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im-not-thinking-confetti-cannons · 6 months

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Day 28: Possessive Behavior

Warnings: canon-typical violence, brief non-con groping

Rating: M

Pairing: Boyd x Raylan x Tim x Jimmy

Jimmy’s behind the bar. That’s where he is most nights, now, keeping an ear out for anything that might be useful for Boyd. He tends to fade into the background, to not be noticed, so he hears things others wouldn’t – and maybe the vast majority of it is griping and gossip, but every once in a while there’s something really important.

He’s getting that feeling now, from the group that’s huddled together at the end of the bar. They’re all sitting a little too close, their voices a little too low, looking around them a little too often for them to be discussing anything above-board. So Jimmy slowly makes his way over there, eyes and ears open, hoping to catch whatever it is they’re so intent on keeping quiet.

He’s just barely in hearing range when one of the men glances up at sees him, eyes narrowing even though Jimmy’s got a glass and a towel in his hand. “The fuck you want?” he asks, and that draws the attention of the other men in the group.

“Just doing my job,” Jimmy says evenly, which is the truth. It might not be exactly what Boyd pays him to do, but it’s not not what Boyd pays him to do, either.

One of the other men nudges the speaker, shaking his head. “Leave it, Russell.”

Russell laughs, draining the rest of his beer. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “Untouchable, right? What else do you expect from the boss’ bitch?”

It earns him some uneasy, quiet laughter, and Jimmy has to grit his teeth against the urge to snap back, to call him out. It’s not worth it, not for a throwaway insult like that from someone who’s clearly the type to get under Boyd’s skin, anyway.

He’s about to fuck off when someone clears their throat from near the doorway. Jimmy raises his head to tell them that he’ll be with them in a minute – but it’s not a customer. It’s Boyd, standing there with his hands in his jacket pockets and an unreadable expression on his face.

A chill runs up Jimmy’s spine. Boyd’s expressive, most of the time, everything he’s feeling laid out right there on his face. When he goes blank, though, that’s when he gets dangerous. If he’s trying to mask whatever it is that’s running through his head, then it’s likely not something meant for polite company.

“I’m not entirely sure I heard you properly,” he says, and the whole bar goes quiet at the sound of his voice, conversations dropping to a low murmur. “Would you care to repeat yourself, son?”

Russell has the good sense to look a little uncertain, a little nervous. “Nothing, boss,” he says, and Jimmy notes the tiniest bit of shakiness in his voice. “Just talkin’ shit, you know how it is.”

Boyd slowly makes his way over to where Russell is sitting, leaning against the bar. “Of course,” he says, and the smile he flashes is flat and cold. “Now, I could waste my time telling you that it is absolutely imperative that I be able to trust you, or that I will not tolerate infighting of any variety among my men – but something tells me you’re more of a hands-on learner.”

Boyd moves so quickly it takes even Jimmy by surprise. There’s a flash of silver, and a heavy thunk, and then Russel is shouting, looking down at the knife that’s pinning his hand to the bartop. He reigns it in quickly enough, swallowing down the pained sounds until they’re little more than fast breaths and high, quiet whimpers, but Jimmy’s stuck on the look on Boyd’s face – the way he looks less like a pissed-off gang boss and more like a vengeful god, only stepping in to take what is rightfully owed him.

“I would advise you to learn the lesson,” Boyd says, “before you run out of hands with which to study it.”

Russel nods, mutters a, “Yeah, boss, yes sir,” but Boyd’s looking at Jimmy, fire still behind his eyes, but softer now. Kinder. He raises an eyebrow, a silent question, and Jimmy just smiles and nods, a silent I’m all right, Boyd.

It’ll be a while before anyone calls him anything but Jimmy, at least.

~~~~

As a rule, Jimmy stays away from the Lexington Marshal’s Office. Boyd’s got a whole thing about antagonizing Tim and Raylan while they’re at work, some sort of complex flirting ritual that they’ve all fallen into, but Jimmy’s more than content to wait until they boys are home to get his.

Sometimes, though, it’s unavoidable. One of the other marshals got it in his head that Jimmy knew the whereabouts of a fugitive he was tracking, and issued the kind of summons it isn’t healthy to ignore. He managed to convince the marshal that he’s not the informing type – but now he’s being all but held hostage by another man with a star on his belt while trying to take the elevator downstairs.

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” the man says, one hand braced against the wall behind Jimmy’s head, the other on his hip, keeping his jacket flipped back so Jimmy can see that damned star. Like he’s going to forget that he’s surrounded by fucking marshals. “What’s your name, handsome?”

“I was just leaving,” Jimmy says, but the guy just leans in a little closer, smiles a little wider.

“Nah, don’t run off just yet. You’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen all day around here.”

Raylan calls him pretty all the time, and from him it’s enough to get Jimmy half-hard and a little desperate, but this time it has his hand curling into a fist at his side. He won’t hit the guy, he won’t, but the thought sure is fucking tempting. It’s a nice little fantasy in the back of his mind, something to entertain him while he’s diplomatic about this, because it’s Raylan and Tim’s fucking office and he can’t make a scene.

He’s casting around for another way to say fuck off and leave me alone that’s maybe a little more polite when he sees a familiar cowboy hat out of the corner of his eye.

“Garcia.” Raylan’s voice has an edge to it when it rings out. Jimmy lets his fingers unclench, leaning back against the wall behind him. Tact and diplomacy might not be Raylan’s strong suits, but he is good at getting what he wants. Raylan, Jimmy knows, will take care of it.

The man – Garcia – looks up, his smile going a little flat when he sees Raylan. “Something I can help you with, Givens? I’m kind of in the middle of a conversation.”

“Doesn’t look like he’s too keen on conversing with you,” Raylan says. He comes over to stand next to Jimmy, a little too close to be just friendly, and Garcia’s eyes flick between the two of them questioningly.

“What, you got skin in this game?” he asks, and Raylan smiles, the way Jimmy’s seen him do right before he says something like You make me pull, I’ll put you down.

“If I did, it would be mighty easy for me to get the wrong idea about this conversation, wouldn’t it?” Raylan says, smooth as silk, and it’s impossible to miss the way his hand comes to rest on his holster. It’s a threat, clear as day, even if it’s the polite kind of one that can’t be held against him in any legal sort of way.

Garcia’s throat bobs. He looks between Raylan and Jimmy one more time, and Jimmy makes a point of leaning towards Raylan, like he’s just waiting to tuck himself into the man’s side. And that’s enough. Garcia leans back, raising his hands a little, palms out in surrender. “Sorry, man,” he says. “I didn’t know. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Raylan says, with the same smile still plastered on his face – and his eyes don’t leave the guy until he’s gone, rounded the corner and out of sight. Only then does Raylan pull Jimmy close with hand on his waist, immediately tipping Jimmy’s chin up, meeting his eyes. “You all right?” he asks, and Jimmy nods.

“I’m fine,” he says, and when Raylan just presses his lips into a thin line, he repeats, “I’m fine, Raylan. I promise. He was just an ass.”

Raylan mutters something under his breath and doesn’t even look around before leaning in and brushing a kiss over Jimmy’s lips. “If you say so,” he says when he leans back, and the concern isn’t gone from his voice, but it’s a little easier, a little lighter. “I’ll see you at home?”

Jimmy grins. “I’ll be waiting,” he says, just for the way Raylan’s eyes go a little dark, a little wanting. “Don’t be late.”

~~~~

The bar doesn’t usually attract too many out-of-towners. Harlan itself doesn’t get many visitors, and the bar is tucked away, not hidden, but decently out of the way. It’s a local watering hole, that’s all.

But, every once in a while, they get a few new faces. Drifters, mostly, maybe a few long-haulers to like to stop off the beaten path. And, usually, they’re good at keeping to themselves, the kind of men who know they’re outsiders and aren’t looking to kick up a fuss just for the hell of it.

And then sometimes, they get too drunk to care about any of that.

Jimmy’s had his eye on the trucker sitting alone at one of the tables, keeping track of how many beers he’s poured for the guy, wondering how likely it is that he’ll turn into a problem. He knows Tim’s been watching him, too. The bar doesn’t have any sort of official bouncer, but Tim hangs around some nights, when he doesn’t have anything better to do, usually watching Jimmy more than he watches the customers – but, still, keeping an eye on things.

Jimmy drops another beer off at the guy’s table, and as he turns to walk away he’s thinking about cutting him off, but he doesn’t even make it through the thought before the guy slaps his ass, slurring something that sounds like keep ‘em coming, sweetheart.

Jimmy doesn’t even have to look up to know that Tim is already out of his seat and on his way over – and a moment later there’s a blatantly possessive arm snaking around his waist, dragging him in close against Tim’s side.

Tim’s grin is a little feral, a little wild. “Tell me you didn’t just put a hand on my boy,” he says, and Jimmy has to suppress a shiver at the sound of his voice, the way he says my boy like his claim on Jimmy is something worth protecting.

The man looks Tim up and down, snorting a huff of laughter when he apparently doesn’t find whatever he’s looking for. “And what if I did?” he asks. “The fuck are you gonna do about it?”

It’s a fair enough question. The guy’s got to have at least six inches and fifty pounds on Tim, and if this were any other bar, with any other people, Jimmy’s money would be on the guy built like a linebacker. But it’s Tim. And smart money never bets against Tim Gutterson.

Jimmy thinks, idly, about stepping in, telling Tim that what he’s about to do isn’t necessary – but that would mean depriving Tim of the joy of kicking this guy’s ass, and Jimmy is a lot of things but he’s not cruel.

Tim laughs under his breath and squeezes Jimmy’s side gently, which is his cue to move. And he does, getting just far enough away that he won’t catch any stray punches, but close enough that he’s still got a good view. It’s not often that Jimmy gets to see Tim lay into someone. Not as often as Raylan or Boyd, at least. It’s a treat.

Tim rolls his shoulders back. “I’d offer to take this outside,” he says. “But that’d just be a waste of my time.”

The guy clambers to his feet, and he gets about halfway through what Jimmy assumes is going to be now you listen here before Tim slams his face into the table.

Tim doesn’t fight like a marshal. Not now. Jimmy’s seen him like that, seen him pull punches and calculate the force needed to get a job done without going overboard. This is not that. Still, it’s over quick. There’s a sickening crack when Tim breaks the guys arm, and the nearby chairs clatter when he’s shoved to the ground, clutching his arm to his chest and spitting curses in Tim’s direction.

“Get up and get out,” Tim says. He’s not even breathing hard, though the wild look in his eyes has dimmed a little. “You make me put you on the floor again, you won’t be getting back up. We understand each other?”

The guy groans out something that sounds like assent, before dragging himself to his feet and limping towards the door. Tim doesn’t turn around until the door shuts behind him, but when he does he meets Jimmy’s gaze, shrugging unapologetically.

“You know I actually am capable of taking care of myself, right?” Jimmy asks, though it’s impossible to put any real sort of heat in his voice.

Tim licks his lips and grins. “Sure I do,” he says. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like doing it myself.”

Jimmy rolls his eyes – but he also brushes a thank-you kiss over Tim’s cheek before he retreats behind the bar and Tim returns to his seat.

He is perfectly capable of taking care of himself – but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it when his boys do it for him.

find this fic on AO3 here:

#justified #kinktober 2023 #tim gutterson #raylan givens #boyd crowder #jimmy tolan #harlan4 #the unhingedness of it all

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amistytown · 3 years

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The Brothers Comfort MC During a Panic Attack

This is my first attempt at writing down my headcanons for the brothers, so I apologize if anything is out of character. I meant it to be short and sweet, but it grew out of my control after a while. I’m a perfectionist and wanted to rewrite everything. I made minor edits and am posting it anyway or it’ll sit in my drafts forever; I admit I put the most effort into Lucifer’s, forgive me. Also sorry for the repetitiveness and any typos you may find. I decided to write how the brothers would comfort MC during a panic attack, especially as someone who suffers from anxiety and panic attacks themselves. Honestly, I wrote this as a way to comfort myself since I’ve been dealing with terrible anxiety lately. Of course, everyone experiences anxiety differently, so I can only speak from my own experiences. I didn’t go into detail when it comes to the symptoms themselves because it’s from the point of view of the brothers and only so many are visible to the eye. Trigger warning for depictions of anxiety and panic attacks. Thank you for reading!

LUCIFER

Lucifer is troubled. Following lunch, you disappeared, currently absent from class. This is unlike you, his worry intensifying every minute you’re out of his sight. Yet he maintains his composure, resigning himself to scouring the academy grounds. Time passes at a torturous pace, his thoughts beginning to take a turn for the worst. He contemplates whether to involve his brothers and Lord Diavolo himself at this rate, however the sound of his D.D.D diverts his attention. A wave of relief washes over him at the sight of your name lighting up his screen, chased by frustration at you, your silence, and himself for losing track of you so easily; he couldn’t bear living if anything happened to you under his watch. He expects this behavior from his brothers, not you. Though his heart sinks, the Avatar of Pride uncharacteristically overcome with guilt while he reads your message. Of course, you are not his brothers. He should not have doubted you.

Your texts are apprehensive, a weighty pause between them as you hesitate to lay bare the darkest depths of your soul. He approaches you cautiously, to avoid upsetting you further. Your words alone convey the sheer panic taking possession of you, the last of your strength used to press send. Outside he discovers you, huddled miserably in an isolated corner of the building, swathed in shadow. The desire to shelter you from the world burns within him, but your eyes widen fearfully in his presence, wounding his pride. Immediately, you apologize. Sorry you’re missing class, that you left without telling anyone, and upset him—especially when you’re aware of his busy schedule. You’re sorry for not having the courage to pull yourself together, succumbing to your anxiety, your shame palpable. The hand clutching your D.D.D is trembling, your chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. He aches for you, each tear shed hurting more than the last, your pain managing to touch the very core of his being and set him alight.

If anyone is sorry, it’s him, pride be damned. Kneeling in front of you, he assures you an apology isn’t necessary—your wellbeing of great importance to him. He wants you to rely on him, grateful you confided in him despite your doubts. Hopefully, he can eventually put your mind at ease. His voice low, soothing, he continues to console you, making sure you’re aware he’s not upset, and your feelings are valid. Although he’s not familiar with the inner workings of anxiety itself, he’s willing to listen, learning how to support you to the best of his ability—starting today, providing you’re comfortable accepting his offer. Initially, he prioritized your safety for the sake of the exchange program and Lord Diavolo’s wish to unite the three realms, now it’s merely out of adoration for you, his beloved. Once you’re ready, he’ll let you know you’re not alone. He’s never too busy on your behalf.

Offering you his hand, a smile graces his features as you accept. Slowly, he helps you to your feet, steadying you against him. He notes the way you relax at his touch, shoulders sagging and head coming to rest on his chest. Only you exist in this moment, his gaze not leaving you, not even for a second. Standing in silence until your breathing settles and you regain your balance, he sees you through the height of your attack before escorting you back to the House of Lamentation. He’ll personally excuse you from the remainder of your classes, understanding you need a quiet place to recover. Classical music plays softly in the background of his room, and he’s content to have you in his embrace, drawing you onto his lap after you finish the tea he brewed to calm your nerves. Lucifer pays you special attention, massaging your tired body and kissing you tenderly, his breath fanning across your lips as he reminds you how special you truly are—brave, compassionate, and incredibly loved.

MAMMON

Mammon mourns his loss, wondering how he let them gain the upper hand; admittedly, a foolish mistake on his part. He dreads breaking the news to Lucifer, and the resentment that shows on his brothers’ faces once he confesses does little to ease his mind. Still, he worries about your reaction most of all, knowing his stupidity has put you in a precarious position. In that moment he believes their words—only a greedy scumbag like himself dares to place his human’s happiness on the line. Although certain of his win at the time, he should consider how his actions affect you more often; otherwise, how can he claim he’s the Great Mammon? His confidence is his downfall in the end. Now you’ll suffer along with him. Yet you feign optimism, attempting to soothe everything over despite your innocence. His guilt only grows, a heavy weight on his shoulders. One he deserves.

Three days of waiting on and performing for large crowds at The Fall proves hectic for everyone. He can tell you’re struggling beneath the façade of a composed and hospitable server, going above and beyond to ensure the patrons leave satisfied. Furthermore, you lend him and his brothers a hand, coming to their rescue; it should be him making it as easy on you as possible. His concern for you runs deep, no matter how hard he tries to maintain his usual air of indifference, but you have the nerve to reassure him—it’s meant to be the opposite, dammit. Each night he goes out of his way to check on you, frustrated that you continue to dance around the subject. He can see the exhaustion on your face, hear the slight tremor in your voice, the toll his stupid decision is taking on you, and it stung. You comfort him, even when he’s undeserving, so why won’t you allow him to hold you and kiss the pain away? Not that he’s asked. You should realize by now you can rely on him, right?

Watching you suffer in silence tortures him. He can’t deny it regardless of his best effort to make light of the situation. You barely eat or spend time outside your room, saying you’re tired, which isn’t a lie—working is exhausting, no doubt about it—but he understands you well enough to notice the subtle signs of your anxiety, your smile unable to trick him into believing otherwise. Perhaps you find him as insufferable as his brothers do, or worse, and don’t want to see his face after what he’s done. That doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door, hoping he can offer some form of comfort. However, you keep up appearances, supporting the seven of them during the longest weekend of their lives. You work hard too, his chest swelling with pride as he watches you care for his brothers and customers alike. How can you like an idiot like him? You’re selfless and loving, looking past his flaws to see what lay beneath his sin. His human. His angel. He wants—no needs—you to be okay.

The last day comes and goes in a blur. Finally, he can toss these ridiculous clothes and rabbit ears in the trash and never perform that dance again. Better yet, you’re free of his burden, though the guilt remains. He can’t relax until he’s positive you’re okay, knowing he’s genuinely sorry. Standing outside your room, he tries to muster up the courage to open his heart to you—apologies not his strong suit—when he hears you crying. They’re small, muffled sobs that manage to shake him to his core, blood running cold. Yeah, he should knock, but he can’t control himself, throwing the door open without hesitation and rushing to your side. The sight of your tears is almost too much to bear, and he draws you into his embrace, face heating up at his own moment of vulnerability, but this is about you, not him. He can be strong for you too, telling you everything’s going to be okay, that the Great Mammon is here to help.

After his stupidity, you tell him you were afraid to bother him? He can hardly suppress the shock at your confession, the sadness in your eyes breaking his heart. You wanted to make sure it went smoothly for his sake? You suffer through Hell alone because you chose to put his feelings first? Crazy. Though he thanks you, not completely ashamed to admit he’s touched. However, he tells you that you don’t have to put aside your feelings for his benefit; he prefers to be by your side then know you’re having a rough time on your own. He is your first. Taking the initiative, he asks what he can do to make it up to you, no matter how big or small the request is because he’ll do it in a heartbeat. You opt to stay in his arms, burying your face into his chest, and he wipes away your remaining tears, being as gentle as he possibly can. He can feel how tense your body is, your skin unnaturally warm, and it takes a while until you stop shaking. It’s moments like these he’ll tell you how much you mean to him—that he loves you, okay—and he wants you to come to him for everything. He’ll hold you, taking your hand in his, and kiss you with all the adoration in the world because you’re incredibly important to him. Mammon can attest to that.

LEVIATHAN

Leviathan invites you to his room to play video games, a daily routine the two of you have comfortably fallen into. He loves gaming with you, though on occasion you opt to watch instead, thoroughly enthralled by whatever is on the screen. Miraculously, you enjoy listening to him ramble—whether it’s about the game he’s playing, anime he’s watching, or TSL among other things—genuinely showing interest in his passions; he’s incapable of expressing how truly grateful he is for your company. His heart nearly bursts whenever you compliment him on his gaming prowess, encourage him during a particularly intense battle, or merely tell him how you enjoy hanging out. How in the Devildom did a gross otaku like him get so incredibly lucky? He can hardly believe you love him of all demons. The thought alone sounds crazy lmao.

Unable to contain his excitement, he awaits your arrival that night, ensuring everything is perfect when he hears a knock on the door. However, his smile fades the moment he lays eyes on you, mind beginning to race as he wonders why you look miserable, your gaze trained on your hands. Before he can speak, you apologize, dissolving into tears while you return the game he let you borrow. You’re stuttering, completely winded, and he can barely hear you confess to accidentally corrupting his data in your panic. In fact, he loses track of the number of times you choke out a sorry. He treasures his games, his collection extensive, but he cherishes you most of all. The loss is a minor annoyance, nothing that lessens the feelings he harbors for you. Although difficult, he overcomes his insecurities to show you it’s okay—you’re loved.

Not only are you sad, but you’re also terrified, a part of him wanting to destroy the game itself if it means you never have to experience the pain that torments you now. Regarding you carefully, afraid to make matters worse, he reassures you that he’s not upset—far from it, honestly—and that he cares about you more than any game. No stranger to your panic attacks, he reaches out to take your hand in his, hoping you find comfort in what he has to offer. And when you finally glance up, hope shining in your tear-filled eyes, he can’t help but wrap you in his arms. A warmth spreads across his face, heart pounding in his ears, but he knows you need him, allowing his body to relax around yours.

Holding you against him, he tells you everything’s all right, stuttering out how he loves you and, most importantly, wants to you to feel better. Your arms circle around his waist, causing his heart to jump into his throat, but he only pulls you closer. You’re his Henry, and what friend is he if you can’t rely on him? Leviathan is understanding, wanting you to come to him for support at your most vulnerable. Now he puts his knowledge to the test, easing you into his room with continuous words of affirmation. You always know how to console him at his lowest, and he hopes he can return the favor. If anyone deserves to feel loved it’s you, who brought joy into his otherwise bleak world, and he’ll sit with you every day and night if you need him to.

SATAN

Satan knows he shouldn’t be awake, though he finds it difficult to satiate his curiosity as he peruses the books lining his shelves. He barely registers the sound of his D.D.D, reluctant to put the book aside to see who’s messaging him at this ungodly hour; Asmodeus most likely. His tune changes after he sees your name lighting up his screen, his annoyance replaced with worry. He knows you struggle, especially at night, but he can tell you’re hesitant to reach out. Nevertheless, you gradually begin to confide in him, his patience limitless if you’re concerned, and he feels a sense of relief that you choose to trust him at your most vulnerable instead of suffering on your own. Pouring over every book he can locate on anxiety, he studies it religiously, engraining each page into his memory. Not by giving unsolicited advice—he doesn’t want to make that mistake twice—but by comforting you the best he can, even if it simply means to stay by your side, waiting for the panic to pass.

A second later, he appears at your door, gaze softening as your eyes meet. In the darkness of your room, he can tell how exhausted you are. You apologize for bothering him, particularly this late, but he dismisses you with a shake of his head and a reassuring smile, sitting beside you on the bed. It saddens him that you feel the need to, but he’s familiar enough with anxiety by now that he understands how much of a manipulative monster it truly is; if only he can destroy it with his own two hands, strangling the life out of it so it no longer taints that innocent soul of yours. To watch you struggle fills him with a rage that he forces deep within himself, fully aware anger isn’t the answer no matter how great his desire to protect you is. So, he cups your face in his hands, your skin warm beneath his fingers as he strokes your flushed cheeks and presses your foreheads together.

Focus on him, he tells you, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his voice while he whispers words of love and encouragement. He never tires of letting you know how beautiful and strong you are, that he’s always here for you and loves you—all of you. You unravel in his arms, opening your heart up to him, and he listens intently, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips the moment you look uncertain. You’re not a burden he promises, hoping one day you’ll believe it yourself, but he’ll remind you every chance he gets; forever if he must. It’s worth it in the end, when you relax against him and smile, kissing him in return. Slowly, the anxiety leaves your body, Satan thankful that the waves of panic have receded enough to let you rest your weary mind. He remains next to you, pulling you down to lay your head on his chest and closing your hand in his, entwining your fingers. He’s content here with you, watching you fall asleep and chasing away the nightmares.

ASMODEUS

Asmodeus loves shopping, but he loves shopping with you most of all. The day is bright with you by his side, and he can’t help but buy you clothes and matching accessories to bring out your inherent charm. Your potential is endless, and he gushes over how gorgeous you are, unable to contain his excitement when your cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink in return. He can hardly control himself around you, gaze fixated on your every movement and heart racing each time you flash him one of the sweetest smiles he’s ever seen; your very soul seeming to shine through and blind him. Nothing prepares him for the love he feels for you, but he considers it a welcome surprise, his desire to grow closer to you intensifying day after day. You captivate him, the Avatar of Lust of all demons. What an exciting turn of events!

Of course, he attracts attention wherever he goes, posing for pictures with adoring fans and basking in the compliments constantly thrown his way; nothing new, but he enjoys it, nonetheless. Who can resist the allure of his very presence? However, anger wells within him at the sight of you being shoved to the side, falling to the ground and lost to the crowd that has gathered. Their words of flattery fall on deaf ears as he rushes to you, throwing a heated glance at the lowly demon who dares to touch his darling human. He desires nothing more than to punish them for such an injustice, but the fear in your eyes tells him otherwise. By the time he scoops you up into his arms you’re trembling from head to toe, and he can feel your heart pounding against him. A part of him places the blame on himself, an unfamiliar feeling, but he chooses to ignore it for now, focusing on getting you home in your worsening state.

In the peace and quiet of his room, he sits you on the bed, wrapping you in his arms as he affectionately runs his fingers through your hair. He can tell you’re upset—in an absolute state of panic by the looks of it—and all he can do is hold you through it, quietly asking what you need and willing to answer your every beck and call if it means that adorable smile graces your features once more. For a moment he considers seeking out Lucifer, worried something has gone terribly wrong, but thankfully you find your voice, mumbling into his chest about anxiety and panic attacks, that you’ll be fine—eventually—and are sorry for ruining your date. He doesn’t understand completely, though he knows you need him, promising to stay by your side for as long as you want. Kissing your cheek, he assures you there’s no need to apologize to him, your safety more important than anything else; the demon who laid his hands on you won’t go without punishment either.

Admitting a bath helps calm you down, he prepares one for you, steam rising from the surface and the heady scent of roses filling the air. Together you slip into the water, enveloped by its warmth, and he hums in contentment as you lean into him, his arms coming to rest around your waist. He watches you carefully, making sure you’re able to relax and preparing himself in case you call on him; he’ll do anything for you if it brings you the happiness you deserve. Your eyes flutter close, Asmodeus showering you with delicate kisses, comforted by the fact your breathing has levelled out and you appear a lot calmer than before. The day didn’t go as planned, and he hopes to make it up to you, vowing that no one else will hurt you on his watch. He loves himself. He loves his brothers. But loves you most of all.

BEELZEBUB

Beelzebub notices you haven’t touched your dinner and is beyond happy the moment you offer your plate to him. Yet he can’t bring himself to enjoy the food in front of him while you excuse yourself from the table, eyes downcast and voice quiet, the usual smile gone from your face and leaving behind an emptiness that rivals his own hunger. His mouth waters at the thought of seconds, but his concern for you grows, and he decides to follow you without question, disregarding the ravenous growl of his stomach. He catches you in the hallway, calling out your name. You turn to him, his brow furrowing in unease at the sight of your tears and the slight tremble of your lip. It hurts him to see you in obvious distress, and he earnestly offers his support.

The only sound is that of your sobbing. He desperately wishes to hold you tightly and rid you of your pain. However, he falters, studying you. Your gaze is trained on the floor, shoulders stiff with tension, and the color drains from your cheeks. When you speak, he’s surprised by how helpless you sound and the fact you’re trying to reassure him, putting his needs above your own although you’re struggling to hold yourself together. Fear flickers across your features at the echo of the brothers’ voices travelling up the stairs, and he mumbles out an apology as he carefully lifts you into his arms, cradling you to his chest.

Before the others can round the corner, he hurries down the hall and slips into your room, determined to protect his vulnerable human. He notices you relax against him, your fingers curling into his shirt, and he can’t help but want to keep you close, relieved after you lean in closer to wrap your arms around his neck. Stroking your hair, he allows you to cry, his patience and love for you endless. Eventually, you mutter an embarrassed sorry, thanking him profusely, but he’s merely relieved you’re beginning to feel a bit better, reassuring you that you can always depend on him.

Listening to you intently, he never breaks eye contact. You open up to him about your anxiety, his stomach twisting as you describe what you call a panic attack and how it wrecks you both mentally and physically. Beelzebub knows he has a lot to learn, but he expresses interest in understanding anxiety and, most importantly, how he can help you, so you don’t suffer alone. For the rest of the night, he keeps you company and eases you through the remainder of your attack, giving you plenty of hugs and rubbing your back in soothing circles until you no longer shake, and your heartbeat returns to its usual pace.

BELPHEGOR

Belphegor enjoys the time you spend together, especially when the two of you are alone. He asks you to accompany him in the attic, and it’s not long before he curls around you, falling into a peaceful sleep as he listens to the steady beat of your heart. However, when he awakes it’s to the sound of your soft cries in the dark, which fill him with a fear he can’t seem to shake. Without hesitation he’s at your side, sitting up to softly place a hand on your shoulder and ask you what’s wrong. The sadness in your eyes as you glance up at him, tears staining your cheeks, tugs at his heartstrings. He can’t bear to see you upset.

Once he realizes you’re having a panic attack, he’s attentive to your needs, cradling you in his arms as you cry into his chest. You confided in him about your struggles with anxiety after you fell to pieces in front of him months ago. A part of him understands, the loss of Lilith haunting him throughout the years and instilling a similar feeling of unease within him, especially when his nightmares seem to blur the line between reality and the painful memories of his past. You always came to his rescue and now it’s his turn to comfort you in your time of need. Sleep can wait.

With you in his embrace, he brings you down to relax against the pillows, pulling the blanket around your shivering form. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he gently brushes the remaining tears from your face, whispering words of love and reassurance. He listens to you when you’re comfortable to talk, the slight tremble of your voice causing him to draw you closer and press a kiss to your forehead. Belphegor tells you he’s here for you—forever—and although he’s still learning about anxiety and finding the best ways to comfort you during an attack, he wants you to depend on him no matter what. Even if that means you wake him up in the middle of the night. He won’t rest until he knows you’re okay, and you’re peacefully sleeping in his arms.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me mc #obey me reader #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me scenarios #my writing

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autodiscothings · 3 years

Text

Soignee’s Art Tips That May Help You Or Might Not, Who Knows.

Draw the hyperfixation, stay (mostly) in the comfort zone. Art is a skill you will get better at the more you do, so if you’re having fun drawing- you’ll level up without thinking too hard about it.

That said: force yourself to face your art nemesis once in a while. No, not in the Turner/Constable way, but push yourself to do the background, the harder perspective, the new technique. If you’re in the [C O M F O R T zone] anyway then it’ll be easier, yeah?

Draw from life occasionally- not all the time, but to remind yourself how you do it. It really does something in your brain, you’ll get the hang of transcribing an idea faster, and of course training your hand to draw what’s there.

You will learn something new with each painting, and FINISHING a thing. So keep the WIP pile to a minimum. (We get bored of our content faster than most.)

If you like using digital “painterly” mediums like oil and acrylic and inks, it really helps to have the real stuff on hand to play with from time to time.

Ideas are always perfect in your head, but will sometimes be a sad kazoo noise in concept. So get them out faster, and don’t stew for too long.

“Fuck it, done” is a thing to trust.

Even if it doesn't work out, ideas are pretty cheap. You’ll keep on getting them the more art you do, so get it out.

Thumbnails are a good habit to have if you want to tweak a concept, or aren’t 100% sure on something. I don’t do them as much as I would like, but whenever I do it makes the world of difference to the final thing.

Keep references to hand, and keep on looking at them, and use more than one/combine them. VizRef is God Tier for Procreate users. Clip Studio has an excellent model maker, too.

For paid work, source/buy legitimate references that aren't fashion magazine stills for Pinterest/tumblr finds.

Reference your own art constantly if you regularly draw the same characters, so you’re consistent about it. Look, if Jim Davis has to google what Garfield looks like when he’s working, so can you. Saying that, they will change over time- mostly as your skill is improving.

Not every sketch has to be shown, but not everything uploaded to social media should be a “ a sketch, IDK” when you spent a literal day on it. Don’t undervalue your work.

If you do other creative things, understand that yes they all feed off each other, but. You only have so many hours a day, and focusing on a skill for improvement takes more time than you think. Spinning a lot of creative plates will consume your energy often in subtle, demanding ways. (If it’s just a hobby to you, don’t stress about this. Just draw when you feel like it.)

Have a Not Thinking hobby alongside your art. Gardening, jam-making, running, birdwatching, wool spinning, macrame, scrapbooking, whatever. It will vary with what you think Not Thinking is, but while you’re doing something else, the occasional idea will come, like an idea in the shower usually does.

That’s not the goal for Not Thinking hobbies, though; mostly it’s nice to give your brain something to do when you’re stuck in a block or anxious about your art, and you will feel accomplished doing something else.

Art block is like wading through hip-deep mud, and is bloody tiring. Do not suffer; when it gets that level, rest. Do the Not Thinking hobby. Consume books, shows, ideas.

There’s a plague on at the moment, a lot of us are doing the above. Please don’t feel ashamed about surviving.

What you consume daily- art, media, video games, tumblr feed, TV, film, books, discords- and your home environment will shape your art, so be mindful what that is. It will also help with art block if you change something up.

Just because it’s fanart, doesn’t mean you can’t take it seriously and that you can’t be a professional.

Private commissions take more out of you than you think. Drawing art for other people and/or money is- you’ll never guess this- work.

Be nice to to commissioners, they’re often nervous, and some aren’t sure what they want. And be professional about it- even if it’s “just” beer money to you. Keep receipts and send invoices. Email inquiries back in a reasonable time. Keep clients up to date with WIPs, queue status and all of that.

AND FINALLY:

Don’t be a gremlin and look after your body, and find a comfortable drawing setup. Don’t draw if your hand hurts. Remember to pee and drink water and move around and stretch often, too.

#it’s a long post I don’t know how to make snappy #but have things that have helped me #and still do #art advice

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doctorstethoscope · 3 years

Text

The Right Chapter 3 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Hey gang, I wanted to give y’all another update this week because I know there wasn’t a lot of hotch in the last chapter. This is a long one!

Read previous chapters here!

wordcount: 3.6k

warnings: canon-typical harassment and violence, swearing

tagging: @the-modernmary @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13 @wanniiieeee

It’s closer to the afternoon than the morning when you finally get out of bed the next day. Aaron had set you up in his guest room before going to bed himself, and had dutifully woken you up every two hours. You emerged into the kitchen to see him sitting at the table with his laptop open, surely working even though he was technically out on sick leave.

“Good morning” he says when he sees you appear in the doorway. “The coffee’s still hot, if you want some. I don’t have any RedBull, though.”

You rolled your eyes as you crossed the kitchen to make yourself a cup. “Is it still morning? It feels like I must have slept through the whole day.”

“Well, you needed it. Long night.” He tells you, and you let out a little hum in response. “Hey, uh. Your cell phone is on the counter. It was making a lot of noise and I didn’t want it to wake you.” he admits sheepishly. “I didn’t read anything, but Josh’s name popped up a lot.”

You pouted a little. “I guess I did kind of just disappear. I probably owe him an explanation,” you said, crossing the kitchen and picking your phone up.

“You don’t owe him a god damned thing.” Hotch said a little harshly, but you knew his tone wasn’t aimed towards you.

You powered your phone on-- Hotch must have turned it on after he took it. 13 missed calls and 27 texts, sheesh. Not all of them are from Josh, thankfully. You shoot a quick text back to JJ, Garcia and Emily, who had all individually checked in when you didn’t show up at the office. With a little more trepidation, you opened up your thread with Josh.

“Where are you?”

“You never came to bed last night.”

“Off fucking the boss man?”

“Did I catch you before you got down to anything good?”

“Fucking slut.”

“Couldn’t even finish cleaning the carpet before you left.”

“Fucking answer me.”

“Did I bash your skull so hard that you forgot to pack my lunch before you left?”

“This is ridiculous.’

“So you’re just running away?”

“Don’t be such a baby.”

“You are so in for it when you get home.”

“I should have killed you.”

There’s more, but you’re not sure you can stomach it. You drop your phone to the counter, swallowing back a bit of bile that has risen up from your stomach. Aaron is at your side in an instant.

“Can I look?” He asked quietly. He’s looking you right in the eye but you feel like you can’t see him at all, like he’s not really there. You must have nodded your head, because he picked up your phone and started scrolling, but you have no way of knowing how you even told your body to do that. After a moment, he sets your phone face down on the counter, and turns to face you, placing a gentle hand on each of your upper arms. “We are going to figure it out, okay? You’re not in this alone, and I’m not going to let you get hurt again. You did the right thing. You got out. And now you have help.”

He’s staring into your eyes as he promises to keep you safe, and the dam breaks. All of the emotions that you’ve bottled up for the last ten hours are flooding through you, and you’re sobbing uncontrollably before you have even recognized how upset you really are. Aaron gathers you up in his arms in an instant, and you wrap your arms around him, crying into his old sweatshirt.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let it all out,” he whispers in a mantra, rubbing your back.

You realize in this moment that Aaron is truly your best friend-- you’d always known that you were closer to him than anyone else in the office, and the same was true for him, with the possible exception of Dave. What you hadn’t realized, is that somewhere along the way, your college friendships, your academy friendships, your girlfriends, had all faded into the background, and Aaron became the person you wanted to tell good news to, the person you drew comfort from, and the person you called when you realized you couldn’t get the blood out of the carpet. The realization surprises you, enough to let you get a few deep breaths in and calm yourself down, untucking from Aaron’s shoulder and dabbing at your eyes with your shirt sleeve.

“Thank you,” you say through your choked voice, even though it could never be enough.

“How’s your head?” He asked, looking over the top of your head to the clock on the stove to see if it was time for you to have more pain meds.

“Ah, well, I don’t think the crying really helped.” You shrugged, attempting to bring some levity back to the situation as you picked your phone back up.

“What are you doing?” Hotch asked, eyeing you and the phone.

“I’m calling Josh back.” You said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Okay, now I’m sure you hit your head,” he said, swiping the phone out of your hand before you could place a call.

“Hotch--”

“Can you at least tell me why you want to do this?” He said, and you can see the concern etched into his face.

“I’ve got to go back at some point. I’m sure it’ll be easier for him to cool off if I’m not completely ignoring him in the meantime.”

“Go back? What are you talking about?” Aaron asked

“I live there, Hotchner. I can’t avoid him forever. Even if I move--”

“You’ll stay here. For as long as necessary. It’s not safe for you to go back there.” He says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Do I get a say in this at all?”

“Not if your only defense is that you don’t want someone else to take care of you. Because right now you need caring for, and I’m not letting you talk your way out of it.” Hotch said resolutely, and you sighed. The silence lingers for a moment before you speak up again, quietly.

“I could use some more pain meds.” You admitted.

“You shouldn’t take these on an empty stomach. Let’s get you some toast, drink your coffee to clear up your sinuses and then you can take your next dose and go back to bed.”

“Hotch, the day’s half over. I can’t go back to bed.” You argued, with significantly less heat behind it, lifting the steaming mug of coffee up to your face at his suggestion.

“It’s a sick day. You’re injured. You’re supposed to rest all day and let your body heal. You won’t be arguing with me once you’ve taken the pills.”

Hotch had tried to get you to take the rest of the week off, but you couldn’t stand the thought of sitting around in his apartment doing nothing. You also knew that an extended absence would catch the attention of your teammates-- and you weren’t sure if you were ready to share all of this with them yet. That was why you were perched in front of the mirror in Hotch’s guest room, liberally applying concealer and powder to your healing black eye. Aaron had made you promise to take it easy, and you already know he’d have eyes on you all day to make sure you weren’t overdoing it. No need to attract any more attention. There’s a soft knock from the hall.

“Come in,” you called.

“Hey,” Hotch said, swinging open the door. “We’ve got to leave in a few minutes.”

“I’ll be ready,” you assured him, dipping your brush into the powder before brushing it over your nose and cheekbone, wincing a little.

“When did you learn to do that?” Hotch asked softly.

“Hotch…” You responded softly.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. You don’t need to answer that.” He apologized, averting his gaze to the floor.

“If I answer, are you going to stop blaming yourself for not noticing?”

“I can’t promise you that.” He shakes his head.

“I wasn’t… I’m not a battered woman, Hotch.”

“Of course you aren’t.” He’s quick to affirm you, to make sure you know he doesn’t see you as a victim.

“No, I mean, this was excessive. Was he rough? Sure. Did he leave marks? Yeah, he did. But I wasn’t getting tossed around and beaten like that. He’s not really like that, normally. He was just drunk, I think.”

“You’re not seriously making excuses for him, are you?” Hotch asked, and suddenly you’re indignant, even though you know he’s right.

“He had a bad night.” You protest weakly.

“He almost killed you!” Aaron raised his voice, just a tad.

“He was just trying to scare me.” You countered.

“He was escalating. I know that you know that,” Hotch said, searching your face, looking for something to profile. You didn’t blame him, you knew your behavior was erratic. You draw a deep breath, your chin quivering as your eyes welled up.

“It worked. I’m scared.” You squeaked out, trying not to let the tears fall and ruin the makeup you’ve worked so hard on. Hotch wrapped you in his arms again and you breathed in deeply, letting his cologne fill your lungs and lull you into a calm.

“You don’t need to be scared. I’ve got your six. I’ve got you.” He reminded you, and you pulled away from him.

“I don’t think I’m ready to share this with the team yet.” You told him, and he nodded.

“Like I said, your pace. When you’re ready, you’ll tell them, and if you want my support, I’ll be there. I’m gonna go make us some coffee, meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

You were silly to think that you could hide anything from a group of profilers-- none of them have guessed it, yet, or if they have, they’re too polite to say anything about it, but they’ve certainly noticed something. They surrounded you with concern and peppered you with questions the second you walked into the office, and Hotch’s devotion to making sure you weren’t pushing yourself too hard certainly wasn’t going unnoticed. It was during one of your Unit-Chief-Mandated-Breaks that you snuck into the kitchen to refill your water bottle. Almost silently, JJ slipped in behind you.

“You know, you can just say the word, and we’ll all stop pestering you.” She says, and you can hear her gentle smile.

“That’s okay. If I call you off, I lose the right to fuss over whoever’s next.” You tried to crack a joke.

“Good point.” She chuckled.

“I really am okay, Jayje.” You assured her.

“No, honey, you aren’t.” She shook her head. “But you’ll tell us when you’re ready, and we’ll support you even if the secret dies with you.” She laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked out of the kitchen together, sharing a small conspiratorial laugh, your heads thrown back as you pass through the doorway. When the ping of the elevator doors opening grabs your attention, you drop your water bottle in shock.

“You okay?” JJ asks, bending over to pick up your water bottle as he storms through the glass doors of the BAU.

“You whore!” Josh spat out, catching the attention of the whole bullpen. So much for keeping them out of it.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Morgan asked, rising from his desk immediately.

“Josh?” Emily says, the first one to recognize him. Your eyes dart around the bullpen, and you spot Reid at his desk phone, no doubt calling security.

“You fucking bitch!” Josh says, still advancing towards you. Your brain is screaming at you to run but you can’t get your legs to move. It’s a literal childhood nightmare, playing out in the flesh.

“Come on, let’s go back into the kitchen” JJ says softly, her tone betraying none of her fear as she practically shoves you back into the kitchen. You stumble into a chair, and the sound is muted because of the door, but you can still see and hear everything through the glass. Josh takes another step into the bullpen, but Morgan’s in front of him.

“Turn around and walk out of here, man, because there’s no other way this ends well for you.” Morgan puffs out his chest, trying to stop Josh from looking over his shoulder and seeing you.

“Not until that slut gives me some fucking answers,” He spits out, and you feel JJ squeeze your hand, but you’re too laser-focused on the scene in front of you to acknowledge her.

“I’m going to give you one more chance to walk away.” Morgan hisses through his teeth, advancing closer to Josh.

“I’d listen to him if I were you.” Hotch said, suddenly appearing on the other side of Josh. You hadn’t seen him come down the stairs.

“Ah, good old boss man.’ Josh jeered. “How’s my sloppy seconds? I hope she’s treating you real good seeing as how you stole her right out from under me in the night.”

Without warning, you watch Hotch’s fist connect with Josh’s face. Josh stumbles away, holding his nose, when security comes in through the elevators.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” He says, raising his hands in surrender. He turns around to face Hotch once more. “This isn’t over.” He says, bringing his hands back to his nose and following the security officer into the elevator.

There’s a stunned sort of silence that hangs over the unit for a few moments before you hear someone break out into a sob. When you feel JJ’s hand start rubbing across your back, you realize that it came from you. The door flies open and you startle, but when you look up, you see a clouded figure of Hotch through your tear-saturated eyes.

You hear JJ and Aaron whisper to each other, but you can’t focus enough to hear what they’re saying. Whatever it is, the conversation ends with JJ slipping out of the kitchen just as quietly as she came, and Aaron sliding into the chair across from you.

“Can I touch you?” He asked, his voice only just loud enough for you to hear over the sound of your own labored breathing. You nodded, unable to verbally respond. He smoothed his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, taking your hands into his own. “You’re okay, he’s gone. Security knows who he is now, he won’t be allowed back in the building.” He tells you, and you nod again.

“I’m okay.” You manage to choke out.

“I need you to take some deep breaths for me, okay? You’re going to make yourself sick.” He asked of you, disarmingly calm, as he modeled the deep cleansing breaths for you. You take a deep, shaky breath in, trying to force the oxygen all the way down into your lungs before letting it back out in a huff. “Good,” he told you. “Good job, sweetheart, keep going.” he encouraged you, tucking a piece of hair that had gotten stuck to your tear-stained cheek behind your ear. When you were finally calm enough to look up at him, you did so. “There you are,” he smiled at you. “You’re okay.”

“I’m okay. Your hand--”

“I’m okay--” He assured you, but you flipped his hand over in your own anyways. It’s swollen.

“You need ice.” You said, standing up and crossing to the freezer.

“You need to sit down before you fall.” Aaron stood up to follow you, shaking his head.

“I took my deep breaths, Hotch. I’m not an eighty year old woman.” You chastised him as you pulled a few ice cubes out of the freezer, putting them in a plastic bag and wrapping a paper towel around it.

“My hand is fine.” He argued with you as you pressed the ice pack to his knuckles.

“You are in absolutely no position to argue with me about letting someone else take care of you, hypocrite.” You fought back, with nothing but concern behind it.

“Okay, fine, but can you sit down, please.” He begged of you.

“Don’t I owe the rest of the team an explanation for all of that?”

“They can wait. Sit down.” He said, and it was no longer a request. You sat down in the seat across from him. “How’s your head?”

‘It’s been better.” You tell him honestly.

“Take a few more deep breaths, please.” He tells you, and you roll your eyes.

“Hotch, I’m--”

“You’re holding your breath. Your shoulders are practically touching your ears. Plus, it would make my hand feel better.” He says, shooting you a grin that would be wholly inappropriate for the situation if it didn’t make you feel so at ease.

You roll your eyes at him in mock-contempt, taking the breaths to appease him and dropping your shoulders. “How is your hand, seriously?”

“I’m fine. I’ve thrown my fair share of punches.” He smirked at you, still trying to distract you, to lighten the mood. “We can just leave. You must need more pain meds, if not a nap. We don’t have to get into all of it today.”

“Well, they all basically know now. We should probably just go to clear the air that I’m not sleeping with you for a promotion.”

“If you’re not up to it, we can--”

“No, Hotch.” You stand up, shaking your head at him through a smile. “Let’s go get it over with.”

The team, of course, didn’t need you to explain that all of what Josh had said was false. Your integrity and the trust shared between all of you was louder than any stupid asshole that could bluster in through those glass doors. You’d cried all of your makeup off, so your black eye was now fully exposed to the team. Aaron left a protective hand on the small of your back the whole time you spoke, never once speaking over you or interrupting. As soon as you finished, you felt silly for ever thinking you needed to hide this from them-- they were supportive without being pitying, and JJ, Emily and Garcia had wrapped you up in hugs just as soon as you finally got it all off your chest.

“We’re going to head out, obviously call us if there’s an urgent case notification.” Aaron explained to the team. “You all should feel free to leave as soon as your paperwork is done.”

“Hotch, I’m really fine,” you tried to insist.

“Are you gonna tell the team they have to keep working?” Aaron quirked an eyebrow at you and you scowled, knowing there was no going back now. “I’m just going to pack some of my stuff up.” He told you, turning back to his office. You followed suit, going to your desk and tidying up.

“Hey, cupcake.” Morgan whistled to get your attention before crossing the bullpen to get to you. “If I had known--if I had seen that bruise on your face before he walked in here -- I would have taken him down myself. Hotchner showed an... impressive amount of restraint.” He told you with a humorless chuckle.

“Thank you, Derek. But he’s not worth it, seriously.” You told him with a smile.

“No, he’s not.” He agreed. “But you are. Don’t you forget that, okay? If you need anything, I’m here.”

Instead of responding verbally, you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck in a hug. He wrapped his arms around you snugly, crushing you into his chest. It hurt, a little, but the overwhelming security you found with him holding you was far stronger than any pain.

You pulled away and bid your goodnights to the team, following Aaron out to the car taking off towards his apartment.

“You were really brave back there. I’m proud of you. As your friend, not your boss. Or, I guess as your friend and your boss.” He tells you, taking one hand off the steering wheel to squeeze yours briefly.

“I didn’t really have much of a choice,” you rolled your eyes with a small smirk.

“There’s always a choice. You chose to get out, and you chose to let your team in. That’s not nothing.” He told you as he parked the car in front of his place.

“Thank you,” you said, choosing to accept the compliment even though you didn’t believe him. Aaron saw it in your eyes, but he let it slide. You’d see, eventually. At her pace, he reminded himself.

“I was thinking I’d cook tonight. Do you have anything particular in mind?” He asked as you settled into the apartment, hanging up your coats.

“Aaron Hotchner, you can cook?” You laughed, turning around and beaming at him. He couldn’t help but return your smile.

“I’m not Dave, but I manage.” He said coyly.

“I’m sure whatever you make will be delicious.” You told him graciously. “And I’m very excited to try it.”

He tossed you an orange from the bowl of fruit on his counter, and then your pain meds. “Go take a nap.”

“Hotch, I’m---”

“Nope, I don’t want to hear it. I let you spend six hours squinting at screens and paperwork under fluorescents. None of that was good for your head. Go.”

You rolled your eyes at him goodnaturedly before going to the guest room, stripping your work clothes off in favor of a pair of sweats and an FBI Academy t-shirt. Truth be told, everything that had gone down at work had been exhausting, and it wasn’t long before you fell asleep.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you

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1ddiscourseoftheday · 3 years

Text

Fri 11 June ‘21

LT band news! Guitarist Isaac posted a pic of himself with the other guitarist and bassist, plus LTHQ team member Jessie! Things are happening…idk what things, but THINGS! We know tour shows aren’t for a long while now so what might they be rehearsing or meeting for? Hopes are up that it could be to do promo for a single!! But really whatever it is would be exciting as hell. The shopping list for the recipe Louis will be following for his video is out and it does not look like it’ll be challenging- it’s a fish finger sandwich! I’m a little confused by the addition of waffles (not to mention sugar) in the ingredient list but overall how hard can it be right? I guess we’ll find out. And a fan who met Louis the other day says she had him write HOME for a tattoo and “told him that the song is extremely important for the whole lgbtq+ community” and that he “smiled and said thank you and bless you darling,” and we got more video from yesterday of him out by the studio; he was wearing the skull/ laurel/ rose/ triangle ‘new era’ cap again, nice, and how appropriate for the exciting LT2 era things he is cooking up (not the fish fingers, the other stuff.)

The much hyped Our Song behind the scenes video is finally here! We see the part where Niall pretends to be afraid of the dog that was hired to bark at him, but as we were told, the dog does not bark and was therefore fired; maybe the poor dog was just starstruck, leave her alone! Plus Niall and Anne are cute and look to be having fun, of course. And last night Niall was papped in Hollywood, looking good in all black with gucci loafers, oh lala.

Behind the scenes videos hype continues, with one for Lima’s NFT as well- it opens with a voiceover saying “stop being scared of who you are, you’re not negative you’re vulnerable” and other uplifting soundbites, then shows Liam drawing and walking in a beautiful forested glade, but mostly in his house he recently moved out of- Winston the dog has a sleeping-in-the-background cameo- and he and the other collaborators (musician Zedd and animator Gabe Damast) talk about how they worked out the concepts over zoom and tell us about Liam’s concept for the piece. They also talk about (and show one of) the physical objects and fancy packaging for it that they’ve made to sell along with the NFT, presumably because simply buying bragging rights of ownership of an intangible digital item isn’t actually terribly satisfying, so they need to provide some actual thing. Besides the dinner in Vegas that the buyers will be invited to join them at that is; we also learn more about that and oh my GOD wtf… uh I mean what they said is that it will take place in a literal glass box in the middle of the resort I honestly didn’t know they could make it sound MORE UNPLEASANT to me holy crap, not even to hug Liam would I do that. Liam also did a live where he tells us some stuff we already knew about Louis and Harry; about Louis he said that he’s working on music right now and “god he’s got long hair now doesn’t he”, I KNOW RIGHT, and about Harry that “he looks great in his policeman uniform,” Liam you WOULD like that, and “name a man who can pull off every look.”

Harry followed musician Pauli the PSM on insta. And as he’s often used his follows to tell us about people he is working with/ preparing something with one always wonders… For example as his scheduled shows for this year draw ever nearer with no rescheduling announcement yet, we’re all becoming impatient to know if he’s planning to play any of them this year. And if so, I know I wouldn’t be at all surprised if brand new mom Sarah Jones chose to sit a few out, so today’s follow of a British drummer… well, <eyeballs emoji>, right?! Honestly though it could be for any reason, that’s just wild speculation.

#louis tomlinson #liam payne #niall horan #harry styles #I know we all want the entertainment value of watching louis flail like hell on the cooking segment but the fact is #Louis doesn’t like publicly being bad at things. I’m guessing he wouldn’t do it if he didn’t think he could pull it off so my hopes of that #happening are not high #I feel like Harry has been making a point of using his platform to hype up black performers specifically over the last year #and I for one appreciate that #11 jun 21 #isaac anderson #matt dinnage #michael blackwell #jessie.... have I just forgotten her last name? we must know it right?#jessie martin #GOT IT #pauli lovejoy

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neo-shitty · 3 years

Text

all the muggle things. — c.s

description. in which you and san spent the rest of your days after hogwarts getting the muggle experience.

pairings. slytherin!choi san x gender-neutral (wizard) reader (yes, this fic is house friendly)

genre. harry potter/hogwarts!au, fluff

warnings. mentions of injury.

word count. 1.6k

writer’s notes. i don’t know why i never thought of writing a harry potter-inspired au before! also, it’s been a while since i’ve written for ateez. i hope this didn’t turn out so bad!

inspired by option #1 (roommates au) + prompt #36 from this list (given by @kathyrncapp835)+ prompt #46 from @ficscafe‘s dialogue prompt event (given by @meaningfulmess). prompt lines are bolded.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ TERMINOLOGY GUIDE :: for the muggles, explained and simplified by yours truly

Muggle - someone who isn’t able to use magic / non-wizard

Lumos - spell that makes the tip of a wizard’s wand light up

Quidditch - a game for wizards that involves flying on brooms and shooting balls through hoops, basically basketball but more complex because there are three hoops and someone’s trying to catch an ‘i-am-speed’ ball that dictates the fate of the game in the end

Sectumsempra - a spell that lacerates the opponent

Wizarding War - the war between Voldemort’s side and Harry’s

Dark Mark - Voldermort’s mark

Nox - counter spell to Lumos that switches the wand’s light off

You tried your best to peer your eyes open when you heard the front door slam shut. You groaned, infuriated at how such simple tasks like breathing and opening your eyes required extra effort whenever you were sick. But getting sick was merely a consequence of your own actions, so you really didn’t have anyone else to blame but yourself.

You managed to open one eye, fighting back the heavy eyelid that threatened to shut and you searched the room for other movements besides your own.

“It’s 2AM, go back to sleep,” a voice said. Soon, it’s owner emerged from the shadows of the doorway.

Dressed in his all-black work uniform was San. His whole figure blended into the background too well that it almost seemed like he’d apparated back to your place. But with the faint sound of his footfalls, you concluded that he used the muggle way in.

You turned your head. You considered turning your whole body but everything felt sore and heavy. Plus, you were content with the way the comforter was wrapped around you—which was rare, even on better days. You watched San pass by the living room before heading to the kitchen. Though you couldn’t see him from the living room couch, you could see the shadow casted on the floorboards by the kitchen light he switched on. It danced as he moved around, probably to get a late night snack before heading to bed. You could hear him uttering hushed incantations followed by the faint clattering of kitchen metals.

“I’m glad you didn’t burn the house down while I was gone,” he said from the kitchen.

A smile crept up to your lips at his statement. You opened your mouth to utter a small thank you but you could only manage a whisper. You weren’t even sure if he even heard it from that far.

Moments later, he reappeared by the kitchen doorway. “But you were cutting it a bit too close though,” he continued, clutching a frying pan in his right hand.

The pan—originally gray—was now blackened from the mishap earlier. You had fallen asleep in the middle of cooking your own dinner, only waking up to the smell of burnt meat. The scent had been that thick that it managed to seep through your clogged nostrils. It was that bad. You ended up ordering take out instead. You forgot that you didn’t clean up the evidence.

A croaky laugh escaped your lips as you recalled the accident. San only shook his head, disappearing back into the kitchen to put the pan back to the sink. When he came back, he had two cups in hand. He walked over to set both down on their respective coasters on the glass center table of your living room. When he reached over to turn the lights on you stopped him.

“Don’t turn the lights on,” you said, your voice barely audible but he hears it, stopping before the lamp fully on. “They’re too bright. It’ll give me another headache.”

You see his silhouette nod. You could hear him flipping his coat around, shuffling to find something. You didn’t know what he was searching for exactly and you opted to ask him. But you soon find out what it was when you hear him whisper.

“Lumos.”

Where San stood, an orb of light began to glow. You soon realized that the light came from the tip of a stick. He was holding the fir wand in his hand, controlling its brightness until it was just right. Soon, it illuminated the room with a faint light—bright enough for you to see outlines of the room and the furniture scattered but not bright enough to make your eyes water like the lamps did.

He walked over to where you were before leaving his hand outstretched. “Sit up to drink your leaf water,” he said, earning a chuckle from you.

“Leaf water,” you repeated in a hoarse voice before taking his hand in yours, clutching it as you helped yourself up. You crossed your legs, tucking each foot beneath the opposite leg in order to give room on the couch for San to sit.

He handed you your cup of tea before he sat adjacent to you with his own cup in one hand and his wand in the other. Your eyes lingered on the wooden stick he gripped in his hand and on the fingers he had wrapped around it. All his rings were silver, representing the complementing color of his house, Slytherin. Or that was what you remembered of him back when you were still studying at Hogwarts.

You recalled when you used to watch him play Quidditch. He always kissed his rings first before putting on his gloves. He was deemed one of the more valuable players next to their seeker and you were just another student from another house. It wasn’t until your last school year at Hogwarts when you first interacted. The first time you both went beyond the occasional glances you shared whenever you were both in the same class.

Though your first time meeting wasn’t the best setting for the start of something new.

You were tending to one injury after another, working with the school nurse to cater every student who ran to the infirmary for aid or additional support in the form of potions. San had walked in alone and upon catching sight of his green sigil, your first instinct was to cast a spell to disarm him. But he didn’t have his wand raised, nor did he show any indications that he was about to attack. Your guard was up; he was still a Slytherin and fighting for the opposing side.

But he was still a student of the school with a bleeding arm. The rip on his upper sleeve revealed enough of his wound for your body to move on its own without much guidance. You led him to the nearest vacant bed, letting him standby until you got everything you needed from the cabinets.

In the time you were treating the wound, you learned that it took him half the war and a Sectumsempra to the arm (which was originally aimed at his chest; thankfully he was able to dodge it—barely) to realize that he was fighting for the wrong side of the Wizarding War. He was glad he was going to sit out the rest of it and vowed to—and you quote—“Never do stupid shit again.”.

The Dark Mark was still tattooed on his arm, a permanent reminder of decisions that did more harm than good both to him and to the people around him. The tattoo faded over time as the population of evil wizards gradually decreased.

Your brain was hot-wired to never trust a Slytherin. Or at least, it used to be.

Much to your surprise, San did keep his words that night at the infirmary. He spent his years after Hogwarts atoning for all the damage he’d caused, dedicating nearly all his hours into hunting the last of the witches and wizards who still practiced the Dark Arts.

San shifted beside you, leaning against the back of the couch before turning to look at you. He set his mug back down to its coaster before he pressed his palm against your forehead.

“I’m feeling a bit better, don’t worry. I think I’ll be fine by morning.”

“I still don’t get why you let yourself be sick when you can just—” he flicked his wand, “—it away.”

You set your own mug down after taking a sip, only noticing then that he pulled out the matching Hogwarts house coasters. His furrowed expression softened when you held his hand, peeling it off your forehead before sandwiching it between your cold ones.

“I’m trying to experience muggle living,” you answered.

Slytherins normally weren’t the type who liked involving themselves with muggle things, more so with the muggle way of living. But San wasn’t always like other Slytherins. Cheesy, you thought. But it was a fact.

You held his stare when his eyes landed on yours. You knew his mind was brewing some sort of egoistic line or anything short yet clever to say. But you were faster.

“You did well today,” you told him, drawing random shapes and symbols on the back of his palm.

Even after hearing it everyday for the past few years, San’s heart still warmed upon hearing the words leave your lips.

You said it the first time at the infirmary. At first, you were unsure if you were saying it to yourself as he heard you utter it after you patched him up. Later that day, you reassured him that it was meant for him. San, at the time, wasn’t too keen on accepting it. Nothing about what he did that day was worth the praise. But he soon realized you were referring to his decision to right his mistakes instead of staying ignorant.

You haven’t stopped saying it since then. The phrase became more of a part of your routine over time but it still held the same value as the first time you ever said it. You still smiled softly after saying it and you still looked at him fondly like you were genuinely proud of it. San was trained to easily catch whenever people lied—be it in the form of speaking or in acting. But he never found any trace of ingenuity whenever it came to you.

Somehow, that was enough to convince him that he could still make up for mistakes made in the past. It wasn’t too late yet.

You catch the moment the corner of his lips curved up into a smile. One sly finger up, you were ready to—once again—poke the dimple on the side of his mouth.

He hated that. But if he were to be honest, he could never really hate anything you did. One ‘Nox’ and a flick of his wand later, the light on the tip of his wand disappeared—plunging the both of you into complete darkness before your finger could even touch his skin.

“I hate you,” you muttered under your breath, drawing your hand back and crossing them over your chest.

You couldn’t see him clearly in the dark but you could tell the smirk from his tone, “Of course you do.”

#san scenarios #san fluff #san blurbs #ficscafe dpe #ficscafe #san #kwritersworldnet #kpopscape #san x reader #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #san imagines #ok g what else do i tag #toff.writes

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angelmavmurdock · 3 years

Text

Our Little Secret: Part Six - A.R.

Word count: 5976 Summary: After Lenora’s funeral, Arvin learns some news about her. Y/n and Arvin have sex for the first time and ends up being way past her curfew...

WARNINGS: SMUT, FINGERING, DIRTY TALK (mild), READER'S FIRST TIME

I attended Lenora's funeral as her best friend.

No one knew about Arvin and I and we were keeping it for a different reason now. Not in case Lenora found out but to keep everyone else sane in this crazy time.

I had taken a week off school, helping the Russell's around the house with cooking, cleaning and some company. Emma was absolutely distraught, only coming out of bed when she needed the bathroom or needed to eat - even then it wasn't promised.

Ma was so busy with helping Daddy while I was busy helping the Russell's, we hardly got to see each other. But we both knew after the funeral things would calm down.

Arvin was handling his sister's death strangely. He wasn't sad. He didn't cry. He would go out on car rides, asking to be alone a lot of the time. I didn't know what he was doing and to be honest, I didn't want to know.

At night, once Earskell had went to bed and well after Emma had went to bed, we'd stay up, sitting outside on the patio in the old rocking chairs with some tea and listen to the radio quietly humming in the background. We wouldn't really speak much. We'd just be in each other's presence. We'd kiss. Then I'd go home.

But today was her funeral. I had a standard funeral outfit on: a black dress with tights and patent shoes with a black ribbon in my hair. I had been crying all day so my tears stained my cheeks and my eyes were red and puffy.

Emma was much the same as me while Arvin was trying to be strong for us, only a few tears leaving his eyes during the ceremony. He held me close to him, his hand just above the curve of my waist to not draw attention to us. We stood by together as Emma cried over her casket.

"Oh Lord, there's just some things we can't understand..."

She cried, kneeling to the floor and caressing the wood with her soft hands.

"But you take her into your arms..." She had to stop speaking because of her sobs.

I watched, tears falling from my face and I looked up at Arvin, rubbing my hand over his back softly. He stared numbly at the casket, only the ever-so-often squeeze of my waist indicating he was okay.

"Now I ain't somebody for sayin' prayers or..." Earskell talked, coughing and then clenching his jaw.

Arvin looked over to his Uncle and then removed his arm from around me, leaving me feeling cold without him. He slightly bent over and helped Emma to her feet, holding her by her arm and then wrapping his other arm back around me, this time on my waist.

"Let's go home." I said in almost a whisper.

Emma and everyone else nodded. I pulled away from Arvin and when he looked at me I looked back as if to say it was okay. He nodded slightly and helped his Grandma to the truck. I followed loosely behind the three of them, giving them some space to be with each other in the fresh air.

As I walked behind them through the grave yard I thought about everything.

What did she have to tell me? What happened with the preacher? Why was she so ashamed? Why did she want to end her own life?...

There were too many questions and none of them I could answer. I was supposed to be her best friend and I felt like I had let her down. I had let her down.

***

"I think it'll be real good if you went out for a night, Emma." I sighed, sitting next to her on her bed.

It had been a few days since the funeral and she was still lying in bed, only getting up for the bare minimum. Even for food she wasn't getting up for, which I was cooking each night.

"I don't have the energy, y/n." She croaked.

"I think you need a bath. And a nice new dress. And your hair did and your friends around you. There's a church day out at the beach on Saturday. I think you should go." I said with a smile.

She laughed lightly, "Honey, I hardly have five dollars to put together, how am I supposed to buy a new dress and get my hair done?"

A grin grew on my face, "Luckily I am here to help with that."

***

Saturday rolled around and I showed up early morning with two new dresses for Emma. She had gotten her hair done the day before and she was feeling a lot better. She showered and I met her in her room when she came out. I lay the two dresses on the bed and she looked in confusion.

"Pick your favourite and I'll see you in the living room." I smiled simply then left her room, closing the door behind me.

I waited in the living room with Arvin who was reading the newspaper, a cigarette bouncing between his lips and an ash tray.

"Ma asked for me to be home at 9 tonight." I said with a sigh.

Arvin looked up from the paper, "Really? That early?"

"Yeah. She does not like you." I groaned.

"Damn...I'm guessin' there's not much I can do about that, huh?"

"Not really...don't you have work today?" I asked.

"Only a small shift. Just gettin' back into it after the accident and then obviously..." He gulped.

"I know...well that'll be good." I smiled.

"Yeah."

"I'm ready!" Emma called from her bedroom.

"Come on out!" I beamed, getting up from the couch.

She clicked down the hallway in her red kitten heels. I gasped with delight. She chose the poppy patterned dress that flowed lightly below her knees. It fit her perfectly. A silver cross hung over her clavicle and her hair was pinned up nicely.

"Emma Russell, you look absolutely divine!" I grinned.

She blushed, "Really? I do love this dress, I can't thank you enough y/n."

"It's no problem at all. I'm just glad you're feelin' better and havin' fun. You deserve it."

She took a deep breath and smiled, "Thanks, darlin'."

Arvin got up to drive her to the church and he complimented her with an embrace.

"I'll be back around 11pm. It's late but the girls are all hitchin' rides with the men after their poker."

"Well I'll be gone by 9 so I'll see you tomorrow? I hope you have fun, Emma." I hummed, hugging her tightly.

"Thank you so much. Have fun!" She waved as Arvin opened the door for her.

We both watched as she and Earskell talked, going to the truck. Arvin closed the door slightly, leaning forward to me.

I giggled and cupped his face, bringing his lips to mine. It was soft but meaningful. His hands lightly touched my waist before we both pulled away.

"Have a good day at work and drive safe, alright?" I said.

"Thanks, y/n. I'll see you later. Bye." He flashed me a smile before leaving the house.

And I was left for nearly a whole day by myself.

***

Arvin's POV

The working truck pulled up to the car park outside. I jumped off the end along with everyone else and we said our goodbyes. As I headed to the truck I saw an officer standing by, looking at me.

"Need to have a word with you, Arvin." He announced.

"About what?" I asked, standing a few yards from him.

"It's uh...it's about Lenora." He spoke awkwardly.

I took a deep breath and looked away for a second, "What about her?"

"I came by here instead of home so nothin's put on your grandmother-"

"Put on her? What do you mean?" I asked.

The officer removed his uniform hat which is never a good sign. He seemed awkward. He seemed nervous.

"Y'know old Dudley in the coroners? He's a drunk but...he ain't no liar."

I looked at him with a stern look, masking the fact that my stomach was flipping inside.

"Did you know Lenora was carryin' a baby?" He asked.

I tilted my head slightly, my eyes on his. This seemed real. But it couldn't be.

I continued staring at him, hoping he'd crack.

"That's bullshit. That son of a bitch is lyin'." I clenched my jaw.

"Dudley ain't a liar. He came to me privately so as your family knew...I felt he was right." The officer nodded.

I averted eye contact, feeling myself tear up. No, no, no, no, no.

"I might've put my foot in somethin' but that wasn't my intention."

He fiddled with his dark green fedora, uncomfortable with the conversation and uncomfortable with the fact he had to tell me.

"You know that preacher ain't said no words for her? Not for people that kill themselves." I shook my head and clenched my jaw.

That son of a bitch.

***

I drove home in anger and confusion. When I pulled up, I saw y/n outside on one of the rocking chairs, a mug in her hand and a blanket wrapped around her.

My mood lifted almost automatically. She looked gorgeous in the dim sunlight. I remembered the house was empty and I was happy in that y/n and I could spend time together alone but then again, Lenora wasn't there.

I walked tiredly up the steps and she sat her mug down with a pout of her plump lips.

"Hey, you okay?" She asked me, standing up.

I didn't say anything.

"Arvin?" She prompted.

I looked up at her.

"How was work?" She asked, trying to pry something from me.

"It was fine." I shrugged, walking back to lean against the post.

She bit her lip, "Is somethin' botherin' you?"

She knew me too well.

"A uh...a police officer stopped me before goin' home." I said, retrieving a cigarette from my pocket and lighting it.

"What? Why?" She asked, arms folding as she leaned against the opposite post.

I chuckled. It wasn't to be annoying. It was in anger and confusion and disbelief.

"He told me that Lenora - my innocent, God-loving, 17-year-old sister - was pregnant before she died." I stated.

She blinked at me like a deer in headlights. She didn't speak for a few seconds, her brain working to log the information properly.

"She uh...she was p-pregnant? No." She shook her head.

"Well she was." I took a puff.

"What the hell? How did I not know?" She pressed a hand to her chest.

"Don't get mad at me I'm just repeatin' what he said!"

"I'm not mad! I'm just...she was pregnant?"

I licked my lips and nodded.

She chewed her lip in thought, wrinkles forming between her eyebrows.

"I don't believe it. That's bullshit."

"That's what I said. But, apparently some guy down at the coroner's said that she was. And apparently, he don't lie." I said.

She shook her head, "Who...who was the father? Cause he'll be out there right now runnin' free!" She exclaimed.

"I don't know. I have an idea but I don't know." I licked my back teeth.

I couldn't tell her about the preacher. She clearly didn't know and I wasn't about to tell her. Because if I told her I would have to explain how I knew and stalking some guy doesn't seem like the best thing to say.

"Well that is just...wow." She rubbed her face.

"I know."

We both went silent, our heads filled with thought and worry and confusion. How could neither of us had known?

"Are you gonna tell your Grandma?" She asked.

"No. No, I'm not." I dropped the cigarette butt and stood on it.

"I think it would set her back." She agreed.

"Exactly. She don't need that right now, she's at a good place."

y/n nodded, agreeing with me. I sighed and took my hat off, running a hand through my hair. y/n walked towards me with her arms outstretched. I smiled and welcomed her. Her arms wrapped around me tightly, her chest pressed against mine. I leaned my head on top of hers and stroked her back softly.

"We didn't get to tell Lenora." She whispered.

I gulped, "I know..."

"Well if heaven is real then she'll be lookin' down at us thinkin': I told you so."

We both chuckled at the thought. But it was slightly uncomfortable to think of her that way. Dead. In heaven. I didn't like it.

"Hey," She chirped from underneath me.

I moved my head and looked at her. She reached her hands up and wrapped them around my neck.

"You were such a good big brother." She stated.

An immediate lump in my throat formed at her words. Not if you knew the things I had done or what I was planning to do...

"And you're an amazin' person, Arv. You really are." She smiled.

I just smiled weakly at her.

"And I know you feel like you have to be strong all the time but with me...with me you don't have to." She whispered, trailing her hands down then up my chest.

Reader's POV

He stared down at me with a sudden look of lust and hunger. Before I knew it, I was being pushed back against the post, gasping as the wood hit my back. Arvin kissed me ferociously, his tongue pushing into my mouth without missing a beat. I moaned in surprised but sunk into him, getting the fast-paced rhythm he was implementing.

He moved his kisses to my neck and he began to kiss and suck on my sweet spot.

"Arvin," I moaned breathlessly, tugging his hair slightly.

His hands slid down my dress and grabbed my ass through the fabric as his mouth worked on my skin.

"Feels so good." I hummed.

His lips came back up to mine and our tongues worked with each other's, pushing and swirling in some sort of dance. It was passionate and hot and I felt like I needed more of him.

Suddenly his hands roamed further to my thighs and swiftly lifted me up. I gasped as my legs locked around his torso effortlessly. He smirked up at my surprise and kissed me again. He blindly opened the door and it slammed shut behind us. He walked through while kissing me intensely.

And then I knew I was in his room. I had only been in once or twice for laundry but I knew it was his. He pushed me against the door, ultimately closing it. I moaned again and he moved his lips to my neck again.

"Want you, Arvin." I hummed.

He looked up at me with a glint of lust and hope in his eyes.

"You sure?" He asked.

"I need you." I whispered.

That was enough for him.

He brought me off the wall and to his bed, lying me carefully on his sheets, getting on top of me.

He kept kissing me, his hands beginning to lift my dress up. I sat up and allowed him to slide it off my body. Thankfully I was wearing nicer underwear this time. He threw my dress to the side and looked down at my body in awe.

He stood up from the bed, eyes burning through my skin as he started to undo his buttons on his shirt.

I felt a colour rise to my cheeks. He was seeing me in my underwear. No guy had ever seen me in my underwear before.

"You are fuckin' unreal, darlin'." He complimented, his eyes shining with adoration.

I bit my lip, "You're makin' me nervous standin' like that."

He removed his shirt and then pulled off his dirty white t-shirt from underneath. I had seen his chest before but his bruises were nearly healed and he looked even better than before. Probably since he'd been working all day. He undid his belt and then slid down his trousers, stepping out of them.

My jaw dropped. Arvin. In. His. Underwear.

"Whatcha starin' at?" He smirked.

I gulped then looked back up at him, "Nothin' much."

He shook his head and leaped on top of me. I squealed before he kissed me.

"You're a minx, that's what you are." He chuckled against my lips.

"Well then teach me how to be good." I whispered.

He pulled away, looking down at me with his dilated brown eyes, almost completely black with passion.

"Fuck, I want to."

He began to slide his hand down my body, making rest stops at my waist and my hip before teasing the waistband of my pants. I gasped and looked up at him in lust.

"Have you ever been touched before?" He asked lowly.

He slid his hand carefully into my panties. I arched my back and moaned lightly at his touch.

"N-no." I answered honestly.

His eyebrows furrowed for a split-second.

"You've never been touched before? When you look this pretty?" He quirked an eyebrow.

His fingers slowly circled on my clit, warming me up. I grasped his arm and bit my lip at the new feeling.

"Have you ever touched yourself before?"

My throat went dry.

"No." I answered again.

He smiled, "That's okay...but you've gotta tell me if you don't like what I'm doin', alright?" He asked.

I nodded with a hum.

He pulled my panties off and I felt completely exposed. Only my brasserie covered the last part of my modesty. But I felt safe with Arvin. I trusted him.

His hand returned back to my core where he continued rubbing circles on my clit. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the new-found pleasure.

"Already so wet, darlin'."

I whimpered at his filthy words and felt his finger slide down my core. He slowly pushed a finger into my entrance. I gasped and gripped his arm that rested beside my head, propping himself up.

He started moving it in and out, beginning to pick up a pace.

"How does that feel?" He asked.

"So- good." I hummed, eyes closed in pleasure.

He began to speed his finger up, curling it up to find my spot. I moaned, bucking my hips into his palm as if to say more.

He got the message and slipped a second finger in with ease. I moaned loudly as his fingers worked inside of me. His thumb grazed constantly over my clit and whatever he was doing was making my stomach flutter.

I could hear the sounds of my arousal and it added to the pleasure.

"So good for me, y/n. So good." He praised.

"Arvin!" I whined.

"What, angel?" He asked softly.

"I need you. Please." I practically humped his hand in desperation.

He smirked, "You sure you're ready?" He asked cautiously.

I nodded, "Please."

He removed his hand from me, leaving me a whimpering, pathetic mess. He slid his underwear off and my jaw dropped once again. His member was a lot bigger than I had anticipated. But to be honest, I had never seen one so I had nothing to compare it to. But my god.

He pumped himself in his hand as he got back onto the bed, kneeling between my legs. I sat up and removed my bra myself. I then took my hair out of the band and the ribbon, sitting them aside. I lay back down, attempting to make my hair look as nice as it could splayed out on the bedsheet.

"You're so fuckin' gorgeous. Can't wait to feel you." He groaned, getting on top of me.

I bit my lip and held his arm with one hand and gripped his hair with the other.

"You ready?" He asked.

I took a deep breath and nodded. He leaned down and encased my lips in a passionate but loving kiss, our lips moving slowly over each other's and our tongues swirling around perfectly. I got so distracted by the kiss that Arvin could easily slip half-way into me. I gasped at the feeling of him.

"Is that okay?" He checked, brushing some of my hair out of my face.

I nodded and hummed. He gave me a moment to adjust to his size. It was slightly uncomfortable but that soon went away when he pulled back then thrusted slowly into me again.

"Arvin," I moaned.

He lifted my thigh up to his side and pushed further into me. I tugged his hair and bit my lip.

"So fuckin' tight, fuck. Feel so good, darlin'." He panted.

"Please go faster." I whimpered.

He dipped his head into the crook of my neck and held my thigh firmly as he began thrusting into me. His pace sped up quickly and soon enough he was moving effortlessly into me.

"Feels so good!" I moaned, arching my back into his chest.

His lips came to my breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth. I gasped at the new feeling as his tongue lapped over my skin. His thrusts sped up and he completely bottomed me out, his skin slapping against mine with every push.

"Oh god!" I tugged on his hair.

He groaned, "So gorgeous, so hot - fuck."

I rolled my eyes back at his words.

In a Christian based Southern state, having premarital sex was looked down upon. But it didn't feel wrong. It felt so good.

"So tight around me," He commented lowly.

"Can we flip?" I asked breathlessly.

"'Course."

He smoothly flipped us, so he was on his back. I bit my lip and hovered over him, taking his member in my hand.

"Fuck." We both cursed in unison.

I pumped him in my hand a few times to see what it was like and how he reacted. He gripped my thigh tighter and bit his lip. I smirked, feeling a pang of power course through me.

I swiped his member on my folds, surprised at how wet I actually was. I slowly sank down on him and we both let out long groans as I bottomed him out.

"W-woah." I panted.

He sat up, shifting inside of me. I moaned a little at the movement. His arms wrapped around me and I held his shoulders. I kissed him deeply, running my hands up into his hair and his tongue explored my mouth like it never had before.

I started to move on him, up and down was my instinct. Apparently I was right.

"Fuck, darlin'." He cursed against my lips.

"Oh god." I moaned, gripping his broad shoulders for support.

He gathered my cascading hair and put it behind my back as I moved on top of him. For some reason it made emotions flow in my brain.

Love.

They way he cared for me and was gentle with me obviously set off an emotion I had never really felt before. Not romantically, anyway.

I looked into his dark eyes and stopped bouncing on him. He looked into my eyes and held my waist. He started to move my hips in a grinding motion. My mouth dropped open slightly at the feeling.

His eyes stayed on mine as I rolled my hips on his, his hands guiding me. It was intimate and passionate and I loved him. I held him as close to me as possible, our chests matching and my hands massaging his scalp.

"Arvin," I moaned.

I could feel a build up of tension in my stomach.

One of his hands slowly came down between us and started to rub my clit again. I threw my head back in pleasure, the feeling intensifying.

"Shit!"

"You close, darlin'?" He asked lowly.

"Close? To- to what?" I asked, fastening my movements.

"Fuck- to your high, baby."

His fingers kept working on my clit and his other hand still guided my hip.

"My high? Oh fuck! That feels so good!" I moaned loudly and highly.

His fingers worked faster.

"If you feel like you need to let go...then do it, baby." He groaned.

I didn't really know what he meant but the feeling in my core and stomach tightened.

"Oh god! Yes! Yes!" I moved my hips faster on him.

"God you feel so good, baby. So good around me." He praised.

I dug my nails into his back, my head going to his forehead.

"Arvin, I love you." I admitted breathlessly.

"You-you love me?" He repeated as if he was surprised.

"Yes! Yes, I love you." I bit my lip.

"y/n...pretty girl," He brushed some of my hair behind my ear.

"I love you, too." He grinned.

I stopped my movements for a second to smile and kiss him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, bringing him as close to me as possible.

He started to thrust up into me, the sound of skin slapping and my surprised moans filling the room.

"Oh! Yes! God, yes!" I squealed.

He worked a lot faster than I did. His member brushed a spot inside of me I didn't even know existed. I could feel myself clenching around him and he groaned at the feeling.

"Let go for me, baby. Come on." He grunted.

"I love you! Arvin, I- yes!"

I felt the knot in my stomach snap and the feeling in my core burn. I moaned and cursed and gripped Arvin's hair in ecstasy. He continued thrusting up into me, my wetness dripping down onto him and his thighs.

"Feels so good baby, good job." He praised.

He kept me in my high like I had entered nirvana. My mind went cloudy, my vision hazy, my hearing muffled. All I could sense was Arvin. And that's all I needed.

"Fuck, baby-"

He quickly flipped me back onto my back and pulled out of me. I was still somehow in my high but I opened my eyes to see what he was doing. He pumped his member a few times before grunting and finished on my upper thigh and lower stomach.

I watched in awe. His muscles tensed and untensed, his head was thrown back and the sounds leaving his mouth were heaven.

After he calmed down he crashed next to me and we both caught our breaths.

"Sorry about that, I should have asked you." He sighed.

"It's okay. I liked it." I giggled.

He shook his head and looked at me, "You are perfect, y/n."

I shook my head back, brushing my hand over his loose curls, "No, you are."

He smiled at my touch, "How was it?"

I laughed lightly, "Good. I didn't even know it was possible to feel like that."

He smirked, "I'm a master, what can I say?"

I rolled my eyes and smacked his chest. He laughed and then shuffled closer to me, lips decorating my shoulder.

"Did you mean what you said?" He asked quietly.

I nodded, "Every word."

His lips connected to mine in a soft, long kiss.

"I love you." I whispered.

"I love you, too."

He dropped the needle onto the record and waited for the music to play.

(Play now)

'Cry To Me' by Solomon Burke began to play through the speaker.

Arvin had poured us a glass of very fancy scotch each. He said it was only for special occasions. I had only put my panties and one of his button down shirts on. The warm, humid weather was enough to keep me warm. Arvin wore a white vest shirt and some long pyjama bottoms.

"I love this song." I hummed, sipping the warm alcohol from the crystal glass.

"Dance with me." Arvin stated rather than questioned.

I smiled and sat my glass down. He gave me his hand and twirled me under his arm before bringing me into his chest.

We held hands on one side while his other hand held my waist and my other held his shoulder. We swayed back and forth to the music, enjoying the post-sex bliss.

"Come on, and cry to me." I sang an octave higher.

Arvin smiled, "I love you."

I giggled, "I love you, too."

We stayed like that, dancing and singing to the parts we knew, hands all over each other, stealing a few kisses whenever we could. He'd spin me out and I'd attempt to spin him but he could never get the hang of it.

We were happy. And we were in love.

"I've never seen you like this before, you know? I like happy on you." I smiled up at him.

A one sided smile curved on his face, "No one's been able to bring it out of me before."

I bit the inside of my lip at his words. Part of me was happy and proud that I could make him feel like that but the other part felt horrible that he's felt that way for so long.

"Well get ready to be happy a whole bunch, 'cause I ain't goin' nowhere."

He laughed, twirling me under his arm and back into his chest.

"That's exactly what I want." He smirked, leaning down to kiss me.

Our lips pressed together.

But only briefly.

A truck pulled up outside. And both of us turned to look out the window.

"Wait WHAT?!" I shouted, noticing that it was Emma and Earskell in the car.

I looked at the clock on the wall.

11:57.

"SHIT!" I exclaimed.

It was nearly midnight. I was supposed to be home at nine.

I scrambled to Arvin's bedroom and hurriedly put on my dress and shoes. Arvin put the shirt I was wearing on and changed into his work trousers again. He grabbed his jacket and his keys, shoving his feet into his shoes as we ran to the front door.

"Oh! You two are still here?" Emma jumped at the sight of us rushing past her outside.

"Back soon!" Arvin shouted.

I jumped into the passenger seat and Arvin got in the drivers. He pulled out frantically and drove off.

"Oh my god. I'm dead. I'm dead." I panicked.

"Just calm down, you'll be fine." Arvin tried to soothe me, speeding through the village.

"You'll be dead, too! Oh god what are they gonna do, Arvin?" I gripped my hair.

"We're nearly there, it'll be fine." He grasped my thigh lightly.

I took deep breaths, looking out at the silent town as we zoomed past everything. The dread in my stomach grew as we drove up the road and then entered the grounds, past the gate.

"Go before they get you, alright?" I ordered, jumping out the car.

"Y/N Y/M/N YL/N! Where the HELL have you been?!" Ma shouted from the door, storming outside.

"Ma, I can explain! Let's just go inside!" I exclaimed.

"Boy, get out that car right now!" She shouted at Arvin.

"Ma! Stop! It's not his fault!" I shouted, beginning to get defensive.

Arvin got out of the car and held his hands in his trouser pockets, walking towards Ma and I. I saw Daddy standing by the door, watching everything and my heart ached.

"You are supposed to be takin' care of her! How dare you keep her away this long with no contact! How dare you!" She shouted at Arvin, pointing a finger at hi accusingly.

"Ma! He didn't do anything!" I shouted.

"I am not STUPID y/n! I know that you two have been gettin' together almost every night. I see the car bein' parked behind the gate, I see the way you two look at each other. And I do not have a problem with that! But if the so called MAN known for his sexual acts keeps my 18 year old daughter out until MIDNIGHT, I am not gonna be happy!"

"We lost track of time, ma'am." Arvin stated calmly.

"Oh did ya' now? Doin' what?"

"Ma!" I shouted.

"No! I wanna know what was so important that stopped you from comin' home on time!"

Arvin and I stuttered, not knowing what or how to say anything.

Ma scoffed and clenched her jaw. We could practically see steam coming from her ears.

"You. Inside. Now." She demanded, pointing at me.

I furrowed my brows, "No! I'm not goin' inside with you!"

"y/n, inside right now!"

"No! I'm not leavin' Arvin!" I held his arm in mine.

Her chest heaved with rage, "Arvin, stay the hell away from my daughter."

Ma went to grab my arm but I dodged it.

"No!" I screamed.

"y/n!"

"No! I wanna be with Arvin!"

"He is no good for you!" She shouted as if he wasn't there.

"You do not get to tell me what I can and can't do! I'm an adult and if I am in love with someone-"

"IN LOVE?" Ma shouted.

"Yes! In love! We love each other and you can't stop that!" I held his arm so tightly I was surprised I hadn't cut his circulation off yet.

"You are not to be with each other anymore. You are a bad influence on my daughter and I never want to see you near her again. Do you understand?" She spoke sternly to Arvin.

I looked up at him. He gulped, his eyes becoming teary, "I understand." He uttered.

"Arvin!" I scoffed.

"I'll leave you alone." He murmured, beginning to walk away.

"Arvin! What the hell are you doing?!" I shouted, my arm still attached to him as he - we - walked away.

He opened the car door and clenched his jaw, not looking at me.

"Go with your parents. I've done enough."

"Arvin, don't say that! You- you just said you loved me!" I felt tears begin to fall from my eyes.

His chin quivered, "Just go, y/n. Please."

"What? No. No! I'm not going!"

He ripped his arm away from me and went to get in the car.

"No!"

I slammed the door so he couldn't get in.

"No! You don't get to do that, Arvin! You don't get to say you love me then fuck off when somethin' comes between us!" I shouted, realising these were more sobs than anything.

"Just go inside, y/n." He said to the ground.

I furrowed my brows and shook my head in disbelief.

"y/n-" I interrupted my mother.

"No! Arvin, please! Why are you doing this?"

"We can't be together." Arvin sniffed.

"Yes we can! We can!" I went to cup his face but he moved away.

I didn't know if it was sadness or utter rage but I broke down in tears.

"You said you loved me!" I screamed, pushing him against the car.

He took it. He didn't look at me, though. But he took my babyish tantrum.

"You said you loved me!" I cried, hitting his chest.

"y/n, go inside. Please." He begged quietly.

I saw tears fall from his face.

I stopped and stood back, watching with blurred eyes as he got into the car and drove off quickly.

I choked on a sob and kneeled to the ground in a cry, letting all the emotions I had pent up go. Absolutely everything.

Ma came up to me to comfort me but I pushed her off and stood back up.

"No! You don't get to comfort me after ruining love for me." I cried, pushing past her and running to the house.

I ran up the steps and I paused briefly when I saw Daddy watching with tired and heartbroken eyes. He silently moved to the side to let me storm away. I sobbed uncontrollable sobs as I ran up the stairs and slammed my door shut, sliding down to the floor.

I thought he loved me.

{Tags: @notanordinaryprincess96 @imagine-yourself-happy }

#arvin russel #arvin russel x y/n #arvin russel fluff #arvin russel smut #arvin russel angst #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel mmini series #mini series #tom holland #tom holland series #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #tom holland fic #arvin russel fic #one shot #arvin russel imagine #imagine #tom holland imagine

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xaharadesert · 3 years

Text

Return to the Lazaret Alone Pt. 6 - Headcanon

Nadia Satrinava x MC

A/N: Here we are everyone, the final part of @seeliecourtking’s request! I have a unit test tomorrow, so of course it was the perfect time to be writing this :) and I’ve got a couple other tests coming up in the next two weeks, which probably means I’ll put out a couple more requests! Please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes— I’m writing this without my glasses on, so it’ll be a bit harder to check my work. Requests are open!

TW: isolation, Lazaret, relationship insecurities

💜Nadia💜

Listen, disagreements between the two of you weren’t exactly unheard of

They weren’t malicious, of course, but the two of you had very different backgrounds, which often lead to differences in perspective and opinion

Usually both of you were willing to work through these differences peacefully, but sometimes one (or both) of you was more stubborn than compromising, such as was the case with this particular case

Nadia had been the one to request that you two take the night to think things through on your own before readdressing the issue

But when she woke up and discovered that you had left the palace in the dead of night, she immediately began to regret that decision

Of course you were free to come and go as you wished— she would never keep you trapped— but the idea that you could be avoiding her specifically after your fight pained her

She would have liked to find you immediately herself, but unfortunately she was a very busy Countess and had responsibilities to attend to first

Communication was very important in your relationship for reasons such as that, and she hoped that you had simply needed to talk through your feelings with another loved one before coming back to her

But by the end of the day when she still hadn’t seen or heard from you, her panic became harder to restrain

She trusted you to be safe on your own, but she also knew that there were still parts of Vesuvia that were dangerous to venture into— especially since you were in a public relationship with the Countess

Knowing that she alone wouldn’t be able to do much, Nadia sent out her guards with the mission of finding you and helping only if needed

If you were safe, then a report from a trusted guard would be enough and she would let you be

But none of her guards could seem to find you

Always one to remain calm, she widened her search and allowed her guards more freedom to interrogate people who may have seen you

That got her results; apparently you had been seen paying a man to take you to the Lazaret

Why you would willingly go there she didn’t know, and thus assumed there must be a darker motive

She gathered a few of her most trusted guards and went in search of you at the Lazaret herself

When the small group arrived on the blackened shores, Nadia set off immediately toward the tall building, nearly leaving her guards behind

She knew you were there— it was the only logical conclusion to draw seeing as there was nothing else noteworthy on the small island

And of course she was right; you were tucked away in a corner that she nearly missed while searching through the ruins

She filed away the fact that you had almost seemed to be hiding from her for a later time, instead focusing on checking you over for any obvious injuries

You seemed unharmed, which calmed her a bit, but your expression, which seemed to shift quickly between guilt, relief, terror, and sadness, prompted her to start questioning you immediately

Why had you come here? Did someone force you? Was magic involved? How long had it been since you had last eaten?

She kept her calm exterior in place, waiting patiently for you to answer her questions and offering soothing remarks to calm over any stutters or tears

She quickly discovered what she had selfishly feared; that you had left because of your fight the previous evening

After prying gently for a bit longer she also learned that there may have been some other underlying relationship issues that you would have to work through together

But at that point, she was becoming a bit too emotional to think clearly as well

Ignoring the fact that a lack of communication and trust was what started this whole ordeal in the first place, she opted to help you to your feet, supporting you when you stumbled, to help lead you home

The two of you were both tired physically and emotionally, and any conversations about the future could wait until tomorrow

And if Nadia asked you to promise not to run off in the middle of the night and give her a heart attack again, could you really blame her?

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closedafterdark · 3 years

Text

Conflicted

BLΛƆKPIИK Chaeyoung x Male Reader

7929 words

categories: smut, oral, angst

note: special thanks to @sharpfeelings for all the help with this.

Read on AFF

“Open up! We know you’re in there!”

Two women look at each other, nodding before the taller of the two kicks the door open.

Drawing their guns, they use the built-in flashlight and search the apartment.

“Bathroom’s clear.”

Bedroom’s clear too.”

Reconvening back in the living room, the two look around at the apartment. Despite it being empty, it was evident someone was living here.

“They’re gone. They probably knew we were coming.”

“Goddamn it! First lead we have in weeks and the prime suspect is already gone.”

“Jooyeon unnie. It’ll be alright.”

Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Son Jooyeon looks to her side and sees Detective Lee Jinsook staring back and giving her a weak yet reassuring smile. Jinsook was sort of an anomaly. Not exactly green enough to be considered a rookie, yet not having been with the squad the necessary amount of time to be classified as a Senior Detective. Graduating from the academy at the minimum age required to do so, Jinsook was assigned to Starship Precinct as a bright, wide-eyed rookie. Having accumulated several years of experience under the guidance of you, Jiyeon and Jooyeon, Jinsook grew to be much more serious. Still maintaining her friendly demeanor when not on the field, she learned to approach situations cautiously and address all possible outcomes when making a decision.

“You’re right.” Jooyeon said, tapping Jinsook’s hand softly and responding with her own soft smile. “It’s just… this is my first assigned case for the Senior Detective promotion. Usually oppa or Jiyeon unnie would be the one leading everything. And with the Captain wanting to promote you and I... I just don’t want to fuck up.”

“Fucking up is a part of learning.” Jinsook began. Jooyeon’s eyes widened slightly, surprised at hearing how casually her partner cursed. “You guys taught me it’s okay to mess up so long as you use it to improve yourself.”

“Since when have you begun giving life advice? Usually it’s the other way around.” Jooyeon teased.

Jinsook pouted at her, giving her the cutest angry glare before heading for the door.

“Hmph!”

Jooyeon softly laughs as she also heads for the door.

“Oh, unnie.”

“Hmm?”

“Jiyeon unnie called the Captain today. She should be returning in a few days.” Jinsook said, turning back as she gave a genuine expression of worry to Jooyeon.

“You haven’t talked to her since the incident, right?”

Jooyeon shook her head, smiling slightly.

“She and I rarely talk to each other anymore.” Jooyeon began, her eyes beginning to glisten. “If anything, she’s closer with the Lieutenant nowadays. I can’t remember the last time Jiyeon unnie and I hungout, just the two of us.”

“Doesn’t help that you slept with her boyfriend, either.”

“H-Hey!” Jooyeon said, softly hitting Jinsook. “She and oppa are on a break.”

“I know you like oppa, unnie. But all three of your relationships will change if you and him get together. You know oppa will prioritize you and unnie’s friendship.”

“I know.” Jooyeon sighed. “It’s just… I really like him. And when we slept together, he made me feel so loved. I just want him.”

“Unnie…” Jinsook said, pulling Jooyeon in for a hug. The two embrace each other for several minutes, Jinsook rubbing the older woman’s bag as she comforts her. When the two let go, Jooyeon wipes away the tears built up. This causes them to laugh slightly and has relaxed her worries.

“Come on unnie, let’s go get some food. Nothing like a tall glass of beer and some spicy barbecue to calm our nerves. Plus, it’ll be fun listening to you talk about oppa while buzzed.” She said, heading for the door. Taking one last look around the empty apartment, Jooyeon is about to leave when something catches the corner of her eye. Kneeling down, she finds a thin piece of slightly durable paper. Black in color, only four words are printed on it in a pink color with a crown emblem.

“How you like that?” Jooyeon read aloud. Taking out her phone, she scrolled through her camera roll and found a photo of the first calling card left behind during the Gangnam Precinct escapes. Contrasting the one she just found, it was a pink background with black font and a square emblem.

“BlackPink in your area…” She said, scrunching her nose. “Just what are they up to?”

You wandered the empty Gangnam streets, surprised at the lack of foot traffic on a random Wednesday afternoon. Not even a full 12 hours have passed since your date and subsequent intimate moment with Son Jooyeon, a colleague you have grown close to ever since she joined the squad, confessing her feelings for you. Not to mention the fact that you and your girlfriend Kim Jiyeon were currently going through a break. Your thoughts are interrupted as you see a woman with long, blonde hair struggle to pick up various congratulatory flower pots. Quickly going to her, you pick up the pot from her arms and bring it inside the shop.

“Oh my, thank you so much!” the woman said, wiping the sweat on her forehead.

“It’s no problem.” you said. “Always happy to help someone in need.” When the two of you make eye contact, you realized she seemed familiar. Stealing a few more glances at her caused you to figure out she was the same woman who helped you choose flowers to bring to Jiyeon at the hospital. It seems she has recognized you as well.

“Oh…” you said to each other.

“Nice to see you again.” the woman said, giving you a smile. Her appearance has changed from the last time you saw her a few days ago. Her long brown hair was now a silky gold color. Her striking makeup was replaced with more natural tones, opting to equip herself with a thin eyeliner and rosy pink lips.

“It’s nice to see you again as well. Didn’t realize I walked all the way over here.” you said, carrying the last of the flower pots inside. As she followed you, she grabbed a spray bottle and tended to the various plants that lined the walls of the boutique. Her side profile caught your attention, as you took notice of her sharp eyes and cute pointed nose.

“So, what brings you by? Did your girlfriend like the flowers you picked out?” She said, returning to the back of the counter to sort through customer’s orders. When she didn’t hear you respond, she turned around and saw the sadness in your eyes. “What happened?”

“She liked the flowers you helped me pick out. But... decided we should take some time apart.” you said, remembering how you accused Jiyeon of being involved in Luda’s case.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry…” she said, sincerity heard in her voice.

“Don’t be, it’s alright. She’s a very emotional person so I understand. We’ve had fights before but I kinda messed things up this time so I’m willing to give her all the space she needs.”

“I’m sure everything will work out between you two.” she said, flashing you her trademark smile. She possessed an elegant vibe to her, a classness you could exactly pinpoint specifically. She spoke in a lower register, which was easily complemented by an exotic accent that made every word sound like honey to you.

“Thank you. I couldn’t help but notice your accent. I guess you aren’t from here?” you asked, wanting to smoothly change topics.

“Ah, yes. I’m actually from Australia. I was actually born in Auckland but moved to Melbourne when I was 7. My parents still live out there and my sister visits me here from time to time. But in my heart, I will always be a Kiwi.” she replied.

“I take it you didn’t move all the way over here just to run a flower shop.” you said.

The woman laughed. “No I didn’t, actually. I came here because I wanted to be a singer. I went to many auditions and went through the training process to debut, but it wasn’t my thing. The extreme dieting, the company pointing out every one of my “flaws”. And the hair dye. God, that stupid fucking hair dye. I had to bleach my hair so many times, my scalp is so dry and my hair is fried.” She picked up strands of her hair to show you how damaged it had become, losing its natural oils. Her hair was slightly frizzy and riddled with split ends.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” you said, unsure of what response would be appropriate.

She shook her head. “You know, despite all of that. I don’t regret any of it. The company I was signed to allowed me to meet some really great people. The final lineup for the group I was in contained myself and three other girls. And although we never got to debut, I’m happy. We went through a lot together, and while we now all live separately, it’s in the same apartment complex so we’re practically neighbors.”

“Sounds like all that trouble was worth it if you made such great friends.”

“It was. Although, sometimes I kinda wished we debuted you know? They were planning on having me be the main vocalist.”

“I’d love to hear you sing sometime.”

“Mmm, that depends.”

“On what?” you said, tilting your head in curiosity.

“I don’t sing for free.” she teased.

“I don’t seem to have any money on me at the moment…” you said, rummaging through your pockets and opening up your wallet.

“I’m just kidding.” she said, laughing. “I don’t need the money. Although, I could never say no to a nice meal.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, miss?” you said, raising your eyebrow slightly.

“What, me? I would never.” she replied, feigning innocence. You noticed her cheeks begin to blush slightly as she coughed cutely and turned away.

“I never said it was a bad thing.” you said, laughing slightly. “But I don’t even know your name. Would be rude of me to not know the name of the person I was going on a date with.”

“I-It’s Roseanne.” she said nervously. “Roseanne Park. But here in Korea, I go by Chaeyoung.”

“Roseanne… that’s a pretty name.” you said. “Any preference on what you like to be called?”

“My friends usually call me Rosie or Chaeng. And I formally go by the name Rosé. But you can call me whatever you like. Just as long as you call me later.” she said, handing you a black business card with pink colored font on it. You observed it, taking note of a rose with the petals designed in the shape of a crown.

“I didn’t expect you to be so smooth. Do you always flirt with customers like this?” you asked.

“No no, I’m not that kind of girl. Well... maybe only to the cute ones.” she said, winking playfully. “Just wanted to share a meal as a thank you for helping me out with those pots my friends sent me. And it seems like you could use someone to talk to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” you said, waving the business card in the air as thanks before heading for the door.

“I’ll be off in a few hours. Call me then.”

You smiled at her and waved as you left. When you disappear from sight, Chaeyoung returned to tending the flowers inside the shop. She hears the bell chime as the door is opened once more.

“You’re back already? I didn’t expect you to-”

Turning around, Chaeyoung is met by a woman with dark hair slightly taller than her. She quickly bows her head in apology, the woman doing the same.

“I’m so sorry. I had a customer leave just now and thought you were them.”

“It’s alright.” the woman said, smiling.

“What brings you in today, ma’am?” Chaeyoung asked.

The woman fumbles around her pockets before taking something out and opening it up.

“Son Jooyeon, Starship Precinct Senior Detective. I was wondering if you’ve seen anything out of the ordinary recently.”

“No, nothing at all. We’ve been closed the past few days as I was recovering from a bad case of a cold.”

“There’s been a string of high profile robberies lately and we’ve been going to each business asking if they’ve seen any suspicious activity. I apologize for the intrusion.”

“Oh no, it’s perfectly fine. You’re just doing your job. I haven’t been here due to being sick. I even have these terrible tasting capsules I have to consume daily.” Chaeyoung said, holding up a bottle with a disgusted look on her face.

Just then, Jooyeon’s phone began to ring.

“Detective Son speaking. Really… Understood. I’ll be there shortly.”

Hanging up, Jooyeon returned her attention to Chaeyoung. “Sorry about that. Thank you again for your cooperation. Have a good day.”

“Wait, Detective!”

Jooyeon turned around. “If you don’t mind me asking, where did you get that flower?” Chaeyoung pointed to the one currently resting inside her hair.

“Ah, it was given to me by someone very special. Have a good day, ma’am.” Jooyeon said, bowing. As she left, Chaeyoung couldn’t help but think about how familiar that specific flower looked.

It didn’t take very long for several hours to pass. You indeed called Chaeyoung, slightly nervous that you would be viewed as desperate to accept her offer if you did so too early. She told you to give her an extra hour in order to freshen up and prepare for the date, texting you her address and the location of the restaurant you two would be eating at. You decided to take the time to have yourself presentable as well.

Arriving outside what you believed to be was her apartment complex, you were barely able to release a hi as Chaeyoung excitedly told you to start driving. Neither of you spoke during the car ride as she cycled through the various radio stations and recited the lyrics to the various songs she liked. Her sweet voice filled the vehicle with happiness as the two of you drove to the restaurant’s location.

Once you arrived, and earned compliments from Chaeyoung by placing your hand on the passenger side headrest while reversing the vehicle with your left hand, you arrived at the location of your date. The outside of the restaurant looked dated, paint chipping on the walls and windows that have been scratched up. Getting out of the vehicle, you quickly ran to the passenger’s side and opened the door for Chaeyoung.

“Such a gentleman.” she said, accepting your hand to help her out of the car.

Park Chaeyoung wore a very elegant look - black skinny jeans that showed off her long legs and nicely sculpted thighs, a white button up shirt tucked in with a skinny black tie, a heather gray blazer that complimented her outfit nicely even though it was slightly big on her, and a white designer bag that she wore on her body. Her blonde hair that she cursed about was neatly combed, not a singular hair out of place. The black knee high boots she wore were so perfectly fitting, you weren’t sure where they ended and her jeans began. She wore minimal makeup, choosing only to equip herself with pink lipstick. The people who passed by began to silently whisper to each other about how beautiful she looked. Chaeyoung looked ready to have her photo taken on a fashion runway in any minute, not having dinner with a customer she asked out.

“Your finest bottle of red wine, please.” Chaeyoung said as she handed the menu to the waiter. Looking at you, you quickly told the waiter your order and followed suit.

“Isn’t this place a bit too fancy?” you asked, scanning the room. All the employees wore black ties. You knew this was a fancy restaurant the moment you saw the waiters draping a towel on their arm as they tipped the wine bottle without letting the tip hit the rim of the glass. But what really tipped you off were the prices and the various plates of food arriving. The small portions of food inside such large plates.

“The steak here is amazing. And the lobster is caught fresh everyday.” Chaeyoung said. “Plus, it’s your treat.”

“I’m sorry, what?” you said, coughing after you drank water too quickly while listening to her talk. She looked at you confused.

“You’re the one who asked me out. Shouldn’t the person who does so pay?”

“But you’re the guy. Think about how people would react if I had to pay for the meal.”

“Wow, you really are something Park Chaeyoung. Times really should change. Women are able to pay fully for dates too.” you replied.

“So tell me about yourself.” Chaeyoung said as the food arrived. She cut into her steak delicately, the meat sliced with little pressure from the knife as your eyes are met with a perfectly medium rare center. Taking the piece in her fork, she uses it to wipe the sauce on her plate before putting it into her mouth. Despite the elegant environment, Chaeyoung stuffed her face. You smiled seeing her cute cheeks expand with food as she hums in satisfaction with each bite. And while you still weren’t sure if this was a date or not, you were happy to spend time with a beautiful woman who could eat well.

“What’s there to say… my life is pretty boring. Everyone thinks being a detective means I get to experience dead bodies or intense hostage situations on a daily basis. But really, it’s a lot of paperwork and sitting in front of a computer. I graduated from the academy a bit later than others. Being a beat cop for a year was very boring. During my very first field assignment, I forgot to carry a set of cuffs. I’ve had the same routine for the past four years up until three days ago. For the first time in forever, I have more time to myself than I know what to do with. So, I’m just taking things day by day.”

When you finally finished talking, you saw Chaeyoung staring at you. Her mouth was agape as the piece of steak on her fork was raised midair. You laughed at seeing her in shock. Snapping your fingers, her attention returned to you.

“Was I boring you?” you said, laughing.

“No! No, it’s just... that sounded so cool.” Chaeyoung said, choosing her words carefully. “I wish I had more structure in my life. It feels like I’m finally able to do what I want but don’t know where to begin.”

“Sometimes it’s nice to be free. Live in the moment and let things happen. Too much structure and routine is a hard habit to break.”

Chaeyoung smiles at you as she finishes her glass of wine and flags down the waitress to ask for another bottle. You sighed, your wallet was going to cry by the time the meal was over.

With both of your stomachs full - Chaeyoung’s more than yours, you sat inside your car and relaxed. You almost went into cardiac arrest once the waiter arrived with the final bill, but seeing her beautiful eye smile caused you to shake your head and smile as you gave them your card and signed the check.

At her insistence, the two of you drove to a bubble tea shop. You claimed to be full - an obvious excuse as you didn’t want your wallet to bleed any further. Chaeyoung hit your shoulder as she realized what you meant and told you she would pay. After waiting several minutes, Chaeyoung hears her name being called and picked up her order. Holding onto the tray, she hands you a bubble tea.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“Something sweet as a thank you for paying.” Chaeyoung said as she sipped her bubble tea cutely. You watched her cheeks huff as she closed her eyes in excitement.

While the two of you consume your drinks, you tell her about a story from your rookie days when you overslept and left your house so quickly, you forgot to put on pants. She laughed at every joke, even some that weren’t funny at all. You were thankful, enjoying her company as it provided you a distraction from your current struggles in the romance department.

Your conversation is cut short when the both of you feel droplets hitting you. Looking down, you see the cold sidewalk begin to be pelted with polka dot stains that gradually increase into pouring rain. The customers enjoying their drinks and the nighttime ambience quickly enter the shop, as you look to Chaeyoung and seemingly tell her to head to the car with your eyes. Neither of you carrying an umbrella, you do your best to shield her from the rain with your hands while the two of you run to the car.

The two of you set off aimlessly, the windshield wipers set on the maximum setting as you try your best to make out the road ahead of you. You look to your side and see Chaeyoung visibly nervous. She looks back at you when she feels your hand placed atop hers as you gently squeeze it and give her a warm smile.

“It’s pouring out there. I don’t think we’ll be able to get home. It’s not safe to drive right now.” you said.

“There’s a hotel a few miles from where we’re currently at.” Chaeyoung said, scrolling through her phone.

“You sure that’s okay?”

“It’s either that or we risk our lives in the blinding rain.”

“Fair enough. Just input the address in the navigation system.”

What should have been a 20 minute drive became 40 as the directions sent you off in a route that was longer than needed. Wanting to give up half an hour in, Chaeyoung provided moral support and cheered you on when you took a 5 minute breather. Luckily, there was one open vacancy available when you arrived.

The room was simple yet fairly spacious. One bed, a large desk with a built in television and writing area, a mini fridge fully stocked with overpriced snacks, and a balcony with what normally has a nice view of Seoul’s downtown area. Entering the bathroom, you noticed it fully stocked as well along with two pearly white bathrobes. Grabbing a towel, you freshen up by splashing cold water on your face. Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you wondered how you got into this situation.

You were thankful for a fun day with Chaeyoung, but expected to be relaxing in your own apartment by now, not in a hotel room very late at night. When you exited, you saw Chaeyoung trying to reach for the window curtain wand to give the room more privacy. You laughed softly seeing her struggle and chose to observe her. She tries with all of her might, standing on her tiptoes. Finally getting the wand she turns around and is greeted by you smiling at her. Feeling embarrassed, she turns around quickly before stumbling her footing. Seeing her about to fall, you managed to grab onto her before the two of you landed on the bed. The two of you locked eyes, both of you having neutral expressions. You can hear your heartbeat rapidly increasing as you feel Chaeyoung’s soft breath coming from her nose.

“I should go take a bath…” you said, trying to excuse yourself from the situation. Slowly getting up, you feel yourself pushed back onto the bed as Chaeyoung’s expression has changed. No longer was the shy, innocent woman staring at you. The look you saw in her eyes was one you knew all too well, a look that Jiyeon gave you at work whenever she felt stressed. Lust.

“Stay. I… I want you. Please.” Chaeyoung begged, her accent lacing each word with pure seduction.

The seriousness of her tone left you far more aroused than you would like to admit. Chaeyoung leaned down and pressed her lips against yours. They had a unique softness to them, feeling like they could melt away from the heat your own were providing. Your breaths began to get heavy as your arms wrapped behind her back and pulled her closer to you. Chaeyoung nibbled on your lower lip, allowing further entry as she pushed her tongue inside your mouth. The two of you fought for control over the other as you helped her out of her coat. Chaeyoung rolled over so that you were on top of her as you both began unbuttoning each other’s shirts. She quickly loosened her tie and threw it into a far off corner of the room.

Both of your tongues and hands explored and searched each other. Your mouths locked together the entire time, with your hands wanting to explore her milky soft skin, slightly annoyed at her cute yet still present clothing being worn. Freeing each other of your shirts, you see Chaeyoung shyly brush as her lacy red bra is exposed to you. Her breasts were on the smaller side, but enough of a handful for you to play with.

Wanting to be back on the bottom, the two of you free each other of your pants until you are both left in your underwear. Chaeyoung’s cute bubble butt complimented her thighs, which were now locked onto your lap. You felt her rub her crotch back and forth against your cloth imprisoned shaft. Running your hands across her smooth thighs, you stop when it is in front of her underwear. You felt the heat radiating from her, Chaeyoung’s perfume hypnotizing you with its intoxicating smell. Grabbing onto her hips, you gently lower her back onto the bed. Your hands move back down, grasping the helm of her sheer laced panties and pull them down. You find, much to your delight, that she is already leaking as it dribbles out of her.

Pulling you back in for a kiss, you reciprocate her earlier action and bite her lower lip while simultaneously sucking on it. Chaeyoung moans as you leave a trail of kisses down her neck and chest, coating her skin and faintest amount of cleavage with your saliva. Your kisses continue as you make sure not to leave out her tummy. Chaeyoung’s moans rapidly increase in volume as you get closer to her thighs. Upon reaching the inner apex of them, you add strong licks and paint her inner creases with your tongue. You lick your lips in satisfaction upon being face to face with her inviting warmth.

You marvel at the sight of her long, milky legs as her soft thighs do little to prevent them from being closed. As her lips glisten from her juices, you watched Chaeyoung gently run her middle finger between her folds until it reaches the bottom. Dragging it slowly upward, she adds her index finger and traces the outline of her lips. She touches herself softly, her erotic moans complemented by her accent. You watched her eyes slowly close as the pleasure began to course through her body. Her breathing becomes hitched, but she manages to regain enough composure to open her eyes and smile seeing you enamoured by the show she is displaying for you. Her voice has become soft, but no less lacking in desire.

“Please… taste me.”

You returned to the previous position you were in when you removed her panties, swiftly removing your boxers and freeing your hard cock. Controlling yourself, you began by planting soft kisses on her thighs. You enjoyed the feeling of her soft, milky skin each time your lips made contact with them. You caressed her legs, taking note of how muscled yet tender her skin was at the same time. Chaeyoung’s body was slim, but her thighs were a sight to behold.

You continued leaving kisses, repeating the process on her other leg until you were finally back where you started - in between her legs. Believing you have given an adequate amount of time for foreplay and teasing, you dive right in. You stick your tongue out to taste the bottom of her slit. Chaeyoung gasps as she feels you make contact with her for the very first time. Her gasps quickly turn into long, satisfied moans as you press your tongue against her lips and give her deep, strong licks.

You wanted to savor every inch of Chaeyoung, a woman you’ve only met twice and were technically still on a date with at the moment. Her drawn out, erotic melody moans keep your attention focused on what is in front of you. Giving her slow licks, you savor the rapidly dampening flesh until you finally suck her clit.

“Oh fuck, that feels so good.”

Chaeyoung runs her fingers through your hair until it rests behind your head. Using both of her hands, you feel her nails digging into your scalp. It is painful, but is well worth it knowing you’re giving her body pleasure. The moans that escape her mouth each time you lick and suck her delicious folds motivates you to continue.

You hold onto her hips as your thumbs gently part her lips even more. The wet flesh feels so soft and inviting. You move your tongue in a wave motion as you give her rapid fast licks. You consumed the nectar leaking out of her, savoring its sweet taste. Getting accustomed to you eating her pussy, Chaeyoung was not prepared when you surprised her by biting her clit.

“Oh… fuck!” she shouted, closing her eyes as her voice was so intense that the pleasure coursed through her body. A bit surprised at how suddenly she came, you are quickly pushed between her legs. Chaeyoung feels the same way as she wraps her legs behind you and pushes your head deeper. Her taste and aroma felt intoxicating, the both of you experiencing a high that could not be replicated by any drug.

Eventually, her body stops violently shaking as her body tense up. She was unable to move her limbs from the pleasure. You were content with yourself, satisfied at your partner’s reaction to your oral skills. You consumed whatever you could, replacing her leaking juices with kisses all over her lower body as you waited for her to recover.

“Fuck… that was… fuck…”

She finally opened her eyes and saw you licking your lips, enjoying the taste of her juices on your tongue. You gave her pussy a deep, long kiss before mirroring your earlier actions and replacing your soft kisses on her tummy earlier. Reaching behind herself, Chaeyoung unhooks her bra and finally frees her chest.

Her eyes were a mix of slight satisfaction and another emotion you couldn’t quite tell. It looked like an unquenchable lust. But it carried a heaviness to it, an appearance of a woman who wanted to be loved.

You climbed back upwards until you were both at eye level, your arms supporting yourself on the bed. Chaeyoung gives you the same sweet smile from earlier at the bubble tea shop that warms your heart as you lower your face to hers and press your own lips against hers. The two of you shared a rather passionate kiss, her arms wrapping around your neck as you feel her legs spread open. She whines softly when you break the kiss, but it quickly becomes a moan as her soft skin is given copious amounts of kisses on her cheeks, neck and upper chest.

Bringing your hand to her right breast, you fondle it as your mouth takes in her left breast. Her nipple begins to harden as you tease it with your tongue. The breast you are fondling is given the same treatment as you gently rub it between your index finger and thumb, pinching it gently. Although they were small, her breasts were inviting. You truly wanted to savor Chaeyoung’s skin, as her long, drawn out sultry moans let you know she was enjoying it as much as you.

Your eyes were on Chaeyoung the entire time. Seeing her head tilt back as the steady stream of moans continued. She looked down and seemed to have read your mind.

“C-Can… Can you fuck me now? Please. Fuck me, please baby.”

As you line your bodies up, you are about to tease her when you feel Chaeyoung grab onto your thighs.

“I… want to be fucked from behind.” she said, her words mere needy whispers.

Giving yourself a few quick strokes, you roll Chaeyoung onto her stomach before pushing yourself forward into her wet pussy. Few feelings could outdo the sensation of entering a woman for the very first time. Despite the many times you’ve done so, it always gave you genuine excitement and satisfaction. Jiyeon and Jooyeon were tight in their own regard, but Chaeyoung made them feel like a hollowed out cave.

Chaeyoung’s body reacted to you being inside her by moving her hips and cute round butt against your cock. Both of you savored the feeling of your hard flesh inside her pussy.

“Oh fuck, baby… Fuck me… Please fuck me…”

Removing your cock from her body, you are delighted to see it glistening in her juices as it appears from between her soft buttcheeks. You withdraw yourself until only the tip of your cock is left inside her before thrusting back inside, your shaft spreading her lips and entering her warm, inviting flesh.

It doesn’t take very long for you to establish a rhythm with which to fuck Chaeyoung from behind with. Having sex with a woman on her hands and knees in front of you was your favorite position - next to a woman being on her knees with your cock in her mouth. And while you’ve had your fair share of women before Jiyeon that you considered to be tight, all of them would be put to shame by Chaeyoung. Unlike sex with Jooyeon, a coworker and close friend, sex with Chaeyoung was quite possibly on par with Jiyeon - an affirmation of a romantic relationship between two people who discovered feelings for each other. While it was still the physical action of sex, it was a way your bodies spoke to each other to confirm your feelings through pleasure.

You felt Chaeyoung’s hips wriggle with each thrust of your own inside her body. Her moans increase in volume while being what you believed, individual in the way you were pleasuring her. The wet, hot feeling of her pussy wrapped around your cock was incredible.

Having used her hips for support, you bring your hands to her ass, firmly squeezing her cheeks with both hands. You were delighted to see them create soft ripples with each collision of your crotch against hers. Chaeyoung gasps in surprise when she feels you give her ass a spank.

“Baby, fuck me… Fuck me harder.” She gasps. Chaeyoung no longer wanted to be fucked by you. She wanted pure pleasure.

You satisfied her desires, giving her hard, deep thrusts as your cock moved in and out of the tight grip of her pussy.

Holy fuck… Yes! Oh yes!” she screamed, throwing her head back as you increased the pace. “Fuck me just like that!”

Through your repeated thrusts, you seemed to have discovered a sweet spot that gives Chaeyoung the most amount of pleasure. It takes you a few tries, but soon your cock is repeatedly hitting that spot as you maintain the same speed and depth of your thrusts. You know it won’t be long until her orgasm arrives, having seen the same signs from Jooyeon and Jiyeon - the ever increasing volume of her moans, the way her fists grasp onto the sheets for support as the pleasure courses throughout her entire body, and of course the way her hot, tight pussy maintains a firm hold on your cock.

“Baby… I’m about to cum! I’m gonna cum so hard!”

“Do it, Chaeyoung. Cum on my cock. Surrender yourself to pleasure and cum for me!”

“Baby… I’m cumming! Oh, fuck!”

Chaeyoung’s body tightens up as the pressure explodes, her pussy clamps down hard on your cock. You wanted to keep thrusting into her hard, but her orgasm has made her pussy far too tight for you to continue. Her cute, small fists form a deadly grip on the bedsheets below as her face sinks down onto the soft cotton pillow. You see her arms give out as her upper body collapses onto the bed.

The sound Chaeyoung made is the same sound you hear when a woman orgasms, an erotic sound that will never be old to you.

Chaeyoung’s second orgasm of the night was even more intense than the first, and as such, takes her several minutes to recover from. You relished at the sight of her body still bent over in front of you, your cock still inside her tight pussy. The light from above gave you a good view of her toned back that was lined with sweat.

“Baby… holy fuck, that was amazing.” she said, panting heavily.

You smiled at her words, giving a gentle squeeze on both of her asscheeks as a response.

“I want you to keep fucking me, baby.”

Drawing your cock out of her body, you watch as Chaeyoung straddles your lap. Thinking she was going to turn around and face you, Chaeyoung shoots down that theory as she strokes your cock before lowering herself onto it. You are given an alluring view of her sweaty back as she starts riding you. Her round ass slams down against your crotch with each movement of her hips. She was slim, but contained a small amount of curves in the right locations as you slap her ass cheek with a flat palm.

Chaeyoung throws her head back and lets out erotic, satisfied moans with each slap on her ass.

“Does Chaeyoung love getting her ass slapped like this?” you asked, knowing full well what her response will be.

“Y-Yes, ah!” Chaeyoung moaned. “Is my p-pussy tight enough for you?”

“I think it could be tighter.” you teased.

“Make me cum again and it will.”

Chaeyoung fucks herself on your cock for a few more minutes before regretfully removing her body from yours. You whined softly at the feeling of no longer being inside her, but it is short-lived as Chaeyoung gets off the bed and gets on her knees. She extends her hands out for yours as you take them and stand in front of her.

Her eyes remained fixed on you, taking her position between your spread legs. You looked down and saw her beautiful face filled with lust.

She takes you inside her mouth, your cock drenched in her juices. She bobs her head quickly, working on your cock as her tongue paints your underside and her hands massage your balls and thighs. Her tongue swirls around the tip of your cock, satisfied at how sensitive your tip is to her touch.

Chaeyoung’s moans send vibrations of pleasure throughout your cock, as you savor the delicious tingles of her mouth around your shaft. Her ultimate goal was to give you the very same pleasure you gave her.

“Chaeyoung… I’m… I’m close.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to last much longer in my tight pussy. And while I’m sure you want nothing more than to cum inside me, I want you to watch me swallow your cum.” Chaeyoung said softly as she took your cock back inside her sweet, wet lips.

Her beautiful brown eyes met yours as her lips formed an airtight seal around your cock. Her slim fingers massaging your balls was too much for you to handle.

“I’m cumming…” you say as your orgasm finally arrives. You bobbed her head up and down as quickly as you can before pushing her head all the way down to your base. Your cock throbbed as it releases hot, thick semen into Chaeyoung’s warm and inviting mouth. She manages to push her head back from your hold, opening her mouth to allow you to see your cum shoot into her mouth, painting her tongue and back of her mouth a milky white color. Her eyes crinkle in satisfaction, seeing your face riddled with pleasure.

You were surprised you managed to keep your eyes open the entire time you came. This was the first time you ever saw yourself cumming inside a woman’s mouth. And it was safe to say, it certainly wouldn’t be the last. When you finally finished, you watched Chaeyoung wipe her lips to catch the remaining droplets of cum before closing her mouth and swallowing your load down her throat. She sticks her bright pink tongue out at you with a satisfied hum and laugh, letting you know she enjoyed your tasty treat.

You collapsed back onto the bed, completely exhausted. Chaeyoung climbed on the bed shortly after, licking your cock clean before making her way on top of you. Your foreheads rested against each other, before she cupped your cheeks and gave you a deep, passionate kiss. You opened your eyes and found yourselves staring at each other longingly.

“That was amazing…” you said, mirroring her earlier sentiments.

“You were too, baby. You made me feel like a lovesick girl.” she said, pushing back her damp blonde hair.

“What does that mean?” you asked.

“It doesn’t matter.” she said. “You really were amazing, though. I’ve never been fucked like that before. That was the most incredible sex I’ve ever had.”

You smiled as she began tracing a finger across your chest.

Chaeyoung gave you even more loving kisses as she feels your cock slowly start to harden underneath her.

“Bad boy…” she said, reaching behind her to grab a hold of your shaft. “Already so hard for me again.”

“What can I say, you know how to make a person want more.” you said, resting your hands on her ass before giving her a firm squeeze. Chaeyoung playfully hits your shoulder in response.

Just as she is spreading her legs and lowering her body back onto yours, your phone suddenly rings. You give each of her asscheeks a slap before gently removing her body off yours.

You grabbed your phone from the desk and quickly headed out to the balcony.

Chaeyoung sits up on the bed and wraps her body in the comforter. At the nightstand next to her, she hears her own phone begin to ring.

“Hello?”

“Mudkip, it’s Hyunjung.”

“Hi, Lieutenant. You know I hate that nickname.” you sighed. “What’s up?”

“I’m not even supposed to be doing this since you’re still suspended, but I cashed in my redemption. Your request has been fulfilled.”

“Really? That’s great news. Thanks so much.”

“Are you sure this person can help us? From my brief conversation with them, they didn’t seem too happy when your name was mentioned.”

“They can… if anyone is going to be able to help us, it’s them.”

“Understood. Be safe, okay? Your suspension ends on Monday.”

“I know. Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“You’re welcome. But if you really want to thank me, bring me some bubble tea when you return. Hyunjung loves bubble tea.”

“Hyunjung really does love her bubble tea…” you replied. “Thanks again, I’ll see you Monday.”

“Chaeyoung… is your mission complete?”

“Yes, unnie. I made contact with him and got the digital imprint of his phone like you asked.”

“Good. So… how was he? How big was he? He better not be like that last guy you slept with.”

Chaeyoung sighed. “Yes Jennie unnie, he was big. I don’t know why you have to ask that every time I sleep with a guy.”

Seeing you enter from the balcony, Chaeyoung whispers quietly into the phone. “I’ll call you later.”

“Are you ready for round two?” she asked, ending the call as she turns around and cutely wags her butt at you.

“Chaeyoung…” you said. Noticing the seriousness in your voice, she turned around and faced you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Something came up, I have to leave.”

“What, right now? But we were about to start round two, where we get in the shower and fuck me until I can’t stand.”

“I know, and I really want to. But it’s important. You understand, right?”

“I do…” she said, pouting. She smiled weakly as you planted a long, tender kiss on her lips.

“I’ll be back soon.”

As you quickly dress up and leave Chaeyoung by herself, you give her one final wave before exiting the room. Chaeyoung sighs as she stares at a black domino mask and pearl necklace.

“I really like him… but we can never be together. Especially when he finds out who I am.”

The meeting location the Lieutenant gave you was not too far from the hotel. Thankfully, the storm has passed as the smell of rain perfumed the nighttime air. You finally reached your destination 10 minutes later.

Entering it, you scan the cafe until you find the person you were looking for. Approaching them, you see them sipping on a piping hot cup of tea. You timidly sit across from them.

“Thanks for agreeing to see me on such short notice.” you said.

The person doesn’t respond, sipping their cup of tea instead.

“How have… you been?” you continued. You watched as they finally lowered their cup.

“You know she will kill me if she found out I agreed to meet you.”

“What can you tell me about the robbery that happened a few days ago?” you said, your tone becoming serious.

They looked at you intently, before sighing and taking out a case file from their bag.

“Four women. They hit hard and strike like thunder. They wore masks and left no traces of print or hair. They clearly know what they are doing. Stole a couple million in jewels and denominations.”

“What about the security system?”

“Disabled. Along with CCTV. One of them was believed to be disguised as a repairer. They work in pairs. Two act as bait while the other two sneak underground and execute the plan.”

“They’ve never been ID’d?”

The person shook their head. “Nothing in our database at all. Whoever they are, they’re a ghost in the system’s eyes.”

“But…” they said, causing your eyebrow to raise. “I have a hunch on who. Interpol sent these in this morning.”

They handed you another envelope containing four photos. The first three seemed unfamiliar causing you to pay no attention to them. That is - until you reached the last photo.

“Are these legitimate?”

“You know Interpol wouldn’t send us fakes. Why?”

“This person.” you said, holding up the photo.

“She has the second highest bounty. Interpol has a file on her in several other countries, namely Australia and New Zealand.” They noticed your expression changing. “Why?” they repeated.

“I was just with her…” you said.

“How is she?” you said, changing your tone to let them know you were talking about someone else. “I heard she’s Captain now.”

“I still don’t know why I’m here. Your Lieutenant told me you were still suspended. I could lose my job for talking to you about work off the clock.”

“You know she and I didn’t end on good terms and that affected a lot of my relationships with people. Especially ours, you and I were best friends.”

“Please…” you continued. “You know I wouldn’t ask you in this way if I had any other choice.”

“I need your help. I need your help, Kim Bora.”

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #blackpink smut #blackpink #rose #park chaeyoung #male reader #reader insert

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kcatta-wodahs · 4 years

Text

OM Demon Brothers react to MC in a Depressive Episode

sometimes even a human wants to sleep for 16 hours in a day no big deal

Lucifer

He can’t help but wonder what has happened. For some reason, your every smile has become fleeting. A flash of gratitude, and then your face returns to the blankness that seems to have become normal.

He saw you staring out the window at noon, and walked by again at three to see that you hadn’t moved an inch.

He notices that you look at the clock more often, and once 7 o’clock hits you immediately retreat to your bedroom. He notices that you don’t talk during breakfast or dinner anymore.

When he decides to learn what has happened, he fully expects to have to kill someone. He isn’t prepared to face off the response of “this just happens sometimes.”

He insists you explain. You’re so tired, but you do the best you can. The joy that is in every day just seems so impossible to reach now. It should get better in a week or two.

Lucifer wants to fight against this unseen enemy, but it seems that there’s nothing he can do. You promise to get your chores and homework done as usual, and he has no reasonable reason to request anything more.

So he makes sure you’re still taking care of yourself. If he catches you staring at the wall for hours on end, he gets you water. He draws a bath for you at the end of the day. He provides you with headphones and music to soothe your mind. His favorite tracks for the end of a long day.

He doesn’t pressure you to return to normal, but you can be damn sure he’s watching carefully to make sure to help pull you up when you need it.

Mammon

You spend all day in your room now. Your responses to him on your D.D.D. consist of one or two words.

Has he done something to spite you? Are you pushing him away? One day, after about five full of worrying and trying to come up with the most exciting plans possible to make you want to hang out with him, he demands answers.

He knocks on your door, puffed up with indignation, ready to let you know that you have no right to ignore your FIRST

But all of the fight drains out of him when you open the door and he sees the exhaustion on your face. The blanket that came with you to open the door, and the puffy eyes,

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were sick, you dumbass?!”

You didn’t want to bother him. It wasn’t that big of a deal, and he wouldn’t have any fun with you in this state anyway. And it’s not like you’re sick sick.

He flicks your forehead with a finger and glares at you. He tells you he doesn’t care about having fun or being bothered. You’re supposed to tell him when you need something. Him before anyone else.

You tell him that you don’t know what you need. You can’t get yourself to talk to anyone.

He decides that’s fine and all, but he’s not leaving your side if you can’t respond to his texts, so you better get used to your new roommate until you get better.

You’re worried about this arrangement, worried that he’s overextending himself or upset with you, but those worries get fainter and fainter the longer he hugs you.

Leviathan

He’s seen you stare at the TV for an hour, the background music of the Devilbox 3 playing on a loop. He’s seen you flip between game icons for ten minutes. Then you click on one, and the second the title screen comes up you change your mind and exit the game. He’s seen you do the same for anime to watch, or even taking that long to decide which app to open on your D.D.D.

He hears the long sighs that you give. The ones you don’t even notice from being so numb.

Levi isn’t a stranger to depression. He starts to figure it out pretty quickly.

He offers things that he wanted on his worst days. He holds you and cuddles you, and tells you that you’re perfect.

Whenever your depression convinces you to refute him, he fights it back with loving words and stubbornness. You are perfect, and your brain is just wrong.

When he gets through to you enough to admit that you just don’t have the energy to invest in any games, even the ones you love, he offers to play them for you.

You think it’s a little silly at first, but eventually find that mindlessly watching him try to navigate a new platformer is far more calming than trying to decide on something to do yourself.

You curl up against him while watching him play, and for the first time in several days, you feel a bit of contentment breathe through the numbness.

Beelzebub

Beel gets worried when he doesn’t see you at breakfast. And then he doesn’t see you at dinner. And then breakfast the next day.

For a moment, he worries that you’re actually lost and injured somewhere, but his brothers assure him that you went to school yesterday for sure, and walked home with them too.

Still, he comes to visit you when you don’t come to lunch the next day - on a weekend.

You force a smile for him when you open the door, and thank him for the meal he brought.

He sees that your room is littered with empty snack bags.

“Is that all you’ve been eating?” he asks, gesturing to them.

You quickly apologize and start cleaning them up, trying to sound fine.

“Why aren’t you coming to meals? Did someone curse you?” he asks, bristling protectively.

You’re just not hungry, you explain. Everything is okay.

But the state of your room, the nest of blankets on your bed, that tells a different story.

Beel doesn’t know how to explain what is so clear to him. Something is wrong, but he can’t find the words.

“Can I stay with you, then?”

You are surprised by his words, but he comes over and hugs you before you can respond.

“I’ll bring you dinner. And breakfast. Okay?”

Your heart melts right into his embrace, along with you. You can’t explain what’s going on, but you know this helps.

Asmodeus

Baby. Oh, honey. Darling. It’ll be okay.

He showers you with love and compliments and snuggles.

He treats you to a spa day, and absolutely refuses to hear any protests about how much he’s doing for you.

He insists that it's for both of you, because he would NEVER pass up on a spa day!

Having clear skin helps have a clear mind, he says.

And taking care of yourself is the best way to prove to the world that you are worth it.

To prove to yourself.

He wants you to know that you are worth it. Every second.

And he ensures that you treat yourself.

If you can’t bring yourself to get out of bed, he will straight up carry you into the bathtub.

The way that he cares for you is so gentle and genuine that you find yourself feeling just the slightest bit better as he massages shampoo into your hair.

He will do anything to cheer you up.

Satan

He notices that you’re distracted. You keep looking at your book, sure, but he hasn’t seen you turn a single page.

You explain that you just can’t focus, but it’s okay. This happens sometimes, because you have depression.

He tries to correct your grammar, saying “You feel depressed. Unless you’re talking like Levi’s cheeseburger cats?”

That forces a laugh out of you, even if it’s short. Then you go searching through the shelves sorted as “unread” until you find a lovely thick DSM edition hiding in the psychology section.

You turn to the page with your symptoms, and point to it. Major Depressive Disorder.

“I have depression.”

He stiffens as he reads the symptoms, and looks at you with concern. “You.. feel this way?”

“Most of it. Sometimes,” you shrug.

“What can I do?”

You really don’t know, though. That’s the hardest thing about this.

He spends the whole day going through the list of symptoms and trying to come up with ways to support you through each one.

The amount of care he takes--, making sure to explain that he’s currently working on improving your anhedonia, for example -- doesn’t make it go away, but it does make you feel safe.

Belphegor

He just Gets It.

He's been there.

He will stay in bed with you as long as you want.

But he'll remind you to take care of yourself. He'll tell you to take a shower, or eat something.

He'll be pushy about it too, because he knows that it helps even when you really really really don't want to

If you start feeling self-conscious or like a burden to him, he will tell you to stop listening to your depression brain.

He fights your every insecurity with stories, memories, and firm reminders. If any of this were true, would he be here with you, now?

He never pushes you to lie about how you're feeling, and is honestly probably one of the best people to have around during this time.

He reminds you that it will pass. It’s okay.

#i.. referenced my age #age old memes #but whatever #obey me #obey me!#obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me beelzebub #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #bast babbles #my writing #depression #mental health

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phantomrose96 · 4 years

Text

Hero Syndrome

There’s a young woman who has admired the Symbol of Peace for her entire life.

She doesn’t remember the first time she saw him on television. He’s just always been there as an eternal, unshakable constant – a comfort through every part of her life – promising to save anyone who needs him. And he does save her, even if he doesn’t know it. Because it’s his laughter, his smile, his ease and assurance speaking about rescues that keeps the flame burning in her heart when she had nothing else to cling to. He is the guiding light for her life that had no other purpose in it.

She is ignited with an all-consuming drive to follow in his footsteps. And it is a drive that defines her more than her own name.

She wants to save people with a smile. She wants to pull people from the depths of despair. She wants to stand at the top of the world and say “It’s alright now, because I am here.” if only so she can pay him back for all the comfort he’s given her in her life.

Posters of the Symbol of Peace find their way onto her walls, into her binders and desktop backgrounds. She joins no clubs so she can spend all her free time honing her quirk. She runs more, and lifts more, and trains more than anyone else. The future she imagines every day has her standing at his side, and it is a bright, bright future.

She doesn’t get into U.A.

As much as she prepared herself for it, the reality is crushing. She sobs into her bedspread when the rejection letter comes, and stops briefly to peel the posters off the walls first, so the Symbol of Peace cannot see her cry like this. Heroes shouldn’t cry. Heroes shouldn’t give up. She can’t either. Her 4th-choice school has sent her an acceptance letter, and she’ll make sure that’s still good enough. She vows to keep working harder than everyone at U.A. to make up for it.

She graduates from her hero course as valedictorian. She’s given a ten minute slot during graduation to present her speech, and the speech suddenly means nothing and everything to her when she learns her school managed to book the Symbol of Peace as the keynote speaker. The Symbol of Peace far upstages her, and she doesn’t even care. She’s spellbound all over, and savors the ghost of the tingle in her fingertips from the brief second they pass each other. He doesn’t know this, but the moments spent sharing the stage mean the entire world to her.

She takes another vow now, to share a stage with him again in the future, as a colleague. She vows to make this moment the starting line for the beginning of the rest of her life.

When she shows up to Slice’N’Dice’s hero agency on her first day as a debut sidekick, she’s met with a bare white-walled room of peeling paint. There’s a single sputtering fan in the corner pointed directly, and only, at Slice’N’Dice’s desk. She feels the sweat trickling down her neck already, the swampy humid air, the cicadas chirping behind her, as she stands there holding her hero uniform in a box.

“I’m very excited to be working with you,” she says with a full bow. Slice’N’Dice looks up from his desk, and grunts, and goes back to puffing on the loose cigarette hanging from his lips. He’s slumped in his chair, uniform loose-fitting around rather skeletal arms and ballooned around his distended waist. He’s unbuckled his belt, and pulls deeply from his cigarette, and tunes the dial on the crackling police scanner on his desk.

“You know how to make a pot of coffee?” he asks her.

On the third day of her sidekick career, they go on patrol. Her mom has washed and pressed her uniform for exactly this occasion. She feels hope bubbling in her stomach where a rock-like weight had sat before. She wonders what it’ll feel like to have eyes shift to her as she walks, what excited kids will tug on their parents’ sleeves and point, what it will really feel like to be on this side of the uniform.

Slice’N’Dice doesn’t take her to the streets of Tokyo. They meander through empty alleys and hot, putrid industrial backways. He stops at an outdoor storage unit, and unloops the keys from his unbuckled belt, and opens the unit. Inside are bikes. Dozens of them. Dented and rusted into disrepair. He pulls out two and walks them on either side of him, motioning her to do the same. She does.

“What are the bikes for?”

Slice’N’Dice grunts.

Ten minutes more of walking, and they are standing at the mouth of a neighborhood. The air carries the pungent scent of gasoline. Windows appear as broken glass and particle boards, nailed into place. The peeling paint along the apartment facades reminds her of the peeling paint in the office.

Slice’N’Dice props a bike against a lamppost. And he pulls a small metal lens from his pocket and affixes it to the post just above the bike. On his phone, he fiddles an app open, and she sees two green lights blink on the metal lens.

Slice’N’Dice moves on. He motions her to follow.

“Why are we leaving the bike?” she asks.

“Gonna catch some thieves.”

“With the bike?”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re leaving it here.”

Slice’N’Dice shrugs. “Yeah? Ain’t telling anyone to steal it. That’s their problem.”

“You want it to get stolen?”

“We gotta resolve some incidents if we wanna get paid.”

“Then, let’s resolve some incidents for real!” She thrusts a hand out, motioning, nearly tipping and just barely catching the bike at her left side. “Let’s patrol Tokyo and stop actual crime that’s happening.”

Slice’N’Dice barks a laugh. “We don’t have a zoning permit to patrol Tokyo, are you nuts? Maybe if the 2,000 Tokyo hero agencies all go belly-up, and the other 20,000 on the waiting list drop dead too, then maybe we could stake out Tokyo.”

She falters. “We shouldn’t be creating crime. We’re heroes, that’s just--”

“431.” Slice’N’Dice holds a hand up to her, and he draws his words out, like all the smoke from his cigarettes. “I got 431 applications for sidekicks. If you’re gonna leave, leave. I don’t really care. I’ll take any of the other ones. I don’t care.”

She freezes, sick with ice in her stomach.

“…And why’d you choose me?”

“Top of the pile.”

Slice’N’Dice shuffles along. She stands rooted in place. She’d been one of only three people from her graduating class to have a sidekick offer lined up right out of school.

It had been because she’d worked hard – harder than everyone else – to be a hero. Because she – more than anyone – had dreamed of this future.

Slice’N’Dice coughs wetly. He pauses to spit into the street, and keeps on shuffling.

…

There is a young man who’s admired the Symbol of Peace for his entire life.

He’s grown up half-raising himself, enraptured by the glow of the television with the Symbol of Peace’s shining smile. It is a smile that could move mountains, and his is a laugh that could shake oceans. The young man watched these interviews on repeat while his mother worked double-shifts through the night. Those interviews formed him, brought a flicker of hope into his small and hollow world, brought moments to his life where he did not mind the opportunistic roaches scuttling up the couch, nor the rattle of the leaking pipes overhead, nor the dense headiness of mold in the carpets. They showed him hope. They showed him a path forward.

The young man dreams every day of the life he’ll lead when he’s a hero as well. His mom won’t suffer anymore when he’s a hero. No kid will go to bed hungry when he’s a hero. He’ll smile like the Symbol of Peace smiles, and he’ll move the oceans and the mountains too.

The U.A. rejection doesn’t deter him. He knew it would be a rejection before he even received the envelope. Only 1 in 1,000 applicants get into U.A. anymore, and that number skews further out of his favor when considering the legacy admissions to U.A., and the recommended kids who’d been through expensive personal hero-training regimens, and the parents who could curry a bit more favor by offering to fund a new U.A. training ground.

The young man never stood a chance, and he knew it. He’s more motivated, if anything, by the rejection letter. He wants the chance to stand out as someone who can break the U.A.-to-Pro pipeline. He’ll start from lower, and he’ll rise above the rest, because it’s who he is at his core.

The rejection letters continue to roll in. His second, his third, his fourth choices – down to his fifteenth – all come in thin, thin envelopes, too thin to contain good news. This happens to a lot of people, he reads. The hero market is oversaturated, he knows. Caps on hero course enrollment are getting tighter, he understands. But to have every door shut on him almost shakes his hard-earned resolve.

His tenth-choice school informs him there is a General Studies slot open. They offer it to him, and he almost, almost takes it.

But the Symbol of Peace never gave up his dreams. So he won’t either.

The young man has a pamphlet on his desk for a for-profit hero school just 20 miles outside town. It boasts no enrollment cap, no admissions test, We believe everyone is capable of proving themselves through hard work! We do not let dreams die halfway! The only admission criteria is the price tag. It is steep, the kind of steep that his part-time jobs and meager savings could never cover.

There’s an old man running the backroom of the corner store who gives out loans. This man doesn’t ask for credit or credentials there. His loans are in cash, day-of, with few questions asked. The young man knows this because he works part-time at this corner store, and sees the steady stream of strung-out clients filtering in and out, wracking up debt, caught in a personal hell the young man vowed to never fall into himself. But these are the people he intends to help one day as a pro-hero. And sacrifice must become something he’s comfortable with if he ever hopes to live up to the Symbol of Peace.

During his next shift, the young man takes to the backroom, and lays out his terms while the old man breathes cigar smoke into his face, and he has the money in-hand before the end of the night.

He’ll likely have to pay it back two-fold – maybe three-fold -- in interest. The young man knows this, he is not dumb. But he also knows how lucrative the pro-hero business is for those at the top. The government payout for heroes is pittance, at best, but hero merch sales pay out in gold. The Symbol of Peace has been named among Japan’s top 100 wealthiest men for the last ten years.

He won’t tell his mother about the loan. He intends to pay the debt back before she ever finds out.

He enrolls. He pays the tuition fee. He’s given a class schedule, a uniform, a syllabus, a dormitory. He moves out, away from the roaches and the rats, and it is a dream. He sees the start of the rest of his life on the day that he and all his new classmates are welcomed to campus as up-and-coming heroes.

Two years pass when the for-profit hero school loses its accreditation.

He, and all other students, are informed in a single curt email from the administration. All staff are fired. All courses are canceled. All students have three days to vacate the dormitories. The school entity is dissolved, and there money is gone.

The world drops out from beneath his feet. He can’t take the provisional license exam without a hero institution behind him. He can’t apply to sidekick positions without a provisional license. He moves back home, and resumes his part-time job, and sends in ten applications a day to every hero course in the country that accepts transfer students. When all of them yield rejections, he focuses on applying to every internship listing he can find.

None of them want him. Not when the market is already oversaturated with applicants who have an actual hero school backing them.

Years pass around him in a blur. His every cent earned from the corner store job is immediately garnished to pay his debts that come due, and they hardly make a dent. The compounding interest builds as a rate that surpasses his pay. A lifetime of this work would never repay his debt.

The old man in the tattered wifebeater shirt calls him into the back room one day. The old man shows no malice in his sleepy eyes, but exudes a pressure the young man can only describe as blood-lust. He’s heard the man’s quirk is suffocation, and he prays that this is not the day he learns this first-hand.

“These numbers… are not trending in your favor,” the man says between long drags of the cigar in his hand.

“I know.”

“I’d like to know. How do you plan to pay me back for my generosity?”

“Hero work,” the young man answers, just as he did all those years back when he first negotiated for his loan. “I just need—”

“What hero agency is hiring these days?” the man asks. “So, so few, anymore. Hardly any, anymore.”

“I know.”

“I’m not optimistic for you, you know.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“I just—” the young man jolts forward, pleading eyes boring into the old man. “I just need to catch one break! I just need one ‘yes’ to kick things off! I can handle everything after that. I just need your patience, until then, and then I’ll make good. I’ll make you whole.”

“I’m old,” the man says with another long drag of his cigar. “Old old old, and getting older. Money won’t be much good to me when I’m all too old and dead. We agreed on now… being when you paid me back what I gave you so kindly.”

“Please… I don’t have the money. But I’ll get it.”

“You will. You’ll earn it.” The man’s joints crack as he pushes to his feet, and hobbles into the cellar-dark back of the shop, and returns gripping a single weathered gun which he slides across to the young man. “Here. For your protection. You’re no good dead. Don’t try anything funny with it though, I’m faster than I look.”

The young man swallows. “…Why are you giving me a gun?”

“Because you’ll need it for the jobs I have for you.”

“Please… I have a job already. I work in this shop already.”

“I have many more jobs for you right now. You should be grateful. You’ve had so little luck with jobs. Take the gun.”

Hesitantly, reluctantly, the young man picks up the gun. It’s heavier than he expects. But just as cold as he imagined.

“I don’t want the gun…”

“You’ll need the gun.”

“I don’t…” he hesitates. “I don’t want to do your jobs. I don’t want to be a villain. I don’t—”

The old man wheezes out a laugh. Mirth cracks on his old face. “What even is a villain? Childish word.”

“The Symbol says—”

The young man’s breath freezes in his throat, and it is not of his own doing.

“Silence, now. You talk to much. Your mother talks too much too, about you. Shopping here, all the time, for you two. Chatter chatter chatter. I like to make people quiet. It’s good for my peace of mind.”

The young man exhales forcefully. His breath comes back in gasps. His world crushes in around him.

“Now, would you like to hear about the new jobs I have for you?” the old man asks.

The young man shuts his eyes tight, and he wills, prays, hopes for this to end. And nothing answers his prayers.

“…Yes, I’d like to hear about my new jobs,” the young villain answers.

…

There is a boy who has admired the Symbol of Peace his entire life.

He plays hero in the park with his two friends every day of elementary school, even through wind and rain and snow and scorching heat. Their games are squall rescues in the rain, and avalanche missions in the snow, and desert expeditions in the heat.

Those two friends are his only two friends. They go elsewhere for middle school, and he is left alone. And his every attempt to make new friends is squashed by the bullies that have found him to be such a deliciously easy target. He endures it, he accepts it, he channels all his hope and all his faith into the Symbol of Peace. The bullies’ words hurt less when he trawls through video playlists of interviews, and motivational speeches, and candid rescues. There is no hurt, and there is no danger, and there is no unfairness where the Symbol of Peace is involved. When the boy’s parents divorce, when his dog passes on, when his grandmother gets cancer, he watches the Symbol of Peace’s interviews on loop.

The boy stops bothering trying to make friends in middle school. The enormity of the task ahead of him is too much and too important for friends. He trains alone every day during recess instead, and after school, and into the night, and early in the morning. Every pull-up is another imaginary meter scaled in a mountain rescue. Every mile run with his weighted vest is a collapsed hiker carried out of the woods. Every deadlift is raising the roof from the victim of a hurricane. Every heat-exhausted quirk honing session is another life saved.

He’s sure to smile, every time, no matter what, because one day there will be real people he rescues who need to see that smile.

He is 12 when he buys a police scanner.

It’s not a real one. More like a repurposed ham radio, rigged up to the emergency response frequencies. He purchased the radio online from a man with the username radrigs89, and the purchase eats up most of the boy’s savings. He’s heartbroken when he finds the radio does not actually pick up signals.

But he doesn’t give up. Instead the boy pours all his free time into rigging it up properly himself. He needs this to work. Because he knows from the Symbol of Peace that a true hallmark of a top hero is having stories of bravery from their middle school days.

Three months after his purchase, he strikes gold.

The raspy speakers crackle out with police chatter. He sits enraptured in his room, idling away his Friday night listening for anything nearby. Anything he could get to on his bike. Any scene that would need his quirk. Most things that comes through are traffic infractions, or noise complaints, or incidents with heroes already at the scene. The boy decides to be patient. He’ll know in his gut when the right report comes through.

Just over a week later, at 10pm on a Saturday, there is a fire twelve blocks from his home.

He is on his bike from the moment the address is relayed over the radio.

The ride over is a blur. His fingers tingle. The building is an apartment complex. The police are at least fifteen minutes away by car. There are no heroes yet on the scene.

He takes the final left too hard and wipes out, bike skidding away horizontally beneath him. He bounces up to his feet and pays it little mind, because the air has spiked hot, because the red-orange light dances and reflects in his eyes, consuming the building, consuming his thoughts. It is like a heartbeat licking inside the windows, and it compels his body to move without his mind.

Residents are crowded in the street below, pajama-clad and chilled in the night air. And he spots her – a little girl, no older than five, gripping her mother’s nightgown and wailing. The little girl has practically gone limp, held up by her balled fists in her mother’s clothing, screaming “MY BUNNY! BUNNY! WE GOTTA GO GET BUNNY!! WE GOTTA SAVE BUNNY!!!”

“We’ll buy a brand new bunny after this, okay? I promise. Brand new bunny! We can get two bunnies who are friends, I promise. I promise.”

“NOIWANTBUNNY!!!!”

The boy races over, and he crouches to the girl’s level, and he smiles. “It’s okay now! I’m here! There’s no need to cry now. I can rescue your bunny. I have a quirk just right for this! Where’s your bunny?”

The little girl blinks through her tears. “My room.”

“What apartment?” the boy asks.

“No. Dear. No please, I promise we’ll get a new bunny!”

“2…. 2-J!” the girl answers.

“HEY WAIT!” the mother yells after him, but it is too late. The boy has turned heel and run. There’s fear in his heart, sure, but heroes fight through fear. There’s a voice in his head saying “turn back!” but he has to act without thinking if he wants to rise to the likes of the Symbol of Peace. The bunny. The bunny is a life worth protecting. The little girl’s smile is a smile worth protecting.

He bursts through the front door, and he curls his fingers to activate his quirk. A chill sweeps through the hallway, dragging the air from scalding to breathable. His internal temperature ticks up just a fraction.

The stairs, only one flight. He scales it, the white floral wallpaper glowing with am amber ambiance from the flames eating the scaffolding behind it. He rounds into the hallway where the heat claws into his throat once more. Another tensing of his fingers, another activation of his quirk, another gust of chilled air. He feels his brow grow hotter in recoil.

All doors have been flung open all along the hall, including the one marked with the 2-J plaque beside it. He wastes no time entering, and hesitates only a moment as the first bare sight of fire meets his eyes. The living room is consumed, the lemon couch scorched to half a skeletal frame, the television melted unrecognizable. Aerosolized plastics, wood, and fibers assault his throat, so hot he feels he is breathing in a solid mass. It reduces him to a fit of coughing, soot taking out his sight for the moment. His fist curls, a gust of cold air blasts through, and he is breathing again. Just a bit dizzier. His forehead burns independent of the flame.

Girl’s room. Little girl’s room.

It’s easy enough to find. Pink walls, a single twin bed with frills along the skirt, circular white rug plush and soft at the dead center of the room. It’s less hot in here, by a fraction. The fire hasn’t claimed it yet.

Cage. Bunny. Rabbit. Where?

He scans the length of the room in a second, and scans it again. He expects a cage at shelf-level, and when he sees none, he scans the floor for any sign of a pen. He steps over the threshold, growing more frantic.

“Bunny!” he calls out and feels foolish for wasting the breath.

Closet, maybe. He grabs the metal handle, and recoils when the heat bites him. He wads his hand in his shirt the second time around and yanks the door open. Clothes, hangers. He sweeps everything aside and stares at a floor of shoes. Sweat trickles down his neck in rivulets. Every article of clothing sticks to him. His mouth is drying.

He sweeps his hand out, tensed into a claw. Another swirl of cold air streams through the room. He feels it in his heart this time, a slight stutter, a hotness and redness along his cheeks. His internal temperature ticks up another fraction.

“Run,” the little voice in his head says. “You’ll over-exert your quirk. You know that’s dangerous. Run.”

But he can’t. Because heroes act without thinking.

There’s a creaking overhead. It starts low and slow, almost inaudible over the hum and crackle of the fire one room over. It crescendos to a groaning, and it steals the boy’s full attention right when it hits its breaking point.

The ceiling caves, just above the doorway. Lumber and drywall and embers pour down like sand. He dodges, just in time, throwing himself sprawling on the super-heated ground such that the collapsing rubble only claims his right ankle.

The floor is burning into him. He twists, staring at his foot, staring at the entrance to the room now blockaded with debris. The fire licks about the doorway, crawling with slow, opportunistic bursts.

His lungs hurt.

“…Freeze,” he wheezes out, fingers curling, another sweep of bitter cold air bursting through the room. The momentary relief is welcome, but the lingering swell of heat in his cheeks negates it. He sees the flames stutter, and hesitate, and crawl forward again.

“Freeze!” again. A blow of icy air. A buffeting of the flames. A scorch to his cheeks heating with the quirk recoil.

He yanks on his ankle, and the lumber pinning it shifts a fraction.

“Freeze!”

He looks forward, chin pressed to the carpet. He sees it now, one floppy ear peeking out beneath the bed skirt. The fraction of space between the skirt and the floor reveals a plush face in shadow, and he sees two beady glass eyes dancing with the reflection of flames.

He’s licked with a moment of nostalgia, for the days spent playing hero with his friends. Stuffed animals had played their rescue victims so many times before. The stuffed bunny is a welcome sight, almost, it fits right into the fantasy he’d spent so many years constructing.

The other pieces don’t fit. The air licks so, so much hotter than the pretend arson rescues. The smoke is so much more choking than the fantasies in his head. Even the heat training, with the heaviest vest weights, in the peak of summer, couldn’t compare.

The Symbol of Peace never seemed bothered, even in the worst of his rescues. The Symbol of Peace never failed. Somehow, the boy had never considered failure as a possibility. Heroes just needed the courage to act, and the rest followed.

“...Freeze.”

His fingers curl. The flames reel back like a scolded animal, but linger, curious, experimental, as if testing his resolve. His face is burning up. He can’t tell how high his fever has spiked, but it’s high enough to make him drowsy. His eyelids flicker, and flutter, and it would be so much easier to let them shut.

The flames catch him dozing off, as they crawl forward with courage.

Before his eyes shut, he remembers one important thing. He smiles at the bunny.

Its wide glass eyes reflect his smile back. And even when the boy’s eyes flutter shut, the bunny’s remain open, unblinking, unseeing, dancing in the flames.

…

The Symbol of Peace mounts the stage with slow, commanding steps. The crowd that’s gathered tips into the tens of thousands, and that is not even counting those redirected to the overflow area. The people right near the front of the stage have been camping in their spots for over a day.

The applause that meets him is uproarious. He raises a gloved hand to ask for quiet, and is met only with a crescendo of hollers. They settle, eventually, as he takes his position by the podium, as he sets one white-gloved hand to the stand, and raises the microphone to his mouth with the other. The audience hushes steadily, enraptured, eager for him to speak.

“I want to thank each and every one of you for coming out here today,” he says, and he says it with a voice that can shake oceans, and delivers it with a smile that can move mountains. “This day means a lot to me, more than I can put into words, to be so honored by all of you.” He taps the medal affixed to his chest. “To be receiving the highest honor I could have ever imagined receiving. The Lifetime Achievement in Heroics…”

Applause, stronger and more raucous than the first round, meet his ears. He lets it ring this time, while tears prick at the corner of his eyes.

“I would not be here without you! I would not be anywhere near this podium without the love and patience and inspiration from all the people who believed it me when I needed it the most. I would not be 15,000 rescues into my career, and I would not be the second person to ever receive this award, if I had been traveling this path alone.”

Hoots. Hollers. Screams of “WELOVEYOU!”

“And it’s actually that first recipient of the Lifetime Achievement award who I want to talk about today, with you all. Because this day is special to me for an entirely other reason. Today marks the anniversary of the day that man – that first recipient – All Might – told me the words that set me on the path to where I stand today.” The Symbol of Peace steps away from the podium, microphone still in hand, and moves to the very front of the stage. “ ‘You can be a hero, too.’ Those words. That single sentence. Changed my life forever. I would not be here. I would not be ‘Deku’. I would not be the Symbol of Peace without them.”

He pauses for another chorus of cheers, screams and applause and celebration. His smile spreads wide, his soft freckled cheeks dimpled and scrunched high, his messy hair falling over his forehead, and it is a look that has captured an entire nation’s heart.

“So I want to take this time I have in front of you all to return the favor All Might gave me all those years ago. This is for everyone who needs to hear these words! For everyone who needs someone who believes in them! For everyone looking to do right in the world. This goes out to you!” And he lifts his microphone up high. “YOU can be a hero too!”

The audience erupts unlike anything before. Their sounds consume the very air. Together, they drown out all other noise as Deku, the Symbol of Peace, clenches his fist high in the air.

Across the nation, children are watching the television broadcast. They are enraptured. They are bright-eyed. They are making plans for what they will say on stage once they stand beside him.

Once they are all heroes too.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #on todays installment of: a meta point about the bnha world that could have been a 200 word text post becomes a 5000 word fic instead #anyway i had a bad idea and this is it #Hero Syndrome #the following tags contain mild spoilers but im tagging them for blacklist purposes #please dont read the tags further if you wanna not read spoilers #character death #(non canon character)#fire #ask to tag

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

The Art of Benefits

➜ Words: 9.8k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Smut, FWB!AU

➜ Summary: There's only one aspect of your life that's missing: sex. But you know yourself. You catch feelings as quickly as you catch colds. But when your friend arranges a meeting with a certain Park Jimin, you'll become inclined to learn the craft of detachment, aka. the art of benefits.

➜ Warning: sex, sexual discussions, toys, sucking dick, period sex, etc.

cr.

[2nd Year Fall Semester] Life as a sophomore wasn’t shabby. Assignments, papers and midterms came and went with decent grades that you eventually forgot about. Lectures, club meetings, and studying took most of your time too. But Christmas was arriving and that meant it was sweater weather. It also meant that snow was dusting from the sky and you were watching couples cozying up and keeping each other warm from across the dining center. It was unfair really. You were cold too. In fact, most of the time you happen to be cold. And while relationships were too much of a time commitment for you to take on, you deserved a cuddle buddy just as much as the next person. Or a fuck buddy. Either works really. You’ve never been opposed to a friends with benefits relationship. The only problem is, it would never work for you. But if you somehow learnt to detach your emotions, it could be the most efficient thing yet. After all, good sex with another warm body was the only aspect in your life that you were missing. “I mean it’s possible. A lot of people start friends with benefits relationships on campus,” Wendy says as she stuffs her face with her sub sandwich and muses mid-chew, “There’s actually a lot of candidates to choose from.” You’re exasperated at her nonchalance. As if it’s as easy as going to the supermarket and picking someone up. “Who?!” You need someone who would be on the same page as you, with the same priorities, a good sex partner who wouldn’t catch feelings either. But frankly, you don’t know that many people. “Well, what about that guy from your class that you were crushing on? Didn’t you say he was super smart? Might help you on your assignments too.” “Namjoon?” You shake your head. “He’s got a girlfriend.” “Okay. What about that older guy in your board games club?” “No. Seokjin’s graduating next semester.” Wendy hums, eyes flickering around the dining hall center as she contemplates. “How about Yoongi? From what you’ve told me, he seems pretty cool.” You loll your head to one side and stab your sweet and sour chicken. “I’m not going to sleep with someone from work. That sounds like a disaster waiting.” “Jungkook?” “That’s weird. We went to the same elementary school together.” You can still remember his bowl cut hair as clear as day, and not to mention, the two of you share a group of friends. If things go downhill, it would be a complete mess. The epitome of inefficiency. Which is counterproductive to your goal. “Taehyung?” At this point, Wendy’s just listing out random people that you know, but you play along just for amusement. “Nah. Yena has a crush on him.” She takes another clean bite of her sandwich. “What about that guy that works at that McDonalds that you find cute. What’s his name? Hugo? Howard?” “Hoseok,” you correct with a feigned glare that makes her smile. “And that’s a big fat no. He doesn’t even know I exist. What am I supposed to do? Waltz up to him and ask to be fuck buddies?” She grins. “Well, I mean—” “It wouldn’t work,” you deadpan before she laughs and in turn, makes you giggle too. The chatter of the room settles in your ears as background noise. You gaze out the window to the sparkling snow piles that reflect the lampposts soft, white light. The sun has long fallen even though it’s only six p.m. The low lights peeking through the somber clouds covering the horizon does little. You dread the thought of having to venture out into the cold and catch the bus home. You don’t notice how Wendy’s looking at you while she sips on her water. Not until she hums. “You know what? I know someone I could hook you up with.” Your brow cocks and the corner of your mouth twitches. “Is he a fuckboy?” Your long time friend shrugs with a glint in her eyes that makes you unsure if she’s serious or not. Wendy once joked that she had a boyfriend from Northern Canada and convinced you hard enough that you legitimately believed her for a good month. So you can never be quite certain when it comes to her. For all you know, she could just be making it up to entertain you. “Sort of, but he’s a nice one.” Wendy stays vague. “He was my lab partner.” You stare at her and when her expression remains blank, you scoff. “Sure, sure,” you draw out the syllables with a small laugh and bat the air with your hand just to end the conversation. And when it’s never discussed again, Wendy moving on to tell you a story about something she suddenly remembers, you’d one day come to realize that was a terrible, terrible mistake. // That one day is now. 3:50pm. Wendy: hey i set up a meeting what that guy 3:50pm. Wendy: third floor library 3:50pm. Wendy: he’s in a red hat btw The text comes right when you’re leaving your last lecture of the day. 3:51pm. Y/N: what guy 3:53pm. Wendy: your future fwb 3:53pm. Y/N: ?????????????????????????????????/ 3:53pm. Y/N: ???????????????? 3:54pm. Y/N: wtf i wasn’t SERIOUS 3:54pm. Wendy: wat 3:54pm. Y/N: I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING 3:56pm. Wendy: lmao too late 3:56pm. Wendy: at least meet him he’s waiting sis 3:54pm. Y/N: can’t you cancel????????? 3:57pm. Wendy: n a h You nearly burst an artery in your temple at the emojis and memes she spams to you. 3:59pm. Wendy: I already told him the gist btw 4:00pm. Wendy: don’t chicken out With no other choice, you make a u-turn and head towards the library with too many thoughts swirling inside your brain. Chances are this stranger is going to see you, think you’re ugly as shit and try to back out of it. It’s going to be awkward as all hell and you’re not sure you’re ready to have this traumatizing memory for the rest of your life. Then again, you wonder how Wendy even convinced this dude to meet up. If he’s really that easy going. If this is a typical thing people do now. Or maybe Wendy showed a picture of you on your insta and he agreed afterwards — it wouldn’t be the first time she did that, much to your embarrassment. But you hope it’s the latter case. At least that eliminates the possibility of him trying to backpedal his way out of it after seeing your face. You also wonder how the hell you’re going to find him. The library is full of students, the rowdy ones and the studious ones being disturbed by them. You wonder what he looks like, what he’ll be like. Third floor. Male. Red hat. You arrive at the appropriate floor and begin scanning the premise, walking around as your eyes sweep the area. Almost immediately you catch a brunette hunched over and on his phone by the table. He’s wearing a red cap on backwards, purple tee shirt. He has a frat boy aesthetic. Not really the type you go for. Looking over him, you round the computers, bookshelves and tables. But finding no one else with a red hat on the third floor, you sharply inhale and approach the boy with his fluffy cheek rested in his hand, arm propped up on the table lazily. Scrolling through his phone. “Excuse me.” Your voice is light and hesitant as if you were asking help from someone at the front desk and not seeing if this was a potential fuck buddy. It’s mortifying to say the least. His head lifts, brown eyes catching the lights. You clear your throat. “Wendy…” “Oh. You’re her, right?” He smiles and thankfully, doesn’t seem to be disappointed. “Wendy’s friend?” “Yeah. I’m Y/N.” “Jimin.” Now that you get a closer look, he’s kind of cute. But you don’t dwell. Or look him in the eye. It feels like a job interview. But worse. “You were Wendy’s lab partner?” “That’s me.” He pockets his phone. “I’m a kines major. You?” “I’m in the arts faculty. Political science.” “Cool, cool.” Jimin nods and then gets to business without any shame, “So Wendy already told me about it. You’re looking to have a friends with benefits relationship?” “Yeah….about that….” “I’m down if you are.” His hand opens up, gesturing to you. You’re not sure how you feel about how laid-back he is, but he remains upfront which you suppose is the right thing to do. “I have a dorm room in the Sierra building by the engineering faculty building if you know where that is.” “I’ve walked past it before.” “Cool. Anyway, my last f.w.b. ended two months ago and I kind of miss it,” he quickly clarifies, “The sex, I mean.” You’re speechless and contemplating if you really want to do this. You know if it works out, it’ll be fairly efficient. You’ve always gotten off by yourself and while it works, it’s not something you’d call completely satisfying. Having someone’s help— good help — is a change you’ve been considering. But a friends with benefits situation has always been one of those ‘what if’ scenarios. You've just never had an opportunity like this to make it actually happen. Jimin senses your hesitance and leans forward. He lowers his volume. “Are you a virgin? Cause I’m cool with—” You scoff. “No. I’m not. I just...haven’t done something like this before.” “Friends with benefits?” His question is answered by your body language. “It’s not bad. Safer than one night stands and more consistent too. You don’t have to go out and find someone every time you want to have sex. And it’s a low level commitment.” The corner of your mouth pulls and you agree. “It’s efficient. But...I need time to think about it.” “Sure. Tell me when you make up your mind. I’ll give you my number.” He opens his hand again and you pass him your phone. He quickly types it in. “Take your time.” // And you do. You weigh the pros and cons against each other, considering every possibility and all the consequences. Part of you wants to just go for it. The same part that once decided in high school at midnight that bangs would be a hot look on you. (It wasn’t). The part of you that dyed your hair blue that one summer on a whim. The part that doesn’t want to think and wants to jump head first into things. Jimin made a lot of good pointers too and you’re certain this would be a good outlet. An experience. It helps that he’s quite attractive too and seems to be trustworthy and rational. Yet, part of you wonders if it would be a bad decision. There’s a chance that you might catch feelings. For you, it wouldn’t be unheard of either. You have a tendency to catch feelings as fast as you catch colds. And you already know that’s the demise of these kinds of relationships. Once a party gets involved too deep, it’s game over. There’s nothing but heartbreak. The only way it would work is if you minimize your interactions with him. The less attached you are, the less likely you are to develop feelings for him since the only way you would like anyone is if you knew them. So the less you know, the better the outcome. It’s an equation. It’s the art of the benefits. And if that works, if you master the art, it would solve every potential issue. The dorms for sophomores are bigger than the ones for first year freshmen. Instead of a single room with two beds on either side by the walls, there are private bedrooms with just a shared bathroom, a main living space and kitchen. “Bathrooms are over here,” Jimin gestures. There’s one room at the end of the hall and another one beside his. “Both my roommates are out, so you don’t have to worry. They’re pretty nice.” You feel awkward lingering at the entryway with your backpack on. You clear your throat. “Can I get a drink?” “Oh yeah. There’s new water bottles by the sink, I think, and there’s orange juice in the fridge if you’d like.” “No, I mean, do you have anything alcoholic?” you correct and he blinks at you owlishly before smiling. You drop your bag and find it in the fridge, a whole vodka bottle. You fill a shot up with a glass on the drying rack. The clear liquid burns as it travels to the back of your throat. The bitter taste nearly makes you gag, but you feel your face warm and you ease even more, knowing it works. In the meanwhile, Jimin studies you, standing from across the kitchen island. His hands are casually dug into the pockets of his gray sweats. “We won’t have to follow through with this, you know. I’m fine either way.” “No,” you quickly refute, irrationally afraid he’s changed his mind. And the words spill out of you as you cringe, “I’m horny as shit, I’mjustnervous.” The guy smiles, eyes slightly crinkled when he does so. “Of what?” “A lot of things.” You don’t pour a second shot even though you kind of want to. But you have things to do tomorrow, so you can’t nurse a hangover and you most certainly don’t want to be drunk while doing this. “If you didn’t notice, I don’t do this often.” While you’re at it, you tell him, “I don’t know how to suck dick.” He leans against the counter, grinning. “Okay. I don’t mind.” “Also, if you haven’t noticed either, my ass is kind of deflated.” Jimin shrugs. “I’m more of a boob man anyway.” You narrow your eyes, not sure if he’s lying or trying to make you feel better. But there’s no time to dwell when he seriously asks— “Do you still want to do this?” It takes a second for you to muster your courage. And once you do, you know you won’t back down. “All right. Let’s do this!” You walk into his room like you’re about to go fight off a monster. Behind you, Jimin grins and it takes a good moment for him to calm you down. “Are you okay with kissing?” he asks, door shut and distance closed. He’s intimately close and you nod. Finally, your brain stops overthinking and you let yourself feel. Jimin’s lips are full and plush, and they’re good against yours. The soft smacking fills his room. The two of you kiss until your lips part and he begins to lick into your mouth, tongue entering without much hesitation. You fall back onto the mattress, noticing that the bed’s been made sloppily, but better than your own. The pair of you keep kissing and he hovers over you, capturing you against the sheets. Pathetically enough, you already begin to feel your center throbbing and it’s a relief when you both get rid of your clothes. He doesn’t talk much — doesn’t give much commentary or even dirty talk. But you don’t mind. All you’re offering after all is soft sighs and quiet moans. Jimin squeezes your breasts and fingers you for a good minute. He’s surprised to see how wet you are, even letting out an ‘oh shit’, but you make no efforts to come up with an excuse. The stretch feels good from his thick fingers, but you bet it’ll feel good around his girthy cock too. He goes to grab a condom from his drawer, but pauses. “Do...you want me to eat you out?” “I’m good,” you politely decline, afraid it might be too intimate. You’re not sure where the lines are drawn, but it’s something you’ll have to gauge while you go. “Do you want me to suck your dick? You might have to teach me though.” The corner of his mouth tugs. “I’m good too.” As Jimin rips open the condom package, you turn yourself around and get onto all fours. He doesn’t protest and when he enters you, it feels good enough for you to fall forward into the pillows. His cock is of average size, but he’s girthy and your cunt stretches to accommodate him. He groans in his throat when you clench — and the sound gets you off, making you squeeze again. Jimin pounds into you, his pelvis hitting the meat of your ass, cock drawing in and out against your tight, warm walls. You do your best to meet his thrusts halfway, jerking your hips back and you stifle your moans with your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. The sloppy sounds of slapping and the creaking of his bed makes you glad his roommates are gone. And while the sex is not mind-blowing per se, it’s still good. Enough that you climax once he rubs your clit several times and he unloads into the condom too. It’s easier than you thought it would be. Not a big deal whatsoever. It took ten minutes in total and it felt good. It’s just sex — and that’s exactly it. Just sex. The very lesson of the art of benefits. You pick up your clothes off the floor, slipping them back on. “I gotta get going.” There’s no snuggling, no cuddling, no pillow talks. And it doesn’t seem like he minds whatsoever. “‘Kay.” Jimin picks up his phone off his bedside table to check his texts and waves goodbye without even looking at you. You leave, walking yourself out and humming as you stride down the hall. You’re glad you went through with it.

[2nd Year Winter Semester] You run there with your sandwich stuffed in your cheek. By the time Jimin opens the door, you’re still chewing while panting. It’s a comical sight by the way he smiles at you. You’re already winded before anything’s started. “I hadn’t eaten yet and I needed to get my blood sugar up.” Jimin’s lips are quirked. “We can always eat beforehand, you know. There’s food in the fridge.” “Nah, I’m good.” Having meals with your friends with benefits is the last thing on your mind. He shrugs. “Suit yourself.” You use his bathroom, releasing your bladder and rinsing your mouth thoroughly. You know yourself and you’re not a novice on how these relationships work. The less interaction and knowledge you have about him, the more you can keep your distance. “G-God,” he exhales shakingly, hand fisted in your hair. “You’re getting b-better at this….” Jimin watches through heavy lids as you’re slobbering over his cock. He tries his best to watch, but when you run your tongue over the weeping slit at the bulborous head, his eyes shut and his head naturally knocks back. You’ve gotten better at a lot of things in the few months that have passed, namely sucking dick, but your jaw aches and you wonder when he’s going to cum. It’s worth it though. You might be the one kneeling in front of him, but you feel powerful. It’s too easy to make him crumble. To make him moan like that. It makes you wet to hear him and knowing you could bite off his dick or make him lose a load, the sheer power eggs you on. Like you were taught, you inhale, ease your muscles and take Jimin as far as you can. He chokes as his cock hits the back of your throat. Your gag reflexes threaten your endeavour but you keep them at bay and Jimin’s hand in your hair tightens. Especially when you swallow. “Fuck. I-I’m going to cum.” Thank god. Finally! Usually, you let off so he can cum elsewhere (god forbid in your hair) or if he accidentally does it in your mouth, you spit it out on tissue. But this time, you made a commitment to yourself. You came here with a goal. So you inhale again and deep throat him, sucking as much as you can. With his curly pubic hair grazing your nose, Jimin cums. His groans staccato. His cock twitches. And you swallow the bitter, white fluid that comes out in ribbons. After a few seconds, you finally withdraw. Jimin opens his eyes, staring at you in wonderment. There are strands of saliva from between his softened cock to your lips and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Not gonna lie.” You clear your throat and swallow down the remaining taste. “That’s really nasty.” Jimin bursts out laughing. “Thanks.” “It’s the least I can do.” You stand up, shaking your left leg awake. It feels like pins and needles when you step around. “I’ve sat on your face like twice already.” You toss Jimin his pants off the ground and you get your cardigan back on. “You wanna come over on Friday?” “Uh…” You grab your phone from your jacket that’s also been discarded and check your calendar. “Sorry. Can’t. I’m busy on that day.” His brows raise, but he doesn’t question it. “How about Saturday?” you offer. “No. I have a kines exam scheduled.” Your face twists in disgust. “On a Saturday?” “Yep. I know. It sucks.” You sympathize, but you’re also surprised. “I didn’t know you were a kines major.” “What? I thought I told you.” “Guess I forgot.” You put yourself back together and a thought strikes you. Your eyes light up and you turn to your friend with glittering eyes. “Does that mean you can crack bones? I’ve always wanted to go to a chiropractor since my lower back always hurts. You should crack it for me.” Jimin grins. “Sorry, I don’t know how to do that. They don’t really teach you that kind of stuff.” “Oh.” Your eyes dim and you don’t try to hide your disappointment. You almost thought you could get a little more out of him, but you suppose decent sex is enough. As you grab your bag, you notice that his phone lights up. “You got a text from Victoria.” “Thanks.” He reaches over, but the curious expression on your face must be visible, since he says, “Don’t worry. She’s not my girlfriend or anything. She’s just someone I’m kind of into.” “Nice!” The corner of Jimin’s mouth quirks at your genuinely excited response even though he never looks away from the screen. You’re psyched though. If he has an interest in someone else, there’s less chance for anyone to catch feelings. Fewer connections. More distance. “If you ever want to end this, just let me know.” You throw your backpack on that’s heavy with your laptop and textbooks inside. “Yeah.” “I’m going now.” “Bye.” Jimin’s fingers fly across the screen to text the other girl back and neither of you spare each other a glance. The door shuts moments later and the noise echoes through the walls.

[3rd Year Fall Semester] In spite of being a junior now, things have relatively remained the same. According to course outlines, lectures are more in-depth in their content, but there’s still assignments, papers, and midterms. The grading schemes haven’t changed and you know there’s a shit ton of work waiting for you in the coming months. But you find pleasure wherever you can. The door opens, but it’s not Jimin on the other side. “Hey, Y/N.” Taemin, his roommate, is eating chips. “He’s in his room.” “Thanks.” You shuffle inside and after briefly greeting Jongin, the other roommate, who’s busy playing Animal Crossing on the living room couch, you beeline to his room. You find Jimin hunched over his messy desk, rounded spectacles on the bridge of his nose as he’s tapping furiously across his laptop keyboard. He glances at you. “Sorry. I need a second.” “Take your time.” You set down your bag and shed your coat, tossing it aside. You’re not sure what he’s doing, but you don’t ask. Instead, you pull out your phone and run through your usual apps. With no messages to answer or anything to scroll through, you check your email and find the words ‘emergency’ in one of the subject lines. After a minute, Jimin saves his document and closes the lid of his laptop. He stretches above his head with a groan and turns around, only to find you now hunched over your own device. “Sorry,” you mutter once you feel his gaze on you. “My manager needs me to fill out my timesheet and send it to her.” “I didn’t know you worked.” “Just part-time at the admissions office here on campus.” You go quiet as you skim over your email again to ensure it makes sense. “It’s a pretty easy gig.” He hums and you finish, shutting your laptop and sticking it back into your bag. That’s when you finally get a good look at the boy across the room — dark hair, blue shirt and gray sweats — and you notice how tan he’s gotten. It’s a good look. Your mouth tugs. “Did you travel over the summer?” “I went to the Caribbean with my family for like two weeks.” “Fancy.” “It was alright.” He gets up and re-stacks the textbooks on his desk into a single pile. Jimin notices the stack of flyers he was supposed to distribute. “Oh yeah. Do you want to join the crayon club?” Your brow lifts. “The crayon club?” “Yeah, you can come colour every Wednesday night and just hang out with people.” Jimin grins boyishly. “My friend wanted to make a club and he made me the communications executive. I’m supposed to get people to join. You don’t have to, but the first meet and greet is this Friday, and the more people the better. There’s gonna be free food by the way, if that helps.” You’re not sure that's a good idea. The two of you have never really met up outside of his dormitory, aside from the first time you met at the library. “Let me check my calendar.” You grab your phone again and thoughtlessly mumble, “Sometimes I’m busy on Friday. I’m part of the board games club and we meet up every other week…..don’t judge.” “I’m not.” Still, Jimin's smile widens and you feign a pout. You’re free this week. “I’ll come if you make me an executive too,” you quip carelessly while tossing your phone aside. “It’ll look good on my law application.” Jimin quirks his head. He didn’t know you were aiming for law school. “Okay.” “Wait.” You’re taken off guard, eyes as wide as saucers. “Seriously?!” He with a small laugh. Jimin gets up and closes the distance, making you lean against the headboard until he’s completely hovering over you, mere inches away. “We actually need a position filled anyway, so you just saved me some trouble.” “You better keep your promise, Park.” You end up showing with Wendy and Tiffany in tow — the former who wants to raid whatever food there is and the latter genuinely interested in colouring as a means of relaxation. It’s a bit awkward to meet so many new people at once and Jimin’s friends at that, but you can tell they’re nice at heart. Albeit, a bit rambunctious and too friendly. And you’re a bit horrified when one of them tries to eat a crayon to further advertise the club. “So, what’s up with you and Jimin?” Tiffany asks, peering up at you as she colours in the lines carefully. She’s unaware of your arrangement with the boy. It’s not something you’ve told many. You feign ignorance, not wanting to get into the details with strangers around. “What do you mean?” “Are you dating him?” You scoff. “I wish.” Immediately, Wendy’s brows raise to her hairline and the words that fumbled out of you thoughtlessly finally sink in. “I mean, no, we’re not. Not I wish.” Luckily, Tiffany spares you and doesn’t pry. But you’re mortified and you glance at Jimin from across the room laughing noisily with his friend. You turn away from him, trying to create more distance.

[3rd Year Winter Semester] With exam season here, you and Jimin hadn’t seen each other in a while. Luckily, Spring break was approaching, so you at least had something to look forward to. The idea of being able to lay in bed and sleep in automatically puts you in a good mood. Jimin, however, seems less than stoked. You watch from the bed as he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up before you’ve gotten a chance to. He was frowning when he opened the door, greeted you with one word and in general, has been quieter than usual. “Is….everything alright?” You wonder if you did something to piss him off, but then he says— “I flunked my final.” Oh. That explains his bad mood. “The one you took this morning?” you ask. “Yeah.” Jimin deflates with an extended sigh. “I didn’t get the first twenty questions and then I fucking ran out of time….” There’s a pause that lingers. “Well, you’re not sure if you actually failed, right?” You lean closer to him, quirking your head to the side. “The marks haven’t been released and who knows, the prof might curve it.” “Maybe. I don’t know.” Jimin scrubs a hand over his face, uncertain and stressed. “This ruins everything. I’m trying to get an internship at a clinical rehabilitation facility and I want to apply for a masters and now...fuck.” You’re surprised. You didn’t know he had so many goals. “I’m screwed.” Jimin flops back onto his mattress, staring at the ceiling. You loom over him, blocking his view. “Does the internship look at your GPA?” “They want a three point o average or more.” “What do you have now?” “Three point five.” The corner of your mouth pulls and a rush of air leaves your nose in a snort. “Then you’ll make it! Even if you failed one exam, it wouldn’t tank past a three. It can’t be too bad, right?” “Yeah, I guess.” Jimin sighs and absentmindedly tugs on your strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face and is grazing against his cheek. “I just don’t know anymore.” “It’s going to be fine,” you reassure, slapping your hand on his shoulder. “You’re just overthinking it.” “Maybe,” he hums. A sudden thought comes across your mind and your small smile turns devious. “Let me make you feel better.” You shift to straddle his hips and instantly, his hands lift to your waist. Jimin starts to grin as you pull at his shirt, trying to get him to strip. And you do your best to pleasure him. It doesn’t take much effort considering Jimin’s hand is already tightening in your hair the minute you run your tongue along his shaft. But he doesn’t let you suck him for too long, eager to feel you inside instead and pleasure you just the same. It’s eager and messy sex. You’re on top until your thighs begin to burn and you lose your pace. Then he re-repositions the both of you, so you’re flat on your back and he’s doing most of the work. You end up cumming twice. Once around his covered cock and the other time after he coaxes you around his stiff tongue and eggs you on, even when you’re sobbing from the overstimulation. It feels good. Better than good. Over time, the pair of you have gotten to know each other’s bodies better, what works and what doesn’t. Your relationship with Jimin is an investment that feels worth it. “Hey…” You’re both facing away from each other as you put your clothes back on. Jimin turns his head and you cast him a glance. “I was thinking of maybe starting birth control…” He blinks. “If you go get yourself checked out and make sure you’re clean, we can do it without condoms.” You pull down your sweater over your head and you both stare at each other. He looks surprised and responds in a delayed manner, “Okay. Cool. I’m down. I’ll get myself checked out this weekend. I haven’t really slept with anyone else since this started though.” It’s your turn to be caught off guard. “Really? What...about that girl you were into? Vicky?” “You mean Victoria?” He jumps as he puts on his sweatpants, getting both legs through at once. “Nah. It didn’t end up working out.” “Oh.” He’s entirely nonchalant about it, so you merely nod. Jimin walks you to the door and you notice that he’s in a better mood than earlier. You hide your smile to yourself, glad that it was mutually beneficial. Two weeks later, he gets an email before the two of you get down and dirty, and you’re the first one in his life to know that he got the summer internship. His excitement is infectious and you genuinely feel happy for him.

[4th Year Fall Semester] It’s so close, you can taste it. A whole new semester and cart of overpriced textbooks later meant you were a senior now. It also meant that there was just this year left and you were out of here. Finished at least one degree. A step closer to making the big bucks and being a whole ass adult. The idea is both exhilarating and frightening. 2:20pm. Jimin: Wanna come over? The text mocks you, but the temptation is tangible. Like a carrot tied at the end of a stick that’s attached to a hungry rabbit. You’ve been sexually frustrated since last night, feeling it in your loins since morning, and fidgeting and rubbing your thighs underneath tables and desks. The thought of getting that sweet relief properly is enough for you to want to ditch class altogether, but you can’t. Not for the next few days. 2:22pm. Y/N: can’t. 2:22pm. Y/N: I’m on my period :(( 2:23pm. Jimin: I don’t mind 2:23pm. Y/N: really???? 2:24pm. Y/N: are you sure 2:25pm. Jimin: lmao 2:25pm. Jimin: yes You brace through the rest of the lecture, paying more attention as the anticipation swells. And when it’s all over, you race across campus to the dormitory building you’ve become familiar with. Jimin opens the door before you need to knock and he plants a chaste kiss against your lips in greeting. You’re taken off guard, but don’t pay too much attention to it. “How was class?” “Good. You?” “Same,” he hums. You drop your bag in his room and gesture below your waist. “I’m going to need to wash up. The nether regions are a bit…” He smiles. “Sure. I got spare towels I can set down too.” You self-consciously linger for a moment as he goes to his closet to the upper shelf. The towels are luckily green and not white. “I’m surprised you’re okay with it. Having period sex, I mean.” “Why wouldn’t I be?” Jimin pushes his blanket aside and puts a towel down. “As long as you’re fine with it, then I am too.” “I don’t know. Doesn’t blood gross you out?” “Not really? Most of the time I’m the one making the mess, so it’s actually nice to have someone else make the mess for once. Plus sex is sex. What’s there to complain about?” His brow lifts and he looks at you. You scoff and it makes Jimin grin. You wash yourself up and he fucks you in missionary position on top of the towels. The pair of you have only done so a few times before. Typically, you’re face down, bent over, on all fours or looking away from each other. But the change is welcome. Jimin hovers over you and you can kiss him when you want to. “F-Fuck.” A pitched moan unintentionally spills from you when he hits a spot at your walls that has your toes curling. “Ji...min.” It’s more lubricated than usual, making the strokes easier. He goes softer too. Deeper. Jimin presses your thighs to your chest and makes you feel him all the way to your throat. The boy smiles tenderly at your reaction in spite of panting himself. “Feel good, baby?” “Y-Yeah.” You nod, eyes shut tight. You grip his forearms when he bottoms out again. “Always does.” Your warm walls pulse around his thick cock and you end up cumming soon after. He groans into your neck at how you tighten around him like a vice grip and he thrusts into you one more time before his cum fills you. The pair of you jump in the shower together to get cleaned up and then you’re picking up your clothes while he tosses the towels in the laundry. “What were you working on, on Thursday?” You blink, realizing that you texted him vaguely about being swamped and unable to come over, and that’s enough for you to unload and go on a tangent. “God, don’t remind me. It was my fucking thesis. I barely managed to finish it but I don’t even know if it makes sense and now I have to edit like fifty pages by myself before giving it to my supervisor, so that’s fun.” It feels good to let it off your chest. Jimin smiles subtly at your venting. “I could always edit it for you.” “What? Seriously?” “Sure.” He shrugs. “I’m not in poly sci, but that might make me a bit more unbiased. I’m not doing much these days either.” “Oh my god.” There’s an overpowering urge to bow at his feet or suck his dick until you’re gagging or do both. “You’re a life-saver!” Jimin laughs and it’s the sound of angels singing. “Just send it over. I can get it done by tomorrow. You have my email, right?” “Of course I do. Duh!” Your grin is big enough that your cheeks hurt and he has one that matches it as well. // A few weeks fly by and things calm down enough that you can finally breathe. But that’s when you receive a little text from a certain someone that has you skeptical if you can rest easy. 6:48pm. Jimin: I have a surprise for you 6:48pm. Jimin: I forgot about it You’re not sure what it is, but asking would be like pulling teeth with him. Jimin hates spoilers and he likes surprises all too much. Lately, you’ve both been getting into some freaky shit. Buying toys, blindfolds, handcuffs. As adventurous as college kids with a limited budget can get. It was rather fun for the pair of you, and expectedly, some experiments work out better than others. It sends goosebumps all over your skin every time he talks dirty. You like it when Jimin spanks you too. Although, you’re still unsure about the whole candle wax on your body idea. But there’s one thing for sure — Jimin can most definitely not role play for his life. The whole school girl fantasy lasted a good five minutes before he started bursting into giggles and breaking character every other second. Playing doctor only made you realize how ticklish he was too. And the tickle fight that followed was definitely not something one would call ‘sexy’. Even if it did lead to the deed being done. “Hey.” Jimin greets you with a grin and a chaste peck against your lips. “How was studying?” “Fine.” You brush off the question quickly, too curious of what he has in store. “Jimin, I’m not going to use that twelve inch dildo unless you want to drive me to the ER.” He bursts out laughing. “That’s not it. Good try though.” Instead of going to his room like you usually do, Jimin leads you past the kitchen area to the table. It’s been cleared off and you give an inquisitive expression. He grins and then gestures to it. “Lay down.” “What?” “Just lay down.” He takes your hand, guiding you on it and you obey wordlessly. It doesn’t seem like any of his roommates are home and you hope they don’t come back any time soon lest they find you lying face down on their dinner table. You feel Jimin round the table and pull your ankles together. You tilt yourself up to peek at him, but then he barks— “Down.” With a pout, you return to your position, arms folded underneath your head. You hope he isn’t about to rub spices on you and roast you in his oven like it feels like he’s doing. You feel the gentle pressure of Jimin’s hands against your spine, his thumbs pressing into your skin and he hums, “Relax. Okay. Breathe in for me.” An inhale is taken and his hands suddenly press into the middle of your back. You hear your bones crack loudly. It catches you off guard and you turn yourself with wide eyes. “You know how to do it?!” He boyishly grins. “I might’ve learnt a thing or two during my internship.” “Keep going, keep going.” You flip yourself over again, gesturing to your back and he laughs, going down your body and cracking your bones. You become butter in his fingertips, lower back feeling better already. “Lift your leg for me.” You follow his instructions to a t. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” you ask sleepily, lulled by his care. If he massaged you too, you might just cream your pants. “I got this, I got this,” he reassures with a bit of arrogance. “I’m not a professional, but I know what I’m doing. You trust me, right?” A noise is made at the back of your throat. “If you break a bone on accident, I’ll sue you,” you mumble as he turns you over. “God, feels good.” After a while, Jimin gets you to sit up and continues. He looks nice when he’s concentrating. Expression blank. Lips plump and in a line. Brows only slightly furrowed. “Considering you don’t have any ailments, you don’t need to get your bones cracked often. You should stretch and do some exercise instead.” You scoff. “Having sex with you is enough exercise.” To prove your point, you latch onto his arm and tug him towards you. Jimin smiles and the two of you break a sweat against each other on the table before either of his roommates come home.

[4th Year Winter Semester] It was an invitation that you would’ve called yourself crazy for offering a year ago. But if it wasn’t for him editing your thesis and taking a load off your mind, you would’ve had a harder time. You had him to thank for that. “So?” Jimin’s seated across from you at the restaurant booth. It wasn’t surprisingly difficult to ask him to grab a bite with you. For some reason, you thought he would reject. “What’s the big news?” Instead of answering, you reach into your bag and slide the envelope across the table. He’s curious and takes it, pulling out the letter to read. You sip on your water, watching his expression intently. He mutters the words and it takes him through the first paragraph before he realizes. Then, at once, Jimin’s eyes widen. His mouth drops and he looks at you proudly. “You got into law school?” “Three of them,” you tell with a cheesy grin. “T-That’s….fucking amazing. Holy fuck.” He reaches over and hugs you. It’s awkward considering there’s a whole table in the way, but you appreciate the sentiment. You’re giddy and giggling at how excited he is. It makes you feel like the first time you opened the letter yourself. Jimin presses a kiss against your hair before withdrawing. “When did you find out?” “Two days ago. I really thought I wasn’t going to get in since I got rejection letters last week from the other schools, but then three of them came in rapid succession.” He shakes his head, still in awe. “Congratulations. Seriously. You deserve it, Y/N. God knows how hard you worked.” “Thanks.” You smile to yourself, fiddling with the hem of your blouse. “I was thinking of maybe leaving the city to a different uni, but….I’m going to stay with my parents for as long as I can to save up on loans.” “Yeah, sounds good.” He nods. “Moving out can be expensive.” “What about you? Have you applied to your masters program yet?” Jimin laughs. “Actually, I was planning on telling you that today too. I didn’t bring any fancy letter with me though.” You lean closer, sitting on the edge of your seat. “You got in?” “I did. Yesterday.” His enormous smile causes your own to expand. “I’m gonna do it part-time while working at the same facility I did my internship at.” You’re happy for him and you can tell by his expression that he’s genuinely excited for you too. The pair of you were taking steps forward for your future and while it was a little scary, for now, you enjoy the victory and pig out at the restaurant with little restraints. At the end of the night, you’re both wine drunk when you stumble back to his dorm room and soon, you’re trying to muffle your whimpers with your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. It doesn’t help when he presses the humming vibrator to your clit harder. “J-Jimin,” you sob, fingers twisting into his sheets. You’re slumped against the headboard as he surrounds you. “Louder,” he commands, watching you through heavy lidded eyes. The cold air of his bedroom made your nipples hardened, yet you feel hot all over, under his gaze and ruthlessness. Your hand curls around his wrist. “Your roommates are sleep—” You cry and keen against his chest when he plunges the toy into your swollen cunt that’s leaking down your ass and thighs. “It’s okay,” he murmurs in a low voice against your ear, “Let it go.” You feel the toy nudge against your cervix, the vibrations trembling through your body and you orgasm hard with your forehead pressed against Jimin’s shoulder. Even then, he continues to draw it in and out of you, studying how you’ve creamed around the vibrator, how your slick is dripping to his sheets that are already stained with the scent of your shampoo. “J-Jimin,” you whine loudly, not knowing if you’re trying to lean away from his touch or closer. “T-...too m-much!” “You can take it,” Jimin softly coaxes and you nod. You cum again after a minute and he immediately kisses you with a big smile before peppering pecks down to your neck. It makes you feel ticklish and winded. “Hey...Jimin…” “Hmm?” “Are we still gonna do this after we graduate?” you ask in a quiet voice, laying back in the ruined sheets. “I’m gonna be busy and you are too.” “We’ll figure it out.” He flops beside you and you both face each other. Jimin’s arm is draped over your waist and you stare at one another for a moment before he closes the distance. Jimin nudges you for a languid kiss, your noses brushing as his soft, plush lips press against yours. It’s unhurried. Slow. He urges your mouth to part for him and his tongue slips in as you whimper, giving you a chance to properly taste him. Sloppy, wet noises fill the room while heat rises to your cheeks. But you’re unbothered while swapping spit with Park Jimin. It’s lazy, yet it feels good. So much so that you’ve relaxed entirely. In the back of your mind, you know you should get up and put some clothes on. Any cuddling or post-sex touching has largely been unprecedented before this and it’s not good to make habits you’ll have to eventually break. You should get your sweater off the floor, or at least slip on his purple t-shirt…. But you give into the temptation and shut your eyes for one second. One mere second. That’s enough for you to doze off. When Jimin realizes you’ve accidentally fallen asleep, he smiles to himself and tugs the blankets up to your shoulders, securing you in warmly. // You stifle another yawn with your hand. It’s 9:30 in the goddamn morning and way too early for you. There’s a reason you pick afternoon classes, go to work afterwards and then go see Jimin to end your day off. There’s no situation good enough that warrants your alarm blaring before eight — but you suppose a graduation ceremony could be an exception. “There’s so many people,” your dad gasps in wonderment, looking around the vast hall. “Do you know them all?” “No.” You hold in your sigh. “I don’t.” For the past twenty minutes, you’ve been running around looking for your parents after they’ve wandered off and gotten lost. If they weren’t spamming their cameras on their phone and telling you to smile in front of the odd statue or the meaningless bulletin board that wasn’t even part of your faculty, it was calling your name as loud as they could to find you in the crowds. You’re happy over their enthusiasm but also burdened. It’s a lot of mixed feelings. “Y/N?” Dark hair and brown eyes — a certain someone who you weren’t expecting to run into is staring right at you with a boyish smile. “Jimin?” He looks good, a suit underneath and a black graduation gown over it that falls to his calf. His gown has a golden hood and tassel while yours is white — the colours symbolizing your different faculties and areas of study. “Hey.” His gaze is warm. “You look nice.” “Thanks. You too.” You don’t linger on him for long, not when his parents are right by his side. You divert your vision and greet them politely. Jimin surprisingly looks a lot like his dad and his mom has a kind face. They seem like sweet people and you’re suddenly breaking into a sweat. “Nice to meet you.” Your own parents make themselves known and you feel like your worlds are colliding as they shake hands and exchange names, congratulating each other on their child’s graduation. You’re about to get them moving along when your mom nudges you. “Is this your boyfriend?” Her voice is way too loud and you feel yourself burn in embarrassment. “No. He’s just a friend,” you whisper it sharply but much your dismay, they look unconvinced. You miss the way Jimin smiles to himself. “We should get a picture!” his dad declares and your own dad looks even more elated at the idea of spamming more pictures. You already had to delete a hundred blurry ones, but your mom ignores your groan and pushes you both towards some weird artwork on the wall. “Stand over here! Over here! Smile!” Your parents end up sitting next to each other on the rows and you have no words, forced to sit at the bottom with the rest of your graduating class. It’s a wonder that the Arts Faculty was scheduled right before the Faculty of Kines. Fate or coincidence, you’re not sure yet. But it’s still nice to see Jimin walk the stage and be able to cheer for him. “Congratulations, Mr. Park.” He grins. “Congratulations to you too, Miss L/N.” It’s certain that the numerous celebrations with family, friends and relatives will be chaotic, so you take advantage of the opportunity while you still can. You steal just a little moment for your selfish desires by standing outside before you’re both bombarded by your circle of people. “You know, I couldn’t have done it without you.” “Oh, stop it with the sappiness.” You can’t feign a roll of your eyes when your smile is so big. He swings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close and laughing. “Why? Don’t like it?” And the little shit slyly leans in to whisper, “You like it when I call you my baby though.” “Jimin!” He laughs and you sigh with a smile. You’re glad you ran into him.

[Post-Graduation] You open the door, welcoming yourself in. “Hey.” Jimin’s on the couch and glances at you, unfazed at how you’ve waltzed right into his apartment with little warning. You’ve always knocked out of courtesy for his roommates, but ever since he moved out of the dormitories, you find little need to make him walk all the way to the door. He’s watching a thriller and you flop down on his couch, leaning over to plant a quick peck against his mouth as a greeting. “How was work?” “It was okay. A bit busy. I met this nice old lady and we chatted for a bit. She called me handsome, so there’s that.” He grins and you scoff lightly, leaning your cheek on his shoulder as you watch the main character venture into an abandoned house on screen. Jimin loves his praises, so you’re not wholly surprised he’s kept a mental note of it. You’re not sure why it’s important though. Anyone with eyes would agree he’s good-looking. “How was class?” “Awful,” you mumble, feeling tired against him. You came over to get rid of some sexual frustration, but you’re not even sure you have the energy to do anything anymore. “Commuting was brutal this morning. Traffic was backed up on the highway and I was late, and yesterday I had to drive back at night. My parents are driving me nuts too. I can’t study properly.” Jimin hums a soothing note and slings an arm at the back of the couch where you’re sitting, letting you lean into him. It goes quiet as the two of you watch the suspenseful scene and then he absentmindedly pipes up after a minute, “You could always move in with me.” He continues, “It’s closer to the university and it’s quiet during the day, so you can study. We could always study together too.” It’s a good idea, but— “I can’t afford that.” “I don’t mind paying rent for a while. It’s the same either way.” It takes a second for the words sink in and then you’re peeling yourself off of him. Your gaze is met with Jimin’s, eyes locking into one another and the movie is left in the background. “As roommates?” He shrugs. “There’s only one bedroom, but sure.” A studio apartment. One bed shared. Two people. Watching movies. Having sex. Eating together. It doesn’t sound bad to you whatsoever, but you contemplate it. It swirls around inside your head and you murmur, “Isn’t that breaking the rules of being friends with benefits?” And you don't know why but Wendy’s words from the other day are echoing inside the caverns of your brain at the worst moment. “You know, your relationship with Jimin isn’t exactly normal.” You weren’t sure what she meant and you still don’t know. Not when she had advertised and encouraged this kind of arrangement all those years ago. When she had told you many people got involved in each other like this. But you’re starting to wonder if something is off. Did you do something wrong? Did your relationship with Jimin spiral out of control? But everything feels normal. After three years, you’d think you would’ve mastered the art of benefits by now. You sigh, getting a headache. Yet, Jimin merely shrugs. As if the definitions and boundaries don’t bother him whatsoever. “Is it?” “Kind of. I mean, living together, being mutually exclusive. It almost sounds like….” “Like what?” His brows lift. “Like we’re dating?” You feel hot in your face, skin toasted like a furnace. Maybe you’re being delusional or silly. Maybe he’s going to laugh at you. “This is what couples who are going to get engaged do.” “Maybe we should date then…?” The pitch of Jimin’s voice raises at the end, not necessarily a question but neither a statement. It’s questionable like he’s unsure how you feel. Like he’s playing a guessing game. And then he smiles at your shocked expression. Jimin turns to face you fully. His gaze is heavy, earnest. “Maybe we should date.” This time, it’s repeated as an assertion. Confident. Unwavering. Sincere. Jimin leans in to kiss you as if he can’t resist anymore. It’s tender, taking you off guard and you lean into him, finally allowing yourself to become surrounded by him. Mind. Body. And soul. When the two of you pull away, he smiles while catching his breath. “I-I’m down if you are. This apartment can be yours and you can study here and sleep here and whatever. We can eat together and I’ll buy you take out or cook. It’s fine if you don’t want to. I’m cool with anything. We can keep being friends with benefits, if that’s what you want….so…......what do you want?” You exhale lightly, feeling warm. “This...is a lot.” “Is it?” Instantly, Jimin appears panicked and you hold back a laugh. “We’ve technically been together for three years and...what we’ve been doing recently is basically dating. In my opinion.” “Did Wendy put you up to this?” “No.” He shakes his head. “Frankly, the person I talk to most these days is you. And I like it that way.” God, you hate him. You pull Jimin in for another kiss, an aggressive and eager one. Enough that you can feel the heat off of his own face. You move to straddle his thighs and when you break apart, you muster a glare at him. “You know, I’ve been trying so hard not to catch feelings. You’re ruining all my efforts, you know that, Park?” He grins. “Is this a yes?” “It is.” This time, he’s the one to kiss you, sealing your lips together as he smiles against your mouth and squeezes giggles out of you. Even if he doesn’t say it, even if he’s saving it for another day, you know from his tender touches that he loves you. And it’s mutual. No longer do you need to worry — leave right after the deed is done or be panicked when you’ve accidentally fallen asleep in his bed. You’re unashamed when he kisses you harder as a greeting, when he holds your hand, when you go out together. You can have pillow talks without needing to guard yourself, cuddle him, call him yours. And when Christmas arrives, meaning sweater weather and snow dusting from the sky, you have someone to keep you warm. Someone who you can come back to and call your home.

#bts fanfic #bts smut #jimin smut #bts scenario #jimin fanfic #jimin scenario #lol I can finally use the smut tag #I know this ain't sfw y'all but I really wasn't kidding when I said I was experimenting a bit more with smut #with that being said I actually really like this fic #IT'S FLUFF AND SOFT AF #I LOVE ME SOME CUTE CHIM DON'T FIGHT ME

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