing else.

You did not know how long you were out, but when you came to your senses again you were lying on your front, covered by your blanket, and Jimin was nowhere in sight. You heard footsteps entering the room just when you raised your head and saw Namjoon with a cold bottle of water and pants on. He smiled tentatively at you, sitting by your side on the bed. He helped you sit, propped up against him, and you took the bottle from his hands, feeling thirsty.

“Hey,” his voice was almost shy, so different from before and from the usual Namjoon. Well, the Namjoon you thought you knew. “Are you ok?”

You nodded, smiling softly at him between sips. You looked around and then looked at him, the question clear in your eyes.

“Hm, Jimin’s gone now. He helped clean you up and left, we… we did not know if you wanted him here for the after. Or if at all. Or… if you still wanted me.”

It was strange, seeing this difference in him. Namjoon was so confident, especially in the bedroom, and after finding out the truth about him, you could not imagine he would ever be this timid.

“I still want you, Joon,” you could barely speak, but you wanted to reassure him, hugging him tightly. He needed you at this moment as much as you needed him. “I just have some questions, but I still love you.”

“I love you too, Y/n. And I’ll answer whatever you want.” He was eager to respond, his relief apparent in his voice.

“The first question is… can we have fun with Jimin again another time?”

398 notes · View notes

zillennial97 · 3 years

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Enemies to Lovers | Larry Fanfic Recs

Walk That Mile by purpledaisy | 149k | Explicit

Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.”

“Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.”

“Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes.- A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry | 136k | Explicit

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

we're not friends, we could be anything by nooelgallagher, yoursongonmyheart | 115k | Explicit

Louis narrows his eyes at Harry. “What that supposed to be a fucking joke?”

Harry narrows his eyes right back. “It was a good joke.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Jokes require laughter, Curls.” Louis glances down at Harry’s thighs again, Christ. “Your pants must be so tight they’re restricting airflow to your brain.”

Harry wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead. “Pretty sure yoga is supposed to increase airflow, blood flow, and all that,” he responds dryly, finally jumpstarting himself and walking away from Louis towards his own bedroom.

Louis can’t help but stare at his broad back, still sheen with drying sweat, and his perky bum in the tight yoga pants.

Louis swallows. Christ.

...Or, the one where Harry and Louis are unlikely uni flatmates who definitely don't like each other and definitely won't fall in love (even if Liam and Niall think otherwise).

Our Lives, Non-Fiction by indiaalphawhiskey | 113k | Explicit

Heralded as the next Neil Gaiman, Louis Tomlinson does not appreciate being told that his very serious novel is in dire need of a PR boost. Even worse, that it comes in the form of a joint book tour with the UK’s #1 online romance-writing sensation Marcel Styles. Already turbulent at best, their partnership takes a drastic turn when, overly stressed about his looming deadline, Marcel accidentally blurts out a secret: though he’s famed for his scorching hot literary love scenes, he is, actually, a virgin.

Convinced that the only way to rid himself of writer’s block is to gain some experience, Marcel asks Louis, author-to-author, to sleep with him – for Science. And of course Louis agrees because, well, what on Earth could possibly go wrong?

Or, a lesson in romance that proves that sometimes the best love stories aren’t always by the book.

Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can't Lose by dolce_piccante | 112k | Mature

American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

Dance to the Distortion by Lis (domesticharry) | 96k | Explicit

Louis accidentally breaks Harry's camera lens and in order to get it fixed, they decide to participate in a romantic couples study. The only issue is that they are not actually couple. Well that and the fact they cannot stand each other.

You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) by lucythegoosey | 95k | Explicit

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

Or: Harry and Louis are forced to fake-date after an old video from when they were dating emerges.

The Sidelines by RedRidingStiles | 47k | Explicit

"Alright, I know you guys are the best of friends but I'd like you to do this for the rest of the team,” Cowell says, making the rest of the team snicker. "So I want both of you to compliment each other." "I hate your trainers. I mean that in the nicest way possible. They're very...yellow," Louis says, arms crossed as he offers a fake close-lipped grin. "It's really nice of you to blow anyone you find slightly attractive," Harry replies, a sickening sweet smile on his lips. "Thank you, children, let me remind you this is a college hockey team. Try again," Coach says, completely unamused.

Or Harry and Louis play hockey for Penn state and can't stand one another, since they can't keep their hatred off the ice their coach and team do what they can to keep their hard earned spot in the playoffs and their two star players from killing each other

Wonderwall by AFangirlFantasy | 43k | General Audiences

Taking the sheet cluttered with times available for the next few weeks, Louis notices a pattern in the list. The name of the person Perrie had just mentioned: Harry Styles. It’s written at least seven times, and three of which are during timeframes Louis wants.

“Who the fuck is Harry Styles?”

“You’re about to find out,” she answers, pointing over Louis’ shoulder.

Or a Love/Hate College AU where Louis Tomlinson is the lead singer of The Rogue - the most popular band on campus - and Harry Styles is the talented Freshman unknowingly challenging all that.

All the Right Moves by cherrystreet | 32k | Explicit

This is the third game in a row that Harry has been distracted by the noisy boy in the stands, five rows back.

There’s really no reason that he should feel compelled to stare into the audience as frequently as he is, but he can’t help it. This boy is a nuisance. And he’s loud. Even from basketball court with nine other players running by him, shoes squeaking on the shiny hardwood floor, and thousands of cheering college students, Harry can hear this boy nearly shrieking, his laugh more like a cackle than anything.

It’s seriously obnoxious.

Nicotine by KrisStylinson | 32k | Explicit

"We're two different types of people, Liam. He likes sex and drugs, I like theater and tea. Trust me, we'd never date." Except they would, they do, and neither of them plans on letting go anytime soon.

"Just because you can get me hard doesn't mean I like you," Louis whispered. The fact was, he didn't like Harry right now, not at all. Not even a bit.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry murmured, his breath fanning over Louis' cock as he spoke. "You done telling me how much you hate me so I can suck you off?"

Like Candy In My Veins by littlelouishiccups | 31k | Explicit

“Um…” Harry said slowly after a moment. “Okay. That’s… this is… Let me get this straight.” He lifted up a hand and swallowed. “You told your family that you have a boyfriend… and my name was the first one you thought of?” “Harry Potter was on TV, alright? It wasn’t that much of a stretch.” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe he was explaining himself to Harry fucking Styles. He couldn’t believe he was stooping this low. “Forget it. I’m sorry I even thought about bringing you into this.”

Harry snorted. “What? Did you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend or something?”

(Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for.)

We're Like Bumper Cars by sincehewaseighteen | 31k | Explicit

“I have won, I won the final cross country. I win, Harry--”

“Whoever gets to fucking nationals wins it, pretty boy,” Harry teases. “You haven’t won. Interhouse is nothing compared to nationals, or interstate. You haven’t even won interschool. You can dream all you fucking want that you’ve won.”

Louis becomes so ignorant he decides to no longer eye the boy taunting him. “Trophies prove it all, Styles.”

“Where’s your trophy for biggest asshole?”

“Where’s yours for winning cross country?”

Harry growls before hooking his fingers in Louis’ belt loops and bringing them together for a flat kiss.

Or the AU where Louis and Harry are rivals of the century and Cross Country competitors before things get complicated and they play pretend.

After Hours by Velvetoscar for shipsdrifting | 26k | Not Rated

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are the bane of each other's existences. Unfortunately, they're already in love--even if they aren't completely aware of this minor detail.

[A "You've Got Mail" AU]

When It's Late At Night by Rearviewdreamer | 25k | Mature

Louis has zero interest in an ex-boybander turned solo artist when his appearance on the show gets announced, but that's exactly who he gets stuck with when Harry Styles shows up at the Late Late show to promote the release of his debut album. For an entire fucking week.

The Late Late prompt that we all need to get through this excruciatingly hard time.

Love Me Please by angelichl | 23k | Explicit

Louis hates Harry, which is fine because he would really rather prefer to avoid him at all costs.

The only problem?

They're soulmates.

runnin' like you did by orphan_account | 20k | Explicit

“Should we tell him?”

When Lauren is met with everyone either nodding their heads or shrugging, she takes a deep breath. “I mean, I think it’s pretty obvious by now.” She stalls, sounding ominous and Louis doesn’t like it one bit.

“What is obvious by now?” Louis asks. He’s starting getting anxious. “I swear to God, spit it out. Stop being so damn cryptic.”

“I—We think it’s pretty obvious that you’re in love with Harry,” she states simply and shrugs as if she isn’t telling him he’s in love with the second—Nick being the first—most annoying person on the planet.

or, a college au where Louis knows how to hold a grudge and is definitely not in love with Harry Styles

Three French Hems by 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews | 20k | Mature

In which Louis is a designer at Burberry and Harry spends December wearing Lanvin… and Lanvin… and Lanvin.

once bitten and twice shy by pinkcords | 19k | Mature

This time as his stomach rolls, there’s no doubt about it. He’s going to vomit. And if he does, it’ll be on Louis’ shoes, a nice little parting gift to go with the embarrassment he’s caused the both of them. “I’m gonna throw up,” he says just as Louis turns to look at him, blue eyes swimming with shock and confusion, and asks, “Is that true?”

Or, in a rush of bravery only senior year can bring, Harry confesses his feelings in a letter to his neighbor and best friend, Louis, only for the entire school to hear it and laugh him out of their small town in Wisconsin. Ten years later, Harry's a successful lawyer at Columbia Records, coming home for Christmas for the first time since he departed for college. He plans to work his way through the trip, eat his mom's cooking, and avoid everyone from his past for as long as possible. The only problem is best laid plans hardly ever go as intended.

That's How I Know by allwaswell16 | 19k | Explicit

Louis Tomlinson has just landed his dream job, coaching soccer at Augustus University. When he moves into a new house near campus, he meets his very fit new neighbor, English professor Harry Styles. Although their first meeting leads to an instant mutual dislike, the more Harry gets to know Louis, the more he likes what he sees.

Or the one where Harry’s African grey parrot spills his dirty secrets to his very hot neighbor.

Get Off of My Cloud by Marora_Daris | 9k | Explicit

Harry is the most annoying neighbour that sexually frustrated Louis could have. Niall decides it's a good idea to handcuff them together.

Featuring guinea pigs, animal print leggings and inappropriate boners.

Erase My History, (Expo)se Me by BayouSexual, pacificrimjob for Edandcurly | 6k | Teen And Up Audiences

“My hair does not smell like strawberries.”

Louis blinks up at Mr. Styles. “I never said your hair smells like strawberries. How would I even know that?” Harry’s hair does smell like strawberries, Harry himself smells like strawberries, everyone who’s been within three feet of him knows this. ~~~~~~~~ Or the one where Harry and Louis both teacher history, their students think they should date, and one pink dry-erase marker is trying to ruin their lives (with a little help of course).

#larry fanfiction recommendations #larry fanfic rec #larry fic #larry fanfiction #larry stylinson #louis tomlinson #harry styles #one direction fanfiction #one direction fanfic recs #larry fanfiction masterpost #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers #hate to love #enemies with benefits

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tothemeadow · 3 years

Note

i saw that your requests are open so could i perchance request a tanjiro x female reader scenario where she gives him aphrodisiac? :0 thank you ^^

‘tasty, candy-covered lady’ / Kamado T. x Reader

warnings: sexual suggestions

words: 785

(a/n): Tanjiro is 18+ in this!

Tanjiro always loves the time he’s able to spend with you. With a world filled with demons and the threat of Muzan still hanging above everyone’s heads, the occurrence of sitting back and truly relaxing is scarce. Any day could possibly be his last, he knows that. But to see your smile one last time, to feel you in his embrace… He’ll fight for that, even with his dying breath.

He can’t help but to feel helplessly enamored with you; your gentle smile, your radiant glow, the very way you say his name. You’re literal perfection in his eyes.

Even now, he watches you pour tea with hearts in his eyes. Instead of the issued uniform of the demon corps, a simple cornflower yukata is wrapped around your body. It should be illegal how adorably soft you look, how amazingly domestic. Tanjiro’s heart thumps steadily inside his ribcage, the warmth spreading from his chest to the tips of his fingers, his toes. It’s almost funny how unbelievably whipped he is for you, but he doesn’t care. Call him a fool in love – it’s the truth, and Tanjiro wouldn’t think of ever denying it.

“Tanjiro,” you say, yanking Tanjiro away from his thoughts, “you’re staring.” The tone you use is soft, your words barely above a whisper.

Smiling sheepishly, Tanjiro rubs the back of his neck, his earrings tinkling as he cocks his head. “I’m sorry, darling,” he nearly purrs. Gods, he loves hearing his name roll of your tongue. “It’s just… You’re outstandingly beautiful, you know? I know it sounds sappy, but it’s the truth.”

“Somebody’s feeling rather romantic today, isn’t he?”

“You can’t blame me,” Tanjiro tells you earnestly. His heart flutters at the bright smile you send his way. Reaching forward, he grabs the cup you hand him, a quiet thank you slipping from his mouth. As he takes a sip, warmth floods his mouth, a pleasant, sweet taste overtaking his tastebuds. Is this a new type of tea, perhaps? Tanjiro doesn’t recognize its smell or flavor, but he finds it utterly delicious.

You watch on his he downs the tea in record time; setting the cup back down, Tanjiro catches his breath and licks his lips. Again, you smile beautifully. Tanjiro smiles right back at you, his face growing warm with a blush. Now that he thinks about it, did it just get hotter in here? Discreetly tugging at the neckline of his yukata, he tries to calm down his frantically beating heart. Huh, strange. With each passing moment, his body’s temperature increases more and more, his blood beginning to boil in his veins.

You continue to watch on, seemingly not noticing his inner turmoil. Should he say something? Oh, but that look on your face is so sweet. Your familiar, intoxicating scent fills Tanjiro’s nose, nearly leaving him drooling on the spot.

“U-uh, is it hot in here to you…?” Tanjiro asks, his voice coming out in a pathetic squeak.

You shake your head. “No, I’m alright. But, Tanjiro… Are you feeling ill? Your face is awfully red.”

Oh jeez, there you go again, saying his name. You’re like some damn temptress, stringing him along and just waiting for him to lose control. His gaze drops down to your mouth as you take a sip of your own tea, your tongue darting out afterwards and flicking across your lower lip. The simple action alone is enough to make Tanjiro’s cock twitch to life, blood swelling to his appendage. Good gods, you haven’t done anything and he’s already hard as a rock.

Oh… Oh no.

“I think… I dunno what’s going on,” Tanjiro babbles. He’s feeling so dizzy, his mind becoming a muddled mess. “Everything feels hot…”

“Really?”

Scooting up onto your knees, you lean over the low-sitting table, pressing the back of your hand to Tanjiro’s forehead. His gaze drops, landing on the sliver of skin your yukata shows; it’s only a flash of your cleavage, but oh does it make Tanjiro sweat, makes him want to run his tongue over your flesh and make have you cry from his touch.

“Tanjiro,” you murmur, dropping your hand and caressing his face instead, “you look… flustered.” The smirk you flash him is knowing, mischievous. Tanjiro nearly chokes on his own spit – you know what you were doing.

Licking his lips, Tanjiro leans into your touch, his breathing coming out in heavy pants. “That’s so… unfair,” he lolls, tongue poking out from behind his teeth. “Why did you-“

“Shhh,” you say, running your thumb over his bottom lip. “Why don’t we have some fun, Tanjiro? That’s what you want, right…?”

Swallowing thickly, Tanjiro sucks your thumb into his mouth, his cock twitching. “Please.”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #tanjiro kamado x reader #kamado tanjiro x reader #tanjiro kamado #kamado tanjiro #kny tanjiro #request

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mdawritings · 3 years

Text

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 12

II.I

Masterlist

Warnings: References to violence, canon-typical descriptions of violence, crime scenes, and death.

Song(s): "Bruises" by Lewis Capaldi and "I Almost Do" by Taylor Swift

It’s almost eight years until you hear the name Aaron Hotchner again.

You’re anxiously awaiting the call about your reassignment within the FBI. You had completed your year of mandated leave, gone through the required psych evaluations, gone through the training protocols. You’re ready to get back into the action, or, at least, you’re ready enough to get back to work. That’s when you receive the final message.

Your reinstatement was to be within the Quantico headquarters. This way, the brass could keep a close eye on you, while still utilizing your skills in the best possible way. So you flew into Quantico late Saturday night, moving into the cheapest apartment you could find. It was in a terrible area but being out of work for a year leaves you without much spare cash to live lavishly. Without your government-issued weapon, you check the deadlock every time you turn your back to the door for too long.

You have hardly any furniture in the apartment, most of the decor being the piles and piles of boxes in the center of your living room. You’re exhausted, in every possible way, so you settle for a fast shower, during which you’re entirely paranoid someone is going to break into your apartment. You collapse onto your bed, barely having the energy to even put the sheets on the bed to make it. The call comes through your phone shortly after you fall asleep, which means you don’t check your messages until early Sunday.

“This is Erin Strauss of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I’m calling to inform you that the council has processed your psych evaluation and administered a new gun registration and badge for you. You will now be working under me as a profiler within the BAU. It is my understanding that you’ve taken quite a few profiling classes in your training as a negotiator and you’re well equipped for this job. There will be a slight adjustment period but nothing that I do not believe you are capable of handling. You will start in your new position on Monday. Meet me at my office and I can brief you about the basics and then Agent Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, will take it from there.”

You practically drop the phone. Your hands shake slightly, as you click off the phone and place it back onto your bedside table. You write Strauss an email in response, apologizing for missing her call, accepting the position, thanking her for the opportunity, and expressing your immense gratitude for such an esteemed position with such a great team. But that’s a lie. For a split second, you believe it's possible that this Aaron Hotchner is a completely different one than your Aaron Hotchner. You’ve never been a believer in fate or destiny. But for this to be a coincidence is simply unbelievable. Isn’t he supposed to be tormenting more students, torturing more girls, breaking more hearts? How did he end up as the BAU Unit Chief within the FBI?

You’re in shock, Strauss only leaving you about 24 hours to process it all and prepare for a new job. There’s no way you could request reassignment to a different unit. You’ve already been given your second chance. It’s now or never to get back into the FBI.

You’ve been out of work for a year. For a year, you’ve been struggling to cope with the loss of coworkers and innocent people. A loss that’s completely on your shoulders. Blood that’s on your hands. It was enough of an adjustment to get back to normal. Well as close to normal as can be. Your government-issued therapist, as you like to call her, attempted to dismantle this idea. She tried her best to remove the guilt from your mind, but after the government aid for the sessions ran out, you abandoned all hope of restoring yourself to the mental state you were in before. Everything in your life now is the after. You can’t live in the before. It’s too painful.

But now? Now it feels like all the work you’ve done to heal, to move on, to continue your life is rapidly unraveling in front of you. How would you adjust to seeing Aaron Hotchner once again? You hope that by now, he won’t have as much of an impact on you. You’ve experienced so much life, so much living, so much loss since then.

You’ve had other relationships, loved other people, slept with other people, but the impact that Hotch had on your life is permanent. When you think about it too long it feels ridiculous, the fact that a silly little fling in your early 20s has managed to change you so much. So much so, that now, at 29, you can still sense remnants of his impact on your life. They’re small moments, in which you realize that your behavior has changed so drastically over the years because of him. Your tongue is sharper. You stand up for yourself more often, and you never ever let anyone walk all over you the way he did.

You spend the day worrying yourself sick about the new position. You can’t turn it down. This job is your last chance.

Monday morning, your alarm rings wildly next to you in bed, but your eyes are already open. You’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past hour unable to sleep. You’ve been tossing and turning restlessly, unable to focus on anything else but the last few memories you have of Aaron Hotchner. Your mind first goes to that last day of classes, thinking about the way he smiled at you from across his desk. The way that damn leather-bound book felt in your hands. The way that he kissed you. He made you feel so special. Your mind then travels to the rest of that weekend, one in which he managed to rip your heart out of your chest and tear it into a million little pieces.

You think of the last thing you heard from him. Those same words he had spoken to you once before, but spoken to someone else. At that moment, you realized that you were nothing special. You were just another girl Professor Hotchner used for sex.

You’re hopeful that you will be able to move forward with professionalism. There’s a second where you consider the possibility of becoming friends with Aaron Hotchner, but you know that’s impossible. You can’t look at him and ignore all the hurt he caused you. You can, however, be professional. You know you can work with him. It might just tear you up inside, but you can do it. You have to.

However, you wonder what kind of person he’s become in the past eight years. You know you’ve changed dramatically, but what has happened to him? How has his life gone? How did he end up in the FBI?

You wonder if he’s learned to love. The man that you knew was one who was seemingly incapable of ever loving anyone. It’s clear to you that back then he was too selfish, too wrapped up in his own head to dedicate anything real to anyone else. And if he ever did feel anything real for you, he was too emotionally damaged to handle it, work through it, or to tell you about it.

Your alarm rings again. You snooze it again. What will you say to him? What do you want your first words to be to him? Will you tell him off? Should you even acknowledge the past? Or should you just put on your best air of professionalism and approach this as you would any new job? It seems impossible to push aside the past and treat him as a new person. Because he’s not a new person. He’s a man who has shaped every decision you’ve made in your life since knowing him.

You eventually convince yourself to get out of bed, reminding yourself that it’s pointless to fight inevitables. You dig through the moving boxes, pulling out your coffee maker and a thermos, filling it up to the top, already expecting the Quantico office coffee to be bad. You haven’t worked in a year, but you do remember always having to make your own coffee before work.

While the coffee brews, you pack a go-bag, an item that Strauss heavily emphasized the importance of for this job. You would be traveling a lot for each case, and you have to be ready to leave at any moment. You’re not sure why your reassignment is with the BAU. Your therapist emphasized a lifestyle of structure and predictability. If there’s one thing you’ve heard about the life of these profilers, it’s that the hours are irregular.

You get dressed, slipping on a clean pressed, black pair of slacks and a white button-down blouse. You slide on a comfortable pair of boots, ones that look nice and professional but don’t hinder your movement in the event that you get called away on a case.

One benefit of the irregular hours is that your personal time is limited. If you can occupy your mind with work, you can avoid getting sucked up into your own head. Like right now. You grip your bag as it jostles against your side on the bus. You drink your coffee a little too fast, which doesn’t ease the unnatural level of fear coursing through you.

This shouldn’t scare you so much. But the old wounds that you fought so hard to turn to scar tissue are reopening and they hurt just as much as the day Hotch inflicted them upon you.

You get to the Quantico headquarters a few minutes early, giving you enough time to get your new ID from the front desk. You get into the elevator, rocking back and forth on your toes anxiously. He’s here. He could be anywhere. Every time the elevator doors open to a different floor, you fear that you’ll come face to face with him. You’re sure that he’s probably on the sixth floor. The BAU floor. He’s probably in his office waiting to welcome the new agent. Does he know that you’re the new agent? Does he know who you are? Does he know what’s happened to you this past year?

You were assured that most of the details of your ‘leave’ were kept confidential. All that was publicized was a tragic bombing. The bomber sacrificed himself for the cause. Only a few people were able to escape, but all with severe injuries. The FBI didn’t want to admit their involvement. Their failure to save those people. Your failure to save those people.

You get to Strauss’s office, struggling to pay attention as she walks you through the basics, hands you your new badge, and a new gun. You holster the weapon, pulling your go-bag onto your shoulder, fiddling with the straps nervously.

Strauss finishes her introductory speech and takes a moment to look you over, “Agent, are you sure you’re ready to get back to work?” It doesn’t take a profiler to notice your nerves. Ever since the start of your leave, nerves and anxiety aren’t an uncommon occurrence, but this is more than usual. Your body is practically vibrating.

Despite the sick feeling in your stomach, you manage a nod, “I’m sorry.” You apologize for appearing distracted, “Yes ma’am. I’m ready.”

You can tell she’s unconvinced. Strauss leads you through the relatively crowded bullpen. You spot an empty desk across from a woman with long black hair, who is too busy laughing with the blonde sitting on top of her desk to notice that the tall skinny one across from them has just spilled coffee all over himself and his paperwork. You assume that the empty one is to be your desk. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as you glance up at the two offices on the catwalk. One of them has the blinds tightly drawn and through the other, you can just barely see an older gentleman working on his laptop. David Rossi. You know him. You read just about every single one of his books on Sunday in preparation for this new job.

Your profiling skills are mediocre at best. Strauss argues that out of all possible candidates you had the most office experience and field experience. You’re really not sure how that helps. How could a traumatized and failed crisis negotiator who hasn’t been in the field in nearly a year provide anything helpful for the BAU?

Old habits resurfaced and you buried yourself in published literature and textbooks and research. You weren’t about to walk into a new job feeling unprepared, especially not one in which Aaron Hotchner would be your new boss. Now, at this moment, trailing behind Straus, as your body seems detached from your mind, dreading the moment that she opens that door to Aaron’s office, no amount of studying or preparation seems sufficient.

Rossi steps out of his office just as you and Strauss reach the top of the stairs. You lock eyes with him and despite not even knowing who you are, he gives you a reassuring nod. Damn profilers. Your body language is probably a dead giveaway. Strauss knocks on the door.

“Come in.” That voice. You could never forget it. Strauss reaches for the handle and you’re tempted to run away. Turn around and walk away. At least then you could leave with your sanity semi-intact. However, your curiosity has been piqued at this point. You have to know. You have to see him. You step through the doorway into the office and finally get a good look at the man.

He's hunched over, body turned slightly away from the desk. He has a phone pressed to his ear and he’s speaking in a gentle, hushed tone, "Yeah I know buddy." He glances over at you and Strauss. As if out of a movie, he does a double-take. It’s almost as if it takes a second for his eyes to really process what he’s really seeing. And what he’s really seeing is you. The look on his face tells you that he barely recognizes you, now eight years older, in professional clothes, and a face that’s just a little more weathered from all that you’ve been through.

Your memories of him are not faint as your eyes stay locked with his. They’re not just faded remnants of your moments together. Staring at him, eyes drinking in every inch of him, it all comes back more vivid than ever. You can practically feel his fluffy hair tangled in your fingers. From your position, you can just faintly smell his cologne. That’s a scent that hasn’t changed. The sensory memories are overwhelming. The passion, the secrecy, the pleasure. But that quickly changes, making the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach grow at an all-consuming rate. That night. That night he grabbed you by the front of your shirt, the way he snapped at you, the completely ice-cold manner in which you spoke those last few words to him, I’m done.

That Aaron Hotchner is not the man sitting in front of you. You barely recognize him. His hair is shorter, more strictly gelled in place. His white shirt is buttoned all the way up. He has a suit jacket on. His tie is done up perfectly. You can’t help but take note of the bags under his eyes, the increase of lines on his face. Obviously, he’s aged, but the way his face has changed, it’s not just age. You can see his eyes are dull, glossed over. For as neatly put together he is from the neck down, his face looks tired.

Hotch seems to forget he was just on the phone, entirely taken aback by the fact that you’re actually there, standing in front of him. "I’m sorry I can’t be with you right now but get a lot of rest and I’ll be home before you know it. I have to go. I love you too." He hangs up and you try to hide the shock on your face as those words come out of his mouth. Words you dreamt of him saying. Words that haunted you for months nearly a decade ago.

"Agent Hotchner, this is the crisis negotiation transfer I was discussing with you," Strauss nods at you, and Hotch stands up, smoothing out his tie, placing his hands flat on the desk. "This is Agent—"

"Y/N." His voice is firm. Hearing his name fall from your lips is enough to send you running in the opposite direction. Fear and anxiety overcome you, your legs going weak as he sticks out a hand to shake yours, but you can’t seem to get yourself to move forward to touch his hand, "I’m sorry, Agent Y/L/N." He corrects his mistake.

His hand hovers in the air for a moment, waiting for you to reach forward to shake it. Your shoes drag across the carpet, as you reach forward to shake his hand. His warm, rough hand envelops yours. At one point in your life, just the touch of his skin against yours would send sparks up and down your arm. Just that handshake would’ve been enough to ignite your skin and make you feel alive.

You feel nothing. Just a simple handshake. Your heart is attempting to jump out of your throat, beating rapidly and pounding against your ribcage so hard you think your chest visibly moves. However, his touch no longer thrills you. Maybe you are finally over Aaron Hotchner.

"You two know each other?” Strauss gestures between the two of you.

"No," You reply without missing a beat. You shake your head, finally able to get words out. You have to force your eyes off of Hotch and look at Strauss, "Well, yes. Agent Hotchner lectured at my law school a few times. When he was a federal prosecutor.”

Strauss gives a small nod of acknowledgment, “Agent Hotchner can show you the ropes from here. I expect updates from the field,” Her eyes shoot over to you. Updates about you, she means. In case you manage to fuck up again.

You watch as Strauss leaves the office not turning your eyes to Hotch at the desk in front of you. You look out the window, gesturing to the agents in the bullpen you passed, “I’m assuming the extra desk in the bullpen is mine?”

Hotch tilts his head down, letting out a small breath, “Yes. Agent Y/L/N—”

“And everyone in the bullpen, is that the whole team? I know Agent Rossi’s office is next to yours and I only saw three agents in the bullpen but I assume there are more?”

“Yes. We have a technical analyst and another member of the team. You’ll be introduced to them shortly, however–” that’s not what he really wants to talk to you about. Its clear that there’s so much he wants to say, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. You keep your mind focused on the important questions on there about the job. You know that a conversation with him about anything else just might break you.

“And in terms of training, you can see I passed my gun qualifications again. Are there any other evaluations or training protocols? Or will my time from the academy be sufficient preparation for this position?” You rattle off your questions. His face is a mixture of shock and frustration. He has his arms crossed against his chest. He tucks his bottom lip in, biting at it lightly.

“Y/N,” He places his hands firmly down on the desk. This time he doesn’t answer your questions. He’s tired of your avoidance, “What are you doing here?”

You take a pause at the sound of your first name, swallowing slowly, “I’m here on reassignment from crisis negotiation. I’m supposed to be working as a profiler on your team in the BAU.”

“You know what I mean,” Hotch presses the issue a little further.

“With all due respect, I’m not sure what you are searching for from me but if the implication is that I am here for anything other than the job then you are sorely mistaken,” You huff out and cross your arms against your chest, mirroring his closed-off body language. “Sir.”

“That’s not what I was implying,” Hotch places a hand on his forehead, rubbing roughly, trying to ease his frustration. You’re not quite sure where he gets off being so short and snippy with you. “I’m just… The last time I saw you, you were on track to be a lawyer and now you’re standing in front of me, in my office, joining my team. It just all seems very—”

“Sir?” You turn and see a different blonde standing in the doorway. She has a bright pink floral dress on, two large flowers in her hair, a file in her hands, and a pink fuzzy pen tucked behind her ear. “Sorry to interrupt,” She steps forward, stumbling a little in her high heels, sticking her hand out to shake yours, “Penelope Garcia, technical analyst, computer geek, and all-around wizard of the keyboard.”

You smile at her and stick your hand out to introduce yourself, “It’s great to meet you.”

“Sir, you remember that the Indiana PD contacted us about a possible serial?” She lets out a shaky breath, squinting her eyes and looking away as she opens the file, holding it out to Hotch, “Another body.”

Hotch has to reach past you to take the file and you audibly suck in your breath as his arm glides past your torso. “Same signature?” He looks over the photos.

Garcia lets out a small shudder, “Yeah the victim’s hands… the unsub he… don’t make me say it, sir.” She squeaks out.

“Gather the team,” He gives a nod before finally looking back at you, “You think you’re ready to get back to work?”

“Yes Sir,” You sigh, pull your go-bag further up your shoulder. You start to follow him out the door but he stops short in front of you.

“We’ll talk later,” He stumbles over his words a little. You’re making him nervous. You see his hand at his side. His fingers rubbing against one another. There’s one thing that hasn’t changed in years. He still has the same nervous behaviors.

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about,” You mumble under your breath as you follow him to the conference room. You speak quietly but from the way he tilts his head, stretches his neck, and takes a deep breath, you know your comment was loud enough for him to hear.

You take a seat at the roundtable, watching as the three agents from earlier are now joined by a tall, muscular black man who ruffles the top of the skinny kid’s head, messing up his hair, “I’m just teasing kid, I like the haircut. Makes you look young.”

“Yeah like I need anything to make me look younger. Everyone already thinks I’m a teenager,” The skinny one tries to smooth his hair back into place, but it doesn’t really help, leaving small strands sticking up in the air.

“Everyone this is Agent Y/L/N, she’s joining us from Crisis Negotiation,” Hotch pulls out his chair, right next to yours. You feel your whole body tense up, as the close proximity really allows you to smell his familiar cologne. Eight years and he still hasn’t bought a new one. Great.

“Joining us?” The muscular one stands just a bit behind you, making himself a cup of coffee but turns and walks to take a seat, giving you a slow once over. It’s not a flirtatious one, but a wary scan of your body. You’re becoming acutely aware of how exposed you feel in a room full of professional profilers.

“Strauss thinks we need the extra help, especially with the recent increase in requests for BAU help, and I don’t disagree with her,” Hotch looks around the table at his coworkers before looking to you, “Agents Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, Rossi, and Dr. Reid.” Hotch points out each member, who all give you small nods and waves of acknowledgment as he introduces them.

“Crisis negotiation, huh?” Morgan continues to push the subject. You can tell he’s not really happy about a new addition to the team. You’re guessing it’s coming from a place of protectiveness of his team. You understand his hesitance. The team probably works well together, a new person is a whole new dynamic. If you could pick any other position you would, you have no specific interest in the BAU, but it’s a second chance and you’re not going to screw it up, no matter how much you wish that anyone else in the world besides Hotch was unit chief.

“I think the job took a small amount of profiling,” You shrug and give Agent Morgan a smile, hoping to get in his good graces soon, “Obviously not as much as this but it did take a level of interpretation of the behavior of criminals who take hostages in addition to a complex understanding of intergroup dynamics and how that might impact a situation.”

“There’ll be time to play nice and get to know each other later,” Hotch cuts the introductions short. “Garcia, the case?”

“Right,” She clicks on the monitor at the front while Hotch slides a tablet over to you. You take it from him, your fingertips just brushing against his. Everything about the interaction feels like eight years ago. He manages to keep his best poker face, all the while you feel the small sparks shoot across your skin. Those damn sparks. Except you’re very quickly realizing that the Hotch in front of you is nothing like eight years ago.

There’s something deeply broken about his eyes. You could never forget those eyes. When you first met him you thought they were deep brown. Then you spent enough time watching him, studying every detail of his face and learned that they were a beautiful light brown. Small golden flecks in his eyes become more pronounced in the sun. His eyes are different now. First of all, the deep undereye bags that frame them make him look years older than his actual age. His brow seems permanently set in that furrowed position. It’s a familiar expression of his. You had the joy of seeing that brow lift when the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. Smiling seems to be the last thing this current Aaron Hotchner wants to do.

You realize you’re staring a little bit too long and tune back into Garcia’s case briefing, “All three victims were undergraduate students. Indiana’s campus hosts both undergrad and grad students from the law school and med school.”

“Which means a huge suspect pool.” Hotch points out.

“How are we sure that the unsub is from inside the community?” You look around the table. You can see the way that Morgan’s brows raise at the question. How else are you going to learn without asking questions?

Rossi, however, swoops in to save you from embarrassment, “The first victim had mace in her backpack, however, she never used it. The second victim had no defensive wounds on her body. The third victim—”

“Was killed in an office meeting room. To gain access to that building you need a school ID,” You nod, filling in the gaps. “I forget that technology and security have dramatically improved since I was in school.”

“Come on, kid, at least you had cell phones in college,” Rossi gives a small smile, nudging your arm.

“And how do we know these are all connected?” Morgan gestures to his tablet in front of him.

You scoff slightly and look up at Morgan, “I’m sorry, I know it’s important to find common victimology, MO, or signature before connecting the crimes but how many violent crimes occur on college campuses in this short of a time? They have to be connected.”

“Statistically, some of the most dangerous and violent college campuses report that nearly 10 students for every 1000 will be a victim of violent crime. However, that statistic seems to include any form of violent crime meaning murder, negligent manslaughter, aggravated assault, robbery, but most prevalent on most college campuses is rape as a form of violent crime. In terms of how frequent—” The tall skinny one, Reid, rattles off a series of facts at you and you can’t help but smile. He’s cute. He looks about your age, “That was more of a rhetorical question, wasn’t it?”

You fight a smile at Reid’s confused face and nod. “All the victims had the same cuts on their hands,” Prentiss points up at the monitor.

“Weird,” You mumble under your breath.

“What?” JJ turns to you.

“Oh. Nothing it’s just… hands are a weird thing to mutilate. Damage to the face shows high levels of rage and a deep hatred for the victim, removal of eyes or ears or damage to the mouth could symbolize the removal of a sense in order to punish the victims for some misuse of those senses. But hands… hands are different.” You tip your pen back to your mouth, placing the end on your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly as you think. You can feel Hotch’s focus on you. If you turn, you’re sure you’ll just catch him as he looks away.

He’s profiling you. You don’t need to look at him to know that. He was always good at reading you, not that you did much to hide your feelings back then. You felt everything so openly. You were so full of passion, so determined to be the best at everything you set your mind to. Hotch made you realize that feeling everything so deeply, so freely, opens you up to a world of hurt. You put on your best poker face, keeping your body language neutral while you still feel his eyes on you.

“Hands are not inherently symbolic of one thing.” Reid agrees with you.

“So we have to try and decipher why this mutilation is a compulsion for the unsub,” Hotch nods, “Wheels up in 30.” Everyone tucks all their belongings away. Hotch is quick to stand up from his seat at the table, storm down the catwalk back to his office, closing the door loudly. You try to ignore the weird looks from the team as you introduce yourself to all of them.

You watch as Morgan is one of the first to leave the conference room, walking after him, “Hey, Agent Morgan!” You run to catch him at the top of the stairs, “Look I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off so rude in there.” You shake your head.

“No problem,” He states simply, intending to walk down the stairs.

“I get it, I’m new, I’m throwing off the team dynamic and you don’t seem like the type to trust me immediately.” You stick out a hand to shake his, “But I’m committed to this team and I want to earn your respect in time.”

He nods, giving you one of those judgmental once overs again, “From what I can tell, Hotch doesn’t seem too pleased about you being here. Now just because he’s my boss, doesn’t mean I have to always agree with him, but if he’s wary, then I’m wary.” He avoids shaking your hand. Your suspicions about Morgan seem to be proven before your eyes. He doesn’t trust easily. He’s been burned by someone he trusted in the past. You can relate to that. You’re not a very open or trustworthy person anymore either.

“Agent Hotchner and I knew each other a really long time ago. A lifetime ago. Way before his time at the BAU. I’m sure he’s just not thrilled about his past colliding with his present,” You nod taking a few steps back to let Morgan continue down the stairs, “I just hope… I hope you can learn to trust me, and I, you.” You smile softly. Morgan seems stuck in his place. You can’t tell whether or not he’s surprised by your manners, or if you’ve just driven further the wedge between you two.

“See you on the jet,” He speaks up as he walks down the stairs, scooping his go-bag from under his desk and disappearing around a corner down the hallway.

When you turn to walk back to the conference room, you catch Agent Hotchner’s eyeline through the blinds of his office. He’s watching you, studying you, trying to read you. However, he definitely does not get access to you anymore.

You’re determined to keep your animosity towards Hotch private. No reason for the team to detect that anything is wrong. But throughout the case, there are moments it slips. First, it was on the jet...

You step onto the jet, looking around, taking the entire environment in. You were never blessed with a private jet in your time in crisis negotiation, just stuck with driving from place to place. Morgan reaches across you, taking your bag and stowing it away in the back for you. It’s a simple gesture, but from the look in his eye as he does it, you can tell Morgan is already reevaluating his judgment of you.

You’re one of the last on the jet and you see everyone settled around the table and surrounding seats. The only available seat is the one next to Hotch by the window. You’d have to ask him to get up… or squeeze past him. You try to cover it up but nearly everyone notices the way that you eye the seat before deciding against it. You end up leaning against the arm of the sofa that JJ is sitting on. Once again, Hotch’s gaze lingers on you as you do. He’s taking note of the way you’re actively avoiding him, and he’s right. You’re actively avoiding any alone time with him. Minimize the alone time, minimize the pain.

You run through the facts of the case again, Reid rambling on about the significance of hands throughout different cultures, the importance of sensory neurons on the skin of your hands, and how hand size is an indicator for a lot of things. You share a small smirk with Morgan, who is clearly warming up to you because you both know the one thing that hand size is rumored to correlate with.

Morgan shoots you a small smirk before saying what you were both thinking, “That’s interesting and all kid, but any knowledge in that big brain of yours about whether hand size is related to—”

Hotch cuts off Morgan, “Focus, please.” He gestures with his hand to stop the conversation and you have to hide your smile. It’s nice to smile. You weren’t expecting to feel anything but pain today. Hotch puts a fast end to that feeling of happiness.

“When we land, JJ and Rossi head to the local police and talk to the families of the victims. Prentiss and Morgan, you’ll head to the ME, get a better evaluation of the state of the body,” Hotch pauses for a second. He takes in a slow breath as if preparing himself for what he’s about to say. Once he says what’s coming next, it’s all official. You start your first case. He’s your boss, you’re his subordinate. You’re in each other's lives again whether you like it or not. “Y/L/N, Reid, and I will go to the most recent crime scene,” Hotch nods and you feel the blood drain from your face, that sick and twisty knot growing in the pit of your stomach. You knew you’d have to work with him, that’s part of the job, but he’s already keeping you close to him. Maybe he doesn’t trust you.

From the way he spoke to you in his office, it’s clear he thinks you’re here as some sort of revenge. Some convoluted vindictive scheme to ruin his life.

“You look terrified,” Prentiss tries to tease you.

You look around at the team and shake your head, “College campuses,” You scrunch up your face in disgust and shake your head, “Undergrad sucked because I was younger than everyone, so I missed out on all the fun.”

“Damn, we got another kid genius on our hands, don’t we?” Morgan reaches out a hand to high-five you. “Like our own female Einstein.” Your eyes immediately flick to Hotch. That nickname. No one’s called you any form of that nickname since him. “Watch out Reid, you’ve got competition.”

“I was 14 when I was in college,” Reid states in an attempt to one-up you, but it’s clear that he’s just joking. He knows he’s smart but he doesn’t seem like the cocky type, at least what you can tell so far.

“Don’t worry, brainiac,” You laugh at him, “You are the only genius on this team.”

“And grad school?” JJ pipes up, catching onto the way you dropped the sentence.

“I dropped out of law school after my first year,” You clear your throat uncomfortably, “Wasn’t for me I guess.” The air seems suffocating. Your face is burning hot. You feign extreme interest in the crime scene photos on your tablet, knowing that if you look up, your face will give you away to Hotch. The last thing you want is for him to know how much he affected you.

He said it himself: So in 10 years from now, when you're at the top of your career, know that it's all because of me. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Everything that has happened for the past eight years happened because of his impact on your life.

You remind yourself yet again to try and keep the conversations focused on the case. The team wants to get to know you, but every personal conversation seems to lead back to Hotch.

The second slip-up comes when you arrive at the crime scene...

“She told her roommate she was coming here to study, that she had booked the meeting room just for herself.” Reid lifts up the crime scene tape, holding it up for you to slip under. You give a small smile at the gesture.

“But she told her friends she was meeting with her professor here for extra help.” Hotch shakes his head, pulling on a pair of gloves. You glance over at Reid as he does the same.

He looks at you for a second before he raises his brows in realization, letting out a small ‘oh.’ He digs into his pocket and hands you a pair of gloves. “I usually grab them from the crime scene team,” He nods.

You take them from him, “Thank you.” You like Reid. He’s kind and smart and polite. He’s your age, but you can see that he’s worlds ahead of you in terms of knowledge. You wonder just how much is going on inside that brain of his. When you look at him you can see the gears constantly turning, he’s always working over something in his brain, forming theories, or running through facts.

“She was stabbed in the back and the back of the head, correct?” You glance over at Hotch for confirmation.

“Yes.” He plays with the fingertips of his gloves, paying more attention to you rather than the scene. Without the body, there’s not much to go on, it’s your average office space. You see a log on the wall with the names of who has scheduled the room. They haven’t wiped away the victim’s work from the whiteboard. It looks like some form of math.

“Linear algebra,” Reid speaks up as he sorts through some of the papers left on the table in the center of the room.

You nod and smile, “Math never was my strong suit in school. I was definitely more entranced by a book rather than formulas and numbers.”

Reid’s face lights up with joy, “If you ever want any book recommendations, please do ask. I just finished an absolutely amazing biography about Albert Einstein. It’s not that long of a read. It’s only about 1200 pages. You know I’m sure that I have a copy…” He catches sight of Hotch’s stern expression, stopping himself mid-sentence.

You both go silent as you skim through the pages of work scattered on the floor. You then analyze the writing on the whiteboard, leaning in close. Hotch speaks up again tilting his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in confusion at your behavior, “What are you thinking?”

“It wasn’t random. This was planned out. The unsub specifically sought out her.”

“How do you figure that?” Hotch questions you, but not in the hostile accusatory way you’re expecting.

You hesitate, losing your train of thought the longer you look at Hotch, so you look back to the whiteboard, “When you’re waiting to meet someone, you expect someone to come in, right? So if she had her back turned, writing up equations on this whiteboard, she wouldn’t think twice of the door opening. If you’re not expecting someone and you hear the door open.” You point at the whiteboard.

“You would turn around to see who it is,” Hotch finishes your sentence.

“That’s why all her wounds were to the back,” You fall into a rhythm with Hotch. He’s following your train of thought.

“So the unsub had to know she would be here ahead of time,” Hotch sighs and digs in his pocket for his phone, “Garcia, I need your help.” He clicks his phone onto the speaker and places it down on the table.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Her chipper voice comes through the phone. You can picture her office probably matches her appearance. Probably bright, full of color. For a technical analyst, she probably still has a hefty collection of colorful and funky pens. You remember the octopus mug she was holding when she walked into Hotch’s office this morning.

“This building has a key card access system. Can you access the log of everyone who swiped into this building on the day and around the time of the third murder?”

“Sir, it’s not a matter of can or can’t. You know I can,” Her voice is laced with a smile.

“Check that list for the professor that she claimed she was meeting with,” Hotch adds.

“He…” She trails and you hear the ambient sounds of her rapid typing and clicking. There’s a pause. Her voice grows small, “He accessed the building around the time of her death.”

“He’s our prime suspect. We need to bring him in,” Hotch concludes, “Garcia, you’re the best.”

“Aw I know,” She giggles softly, “PG out!”

“Imagine that,” You chuckle bitterly, “She comes in here to meet her professor, someone she trusts, and she gets stabbed in the back.” You shake your head, the words slipping out before you even realize the weight of what you’ve implied.

Reid doesn’t catch on to the look that you and Hotch exchange. Hotch looks as if he’s seen a ghost. He’s not shocked by what you’ve said, but by the fact that you even said anything. It’s the first sign of hostility towards him. The first crumb or clue into how you feel about him after all these years. The answer is betrayed. You still feel betrayed.

“We should deliver the profile.�� Hotch leaves the crime scene at a brisk pace, leaving Reid clueless, and you and that damned twisting knot of anxiety in your stomach.

The rest of your interactions with Hotch are limited for most of the case, restricted to only group discussions that are entirely professional. No more slip-ups, no more sideways glances. What all your interactions were rife in, was that intrusive look of his eyes. Every few minutes you can feel his eyes on you, scanning your posture, your facial expressions, searching for any idea of what you might be thinking or feeling.

You try your best to avoid it, opting to go check out every lead, just for the opportunity to get some space from him. You feel smothered and suffocated. You’re so on edge, you’ve torn your nail beds to shreds. He is seemingly unfazed by your presence. That is if you don’t consider how often you catch him rubbing his fingers at his side or up by his face or biting his bottom lip. Every time you catch him, however, he stops.

You’re having a difficult time reading how he feels about you being here. You just want to know how he feels about you after all these years. Does he still harbor feelings for you? Does he still care about you? The sleep deprivation from working so hard and the excess caffeine you’ve consumed don’t help to slow down your thoughts which seem to be moving at a million miles a minute. At least while you’re working you can put all your energy into solving the case, helping the team, and parsing through evidence.

It gets worse at night when you’re alone in the hotel room. You try to bring the case file back into the room, working on it in bed until you can barely keep your eyes open, but you find that you don’t get any work done, your brain a continuous stream of questions.

You’ve been able to profile every member of the team pretty efficiently. You have a good understanding of how Reid’s brain works. The comfort that he has with numbers and facts. He uses his intelligence to cover up for his social insecurities. Morgan puts on a tough exterior, but really he’s hesitant to let people in and trust them. Prentiss, similar to Morgan, seems to keep everyone at arm's length, preferring to be the confidant rather than the one doing the confiding in someone else. JJ struggles to separate her emotions from the work, a quality that is not in and of itself a flaw, but you can tell it weighs on her heavily. Rossi has the most experience and constantly feels inclined to be a figure, a leader while trying to balance cooperation rather than individualism. He’s used to being a lone wolf, doing the job on his own.

This new Aaron Hotchner is a mystery. He’s closed off. He is entirely business. Even when Garcia cracks a joke or embarrasses herself. You all laugh and smirk at her, but his face never changes. When you all get off track, he sternly reminds you of the importance of the case at hand. That’s his job, but there’s something more to it that you can’t quite figure out. There’s a sense of urgency, as there usually is with these cases, but almost this feeling that he’s constantly running out of time.

Even his office provided you with very little to profile. You remember a few photos from Hotch’s office. One of him and a small boy. A son, possibly? There was another of him and a blonde woman hugging the little boy. Your first guess is wife, but you don’t remember him wearing a ring.

You can’t profile him. He’s closed himself off to that. Yet you find yourself coming back to the same question over and over again, does he still care about you? You get a glimpse at the answer as you and the team track down the location of your unsub, three days into the case.

You lean forward from the backseat of the SUV, looking between Morgan and Hotch in the front, “What does the profile say about this kind of unsub’s behavior once faced with police and authority like us?”

The two men exchange knowing looks. You have your suspicions but you really just want them to vocalize what you’re thinking, “He won’t let us take him in without a fight.”

“Suicide by cop,” You mutter frustratedly, “Great.”

“It’s likely, but that doesn’t mean we don’t try to talk him out of it.” Hotch clarifies, gesturing with an outstretched palm that he takes off the wheel temporarily. He pulls up to the small house, sirens off. “A big show will just scare him into making sudden moves to get us to shoot to kill. Morgan, you head around the back. Y/L/N and I will take the front.”

You nod, knowing the rest of the team isn’t far behind you all, but they’ve all been instructed to try and appear as discreetly as possible. You get out of the SUV, watching as Morgan runs around back. Both you and Hotch approach the door. Hotch kicks the door down. The unsub sits casually in an armchair, holding a gun that he twirls in his fingers. He knew you were coming.

Then Hotch does something that complicates your questions about him. It’s subtle but you notice it immediately. He instinctively moves a little in front of you. He doesn’t block your line of fire, but he blocks the unsubs. He’s shielding you with his body.

Your profile is right, the unsub doesn’t want to be taken in peacefully, resulting in Morgan putting two bullets in him from behind when he raises his gun to you and Hotch. AT first, you think Hotch put his body in front of yours by accident.

It wasn’t an accident. He gave a small look over his shoulder at your location before taking a few steps right, to block you. Then you assume it was purely because of his status as team leader. He doesn’t want the members of his team to get hurt. That also doesn’t seem to make sense to you. No matter how much he wants the team to be protected he wouldn’t do that. He would trust Morgan to get the shot if you two couldn’t.

So why would he shield you?

Almost everyone but you, Rossi, and Hotch are sleeping on the jet home. You have a book out in front of you, but you’re barely reading, just attempting to look deeply enchanted by the novel to avoid any awkward eye contact or conversation with Hotch. The only sounds in the plane are the whirring of the engines, the wind outside, and Hotch’s typing on his computer as he finishes up the report for the case.

Rossi sits down across from you on the jet, placing down a small glass of some amber liquid, which you assume is whiskey, in front of you.

“Trying to get me drunk, Agent Rossi?” You tease him, tearing your eyes away from the book you weren’t reading.

He laughs heartily, taking a sip from his own glass, “I thought I’d welcome you with something from my own personal stash.”

“Where do you keep it hidden in here? You know… just in case I’m curious,” You smirk and reach for the glass. It’s nice of Rossi to sit with you and talk to you.

Rossi just smiles, shaking his head a little, “You did well out there, kid,” He puts the glass down, to roll his ring around his finger. You’ve noticed he does it a lot when he’s thinking. “You can read all the books in the world, but profiling in the field, thinking on your feet, analyzing a crime scene, it’s all much different than the words on a page.”

“I’m realizing that,” You trail your finger around the rim of the glass, “My previous position incorporated a lot of what you guys do here.”

“I’m sure that makes this job a lot harder. You probably want to put the past behind you.” Your head snaps up to look at him. No one told the team where you came from. Even Hotch doesn’t know. “I remember hearing about the incident.”

“The FBI tried to bury their involvement,” You sigh and finish off the glass, noting how smooth the alcohol goes down. You’ve learned how to handle alcohol really well this past year. “They keep all the details top secret. However, that didn’t stop them from throwing me under the bus.”

“What happened in New York was not your fault.” Rossi’s voice drops in volume as he leans closer, keeping your conversation more private, “The brass has a habit of blaming agents instead of criminals. You couldn’t have stopped it. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

You exhale loudly, air rushing over your teeth as you give a little shake of your head in disagreement, “Agent Rossi, I’m sure you’re experienced enough to know this, but as reassuring and comforting it is to hear you say those words it doesn’t necessarily—”

“It doesn’t change how you feel. I know. I understand,” He pauses, “Don’t let it consume you. All of us have been where you are right now. Some of us are currently where you are right now, constantly consumed by guilt over something that wasn’t even our fault.” You get the sense that he isn’t talking about himself. You don't need to reply. The both of you sit in silence for a while.

You start up a conversation again, this time about Virginia and DC, where you’re living, when you moved, what you studied in school, where you grew up. Rossi loves to tease you and every few sentences he’ll simply reply, ‘I already knew that’ acting as if he could profile every fact about you.

You like him a lot. You like everyone a lot. Just as the jet lands and you’re all packing up your desks back at Quantico, Rossi offers to drive you home.

“Let me just check in with Agent Hotchner before I leave,” You glance up at the office. You know you have to check in with him, it’s your first case finished, you’re new, he’s your new boss, but so far, you’ve managed to avoid being alone with him and you’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.

You knock lightly on the open door, to which Hotch responds, “Come in.”

“I just wanted to check-in, you know, with it being my first case and everything,” You nod, taking just a few steps into the office, leaving as much distance between you and Hotch. He stands at his desk, focusing intently on your face. You know he’s trying to read your intentions. He’s searching for the hidden meaning behind your words. And for once, in the past few days, you don’t have any meaning behind your words. You have had enough small slip-ups and double meanings. This time, you truly just mean to check-in.

“You did really good work out there, Agent. You’re a fast learner, you pay attention to details, you work well with the team,” He rattles off a series of compliments, “Strauss is going to request a formal evaluation with me and I’ll be sure to report how quickly you’ve adapted.”

“Thank you, sir,” You try your best to function with the utmost composure.

“Hotch,” He corrects you.

You ignore the correction, “Is that all, sir?”

“If you need anything… I mean I’ve read through your psych evaluations and I know the details are classified but–“ Hotch is struggling with his words. You know what he’s trying to say. He wants to tell you he’s here for you. Funny. Really, it is. Funny that he doesn’t realize the one thing that might send you spiraling is being around him. “I just mean if it all gets to be too much, it’s okay to take a step back. I… I understand.”

“You do?” Your words come out more bitter than intended. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this. You had gone this whole case without snapping. It’s childish and immature. You can be professional. But right now, you can only see one thing: boiling hot rage at Hotch. How could he possibly understand how you feel? You pause to take a breath, “Thank you, but I’m okay. Goodnight, sir.” You walk to the door, wanting to get away from him as fast as possible.

“Y/N—” Hotch calls out, his voice softer, less firm, less professional. “Please,” You beg, finally breaking. Your voice is raw with emotion. You’ve been holding all the pain in for the past three days and your plea comes out sounding more broken than you intend to. You don’t turn around but place a hand on the doorframe. “Please… don’t make this harder than it already is.” You wait for a moment, hoping, praying, that he doesn’t try to talk to you anymore. A moment of silence serves as confirmation that he isn’t going to keep pushing you to talk.

You get down the stairs, meeting Rossi at the elevators. “Thank you… for driving me home.” You try and hide your face from him, hoping he doesn't see the sheen in your eyes as you fight away the tears that have been fighting their way out for the past three days.

“Anytime,” He nods, holding an arm over the elevator doors for you as they open. You think he can sense something is wrong. He’s probably been able to sense something is wrong between you and Hotch since the minute you made eye contact with him your first morning. If he does, however, he also knows not to ask or press the issue.

You flick the lights on in your apartment. You look over the boxes, still left unpacked. Not much of a home yet. You have no place of safety, of comfort yet. You feel like a guest in your own place. However, the thought of unpacking all the boxes right now is way too intimidating.

Deep steady breath in. Shaky breath out. You bite at your lip harshly. You haven’t cried over Aaron Hotchner in years. You drop your bag by the door, kicking your shoes off. You turn to close the door and everything starts to bubble up inside you. The anger, frustration, sadness, heartbreak. It’s all too much. You’ve been through so much these past eight years. This shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. But fuck. It hurts.

You let out a frustrated yell. It’s a scream that feels good to let out but ends up scratching your throat. You slam your fist against the door, ignoring the way it sears your knuckles. You pace your apartment, trying to steady your breathing.

You’ve been suffocating the past three days. Three long days of close quarters with Aaron Hotchner. Even after all these years, he manages to suck all the oxygen out of the room, leaving you breathless. In another life, you remember thinking how much you loved suffocating around him, but now, it tears you up inside. Your chest burns and aches, your head is fuzzy, and his presence is dizzying. It’s not exhilarating. It’s not exciting. It’s not all-consuming in the way you remember. You’re just trying to keep your head above water, but the current is strong and the rapids are relentless. You’re sinking under the surface quickly and you don’t know how to pull yourself up out of it.

You walk over to the stack of boxes, pushing them aside until you find the exact one you’re looking for. You rip open the top, tearing the tape off. The box is full of books, one of many that you brought with you. It’s organized perfectly so that when you unpack it you can set up your personal library just the way you had it back home in New York. So it doesn’t take you long to find that book. That damned book. The cover is faded. The dark brown leather is weathered and much lighter. The spine has lost all structure and the pages have changed color.

You sit down exactly where you stand, cross-legged on the floor, you open to that first page. You look at the all-too-familiar note. You were tempted, over the years, to burn the book, tear that first page out, cross out every one of his notes. But you never could do it. Deep down, no matter how bad he had hurt you, the book seemed to remain separate from that.

Maybe it’s because it’s a constant reminder that you weren’t some naive, foolish, young child. You hadn’t deluded yourself into thinking Hotch cared for you. He did. There was some sense of care and attention to detail. The book is evidence of that. However, it forces you to hold on to an image of Hotch that clearly is not the prevailing personality. Looking at the book reminds you of the bashful, almost embarrassed, man who handed it to you in his office so long ago. The careful way he traced your jawline, the way he tangled his fingers in your hair, pushing it out of the way to really get a good look at your face. That image of him sometimes wins out when you think of Aaron Hotchner. You want to remember him that way, but that only seems to prolong your pain. It makes you want him back.

You lay down on the floor pressing the book close to your heart. You could simply pick up the phone. You could just call him, tell him you want to start all over. But you can’t start all over. Being with Aaron Hotchner was a lifetime ago. That doesn’t change how vividly you can remember being with him. For the first few years, you hated him with every fiber of your being. You thought about what would happen if you ever saw him again. You would scream at him. Tell him off, curse him out. But as the years passed, you stopped hating him. There’s a fine line between love and hate. And as you know, Aaron Hotchner has always been good at keeping lines blurry.

Everything in you is screaming at you to pick up the phone. You’ve dreamed of hearing his voice tell you, “Let’s try again... please.” But you fight the urge. You close your eyes, the cold floor of your apartment sending a chill through you, enough to keep your wits about you.

——

Hotch runs a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes forcing himself to stay awake, forcing his attention back to the case report. His attempts to work fail, his mind always traveling back to you. He knew you would be a different person. It’s been eight years. He’s a different person. What he didn’t expect was how much of you is still the same.

That bright look in your eyes while discussing the case was one he had seen so many times while you poured over a novel in his office. You still talk with your hands, punctuating every sentence with a little shake or gesture of your fingers. You crack your knuckles when you’re thinking.

The differences are clear to him too. You don’t hold your tongue. You’re blunt. Brutally honest, almost to a fault. You seem to have pushed aside any attempt at politeness, or social niceties. You no longer feel so openly. He finds it much harder to read your face and body language. Your thoughts are not as clear to him as they used to be. He used to know exactly what you were thinking. He can tell you’ve practiced your poker face. He tried his best the past three days to get a read on how you feel about him. He doesn’t want to dwell on the past. All of that was before Haley. And indulging in thoughts of before is just simply too painful for him.

He walks to the window, looking out at the city. He wonders where you are tonight. Are you thinking about him? Are you hurting? Or has it been so long that he’s unimportant to you? Is someone holding you close to them, pressing soft kisses to your lips, whispering comforting words?

He could just pick up the phone and call you. He could profusely apologize. Not that his apology would mean anything, but it’s a speech he’s been rehearsing for years. He loved Haley with his whole heart. She was his whole world, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t regret how he treated you. Haley showed him a world of love, yet he managed to ruin that as well. He prioritized the job over her. Look where that got him.

Hotch knows you will never forgive him. He has never forgiven himself, but he can’t help but think about what would happen if he showed up on your doorstep. Would you immediately turn him away? Or would you let him in? Would you hear him out?

He shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from the lights of DC. He walks to the kitchen, pouring a fresh mug of coffee. He can’t call you. Too much has happened. He thinks about the sleeping little boy upstairs. Every night he’s tormented by memories. He can still remember what it felt like to hold Haley’s lifeless body in his arms. When he does get sleep, visions of Haley’s dead eyes, his bloodied clothes, Foyet’s knife, invade his dreams. He frequently wakes up coated in sweat, the scars on his chest and stomach stinging with the same intensity as the day Foyet inflicted the stab wounds.

Which is why he feels immense guilt over the fact that three days ago, he shook your hand to welcome you to the team, and it ignited every nerve in his body. Everything has changed, but your hand in his made him feel alive.

Chapter 13: II.II →

#aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #wanna be yours fanfic #hotch #hotchner #hotch x reader

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mymoonagedaydream · 3 years

Text

Lullaby

Summary: You’d learned to live with your nightmares, never expecting to find any kind of remedy

Pairing: Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Language, mentions of parent death

Author's Note: Back on it, ploughing through some lovely requests :)

---

You couldn’t believe it when you got the call.

Tony Stark had chosen you to be his new secretary, effective immediately.

Your flight to New York left the same day, but that wasn’t no issue at all, because you had very few belongings to pack and ever fewer goodbyes to say. No heartache or sentimentality, it was finally time to get away from your past and everything that reminded you of it.

Even though America was huge and bright and terrifying, it felt like your promised land, and you were eager to absorb every last drop of its mystifying beauty. You could barely stop yourself excitedly fidgeting in your plane seat.

Unfortunately, you’d greatly overestimated your capacity for adapting to sudden change. Your first day of work was really overwhelming.

You spent the entire morning just trying to familiarise yourself with the insanely complicated computer system, and a great deal of the afternoon doing the same, only getting a “break�� during the hour or so you spent sitting in Tony’s meeting with Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes.

They were all huge, incredibly intelligent and intimidatingly attractive- you’d really been thrown right in at the deep end.

Steve and Sam didn’t take much notice of you, giving polite smiles when they arrived but nothing more than that. You figured that, with this workload, Stark probably cycled through a new secretary every couple of months, so they’d have no real reason to learn your name or engage you in conversation.

Bucky, on the other hand, seemed a little intrigued. You felt his gaze land on you a few times, but whenever you mustered the courage to look back, his eyes immediately flicked away.

It was unbelievably difficult to focus on note-taking whilst being repeatedly studied by this statuesque, mountain of a man.

It was also unbelievably difficult to shake him from your mind even after the meeting had ended. When you finally finished for the day, you were completely exhausted and ready to just collapse.

Thankfully, your bed was only an elevator ride away.

Stark had given you a bedroom in the compound while you were looking for an apartment in the city. You told him you were struggling to find a place you liked but, truthfully, there was no way you could afford a deposit until you got your first pay check through.

You whiled away the evening hours watching some crappy shows and reading, eventually bumbling through your night-time routine and slipping into bed, hoping so much that tomorrow would be just a little easier.

---

A long, dark hallway stretched out before you. No doors, no windows, no turns, no end.

The soft padding of your bare feet against the ground echoed off the walls as your legs involuntarily marched into the darkness before you.

You focused more intently on the sound. It began to split, a distinct new set of footsteps detaching themselves and moving out of time with yours.

A cold wave of dread trickled down your spine. There was something behind you.

You couldn’t stop, couldn’t run, couldn’t turn. All you could do was carry on walking, forced to helplessly listen to the increasingly fast approach of your pursuer.

Hot, heavy breath brushed against the back of your neck. A set of long, dark claws crept their way into the corner of your vision, twitching manically, before clamping down on your shoulder.

‘Y/n!’

You bolted upright, eyes shooting open as you tried to gulp in deep breaths, heart thumping inside your chest like a jackhammer. Still struggling to separate the residual fragments of your nightmare from reality, you instinctively jerked away the hand firmly gripping your shoulder.

Bucky took the hint and stepped back from your bedside. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Jesus.’ You roughly wiped some of the cold moisture from your forehead. ‘Why the fuck are you in my room?’

‘I’m really sorry, I know this is weird but I heard you freaking out in here and I just wanted to make sure you were alright.’

Your gaze flicked towards him, the intense concern in his face confusing you a little.

He didn’t know you at all, why did he care?

You took a few deep breaths and collected your thoughts. Maybe cursing him out like that was a little harsh, he was just trying to help. Besides, if there was any face you wanted to shake you out of a nightmare, it was definitely that one.

‘I’m okay, thank you.’ You swung your legs over the side of the bed, perching yourself right on the edge as you shot him a faint smile. ‘I appreciate you checking up on me.’

‘Anytime.’

He lingered for a few seconds, rubbing his thighs nervously, before giving you a quick nod and heading back towards the corridor. Just as he reached your doorway, he paused, quickly spinning back around.

‘I’ll be in the living room for a while. Y’know, if you struggle to get back to sleep.’

You felt your smile grow into a wide, bashful grin as you watched him disappear down the hall. Your usual post-nightmare routine consisted of splashing cold water on your face and crying for an hour, so hanging out with Bucky was immeasurably preferable.

You debated how long you should wait before joining him, not wanting to miss an opportunity to get to know him better but also worried about coming across overly keen.

Ten minutes seemed reasonable.

Slipping on a sweater, you tiptoed past the other bedrooms on the corridor, hoping to god you wouldn’t wake any of the others and accidentally make a bunch of powerful enemies before you’d even spent your first night here.

Bucky was slouched on the sofa, watching TV with the volume so low that, at first, you thought it was muted. An open but untouched bottle of beer was standing on the table in front of him.

‘D’you have super hearing or something?’

His head snapped towards you, the corners of his mouth curling into a pleasantly surprised smile.

‘Something like that, yeah.’ He patted the seat next to him as he clicked the screen off. ‘There’s never anything worth watching on at this time anyway.’

‘You make it sound like you’re always awake at 4am.’

‘Mhmm. It’s nice to finally have some company.’

Chuckling weakly, you planted yourself next to him, as close as you could without invading his personal space. As soon as you were settled in, you felt him shift towards you.

‘You get nightmares often?’

‘Most nights since I was a kid.’ His mouth fell open slightly. ‘It sucks, but I’ve learned to live with it. They’re not nearly as bad as they used to be.’

‘Really? You were thrashing around like a fish out of water.’

Your face heated up a little when you noticed his playful smirk. ‘Trust me, that’s nothing. When I was eight I dislocated my aunt’s shoulder. Didn’t even wake up when she screamed.’

‘Jesus. You could’a warned me that I was risking my life earlier.’

‘Yeah, sorry. It’s just that, usually, people wait a few days after first meeting me before they come into my room while I’m asleep.’

He cocked a mischievous eyebrow at your teasing. ‘I’ll knock next time.’

‘Good plan.’

You pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle a deep yawn, feeling incredibly drowsy all of a sudden, like you could drift off right there on the couch. The adrenaline from your nightmare must’ve finally worn off, it just never usually happened so quickly.

‘You good?’ Bucky obviously noticed your abrupt decline. ‘You can rest on my shoulder, if you want. Not as comfy as a bed but I can give you a hard shake if you start freaking out again.’

‘Thanks, I’ll try my best not to.’

You didn’t want to intrude too far, so you just leaned over and perched your head on the very edge of his shoulder. Without missing a beat, he shifted himself towards you, causing your head to slide neatly into the crook of his neck.

‘Did they start for a reason?’ You didn’t answer right away, needing a second to figure out how best to word it. ‘It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it.’

‘No, I don’t mind. They pretty much started right after my parents died. They probably would’ve just stopped on their own after a while if I hadn’t had to move in with my aunt and uncle, pair of fucking assholes.’

He let a low chuckle escape his lips, sliding an arm around your shoulder and squeezing them lightly. ‘Well in that case I hope you did much more than dislocate her arm.’

‘I wish.’

You yawned again, unconsciously nestling your head further into Bucky’s neck and your body into his side, the soft motion of his hand stroking over your shoulder just making you all the more drowsy.

‘It’s alright, you can go to sleep.’ His soft, low voice was like a lullaby. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

As your eyes fluttered closed, you felt your breathing fall in time with his, and you slowly drifted off into the most peaceful sleep you’d had in years.

---

It was a little embarrassing when Steve came across the two of you in the morning, fast asleep on the couch, tangled together like electrical wires. Bucky explained the situation, but Steve didn’t look too convinced by his tale of nightmares and innocent chat.

Even Tony gave you a knowing look as he walked past your desk.

This wasn’t exactly the reputation you’d hoped to build in your first week, but nothing that could’ve shaken your good mood that day. Every time you thought about the night before you couldn’t help grinning to yourself like an idiot.

You even felt more optimistic about your future in the job, everything just seemed so much more straightforward and intuitive.

It was incredible what a difference some good, deep sleep made.

As you were getting ready for bed that night, your heart jumped at the sound of a soft knock against your bedroom door. You inched it open to see Bucky, looking a little nervous, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his sweatpants.

‘Hey, I uh- I was just wondering-’ He paused for a second, narrowing his eyes at you slightly before chuckling and taking a step back. ‘Never mind, it was stupid.’

‘Go on. I promise I won’t laugh.’

You waited as he took a deep breath and steeled himself. ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I slept better on that couch than I have in years. So I thought-’

‘Do you want to come in?’

You were a little surprised at how easily that’d fallen out of your mouth, and he looked pretty shocked too. ‘You sure?’

‘As long as you’re still willing to give me a cold, hard slap when necessary.’

He chuckled, nodding firmly. ‘I can definitely do that.’

You stepped aside and let him pass, quickly ducking your head into the corridor to check for witnesses before softly pushing your door closed.

After that night, you and Bucky fell into a routine of sneaking between bedrooms after everyone else had gone to sleep.

It was inexplicable, but the two of you just seemed to sleep so much better in each other's company. At first, Bucky had to wake you up and calm you down a couple times a night, but it really wasn’t long before you started sleeping through the night.

Between having him in your life, having your dream job and having the brand new feeling of being consistently well-rested, everything in your life finally felt like it was falling into place.

---

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#bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky fanfiction #bucky fluff #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff

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aidemint · 3 years

Text

reflection - bucky barnes

word count: 3k+

notes: god i just love Bucky so much asdkjahdkfjhskdjfsdf his character is kinda hard to capture because of the layers that marvel set up but i tried lol

warnings: angst turned to fluff with a lil bit of spicy kissin with a hickey 😏😏 but mostly (?) wholesome bucky n his beautiful partner 🥰✨

Ever since Bucky moved into the Avengers compound, he was always distant. He’d go out of his way to avoid close contact with anyone besides Steve, even going so far as to skip meals or lock himself up in his room all day, reading books that Steve delivered to his quarters. And despite all the pleading and beckoning from Steve’s end, it seemed like nothing could get Bucky to open up and spend at least a few hours with the people around him.

Perhaps his self-isolation was a form of self-punishment. Perhaps he didn’t truly believe that he deserved anything, or that he wanted to be with people, that he wanted to laugh and have fun with friends. There was an amalgamation of repressed emotion behind those piercing, dark blue eyes.

In understanding this, I was fortunate enough to get close to Bucky -- not as a means to fix him, but to understand and comfort him when and where he needed me. We’d spend nights together looking at the stars, talking about the bits and pieces of our childhoods that we could remember, or simply laying next to each other in complete silence, relishing the peaceful and serene atmosphere that the evening brought.

And it was in that setting in which we shared our first kiss.

From then on, we always shared a special, intimate relationship. He opened up to me, as I did to him. We were equals -- something that Bucky had never known, being trapped in the Hydra system ever since he got out of ice.

But I’d only known him for a few months. I’d only been with him for a shorter amount of time. There was so much more to uncover, so much more that he had yet to choose to speak with me about because he just wanted to keep everything stuffed inside a tight little jar and ignore it. He wanted to ignore it because he was scared. He was afraid that the soldier would come back and he would lose everything all over again.

He was scared of the monster, of the ravager that lived inside of his mind in the minefield of memories.

A habit of his seemed to sprout from this inherent terror.

Whenever I talked to him, he could never keep his gaze trained on mine. His stare wandered to every inch of my face but never seemed to pass my eyes. He’d look at my forehead and the bridge of my nose at an attempt to fool me into thinking that he was lost in my eyes, but I knew. And it was the same with reflective surfaces. He’d turn away from mirrors and slightly opaque windows with a wince, hide behind his cap and stare at the ground in elevators, among other acts.

For days, I wondered why. I even mustered the courage to ask him, but he’d deflect, then changed the topic as soon as he could. I didn’t prod, as I didn’t want to venture in a space beyond his comfort zone, so I just left it.

Yet it still seemed to haunt me. I figured it would be an inquiry that was to remain forever unsolved, but it lingered at the back of my mind whenever I saw Bucky. This was beginning to form a bad habit. I didn’t want myself to become fixated on “helping” him in a zone that he’s clearly not comfortable talking about. I couldn’t allow for myself to spiral into obsession over such a thing.

So the question remained unanswered.

A week had elapsed since the thought had initially come to mind. It was midnight and I was finishing up some research about a newer perpetrator that was affiliated with a series of bombings in Berlin. As I sent the documents to Tony so he could do some deep diving, someone entered the hall, light footsteps padding towards the small kitchen island where I was sat.

I lifted my head up only to see Bucky moving towards me. Closing my laptop, I gave him a small smile and turned to him.

“Buck? What’s up?” He sucked in a breath and let it out shakily as he took a seat on the kitchen island next to me. I couldn’t tell what emotion his expression was of, but it wasn’t something pleasant. No, his brows were furrowed and his lips were pulled into a deep frown with unexpectedly prominent wrinkles forming underneath his eyes and on either side of his nose. It didn’t foretell the beginnings of devastation, nor desolation, but a simpler feeling that I didn’t recognize.

“I need to talk to you,” he spoke lowly. I nodded, holding my hands out so that he could place his in mine. Not minding that his gaze was lowered as to avoid mine, I still stared at him attentively, making sure that he knew that he had every bit of my attention.

“I’m here for you, sweetheart.” I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You can tell me anything.” The brunette gave a small but appreciative smile, then cleared his throat before speaking.

“You know the question you asked me before?” I nodded. “I think I have an answer.”

“I’m all ears,” I murmured in response, rubbing the tops of his hands with my thumbs, “Take your time.” Bucky opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it soon after, unable to unstick the words that were lodged in his throat.

He looked as if there was something restricting him from telling me -- a higher, greater force that forbade him from speaking about this taboo topic that was his issue. His irises, normally a deep shade of clear blue, were stormy, clouded with dark thoughts that swirled around his mind. The sight was uncomfortably familiar -- I’d seen that face before, when he first arrived at the Avengers compound. His hair was disheveled and he looked like he hadn’t showered in a week, but what stood out to me the most was how pained his gaze was. The complete and utter wreck that he was inside only showed through his stare and it hurt me more than expected.

I never truly believed the ambition of the saying “the eyes are the window to the soul,” but for the first time, it became my mantra. How torturous was Bucky’s inner state, how unbelievably despondent he was. That chest of his lacked a spirit because it had died in the wasteland of the mind. There was no shred of hope left in his consciousness.

There was no sparkle in his eyes.

I wondered where that gleam had gone.

In the present, I kept waiting for his response, patiently sitting and holding his hands until he was ready.

Bucky drew in a breath, then let it out, squeezing his eyes shut to focus on clearing his mind and seeking comfort in our bond, in the trust that he’d so courageously given to me.

He fluttered his eyelids open once he found his place.

And then it all came out in carefully chosen words and cautious sentences.

“I hate seeing my reflection. I hate it. If there was a stronger word, I would use it, but i-it’s all that I can come up with right now. I-I just- Every time that I see myself I just think that this was the last face that people saw before they died, that this was the face plastered across the news, that this was the face that served for Hydra.

And it’s pathetic, I know. I know that I’m an Avenger now, and I know that I’ve somehow changed, and I know how much effort you put into each and every moment, in trying to understand me, and I feel so horrible every single time you look at me and I can’t seem to return that… that hopeful smile, or lovestruck gaze because I just-” He paused, an influx of emotion surging through his body. I rubbed a thumb against the back of his hand to assure him that everything was going to be alright.

“I can’t look at you because I can’t stand seeing that… that man in your bright eyes. Those bright eyes that are filled with so much life, so much joy whenever they’re on me. I don’t- I don’t want him to be in there. I don’t want him to hurt you, (Y/N). I don’t want-” The brunette stifled a sob by tugging his bottom lip in between his teeth. My heart ached at the sight, my grip on his hands becoming tighter as I watched him come undone. He turned to me with tears in his eyes, tears that threatened to fall onto his cheeks, threatening to stain his skin with the colors of sorrow.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. A trembling breath flew out of my mouth as all the wind seemed to be knocked out of my lungs at the impact of his words. I took him into my arms, pressing his heart to mine and clenching my fists around the fabric of his shirt. Bucky slowly wrapped his arms around my body, finding comfort in my touch, resting his chin on top of my shoulder blade, drinking in my scent in heavy but silent gasps.

“Oh sweetheart…” I flattened my fingers to softly pat his back, attempting to ease him into a less panicked state. “Everything’s gonna be alright. We’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay, I’m not going to get hurt because of you. You’re not going to hurt me, honey.” The brunette in my embrace shuddered, hopelessly clutching onto me in desperation, almost at a mad scramble for some sort of safety.

We sat there, intertwined with one another as I whispered words of solace until Bucky’s breaths became even and his hiccups subsided, making way for a smoother airflow and a stable, steady heart rate. Unlocking my arms so that we could separate, I gingerly placed my hands on Bucky’s chest and delicately pushed away enough for me to brush all the hair out of his face and press a kiss to his forehead.

“Bucky, I want to show you something.”

“What is it?”

Taking his left hand, I led him to the bathroom down the long hallway on our floor. He sensed what was going on and immediately stopped in the middle of the hall, his grasp tightening around my hand.

“(Y/N),” he spoke, “(Y/N), please.” I clasped my hands around his metal one and gave the back of it a kiss, my gaze full of sorrow as I stared at the brunette.

“Please, Buck. Let me help you.” Bucky could hear the pleading tone about my voice. He hesitated for a moment, pausing to take a breath, but eventually gave a reluctant nod as I led him to the bathroom. Upon entry, Bucky immediately bowed his head, completely avoiding the centerpiece mirror as he moved to a spot in front of it. I gave a soft, sympathetic sigh and hopped on the table that was built into the giant vanity, making sure that my boyfriend was positioned right in front of me.

“If you’d like, you can close your eyes, sweetheart,” I hummed, “Can you lift your head up for me?” The brunette did as he was told, fluttering his eyelids shut as I gently raised his chin so that it sat at a normal angle. Letting a breath out, I admired his features with despairing irises. I looked on at his red, puffy eyes and unkempt skin as a pang of heartache reverberated through my body. Despite how painful it was to see him in such anguish, I managed to swallow the lump in my throat and opened my mouth to speak to the broken man.

“Honey, I-I don’t know how you feel. I can’t even begin to imagine what you must have gone through during your darkest times, but I want to be there for you. I want to be there for you whenever you crash or you forget that your actions in the past don’t dictate your future. You’re not the person you were a year ago, Buck. Your face doesn’t remind me of the desolate times, but of the happiest moments in my life.” Noticing that I was getting loud, I paused for a few seconds to cool off, then continued.

“Whenever I see this face,” I murmured, cupping Bucky’s cheeks in my palms, “I see my Bucky. I see the face of the man who has been nothing short of sweet, understanding, patient, and oh-so dear to me.” My view flitted to his hair, to which I reached for to slowly entangle my fingers in. Bucky gave a small hum as I brushed my digits through his hair, instinctively collecting the brown locks into a half-bun. His neck arched at the feeling, his shoulders sinking while I continued to play with his hair while talking freely.

“I see the face of the man who is selfless, caring, who is willing to change and diverge from his past to strive towards a brighter future.” As I secured the half-bun in place with a hair tie, I smiled at the sight of Bucky’s expression: his eyes were still closed, but the edges of his lips were curled up in content and comfort -- a rare but always stunning sight.

“I also see the face of the man that I love with every single bit of my heart, and who I know loves me all the same.” Finishing the look, I leaned back and reveled in the newfound freshness to the brunette’s complexion.

“If you want, you can open your eyes, Buck.” To my complete surprise, his eyes shot open the moment those words left my mouth. Without missing a beat, he jerked forwards and looked at the mirror with sudden resolution. My heart jumped upon seeing his readiness and the sudden jerk his body took upon, but soon melted as I recognized spots of determination and wholehearted faith in his expression.

He was slowly shifting out of his comfort zone.

The progress made here tonight would’ve taken weeks if we attempted this a few months ago.

It was an understatement to say that I was absolutely ecstatic about this huge leap we’d taken together. My emotions were beyond elation, beyond excited -- the mere thought that Bucky had felt comfortable enough around me to do this sparked a fire within my chest, one that sent flames rushing through my veins so that the tips of my fingers tingled, trembling as they struggled to contain the enhanced level of exhilaration.

“Baby,” I breathed, “Oh, Bucky.” I turned around to look at the mirror and watched in pure joy as a delighted grin spread across my lover’s face, lighting up his features in the best ways possible. His gaze shifted to my reflection, then back to his, soaking in the wholeness of the image before us.

“You’re beautiful,” he spoke, “You’re so beautiful, (Y/N).” My heart leapt to my throat as I burst into laughter, my cheeks rosy and my head spinning. He’d called me beautiful in the past, but it never felt like this -- so pure, so close to the heart and endearing as ever. The brunette stepped back to gaze at me as I giggled with a hand clapped over my mouth.

“Doll, don’t you dare cover your face, now.” Bucky gripped both of my forearms and pulled down so that the big, dopey grin on my face was fully exposed and my laughter could finally echo freely through the chamber of the bathroom. The brunette drank in the melody of merriment with a big, dopey grin of his own as he started to slide his hands down my arms and to my thighs.

“Hey, look at me, beautiful.” Instinctively, my gaze shifted to meet Bucky’s. The world seemed to slow moments before our eyes met. Waves of motion blurred and the background turned into white and beige gaze as my pupils started to fixate on my lover.

There was silence, seemingly senseless blindness, even.

And then this brilliant wave of blue, the crashing of cymbals, the tidal wave that immediately swept over my eyes.

I started to cry as I saw the way his irises glimmered underneath the bathroom lights as they bore into mine, those beautiful dark blue irises finally making their way into the depths of my soul. I cried my heart out, hot tears streaming down my flushed face, cascading down my cheeks and dripping onto my chin. God. I was breathless.

“Doll,” he said, brushing a tear off of my cheek, “Hey, what’s wrong? Are my eyes that ugly?” I laughed at his jokes, lightly shoving him in response to his cheeky comment.

“I-I’m just so happy,” I sobbed, “I’m so happy, Bucky.” The brunette smiled and leaned in, nearing my face as his eyes grew half-lidded. He gave my thighs a squeeze before whispering against my lips, his hot breaths bearing down on them, filled with want.

“I am too.”

His lips pressed against mine and suddenly everything was right in the world. As my hands slid up to cup his face in my palms, I wrapped my legs around his torso, bringing him closer to me, his lower stomach pressed against my core. I hummed at the sensation of his finding their way to my waist, fingers smoothing over my curves, cherishing every small wave that they found themselves riding.

Gasping softly as his mouth moved to layer kisses down my neck, I moved my hands to rest comfortably on Bucky’s shoulders as he started to lap at a spot at the base of my neck. Small huffs of breath and mewls spouted out of me as the brunette worked on forming a bruise.

“God, I love you,” he murmured into my skin, “I love you so much.” I could only hum in response, toes curling at the sensation of his teeth gently nipping at my collarbone as his tongue coaxed my nerves to scream in delight.

Once he was done, he parted from my collarbone with a satisfied glint in his eyes and lifted his head to fondly gaze at my relaxed features.

“Thank you, (Y/N). For everything,” he spoke. I kissed his forehead and beamed at him, overjoyed to finally have seen him like this -- relaxed, with a radiance about his expression that could not be attained from anything other than pure laughter.

And with that, I pressed my lips to his again, only parting to reply to his expression of gratitude.

“You deserve it, baby. You deserve it.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #avengers #the winter soldier #winter soldier #bucky barnes x reader oneshot #bucky barnes oneshot #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x reader oneshot #x reader #reflection #god i love bucky so goddamn much please let me give you a big smooch #tried to capture his character but idk how well i did lol

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kaysutcliff-michaelis · 3 years

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Bright We Burn ending rant (SPOILERS)

Under the cut you will find my opinion with lots of spoilers, capitals and cursing about Bright We Burn (and the Conqueror’s saga in general) written by Kiersten White.

Quoting from https://booksandreaderssite.wordpress.com/2018/10/13/bright-we-burn/ “This book was ruined by the author falling in love with her own character: Perfect Beloved Radu“

I finished reading the book like an hour ago and I’ve been complaining, crying, and looking for reviews since then. I hate it, hate it so much, as much as I loved the first two books and the beginning of this one.

The impression I get from the ending is not one I expected to get from a book that had a strong female protagonist as its main selling point. Mainly because said protagonist gets the worst possible ending. I didn’t expect a happy go lucky ending, I didn’t even expect her not to die or the author to stray too far from historical facts. Just because of the title I expected her to be like a shooting star, briefly burning bright. But she didn’t burn bright, she just burn. What I didn’t expect was the ending feeling completely alien to the rest of the saga.

Lada is ruthless, strong, smart, a great tactician and has her sights focused on her goal, being the prince of Wallachia. And fuck Mehmed, Radu, her father, and whoever tries to prevent her from ruling her country. She gets the respect of her men and the people of her country, she’s a good and fair ruler even if she got there with rather bloody methods. But haven’t they all? The Ottoman Empire Mehmed and Radu are so fond of is built on the blood of the janissaries they have taken from vassal states and the blood of the Christians from Constantinople. Yet the moment Lada kills the boyars (who have been leeching off Wallachia for decades) and Mehmed’s envoys (who burnt a village first), she must be stopped. How dare a woman make life easier for the people of the country?

And for some reason, the author allows two men to ruin what Lada has built with blood, sweat and tears. And to add insult to injury, the men who should have helped her (Mehmed even claims “he gave her the throne” as the selfish and self-centered asshole he is).

And she loses everything and everyone who is important to her. Petru, Nicolae, Oana, Stefan, Daciana, and Bogdan. Oh, Bogdan. How I wished Radu lost an eye to compensate for his murder.

And in case that was not enough, the dragon that was so strong and fierce suddenly turns into a girl that is lonely and hurt and needs her brother to survive and give her back her country. The country that never recognised Radu as prince. The country that loved Lada.

HE FUCKING HAD TO GIVE HER WHAT WAS ALREADY HERS. A MAN. AGAIN. HE FUCKING TOOK THE THRONE FROM HER AND FUCKING GAVE IT BACK AS IF HE WAS A DAMN SAINT. ALL SHE DID AND IN THE END SHE WAS PRINCE BECAUSE A FUCKING MAN ALLOWED IT. HOW IS THAT FEMINIST??????????? WHAT IS THE USE IN HAVING SUCH A POWERFUL FEMALE CHARACTER IF THE FULFILLMENT OF HER DREAM DEPENDS ON THE WHIM OF A MALE EVEN AT THE VERY END?

AND HE EVEN GETS AN “I TOLD YOU” MOMENT!!! THE AUDACITY!!!

And her death... such a warrior, killed by a nameless assassin with a knife to the back. A nameless grave. So disrespectful to what Lada was. I don’t care if all the things I didn’t like were for historical accuracy’s sake. Lada was her character and deserved way better than that.

Moving on to the treacherous rat that Radu has become, I liked him so much and in this book I could only pray for someone to smack him as hard as possible. He goes from the poor and traumatised soul that is being manipulated by Mehmed and has lost his best friend and potential partner to enabling Mehmed’s actions while being fully conscious of how he’s being used, instantly healing himself from a trauma that is not relevant ever again, not giving a damn about killing people, sending Kumal to his death without sparing it too many thoughts, and having a cute little happy family while wanting to imprison his sister for the rest of her life and thinking he’s doing her a favor. He actually thought it was good and fair to plan a happy life for himself while destroying everything his sister had fought for. The sister he never ever chose.

Am I the only one who loved that the Danesti brothers started being problematic as soon as Radu gave them the throne?? Boyars will be boyars, and I don’t understand how he thought those two would be better rulers than Lada, they wouldn’t enter the castle and still wanted the money, the lands and the fancy stuff.

I honestly cannot believe how much this character has changed (for the worse), and how he acts like he’s so good and only looking for the best for those he loves when he’s a traitor, a liar, a killer and the reason why Constantinople fell. He cannot forgive Lada for protecting Wallachia, but apparently everyone and their mother have forgiven and forgotten all the blood staining his hands. Also I find it unbelievable how he sells the way the Ottoman Empire is run to Cyprian but then when Lada tried to use some of the things she had learnt there to run Wallachia it was suddenly the worse thing ever. Radu is definitely not the good Dracul sibling, he’s the toxic one.

Speaking about Cyprian, I honestly couldn’t feel happy for them. When he came back to Radu I was already too angry and wanting to send him packing back to Edirne. Amazing how Cyprian can give counsel about how to deal with Lada when all he knows about her is second-hand but he can forgive Radu for lying to him, making the siege worse for everyone, being the reason why his uncle is dead and his city was lost (and even if he doesn’t know about it, the reason why Giustiniani may have died).

And Fatima?? How she “took care” of Lada at the end? I can’t tell if she’s too broken or what, but it was creepy how she could take care of Lada when Nazira wouldn’t even stand being in the same room. Even if she was going to give them her baby, it makes me wonder how messed up she can be to be able to behave that way with the person who killed her brother-in-law and they were so adamant to condemn.

I won’t even talk about the baby thing because that was just so unnecessary for the plot and for Lada herself as a character.

Going back to Radu and before talking about Mehmed, I hate how he is 100% sure that Mehmed knows about his feelings and is using him and said feelings and he??? just??? allows??? it???? Still does whatever he wants, still appears at his doorstep no matter his trauma with Constantinople, still makes Nazira and Fatima leave their house though they had just been reunited and Mehmed didn’t care that much about finding Nazira and STILL at the end, 20 years later is in good terms with him. He didn’t confront Mehmed about using him, never called him out. Radu is the friend who will listen to you when you’re explaining how a common friend has abused you and then will keep being friends with the other person and abandoning you :D

I am not Mehmed’s biggest fan, but it’s like he isn’t even a character anymore in this book. Even if we never have his pov it always felt like this story was a triangle, but at the end it was like he wasn’t there anymore, he isn’t even the source of conflict because Radu isn’t in love with him anymore. Even for all their alleged worries about Theodora being Mehmed’s biological daughter, that issue was glossed over in a matter of three lines. I do wish he had stayed more relevant (and that he had never left Constantinople).

Surely I’m forgetting something but I think my point is clear XD Radu is a hypocrite who didn’t deserve his happy ending, Mehmed became so irrelevant that the plot was missing something, and Lada, our dragon, deserved way better. Oh, and don’t write a “feminist” YA book if the female character is the one who’s going to have the worst ending. It just feels like you’re telling women they will end up alone and dead if they are as strong and determined as Lada, and to suck it up because men will always be forgiven for the crimes.

#the conqueror's saga #and i darken #now i rise #bright we burn #lada dracul #radu dracul #mehmed #kiersten white #spoilers #book rant

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strwberrytae · 4 years

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Beyond Desire | 03

→ pairing: taehyung x reader x ft. dr. min yoongi → rating: m for mature - sexual content and graphic content → genre: drama / smut / angst → words: 15.2k → disclaimer/warning: this is a piece of fiction based off of the fifty shades of grey series. this is not a parody. there are mentions of strong dominant and submissive lifestyles. there are also various psychological issues that are addressed throughout the series; including anxiety, self-destruction, blood, panic attacks, childhood abuse and self-harm. this is a work of fiction and not to be taken as a promotion of the series, fifty shades of grey. this is an original piece of work. edit is created by me. enjoy! feedback is greatly appreciated.

→ chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 [series in progress - please read previous chapters]

→ summary: it’s never easy falling for your best friend when you have so much history. it’s especially difficult when you both share the same sexual desires and lifestyle. taehyung is a dominant CEO of a well known company in Seoul and you are an up and coming editor. while both of you come from a troubled and dark past, you lean on each other for support and comfort. what happens as your feelings blossom and grow over the years? what happens when you fear taehyung may be falling in love with someone else? will you confess your feelings or remain in the shadows?

The drive to Joon Jae’s apartment is torturous. It seems he needs this as badly as you do. You giggle as he weaves through the night traffic. You pull up to a tall building similar to Taehyung’s apartment building, but a lesser version. It’s a luxury building that you certainly couldn’t afford. Before you can really soak it all in, the two of you hurry inside and get on the elevator. Joon Jae types in a code on the touchpad inside the door of the elevator and it begins moving. His apartment is on the twentieth floor and you feel like the ride is taking forever. The higher you climb, the faster your heart races. Subconsciously, you bite your lip in anticipation.

“Fuck this,” Joon Jae says suddenly under his breath. He leans over to push the emergency stop button and the elevator comes to a screeching halt. He pulls you into his arms and holds the back of your neck. It’s not certain if it’s the wine or the adrenaline, but you feel like he’s spinning in front of you - a blurred image yet so clear.

“I want to taste you,” he says in an enticing voice. Oh. You inhale sharply as he pushes you against the wall. The elevator shifts a little, making your heart jump, but you know there’s nothing to panic over. He grazes his lips across your jawline and down your delicate neck. You moan at the warmth as it sends beautiful chills across your skin. His hand travels to one of your breasts and caresses it hungrily. You can feel his finger dance across the fabric to beckon your nipples to erect for him. They vigorously abide. He smiles against your skin with satisfaction. He trails kisses along your neck and grazes his tongue on the most sensitive areas. Your body reflexes and bucks forward when he touches your sweet spot, pressing into his body. So needy for more, you graze your leg between his and feel his erection straining against his pants. He grabs your chin and lifts it up to meet his eyes.

“Not yet, honey. Soon,” he says. Dissatisfied with his answer, you groan. You want him now. As if he hears your thoughts, he slowly glides down your body. He kneels before you and lifts your dress then pauses.

“The next time we go out, no underwear,” he says as a demand. He grabs your panties by the waistband and tugs them down to your knees with force. The swift motion makes you even more wet than you already were. He moans at the sight of you.

“You’re so hot, Y/N,” he says. Your name sounds like ecstasy coming from him. Joon Jae hovers his mouth over your center. His warm breath makes you twitch. You want to push forward but you stop yourself to avoid punishment – refusal of what he’s about to do. He waits as if expecting you to move; testing you. He rewards you in turn. You feel his tongue lap over your folds, so you bite your lip to keep you crying out. He repeats the motion pushing you closer to the edge. He moves in circular motions to focus on your clit, making it harder for you to keep quiet. You start panting. Your skin is on fire. It feels so good and you don’t know how much more you can take before you explode. Just as you think you've reached your limit, he thrusts two long fingers inside of you. You cry out in pleasure.

“If you don’t shut the hell up, I’ll stop,” he demands in a dominant tone. Obediently, you instantly silence yourself. His command made you unbelievably wet. His thrusts quicken and your body quivers.

“Come for me,” he demands. Your body obeys very willingly and you unravel at his words, exploding around him. Your lip is throbbing from biting so hard on it to keep from making a sound. He stands before you with a devilish grin. He holds his fingers in front of your mouth, just barely touching them. Your juice coats them beautifully as a little string stretches between his fingers. His eyes are dark with lust.

“I want you to know how good you taste. Open your mouth,” he commands. You obey and allow him to ease his fingers in your mouth. Although you can’t deny that you know how you taste, at this moment it’s better, sweet even. He smiles at you, satisfied with your obedience. Your cheeks are flushed with heat.

“Good girl.” He reaches over to push the button and the elevator roars to life. He comes back to you and pulls down your underwear more. Gracefully, you step out of them and he discards them into his pocket with satisfaction on his face. He puts his arm around your waist and waits patiently for the doors to open. When they do, you’re welcomed to his masculine apartment. It’s large, but not too large. There’s a small view of the Seoul skyline in the back. The details of the apartment are hard to make out because of the darkness. He grabs your hand and takes you straight back to his bedroom.

“I’ll give you the tour tomorrow. Right now, I’m going to fuck you,” he says, already answering the question in your head as you speed down the hall after kicking off your shoes. Your insides quiver at the thought.

His room is subtle and intense, just like him. The walls are dark blue and a king sized bed with four posts reaching the ceiling around them. You become eager as you think about what those posts could be used for. He closes the door behind you and he turns on the lights, then dims them to a more romantic setting.

“Take off your clothes,” he commands in a low voice. You can hear how impatient he is but only because he is just as eager as you. You’re not overly confident in your body, but you’re assuming he wants a show. You just hope you don’t disappoint. Slowly, you unzip your white and black polka dot dress and let it fall onto the floor. You're left in just your black lace bra. While watching his eyes, you reach back and unbuckle the strap. The bra gracefully falls to the floor. Now, you stand naked before him. He absorbs your presence. Your breasts seem to please him immensely as he stares at them. You can’t help but analyze his thoughts on the appearance of your body as he looks you over. It’s been an obsession of yours to please others who see you. Your insecurities lie with the scars all over your body - the reminders of your past. He walks closer to you and strokes your cheek sweetly.

“You have a beautiful body,” he whispers. You look into his brown eyes and see sincerity. He’s much taller than you, so you reach up on your toes and kiss him softly on the lips.

“Can I undress you,” you whisper against his lips. He nods and allows you. First, you remove his suit jacket, revealing the white shirt that looks delicious on him. Your heart races with each button that you unravel. You slide his shirt over his shoulders and discover that he’s muscular – very muscular. His skin is toned and sunkissed. Oh, how desperately you want to kiss his skin. Observing his beauty, you skim your hands across his chest and feel that his heart is racing too. To satisfy your eagerness, you trail down to his pants and remove his belt. When you unbutton him and unzip his pants, his erection pushes forward. No underwear. Such a bold move, you think. It salutes you, enticing you. He’s definitely well endowed. It’s beautiful. You look up at him, silently asking permission to taste him. He groans.

“I won’t stop you,” he says. His words make you lick your lips and slowly dip down to your knees. you pull his pants down. You take him into your mouth, all of him at once. He groans with pleasure as your muscles adjust around him. He runs his fingers through your hair and pulls back your head with a fistful of hair in his hand.

“I want to see you,” he says. Looking him in the eyes, you pull him in and out of your mouth. Your tongue dances in circles around him hungrily - making sure not to lose eye contact. You pull him out enough to leave the tip in your mouth and you suck on it delicately. This drives him crazy. He pulls you up and throws you on the bed.

“I want to cum inside of you,” he says. His impatience makes you smile to yourself. There’s other places that you would love for him to cum on, but you keep those ideas to yourself for the time being. You watch him as he walks over to his nightstand. His body is so perfect. You could easily watch him all day. He retrieves a foil packet and rips it open with his teeth. He slides the condom on and walks over to you like a predator stalking his prey. You push yourself up on your elbows to slide backwards as he climbs over top of you. He slides his legs between yours, hovering over your entrance.

“Y/N, are you sure I have to wear this? I want to feel you...all of you,” he says in a silky voice. You smile sheepishly and shake your head.

“Hard limit,” you say as a reminder. He opens his mouth in protest but changes his mind. Instead, he crashes into your mouth, claiming you with his tongue. You moan against his mouth. Before you can process the motion, he thrusts himself inside of you. you cry out loud. It’s been so long and there’s so much of you. His entrance yet was still easy enough as you were incredibly wet and ready for him. He continues his thrusts and you quickly adjust to his size.

“Fuck,” he cries out. you dig your nails into his back. The pleasure is almost unbearable. Your body already craves release again. He pulls up to sit before you. He bends your knees and stretches your legs to the side in a butterfly motion. He thrusts into you as you lay wide open before him. He grabs your hips to deepen his thrusts. You can’t take it anymore. You want to come but you wait for his command.

“Please Joon Jae. Tell me,” you beg. He smirks at you.

“Tell you what,” he demands.

“Please Joon Jae. I want to come,” you beg. He slides his arm under you and hovers over top of you. His other hand remains on your hip to maintain his deep thrusts. He whispers in your ear.

“Come for me then,” he commands. Instantly, your body convulses around him; crying out his name as your climax continues. Joon Jae follows with two sharp thrusts and explodes inside of you, finding his release. He collapses on top of you, both of you covered in sweat.

“Fuck, N/N,” he breathes against your shoulder. He pulls out and rolls onto his side, then discards the condom and pulls you close to him.

“I want to sleep like this,” he whispers into your ear.

“Okay,” is all you say; too tired to say more. You lay there, completely exhausted, and sated; thus, you easily drift into a deep sleep.

The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed. You slowly stir, trying to gather your composure. It seems that you haven’t slept that well in ages. Sitting up on your elbow, you run your hand through your hair. You're still naked but wrapped in a white sheet. Now that you can see, you take in the décor of the room. There’s a bathroom within the room, neat and clean. The walls only hold photographs of landscapes, different cities perhaps. There’s a dark-colored dresser and matching cedar chest. There aren’t many decorations in the room. It’s very simplistic and masculine.

What time is it? The sun is shining, but not too bright. You reach over to grab your phone on the nightstand beside your side of the bed. 7:34am. Thank God I didn’t oversleep. You completely forgot to set an alarm last night. Your mind was elsewhere. As scenes from last night replay through your head, you smile. Your body responds as well. Last night was absolutely amazing and you want many more like it.

You see that there are three texts from Taehyung respectfully received spaciously through the night.

Text you in the morning.

I need to see you tomorrow. There’s something I need to tell you.

Do you have anything to wear tomorrow? How is he treating you?

You shake your head as you look through the texts. These came from in the middle of the night. you know he must have woken up from a nightmare as he always does. He always texts you frantically in the middle of the night. You can’t help but to feel guilty for not responding.

“Good morning,” Joon Jae says from the doorway. He’s leaning against the wall, watching you. All that he’s wearing are pajama bottoms that hang low on his waist. In the daylight, you get a better look at his chiseled physique. He looks like he just walked out of a magazine.

“Hi,” you whisper with a smile. You turn the display off your phone and set back down on the table. Joon Jae slowly walks up to the foot of the bed.

“What are you doing,” he asks.

“Checking the time,” you half-lie. “I have to be at work at nine,” He smirks at you.

“Then we have plenty of time then,” he says. He looks at you hungrily and rips the sheet off the bed, leaving you exposed. Joon Jae pulls a condom out of his pocket and puts the corner in his mouth. He slides his pants down his legs and his erection springs free. Your instantly eyes become dark with lust. He’s so full of himself and he has every right to be and you admire his awareness of how hot he is. Not to mention he’s already this incredibly hard for you. He rips the packet open and slides it onto himself. Crawling on top of the bed and as he does, you lay flat as he hovers above you. He teases your mouth by lightly grazing them with his. Instead of giving you a kiss, he travels down to your breasts, taking one into his hand, the other into his mouth. Sucking on the nipple as if nourishing himself.

You gasp at the touch. Your skin already feels like it’s on fire. He takes your nipple between his teeth and gently pulls on it, making you cry out with pleasure. He looks at you with a grin.

“What’s your safe word,” he asks between bites. Sheepishly, you bite your lip, thinking of a good word for the two of you. Every partner needs a special safe word. How silly would it be to use the same word with each partner. No, it has to be unique. He groans as he thrusts into you, making your mind go blank. Naturally, you moan loudly.

“N/N, you need a word because I’m about to fuck you senseless. I need to know your limit. Now give me a word,” he demands. His dominance makes you clench around him. So filled with excitement, you hum, trying to regain your thoughts. Suddenly, the word hits you.

“Baklava,” you purr. He smirks.

“Perfect,” he says. As promised, he begins pounding his hips against you. Your chests are touching each other as he holds you against him. You wrap your arms around his neck, beckoning him to push deeper. He abides and thrusts into you so hard, you throw your head back against the bed as ecstasy runs through you. He increases the rhythm and you hear a low roar in his throat. You're almost there. So close, so soon. Just the way his pelvis rubs against your clit as he hits that tender spot inside of you - it’s too good.

“Tell me that you’re mine,” he breathes into your ear; much like a growl.

“I’m yours,” you murmur between each thrust. Your words unhinge him, which tips you over the edge. Your bodies let go, shattering with each final thrust. Your body feels rejuvenated yet numb all at once. You've missed this feeling. Joon Jae smiles into your neck and plants a kiss on it. He leans up on his elbow and moves the hair out of your face.

“You are intoxicating, N/N, you know that?” He kisses you, leaving you speechless. He gets off of you and holds out his hand.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he beckons. You crawl out of bed and follow him to his bathroom where he intimately washes you.

Joon Jae left the bathroom when you were finished to get dressed for work. Neatly set out on the bathroom sink is a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and soap. He notices you observing them curiously.

“Those are for you to keep here. I expect that you’ll be spending the night often,” he explains from the doorway. Oh. Well this is new. You've never had your own travel kit already provided for you before. He must do this quite often – that and he must have anticipated you accepting his offer. You frown at the thought but continue to get ready. Something about the idea of him doing this for various women just didn’t sit right with you. Then again, so does Taehyung but...he’s not yours.

Starting to run late, you realize you need to be at work in a half an hour and it’ll take you fifteen minutes in traffic to get there. You get dressed in the dress you wore the night before and toss your wet hair up in a neat bun. You recall leaving a black blazer at work, so you can easily slip that on to make this outfit more professional. Regret fills you as you wish you had more time to prepare for last night, or at least have left after Joon Jae fell asleep. You pinch your cheeks to add some color to them and apply some lip gloss from your bag. You don’t look your best, but it will do until you get to work.

You walk out of his bedroom to head for the door. Thanks to the morning light, you take in his apartment now that you can see it. It strangely reminds you of Taehyung’s apartment but not quite the same. The walls are white and it’s decorated minimally – the occasional plant here, a photograph there, a table, a couch. The apartment definitely screams “a man lives here”. The bedroom is the only part that’s colorful. Joon Jae greets you at the door as you gaze at his decor.

“Ready,” he asks. you simply nod and leave as he followed.

When you arrive at Kim Publishing, Joon Jae kisses you before you get the chance to open the door. Naturally, you can’t help but to smile.

You say your goodbyes and you watch his luxury car as it drives off with speed. Before his departure, you never discussed making future plans, but you know you’ll hear from him soon; at least that’s what your heart tells you. Gingerly, you walk inside and you're greeted warmly by a random coworker.

“Hi, N/N! Oh. Wow. That dress is adorable,” she compliments. Embarrassed and beyond self-conscious that this was yesterday’s dress, you blush and thank her. You hurry upstairs before too many other people see you in this dress. It’s not even that it was your work outfit or something, which it wasn’t. It was the dress you changed into before leaving late at night. So of course anyone who saw you would know that wherever you left, you stayed the night there. Ugh how embarrassing… Not only that, but it’s not exactly a work appropriate outfit.

As expected, Jisoo is waiting for you with your daily cup of coffee. Iced Americano. Just a little bit of sugar to cut through the rich bitterness of the espresso. Just enough to make it the most delicious remedy to ensure energy throughout the day. She gives you a look that you know is judgmental. Although you’re in a rush to hide in your office, you take the glass with a smile of satisfaction that any caffeine addict would understand.

“Good morning, N/N.”

“Good morning and thank you,” you replied with a soft, angelic tone. She can easily see the satisfaction through your facial expressions.

“Your nine o’clock is in your office,” she says professionally. Taking you out of your daze, you arch your eyebrow. I don’t have a nine o’clock meeting... Maybe it’s Seokjin, your thoughts soar as you wonder if your boss scheduled a meeting that you forgot because of your little rendezvous last night. Unsure of what to expect, you walk into your office and freeze in motion.

“Hello, Y/N,” Taehyung says. His voice is so nonchalant yet there seems to be an iciness behind his tone. He’s leaning back on your desk casually. He’s wearing a black suit with a grey tie. Naturally, he looks amazing as always. His presence surprises you but this isn’t exactly uncommon for you to arrive at work and he’s waiting for you. Typically, this only occurs when he needs something personal or something is wrong. Although, considering that you just spent the night with a man not-so-familiar to your very Dominant best friend, it’s quite clear as to why he’s in your office right now.

“Hi, Taehyung,” you say as your resume your glide as if nothing happened; closing the door behind you. As gracefully as possible, you walk over to your desk to set down your coffee and go over to your coat rack to put on your black blazer that you recalled leaving there before. You feel a thousand times better having it on. Now you feel a little more confident and much less self-conscious with this completion to your ensemble.

“You didn’t text me back,” is all he says. His voice has devilishly smooth undertones that mean nothing to him but everything to you. He knows he’s coming across as very Dominant right now and he knows that you’re naturally Submissive. But he also doesn’t know that you’ve learned how to control your Submissive side around him over the years. It allows you to seem unfaltered by his presence. As you walk back over to your desk, you can see that he hasn’t gotten much sleep. Bags under his eyes and the slight paleness to his skin tells you this. You furrow your brow with concern. Immediately, you want to ask how his night was, but you know changing the subject would be of no use. With defeat, you sigh as you sit your coffee down on your desk.

“I know. I’m sorry. I was…preoccupied,” you say with a timid voice; your submission peaking through. He’s facing you and instantly, concern appears on his face.

“You slept with him last night,” he asks with disbelief. As if already being scolded, submission consumes you so all you can do is nod your head nervously.

“We signed our contracts at dinner. Everything happened so fast, Taehyung. I wanted to text you... I...I’m really sorry, Taehyung.” He runs his fingers through his long, dark hair. He looks as if he’s lost for words. He paces over to your office window.

“Please say something,” you plead. The silence is deafening. He turns to you with kindness in his eyes.

“Are you alright,” he asks in such a soothing tone. He walks over to you to close the space between you.

“Yes, of course,” you say a bit more eagerly. Taehyung’s dominance withered away in an instant which makes you feel so much more at ease. Otherwise, you’d find yourself in a difficult position...

“He didn’t hurt you,” he asks simply. With doe eyes, you shake your head.

“We just had sex…twice,” you blush; obviously knowing that you deserve to be embarrassed because of your words but you can’t help but to feel a little cheeky. He raises his eyebrow at you.

“So, he’s okay with your contract,” he asks with only a slight pause. Taehyung is very protective over your contracts – or you in other words. After a couple of occasions of your Dominants getting out of hand with you in the past, he sat down with you and made you write down your hard limits - boundaries. He explained to you that most Doms are going to have roughly the same contract. His contract is certainly different from any others. Yours, however, is very similar to his. With the amount of trauma that you’ve been through during your lives, neither of you can risk getting hurt again. You don’t know what kind of permanent emotional damage it may cause. Although, once he approved your contract and classified it as ready, you made an alteration – his section. He doesn’t know that he’s in your contract. Your Dominants never understood your relationship with Taehyung. Every man is intimidated by him. They have every right to be. They always get so jealous when you spend time with him or even mention him. So, you had to make it very clear, from the beginning, that your relationship is to be understood.

“He was a bit surprised by it, but he signed it,” you say.

“Good.” He starts pacing again and you start to sense that something’s wrong.

“You said that there was something you wanted to tell me? When you texted me this morning,” you ask. He stops at the window and pauses abruptly. Your eyes watch him as you remain next to your desk and he walks towards your direction. You have no idea what it could be but his sudden change in stance puts you on edge. He turns around and walks to the other chairs in front of your desk. Following suit, you sit in the chair next to him. He looks out the window; avoiding something.

“Taehyung, what is it,” you ask in a more stern voice. Now you can’t help but to worry. Is he sick? Has something happened to his parents? Did something happen to the company? He looks up at you with uncertainty in his eyes.

“I’ve met someone,” he says in a somber tone. Why so somber… You swallow hard as your heart drops into your stomach. Your world of disillusion came tumbling down in a single sentence. You know that he’s not talking about a new Submissive. The way that he said this holds another meaning. Unable to speak, you stare at him. You can slowly see worry and doubt flood his eyes. There’s no choice but to drag yourself out of your void.

“What’s her name,” you ask, almost choking on your words.

“Yuri. Im Yuri,” he says. Im Yuri. Her name is like acid in your ears and magic on his tongue. Her name even sounds perfect. It sounds like someone that’s perfect for him. You haven’t even met her and you just feel this delicate presence about her - it intimidates you. Your heart is racing but slowing down all at the same time. All you can do is nod slowly and begin fidgeting with your fingers. Breathe, N/N. Breathe. Just fucking breathe. You can’t have a break down in front of him. As best as you can, you strain to smile in the most sincere way possible.

“That’s great, Taehyung. Really great,” you say softly. “Tell me about her. How did you meet,” you say in a soft voice.

“N/N. We don’t have to talk about this,” he says sympathetically. Why is he saying it like that? Is it because he knows of your feelings or because of our friendship? What does this mean for our friendship? He reaches over and takes your hand, holding it on your lap. You look at your hands fighting back the urge to cry. Perhaps it’s because he knows how much your anxiety sets in at times like these. Not necessarily that he’s in a new relationship but because this means that things will change drastically between your relationship soon. The relationship that you two have is so sacred as you’re both dependent on each other - given your past. So, it’s not so much that he pities you but he knows what this means for both of you.

“It’s fine. Tell me,” you say, although you really don’t want to know. It pains him that you won’t look his way but he complies with your request.

“I met her during an interview for the Seoul University student paper since I’m giving a commencement speech to the graduating class,” you nod; remembering him telling you about his speech. “She was actually filling in for someone else.”

“Lucky for you,” you joke half-heartedly. He pauses, not getting your joke.

“Continue, please,” you say as you realize he’s being serious. He takes a breath, clearly nervous deep within.

“She’s not like the others,” he tells you. Why is he being so defensive? He’s acting like a child trying to ask permission for something. He’s tip-toeing around the subject. You sigh softly to yourself. He has every right to be this way as this isn’t just anyone. Taehyung doesn’t date, for various reasons. You know he can see right through you and he knows this is bothering you.

“What did she major in,” you ask, trying to get him to open up more.

“Modern Korean Literature. Same major as you were in college. She’s…actually a lot like you,” he says with slight hesitation. You look at him, confused by his statement.

“That’s…different,” you say more so as a question. That’s typically not his reasoning for dating a woman. Not exactly saying that his reason for dating this woman but...you know. Kim Taehyung has a type – a very. specific. type. He always chooses slender, pale, brunettes with medium to full sized lips, average breasts, and very submissive - very unlike you. Submissive, yes, but not physically the same. His type reminded him of his mother. It’s very Freudian of him, but there was a logical reason. He loved his mother and she died when he was four. There’s an attachment there that never went away. He wasn’t in love with her, but he was very fond of her.

Everyone has a different way of coping with trauma. Taehyung’s way is centered around power and control. He was powerless when he was a child. Now, he can set the rules and release his demons in a way that’s pleasurable to him and his Submissives. Of course, you don’t judge or chastise him for his actions. Actually, you admire him for what he’s able to do. For you, you can’t take control of your pain. Instead, you want pain inflicted on you. You want to be controlled and powerless. You want to be taken care of. Some people may call you sadists, but to you two, you’re just coping.

“Taehyung…” you start to speak but you’re unable to say anything else. There’s no words. Perhaps you need time to process.

“I want you to meet her,” he says abruptly before letting you gather your thoughts.

“Oh…um...I-I don’t...”

“This Saturday. My mother is having a family dinner. She’s asked me to bring Yuri. She spent the night with me last night and mother barged into the apartment this morning. I’m sure she’ll be contacting you soon to tell you about the dinner.” His words came at you a mile a minute. There was no time whatsoever to process any of it but one phrase in particular caught your attention. You narrow your eyes at him. Did he just say that she spent the night? Now, you’re pissed. You stand and look down at him.

“You get bent out of shape because I spent the night with Joon Jae but you were spending the night with a girl you just met? That’s bullshit,” you say with your hands in fists by your side; digging your nails into the palm of your hands. Unfortunately, you keep them long for this reason - nervous twitch. Taehyung stands before you to tower you; clearly a Dominant move. His facial expression has turned serious in an instant.

“I’m not at risk to be put in a dangerous situation with a woman. You on the other hand, given your past experience, are very vulnerable, Y/N. I won’t be called a hypocrite when all I’m doing is looking out for you,” he says in an assertive, authoritative voice. It only makes you dig your nails in further. Your blood is boiling. Hypocrisy is one of your biggest pet peeves but perhaps there’s a subconscious reason why you’re venting your anger right now.

“Well maybe you don’t need you to look out for me anymore! I have someone now and so do you! I’m so sick of you breathing down my neck all the time! You’re not my father, nor are you my boyfriend or Dominant.” He looks at you wide-eyed. His eyes are dark and furious. He opens his mouth to say something but something catches his eye. Taehyung looks down in horror.

“Y/N, stop! Your hands,” he exclaims but not too loud to cause alarm outside of the office. The veins in your arms are pulsing as your grip is so insanely harsh. You open your hands as you see they’re trembling and covered in blood. He quickly grabs them and pulls a clean handkerchief from his jacket. He wraps them as calmly as possible, staining the cloth with your blood without a care about them.

“Jesus, N/N. You have to stop doing that,” he says. His voice is much softer as you watch him take care of your hands with deep concern. Naturally, your eyes swell with tears as you were already trying desperately to hold them back but it was no use. You pull your hands out of his grasp in a snapping motion.

“Get out,” you demand. He looks at you with disbelief.

“Y/N, I’m not going anywhere. Let me take you to the hospital,” he says sternly but with a hint of begging behind it.

“I can take care of myself,” you say softly yet harsh through silent tears as they fall down your face and your vision is blurred. He stands there, asserting his position. It’s clear he doesn’t want to give up so easily.

“Go!” Your voice carries throughout the office. This time catching him off guard, his shoulders jump slightly and takes a step back. He hesitates at first, staring into your pained eyes. He then storms out of your office without saying another word. Your hands are in so much pain but it doesn’t compare to the other pain that you feel inside. You feel broken and shattered. Suddenly, as the events that just occurred wash over you, you break down into tears. Why did you say that?

You resituate the blood stained napkin around your hands and grab your purse. Trying not to get blood anywhere and wipe your eyes of any extra tears. Then, you put on your sunglasses to hide your puffy eyes from the office. Taking off your jacket, you place it over your hands that are currently holding your purse to avoid any attention. Once you head out the door, you find Jisoo standing behind her desk, concerned as she just saw Taehyung storm away.

“N/N, is everything okay? I heard yelling.”

“Can you cancel any appointments I have today? I’m not feeling well, so I’m going to work from home . You can email me if something urgent comes up. No calls please,” you say with a fake smile. She just nods her head. She wants to ask more but doesn’t. Once you get to your car, you place your head against the steering wheel and cry. Hands still shaky. Breathing quickening. Temperature rising. You know that a panic attack is coming on, so you close your eyes and try to breathe. There’s no way you can drive like this. Slowly, you take five deep breaths and that somewhat soothes you. For now. You need immediate assistance but you hate hospitals, so you find yourself driving to Dr. Min, your psychiatrist, instead.

Dr. Min Yoongi is young for a doctor, but he’s really good at his job. He’s an attractive, porcelain pale man with small features. Blonde dyed hair and black half-rimmed glasses with a gold lining. He’s wearing black pants and a pale blue open-necked shirt with no tie. You sit in his office with fresh bandages and a steadier heart. Willingly, you told him everything that happened and he listened carefully. He always does. Talking to him has been so easy over the years. Although, you don’t mention her name because you know you’re not supposed to. For Taehyung’s privacy, you can’t disclose too much about his doings as he is also a client of Dr. Min. He specializes in trauma cases specifically. Adults and children that had trauma either in youth or during their adult years. He knows how to help people cope with their inner demons and actually understands what they’re going through it seems. Perhaps he was a trauma victim as well.

“Y/N, why did you have a break down like that,” he asks you in his thick Daegu dialect. You know he’s not truly asking you because he knows why. He just wants to hear you say it. You shake your head slowly without looking at him.

“I’m afraid I’m going to lose him. If he falls in love with her, he will consume himself with her. He won’t need me anymore,” you say quietly. He nods his head and sighs, sitting back in his brown leather chair casually. You’re both sitting in his

“Taehyung is very fond of you, Y/N. You mean a great deal to him. I don’t think he will forget your relationship,” he assures you. Although his words seemed as if it was crossing the line of professionalism and personal, his words warmed you a little. You look down at your hands, feeling guilty. Your hands are still in pain - like a stinging sensation that just keeps lingering. Every time you do this to yourself, the initial sensation of puncturing the skin is a soft limit for you – your own personal release. You used to do it all the time when you were a child and had a major panic attack. Fortunately, you haven’t done it since...until today.

“Love can make you do crazy things, Yoongi,” you say softly then slowly look up at him with a pained smile. He smiles at you sympathetically and sets his black, leather-bound notepad down.

“And time heals all wounds,” he says back. Touché. The two of you have a habit of throwing clichés back and forth during your conversations. It’s fun banter for you and brings you comfort.

“Give it time, Y/N. Let him adjust to this new relationship. If it’s serious, it will take him longer to adjust. You know that. It’s only been a day,” he says. Instantly, he makes you feel like a spoiled brat that didn’t get her way. Maybe this relationship won’t work out, maybe it will. It’s only been a day. You nod in agreement.

“Is that all you want to discuss today,” he asks genuinely, not to rush you. It’s already been nearly two hours. You think about talking more about Joon Jae but decide against it. Instead, you shake your head.

“I want to see you again next week. If you have another moment like this before then, don’t hesitate to call me. I can always come to you as well,” he says as you stand. With a warm smile, you put your purse strap on your shoulder.

“Thanks, Yoongi. I’ll see you next week,” you say sweetly. Before you leave, he hands you a small piece of paper.

“For the pain,” he says. It’s a prescription for pain relievers for your hands. There’s instantly an unsettling feeling in your stomach. You shake your head nervously.

“You know I can’t take that,” you say.

“It’s a low dosage. I promise. Just in case the pain becomes unbearable. Your cuts were surprisingly deep and it will take a while to heal. Typing and writing will hurt after an extended period of time. I wouldn’t prescribe it to you unless I thought you could handle it, Y/N. Take it. Please,” he says earnestly. Not wanting to argue, you sigh and take the paper; bidding him farewell.

You open the door to your apartment, so incredibly thankful to be home. Quickly, you set your keys and prescription on the foyer table. Your hands have gotten much worse since you left, but you deny yourself the medication. It’s too risky. Instead, you walk back to your bedroom and take off your clothes. you change into black yoga pants and a loose white tank top - no bra. Letting your hair down made you feel a little better. The bed beckons you, so you throw yourself back on your bed; thinking you should probably take a nap before getting any work done. Your head is spinning and you feel completely exhausted. So much as happened in the past couple of days and you feel spent. As you close your eyes, you hear a knock on your door. Angrily, your eyes pop open and stare at the ceiling.

A few seconds pass to see if they’ll go away. There’s no knowing who it could be as you were not expecting company. You just pray that it’s not Taehyung. Although, he has a key if he really wants to get in. They knock again. You let out an exasperated sigh and drag yourself off the bed. When you open the door and you are presented with a surprise.

“My goodness, what happened to you,” Dr. Kim Sooyoung says before you, Taehyung’s adopted mother. She’s wearing a pantsuit and pearls; her dark hair in a bun. She always looks so elegant and motherly.

“Hello, Sooyoung,” you say with a tired smile. Naturally, you move out of the way so that she can walk in. She takes a look at you and focuses on your hands; even as she’s blindly taking her shoes off at the door.

“Darling, what happened to your hands,” she gasps. As she grabs hold of them somewhat gently, you wince. She retracts her hands immediately with caution.

“It’s fine. It’s just a small wound,” you assure her. She looks at you with knowing eyes.

“Y/N dear, you haven’t done that since you were a child. Tell me what happened,” she says in a serious yet soothingly gentle voice - that glorious motherly tone. It slipped your mind that she was the one that always nursed you when you caused this damage to yourself when you were litter. Of course you can’t tell her the cause of it.

“Taehyung and I had a little argument. It didn’t help that I’ve been really stressed and busy with work. I think everything just came crashing down all at once,” you half lie. Typically, you don’t flat out lie. You just twist the truth a little. It’s easier that way. She looks at you as a mother would when she’s worried about her child and pulls you into a hug.

“Please tell me that you’re okay. I worry about you, sweetheart,” she says in your ear. You can’t help but to hush your urge to cry. You love her embraces. She’s the closest thing to a real mother that you've ever had. She’s always been there for you and you love her dearly. As you cry into her arms now, you’ll feel like a child. You've already had one setback today, you don’t need another. Instead, you pull away casually and smile.

“I spoke with Dr. Min after. I’m fine now,” you tell her to reassure her. You can tell she wants to press the subject but she doesn’t. So, instead you walk away to the kitchen.

“Would you like some earl grey,” you ask. You always drink earl grey tea together. It’s your favorite, thanks to her. At least once a week, you’ll sit down, have a cup of tea, and catch up with each other.

“I would love some,” she says. Crap. Suddenly, her unexpected visit processes in your head. It dawns on you that you were supposed to have lunch together today. What time is it? You look at the clock on your microwave. 12:40pm.

“Oh no. Sooyoung, I’m so sorry. I completely lost track of time and my schedule changed so suddenly. I don’t have anything prepared. Would you like some side dishes and rice for now? I can order something,” you apologize, feeling utterly guilty for lack of planning. This is very unlike you to forget something. Sooyoung smiles warmly at you.

“It’s fine, dear. I should have called first. I know you’re a busy bee these days. Taehyung told me about your new promotion, so it sounds like ‘congratulations’ are in order,” she says with a bright smile.

“As of Monday, I will be the new Commissioning Editor,” you beam at her with pride. It feels good to finally be able to say it. Seokjin sent you an email earlier hoping that you feel better and to tell you that the board is officially hiring you.

“That’s so wonderful, sweetie. You deserve it. You’ve earned this in every way possible. I’m so...so proud of you,” she says in a genuine way. You can feel how proud she is of you. Ever since you were little, she’s only wanted the best for you - just as any proud parent would. With tinted cheeks, you smile from ear to ear. Her presence is already making you feel a million times better. As the water warms up in the kettle, she tells you about the dinner party that Taehyung mentioned before. Chills instantly shoot down your spine.

“Min-ji is back in town from Paris. I thought it would be lovely to get the family together this weekend. Now that we know about the promotion, it would be a great opportunity to celebrate too.” Min-ji is Taehyung’s sister. She’s two years younger than you. She was also adopted by the Kim’s, as was his older brother, Ki-young. Sooyoung loves children and instead of having any of her own, she wanted to take care of those that didn’t have anyone. You admire her for it. A part of you considered following her footsteps, but you would love to have a child of your own someday.

“Taehyung and Ki-young are bringing their girlfriends. You should bring a date as well.” Your face turns pale when she says this. You can feel the blood rush out of your face. You’re quickly reminded of today’s hell. She notices your reaction.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course,” she says, trying to take back her words casually. You shake your head quickly.

“No, no. That’s fine. I can bring a date,” you say suddenly; remembering that you don’t have to go alone to this. You’re not even sure of what Joon Jae’s stance on “meeting the family” is – especially since you deliberately told him that talking about your family is out of the question. This is going to confuse him.

“I-uh…I’ll have to talk with him first. I will definitely be there regardless,” you say with a soft smile. She gives you a look.

“You have a boyfriend,” she asks. Laughter finally comes out of you. She sounds so surprised. It’s not often you would bring a boy over. Or really ever. But this special little occasion gives you the sudden urge to bring your new Dom.

“It’s very new. I wouldn’t even say boyfriend. That’s...why I’m unsure if he’ll be joining me,” you say nervously with flushed cheeks. She beams at you.

“I’m sure he’ll agree. You’re very persuasive. Min-ho and I would love to meet him,” she says. You didn’t even think about her husband, your father figure, meeting him too. Meeting the “parents” after one night together? You sigh. This dinner is going to be a disaster. I just know it.

It’s been two days and you have yet to hear from Taehyung. You’re starting to get worried but you keep reminding yourself that he’s in a new relationship. It’s not the end of the world if he doesn’t speak to you. With his recent escape from your office, you were a little surprised that he didn’t check up on you. Joon Jae has graciously come over to your apartment each night to take care of you once he discovered you were injured. His intentions weren’t entirely pure however. All sexual activity involved your hands being tied up and out of the way so that he doesn’t hurt them, but you haven’t been complaining. He’s also agreed to have dinner with the Kim’s tonight. You’re so nervous, you feel like you’re going to hurl.

To calm your nerves, you decide to go shopping for a new dress for tonight. Typically, Taehyung would go with you but seeing that he’s busy, you ask Hanna, your best friend and best barista in town. She’s thrilled to have a girl’s day out. She especially loves being able to rub in your face that she is the reason why you’re dating Joon Jae. She can believe what she wants. You’re still trying to get used to the fact that you’re actually dating him.

After a much needed few hours with Hanna, you finally decided on a dress and you part ways. you feel awful that you haven’t been in contact with her over the past week, but things have been so hectic. She understands but demands that you text her every once and awhile or at least come in for a coffee break. Of course you think you can manage that. She’s your best friend after all and deserves to hear from you just as you expect her to check in with you from time to time. Adult friendships are so much easier than before. You could go days upon days without speaking to your best friend and it’s as if you had no time apart at all. Such a secure feeling it is.

Dinner is in two hours, so you rush home to shower and change. You’d be lying if you said that you’re not trying to make an impression tonight. Tonight you meet her – Im Yuri, the woman that has stolen Taehyung’s heart within twenty-four hours. How am I not supposed to be intimidated by that?

You've known him for twenty-two years of your lives and have gone unnoticed, in that way. Everyone keeps telling you that you have no reason to be insecure, that you’re beautiful, but how can you believe them if he doesn’t feel that way? It’s awful to say, but his opinion is the only one that matters to you. You want to be beautiful to him. You want him to want you.

Who knows? Maybe he does find you attractive but your past has shattered all chances of being with him. He has a dark past too, yes, but that was four years of his life when he was a toddler. Not that you’re belittling his trauma but you've had six different foster families, three were abusive and two were neglectful.

Your last family was wonderful, the Lee’s. You had them for two years from when you were sixteen to eighteen. But they couldn’t handle the nightmares at night. They couldn’t handle the silence you would exercise for days on end. Because of this, they gave you space. They didn’t pry. They were gentle and kind but never pushed you to act differently. They loved you but they were a little afraid of you; perhaps just overly concerned. It seemed as if they were afraid. You didn’t want to burden them any longer. When you turned eighteen, you freed them from you. You were an adult and didn’t need a foster family anymore, so you left.

These thoughts ran through your head as you took a shower. You shook them out of your mind and rinsed yourself off. With your towel wrapped firmly around your body, you walked out to your bedroom to take a look at your dress. There was so much thought put into this dress; probably more than you should have. It’s a marsala-colored dress. The color compliments your skin perfectly. The neckline is Grecian – perfect for showing the right amount of cleavage in a respectful manner, but still in a sexy way. Its length reaches deliciously above your knees with a delicate flare. This is the first dress that you've owned that made you feel sexy and confident in a long time. Thank you Gucci. Yes, you splurged a bit on this little number but it’s going to be worth it.

Once you put the ensemble on, you matched it with nude, strappy stilettos and teardrop earrings that Taehyung bought for you this past Christmas. Hair styled into a braid that laid on the side with a few strands that bounce in front of your face on purpose. You create a fine black wing on your top eyelid, top it off with mascara, and apply sheer lip gloss. When you take a look in your full length mirror, you smile broadly at your reflection. Your reflection surprises you. You can’t help but to giggle to yourself.

Once you grab your nude clutch, you head out the door to meet Joon Jae downstairs. He’s waiting for you outside of his luxury car. He’s wearing a red open-neck button shirt tucked into black dress pants - no tie. His black suit jacket hugs him perfectly. Even at dusk, he looks mouthwateringly handsome . He smirks at you as you strut towards him. He slides his hand around your waist, pulling you into him.

“Do you know how decadent you look,” he asks with a dark, shivering tone. You sheepishly shake your head with shy intentions. He pulls you closer. The smell of his woodsy cologne fills your nostrils.

“I guess I’ll have to show you how much after dinner,” he says seductively. He kisses you with passion, leaving you breathless. His hands wander around your lower back and further. Typically, you would feel uncomfortable about this sort of public display, but this dress makes you feel careless. He pulls away and he notices that you have a small audience on the street. He chuckles lightly and leads you to the car.

“Let’s get you out of here before I have to start fighting people off of you,” he says. You snort cutely and do as he says. The tone in your face made you think that he may not have been joking.

The drive to the Kim’s isn’t too long but it feels like an eternity. You’re getting warm with anticipation as you get closer. When you pull up to the grand home that you practically grew up in, you can’t help but to grin. You’re home.

“I knew the Kim’s had money, but this is just ridiculous. You grew up here,” he asks. you nod.

“This home was filled with so much love, it had to be this big to contain it all,” you say poetically with a soft tone. You beam at your childhood home as if you’re a child again. Joon Jae doesn’t understand it seems. As a writer and romantic person, you write various forms of poetry and often love speaking in riddles, inspirations, and clichés. But Joon Jae doesn’t understand it seems.

When you approach the door, it opens immediately. You’re greeted by a young woman in khakis and a white button-down shirt - business casual.

“Good evening, Miss L/N,” she says professionally. You don’t recognize her, but you smile warmly at her.

“Good evening. Thank you,” you say respectively. Within seconds, Sooyoung comes down the hall, past the grand staircase in a black, sophisticated dress. Her hair falls gracefully onto her shoulders.

“Y/N, darling. You look absolutely stunning! I’m so glad you’ve made it,” she says as she takes you into her arms. She kisses you on the cheek, making you smile even more.

“Hello, Sooyoung. Thank you so much. You look radiant as always,” your voice sounds genuine and sweet, “This is Joon Jae. Joon Jae, this is Kim Taehyung’s mother, Dr. Kim Sooyoung,” you introduce them with a blush. You've never brought a boyfriend home before. If that’s what he’s called. You haven’t exactly discussed formalities.

“Please, call me Joon,” he insists. He takes her hand and plants a kiss on her knuckles. She blushes.

“Oh my. Such manners. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Joon.” Behind her, Taehyung’s father, Min-ho appears. He’s tall and handsome in a George Clooney way. Salt and pepper hair styled perfectly as he still has thick hair at his age. He’s wearing a fitted black suit to match his wife.

“N/N, you look beautiful, dear. It’s so good to see you,” he says in a comforting, fatherly tone. He pulls you into a warm hug and you embrace it. He’s always been so good to you. You love him dearly as if he were your own father. You’re just not nearly as close to him as you are with Sooyoung. You introduce him to Joon Jae and they firmly shake hands - like two businessmen as they are. They recognize each other, but they can’t put a finger on where from. They assume it’s from a dinner party of some sort.

“Everyone is in the living room chatting over cocktails. Shall we join them,” Sooyoung asks eagerly.

“Of course,” you say even as your nerves instantly start settling in at the thought of seeing Taehyung and Yuri together. You take a deep breath and Joon Jae puts his hand on the small of your back, asserting his position. You’re curious if he’s as nervous as you are about seeing Taehyung. You have a feeling that you'll both be putting on a show tonight to impress someone.

You walk into the library-like living room to find all five other guests standing around with champagne glasses.

“Everyone, Y/N and Joon Jae have arrived,” Sooyoung delightfully announces. The attention makes you blush.

She leans into you and whispers, “I’ll grab you a glass of Prosecco, dear.” Gratefully you nod.

“N/N!” Barreling towards you is sweet Min-ji, Taehyung’s sister, with open arms. Her hair is cut into an adorable raven-colored fringe bob and her matching fringe dress screams Paris. She clobbers into you and holds you tight. Naturally you laugh and embrace her with just as much energy. She’s slightly shorter than you originally, but the heels made her slightly taller.

“Hi, Min. How was your trip? I’m dying to hear about it,” you say to her enthusiastically. She’s like the little sister you’ve always wanted. Of course you have a great relationship with her and hang out as much as you can. Your bond is just not nearly as strong as yours with Taehyung’s. She knows about your past but she has never been the one to pry for details. She’s more of a distraction type of person - let’s not think about things and just have fun. You never complained though. Sometimes it was all you needed.

“Oh, il était superbe. We must discuss my adventures over lunch this week,” she insists in a bourgeois fashion.

“That sounds wonderful,” you agree with a smile.

“And who is this? You’re a handsome fellow,” she says to Joon Jae. Joon Jae chuckles, clearly taken back by her boldness. Min-ji was always the most extroverted one out of all of the Kim’s. She’s certainly the life of the party and you love her to pieces.

“Min-ji,” Sooyoung admonishes softly as she hands Joon Jae and you two flutes filled with pale pink Prosecco. It’s your favorite. As you accept the glass, Ki-young, Taehyung’s younger adopted brother approaches. He’s not quite as tall as Taehyung, but still tall. He has dyed-blonde shaggy hair and also looks handsome in a suit. He always had that Cali look about him as he’s always loved Western LA culture. He pulls you into a big brotherly hug.

“You look amazing as always,” he says as he squeezes you. You blush and thank him.

“This is Yoona, my girlfriend,” he introduces. You try not to look too surprised by her. She’s absolutely gorgeous. She could easily pass for a model – curves, voluptuous hair, and a bright smile.

He surprises you by telling you that she just graduated top of her class – Valedictorian. She also informs you that she’s Yuri’s best friend. That’s when you’re confronted with the dreaded moment. Everyone else immerses into chatter as you take a big sip from your drink, needing some liquid courage.

Taehyung looks at you with shy eyes. He approaches you with caution. Naturally, you take a good look at him and he looks, for lack of a better word, delicious. His suit is chocolate brown from top to bottom. His shirt is open at the neck – no tie. His attire brings out his copper hair and brown eyes. Next, you pry your eyes from him to look at her.

Oh my God… You swallow hard, unable to hide your shock. She looks absolutely perfect. You didn’t expect any less but it’s different when confronted with your expectations. She’s small and petite. Her hair is chestnut brown and imperfect in a flawless way. Her skin is pale and her dress matches the color of your drink. Her eyes are big and her lips are full. Your confidence diminishes instantly. Joon Jae pulls you into his side, holding you in place.

“Hello, Y/N,” your best friend says formally as he reaches the two of you.

“Taehyung,” you whisper to return his greeting. You take a deep breath and put on the best smile you possibly can in this situation.

“You must be Yuri. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard good things about you,” you half-lie. You extend your hand and shake hers. Her hands are delicate and slightly cold, grip very loose. She smiles at you sweetly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well,” she says softly. It’s hard to tell if there’s a fakeness in her voice or if she’s just very shy. Joon Jae clears his throat.

“Taehyung, Yuri, this is Ahn Joon Jae,” you introduce with caution but still attempt to sound confident. Hopefully, they buy it. Joon Jae and Taehyung exchange a very firm handshake. It lasts a little longer than usual as they study each other.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Joon Jae says casually, a slight smirk on his lips. Joon Jae is slightly taller than Taehyung. The tension in the room is making you very uncomfortable. Thankfully, Sooyoung pops back into the room as if choreographed.

“Dinner is almost ready,” she announces in song-like words. Everyone begins exiting the room. Taehyung watches you as you leave. You can practically feel his eyes on you. You look back at him as Joon Jae escorts you out of the room. There’s pain in those almond eyes and it strikes a cord inside of you. You have a gut-wrenching feeling that things have shifted between you two over the past couple of days. You feel as if things won’t be the same between the two of you. Unfortunately, it feels like it’s for the worse, not the better.

The dining table is the perfect size for your dinner party. Sooyoung and Min-ho take their positions at the each end of the table as the hosts. Min-ji sits to Sooyoung’s right, then you and Joon Jae; an empty chair separating him from Min-ho. To Sooyoung’s left is Yuri, Taehyung, Ki-young, then Yoona. Salads are placed before you as the table begins discussing recent and upcoming vacations. You remain silent. You can’t remember the last vacation you took. It's been such a long time . You’re sure the last one was one with Taehyung, but you can’t remember at this moment. You've taken small weekend getaways here and there, but nothing big like Min-ji’s recent extended trip to Paris lasting six months.

In this moment, you feel as if you've lost your voice. You only eat half of your salad and finish your glass of champagne. The voices around you sound distant but you catch the tail end of Yoona talking about a trip with her family to Hawaii that Ki-young will be going on as well.

“What about you, N/N? Any vacation plans this year,” Min-ho asks from the other end of the table. You snap out of your trance and smile faintly.

“Oh, uh, nothing’s on the horizon yet. You know me, I can’t ever seem to pry myself away from work,” you say with a nervous laugh. Sooyoung looks at you sympathetically.

“Oh, surely there’s somewhere you would love to go. We can all use a break from work every now and then,” Sooyoung says to be encouraging. Joon Jae clears his throat.

“Actually, I’m thinking of taking a trip to Paris this summer. Hearing Min-ji talk about it settled my decision. Perhaps N/N will join me,” he says, smiling down at you. The women in the room awe at the thought as you blush.

“I-uh…maybe…” You’re at a loss of words. You've only known Joon Jae for a minute and he’s meeting your family and talking about a trip to Paris all within a day it seems. This is too much.

“I think N/N would prefer Barcelona or Provence. Somewhere historic and rich in culture,” Taehyung chimes in. Surprised by his correction, you look at Taehyung wide eyed. Just as you open your mouth to speak -

“I think N/N can speak for herself,” Joon Jae says abruptly. There’s that tension in the room again. It feels as if you’re going to faint. Taehyung starts to speak again but you can’t take the thought of their Dominant bickering back and forth.

“Actually, I don’t really care for Paris,” you interrupt and clear your throat, “the architecture and art is beautiful, but I don’t enjoy the food and I hear the people are rude. Taking a trip there doesn’t interest me,” you say with a slight laugh to brush it off - desperately trying to gain control of the room again. Although you’re realizing you’re agreeing with Taehyung, you feel that telling the truth is best then risk being taken somewhere you despise. Even if that makes the man that isn’t your boyfriend right. The two men remain silent but stare at each other as everyone else nods and laughs as well. Between those two, it’s like watching two lions trying to prove their dominance in the animal kingdom. Thankfully, Min-ho changes the subject.

“Yuri, where are your parents from,” he asks kindly.

“My stepfather is in Seoul and my mother is in Gwangju. Separated currently because of work,” she says sweetly.

“Gwangju,” Sooyoung gasps. “Which part.”

“Dong-gu region near the Mudeungsan mountain,” Yuri says with a smile, as if rehearsed.

“Oh how nice. Although, I do hear that it is quite humid there this time of year,” Sooyoung says. She’s always been so good with small talk. You can tell she’s trying to get to know her son’s new girlfriend and keep an open mind. Everyone else seems to be a bit cautious of her - just as you are. Or perhaps it’s all in your head.

“Oh my God. It is. It’s stifling sometimes. Actually, I’m going to visit my mother tomorrow,” she says but she spoke more on the informal side. This catches Taehyung’s attention. He furrows his brow at her.

“You hear that Taehyung? Some children like to visit their parents every now and again,” Sooyoung says jokingly. You know Taehyung and his mother speak often on the phone but there’s little visitation. You actually see Sooyoung more than he does. Then again, you were always very close. Ki-young starts talking about the LG Twins game, Seoul’s popular baseball team, and chatter at the table starts again. You catch sight of Taehyung whispering to Yuri. You take it that this trip to Gwangju is new news to him. You know he won’t like that very much. Taehyung is not fond of surprises. She’s quite the free bird, this Yuri. You’re starting to see why she reminds him of you. Just not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing…

Pulling you from your thoughts, Joon Jae suddenly grabs your hand under the table and gives it a light squeeze.

“Are you okay,” he whispers with concern. Realizing your dazed state of mind, you look at him and smile faintly with a nod.

“I would like to make a toast,” Sooyoung says while raising her glass. Joon Jae pours more champagne in your glass so that you have something to toast with.

“We have a great deal to celebrate tonight. I’m so proud of my children for finding happiness and doing such beautiful things with their lives,” she says with a warm smile. You can tell that she’s fighting back tears. She turns to look at you.

“I especially want to celebrate our dear Y/N this evening. She’s come a long way and she was just promoted to her dream job as Commissioning Editor at Kim Publishing.” Usually you’re not the center of attention, so naturally you blush.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetie. You know by law or blood, you’re not a part of this family, but you will always be considered as such in our hearts. You know you’re like a daughter to us and we love you so very much,” she says as a tear escapes her motherly eyes. Now you’re the one fighting back the tears. Min-ho raises his glass higher.

“To N/N,” he roars. The others repeat and cheer for you. You smile at them and take a sip from your glass. Joon Jae kisses you on the cheek. That’s when you notice Taehyung’s glance at you. His glass is raised just like the others but his eyes linger on your cheek as Joon Jae’s lips press against it. It appears as if his nostril flared but you think perhaps it was your imagination. Yuri grabbed his attention as she began speaking to him.

“Congrats gorgeous,” Joon Jae whispers in your ear. It sends a chill down your spine but you thank him. On your other side, Min-ji hugs you tightly from her chair and congratulates you. Of course this makes you smile along with her.

“N/N, dear. Would you mind coming with me for a moment,” Sooyoung asks softly from Min-ji’s other side.

“Of course,” you say politely. You set your napkin that was on your lap on the table and get up to follow her without question. You take your glass with you because you fully intend on gulping the rest down and grabbing a refill on your way back. The two of you proceed back to the living room. Everyone has resituated in the other room as they prep for after dinner coffee and dessert. Sooyoung makes sure no one is listening as you stand by the fireplace. Patiently awaiting her to speak, you finish your glass and set it down.

“Is everything alright, dear,” she asks. You know these moments very well. This reminds you of all the times she would ask you the very same question, right before you switched foster families. She always knew when you were hiding something deep down - thoughts or emotions. Feeling defeated, you sigh.

“I’m fine. Tonight is just very…overwhelming,” you say with a light laugh at the end of your words. She looks at you knowingly.

“I know that you’re not a child anymore, but you can still talk to me if there’s something wrong. I don’t want you to hesitate to confide in me,” she says in a serious tone yet sincere. You look at her, trying to read her. What is she referring to exactly, you wonder.

“I know you’re upset about your fight with Taehyung,” she said after a brief pause. Oh.

“It was a little fight,” you begin to say to belittle it.

“You haven’t spoken in days,” she says bluntly. You look at her wide-eyed. How does she know this? Did Taehyung talk to her?

“Both of you seem to be in relationships now and now you act as if you’re strangers. Neither of you have brought someone home for us to meet before. This should be a proud moment, but this just feels so wrong,” she sighs as she realizes her confusion. She was right. Tonight was supposed to be different. It doesn’t feel right at all. You need to talk to Taehyung.

“I’m sure this will pass. We’re not giving up on each other. I promise,” you assure her.

“Good,” she says with a coy smirk. She looks into the other room to check your privacy.

“Now, there was another reason why I wanted to speak with you. It’s about Min-ho’s annual charity party in a week,” you nod. You do love his annual summer parties. He uses the opportunity to shine a light on a good cause and to catch up with friends. It’s the one time of year that you can really dress up, which you adore doing. This year, he’s focusing on a drug rehab program for parents with young kids called Coping Together. The cause hits home for you, but you still intend on going for support; also because he happened to tell you that you were the inspiration for this event. Instead of being yanked around like a toy, he wishes that your parents got their act together, sought out help, kept you, and became a part of programs such as this. He loves having you as part of the family, but he wishes every child had a relationship with their real parents. This is why he feels so strongly about adoption. No child left behind, is a motto that he cherishes which holds different meanings.

“You are still coming, yes,” she asks.

“Yes. I’ll be there,” you say with a smile.

“Excellent. Min-ho has asked a favor of you but he felt it would be best coming from me,” she says. You raise your eyebrow at her. I am not giving a speech, you think to yourself repeatedly.

“We’re having an auction at the party. We’re looking for twelve eligible women to auction their first dance to the highest bidder. Would you be interested,” she asks as sweetly as possible. Accidentally, you laugh out loud - really loud. The other room hushes for a moment and you cover your mouth. Awkwardly, you wave at the room, mouthing “I’m sorry” towards them. The chatter resumes and Sooyoung is smiling at you.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then,” she says with a chuckle. You nod your head. She knows that you hate auctions like that. It makes you cringe thinking of someone paying money for you to do something in return - like being told your worth.

“I’m glad you don’t want to because I’d rather you do something else for the cause. You know each of us must take part in this, one way or another.” She’s right. Min-ji usually takes part in the auction. Ki-young and you typically help with the planning and décor. Taehyung brings more money to the charity by providing names of those that can give handsome donations to the cause. He also makes a donation of his own since he makes more than his siblings – much, much more. Quite the philanthropist.

“Eomma, What would you like me to do this year,” you ask, your tone hinting for her to get to the point. Hidden between books on a nearby bookshelf, she retrieves a notebook. She hands you a dark green, leather notebook that looks to be fifteen years old. You know this because it’s your notebook. Unsure of how she obtained this, you look at it in shock. You don’t recall leaving this notebook here.

As you stare at the notebook, you take it with a shaky hand. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. This is your lyric journal - a very intimate journal. You learned how to play piano when you were five and have been playing ever since. Along that, you also know the guitar very well. The true hidden secret of yours is your voice. You love to sing and you’re pretty good at it. Out of shyness, you haven’t let anyone hear you. The Kim’s have a piano at their house that you use. When you knew the house would be empty, you would sneak away from your foster home and play a song that you have written. You would hide your journal in your room or on the bookshelf. These lyrics are passages into your heart. Some are dark, some are light, but most of them are about love. These songs are about Taehyung. Suddenly, you feel sick to your stomach.

“Sing for us at the event,” she begs softly. You look at her, frightened; starting to shake your head.

“I know you can sing, Y/N. You have a beautiful voice and I think it’s time that everyone else hears you.” As she looks at you excitedly, you remain silent. This was your little secret. You know it may not seem like a big deal since it seems most people can sing these days but it’s a big deal for you. Everything about you is written down in a file for all to see. The foster care system has a file on you, the Kim’s have a file on you, Dr. Min has a file on you; even Taehyung! But this, this was your best kept secret.

Nothing about your life is private and you hate it. You feel vulnerable, like you’re being put on display. Singing was the only thing that you had to yourself. Although, you thought Dr. Min was the only person that knew. He told you to sing as a coping mechanism. It always helps. He knows of your feelings for Taehyung and has for several years. Since you refuse to tell Taehyung about how you feel, he recommended that you channel it another way. So, you just started writing. It’s only natural that you hold the notebook so near and dear to your heart.

“I-I can’t,” you said softly. She touches your arm gently.

“No one has to know the meaning behind the lyrics. This will be our little secret,” she says, “We have a band playing for the event, but I would like you to sing for the first dance. Just one song. It would be so much more meaningful.” When you look at her and see the desperation in her eyes, you can’t help but to feel tempted. She clearly wants you to do this so badly.

“Do this for me, please. Do this for yourself,” she whispers. “Do it for him…” Here words instantly make you freeze. What?

“What did you-“

“I’ve always known, dear. I think he’s the only person that doesn’t see it,” she says softly as both of you bring your attention to Taehyung lightly conversing with his other siblings. This is news to you - another secret of yours that isn’t a secret. Have you really been so obvious? Defeatedly you sigh and slowly nod your head.

“Okay. Fine,” you whisper hesitantly. Sooyoung gasps and smiles wide. She gently grabs your shoulders and pulls you in to kiss you on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she says with sincerity. You think about the positives of doing this. Singing this song in front of Taehyung will make you feel a little better. Perhaps, it will allow you to finally move on. Having this conversation gives you a revelation. You’re in love with Kim Taehyung - beyond in love with Kim Taehyung. This declaration may allow you to move on but you can’t string Joon Jae along knowing that you have these feelings.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Joon Jae says as he enters the room. “I have to go. I’m needed at work. There’s something wrong with our publication that’s supposed to print tomorrow.” Quickly, you close the notebook and hold it by your side.

“That’s okay. Go take care of it. I’m going to stay here a while longer and catch up with everyone,” you say with a smile, hoping he understands that you don’t want to leave your family quite yet. He nods but you can see the hesitation in his eyes as they never leave yours.

“I'll ensure that she gets home safely,” Sooyoung offers with a faint giggle. He thanks her respectively.

“I want to see you later tonight,” he whispers to you - commands you.

“Can I see you tomorrow? It’s already late. I’ll be too tired for company,” you say timidly. He gives you a look of protest much stronger than before, but he agrees since Sooyoung is watching you. He kisses you and heads out the door without another word. His kiss on your lips lingered yet you felt a harshness in the kiss. Sooyoung walks up to you gingerly.

“He seems like such a nice, young man. I know you’ll do what’s best,” she says as she looks over at you. Sometimes, you think Sooyoung knows you better than anyone. Then again, she is a mother after all. Taehyung and Yuri enter the room and you can see the curiosity on Taehyung’s face.

“Joon Jae had to go so soon,” he asks with peaked interest.

“He had to work,” you reply shortly. He nods as if he already didn’t care what your response was. His childishness makes you smile to yourself.

“Mother, Yuri, would you excuse me for a moment? I wish to speak with N/N alone.” Sooyoung smiles.

“Of course! This will give me time to get to know Yuri,” she says with genuine excitement. She almost seems too eager to give you two some time alone. Taehyung kisses Yuri on the cheek before separating.

“I’ll give you a tour of the grounds after,” he says kindly to her. She nods obediently; not quite like a robot but not far from it. Taehyung extends his hand out to insist that you lead the way to the garden in the back. Without hesitation, you walk out of the living room and out to the backyard. When entering the backyard, you step onto a grey flagstone patio lit with solar lights. Instantly, you think of Taehyung and his work. You know it was him that arranged such a beautiful display one late summer when he was just eighteen. There are shrubs and flower beds aligned perfectly around you. As you slow to admire the surroundings, Taehyung walks past you towards the boathouse.

“Taehyung, where are we going,” you shouted as he didn’t stop.

“The boathouse,” he says curtly over his shoulder. So childish. You roll your eyes and yet follow him regardless. When you get to the boathouse, you stop again to admire the beautiful interior. You used to love coming in here when you were younger. Min-ho would teach you about boats and how to take care of them; nautical knots and such. You smile to yourself. You then notice that Taehyung isn’t in the downstairs portion of the decent sized boathouse. You turn to the wooden stairs that lead to the room above. In that moment, Taehyung turns on the lights, giving the room a soft and dim light. It’s an attic room with sloped ceilings. This room is decorated with a nautical theme – navy blues, creams, and a dash of red. There’s little furniture but as Taehyung stands firmly in the middle of the floor, you can see that you won’t be sitting on any of it.

He stands there studying you. Two can play at this game. To mirror him, you stand a few feet away from him and watch him. You stand there in silence for what seems like forever. Finally, he closes his eyes and sighs. He advances towards you and takes you into his arms, hugging you tightly. He places his hand behind your head to hold it against him. You take in his intoxicating smell that you love more and more everyday. He smells of spices and fragrance, warm and comforting.

“Please don’t do that ever again,” he whispers in your hair. You pull away, confused.

“Do what?” He holds you at bay and looks you in the eyes.

“Don’t be so upset with me like that. You’ve never yelled at me like that before. And you…you hurt yourself because of me,” he says with sadness in his eyes. Oh. Taehyung’s vulnerable side. You didn’t even realize he might be affected this way by the incident. You were so busy being so angry about everything that it didn’t dawn on you as to how he would react to your outburst. He doesn’t handle outbursts like that very well. You recall telling him that you don’t need him anymore. It now explains why he hasn’t spoken to you in days. He hid himself from you as he did when he was younger. A pain fills your heart.

“I won’t. I promise. I’m so sorry, Taehyung,” you say. Moisture swells your eyes and he hushes you.

“Please don’t cry. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have overwhelmed you the way I did,” he says with sincerity. Why does he always place all the blame on himself with everything?

“Taehyung, this is not your fault and I won’t have you saying otherwise. I’m going through a lot right now and I just hit your limit. You just got stuck in the crossfire. I’m truly sorry. And for the record, I will always need you. Forgive me?” He smiles sweetly; a smile that you only see once in a while. But it’s so...so good to see.

“Always,” he says tenderly. He gently takes your hands into his and turns your palms upward, examining them.

“Your hands are healing nicely. How are you feeling,” he asks. Does he want the real you shrug.

“I feel okay. They don’t hurt anymore. It’s a pain that I’m used to,” you say softly. He frowns and let’s go of your hands. The warmth you felt from his touch now gone.

“N/N, I wish you wouldn’t do this to yourself. I thought that was behind you,” he says, his worry evident in his voice.

“My past will never be behind me, Taehyung.” Your voice is so cold and distant. Not even a hint of pain in your voice - just defeat. His gaze becomes serious.

“Is Joon Jae treating you well,” he asks with intent. You hesitate. You don’t even want to think about the Joon Jae situation right now. Your hesitation makes him press the question. He furrows his brow.

“Y/N, has he hurt you,” he asked with panic in his voice. This alarms you.

“What? No, no. I just- I don’t know,” you say frantically. You look away from him but his head follows yours.

“Y/N, tell me,” he commands. His stance is becoming more Dominant. Square shoulders, a slight puff in his toned chest, hands in his pockets that give him a touch of self-control. If his arms were crossed, he would be in full alpha mode. You can’t help but feel the urge to obey as usual.

“I don’t think it’s going to work out between us. It just doesn’t feel right,” you say softly.

“What do you mean,” he presses quickly as if waiting to hear something he did to you.

“He’s perfect on paper, but I can’t see this going anywhere. I don’t want to keep him around if I don’t have any intentions of this becoming something more. Besides, with my recent breakdown, I’ve had to up my appointments with Dr. Min.” He looks at you with alarming eyes.

“I didn’t know it was that bad,” he says in a calm tone. You look down.

“I’m trying to find myself. I have a lot of work to do and I can’t bring anyone else down with me. These past several months, I’ve been burying myself in my work, thinking that I needed another relationship to fill this void that I’ve been feeling. Now that I’m in one, I realize that that’s not it. Maybe now that I realize that, I can use this time to actually focus on myself for once.” Taehyung is taking in every word that you’re saying but something about his eyes tells you that he’s pained by your words. Perhaps he’s worried about you. Honestly, you’re worried about yourself too. You try to change the subject.

“Yuri seems perfect for you. I’m sure you’re ecstatic to have found someone,” you say with an ache in your heart. He doesn’t change his expression. There’s something so lost about it.

“It’s still new. I’ll see in time,” he says but something in his voice sounds as if he’s aching. You stand there looking at each other in silence for a moment; nothing but the sound of the breeze brushing outside.

“Taehyung! N/N! Where are you?” you hear Min-ji’s voice suddenly shout from the bottom floor. Taehyung closes his eyes with frustration.

“She can be so irritating sometimes,” he whispers to you. You giggle softly. He looks at you with a smirk as he tries not to laugh.

“We’re up here,” you finally shout back. She walks far enough up the stairs to see you in view.

“Come back and join us. Yoona and Ki-young are leaving soon and Dad is sharing some rather embarrassing stories about you to Yuri,” she says with a laugh. Taehyung sighs.

“I’m sure it has something to do with me helping you with ballet,” he says to you in passing as he walks towards the stairs. Both you and Min-ji laugh at the memory.

“That story’s coming up, so you better hurry,” she says through laughter. Min-ji goes back down the stairs to get a head start and Taehyung turns to you from the stairs. You glance around the attic, lost in thought, trying to find your bearings.

“Are you coming,” he asks. You look at him and smile, feeling so much warmth and butterflies in your stomach. You follow Taehyung down the stairs, cursing yourself for not speaking up yet again. There was so much more that you wanted to say. You always feel so close to telling him how you feel but never close enough...

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