#maybe it’s my psychology minor but i eat that shit UP

[yourcoldcocoa]

i feel like i’ve been seeing something…tell me if i’m wrong.

it’s bg3 edits that leave SOME of the skin texture, but not all of it. a few of the bigger wrinkles are left, some bumpiness, maybe. it’s like when you see someone on instagram who’s really good at facetune - they leave some “issues” so that it looks believable.

which i am not dragging! do that if you want to, and i mean that! people - especially women and femme people, but really everyone, esp these days - feel the pressure to present themselves a certain way, especially if their appearance is part of how they make a living. live your life!

i guess the thing about these bg3 images that bothers me is that…no one loses if the wrinkles and pockmarks are there. these aren’t real people. there was a big moment of “stop smoothing out all of the skin textures on these characters!” when the game first came out, and now it feels like…there are folks out there going, okay. i’m going to leave SOME in, so i don’t get yelled at on the internet. but i’m going to do some editing to make them a liiiittle younger. or just a taaad less scarred. or give them sliiiiiightly smoother cheeks.

and at the end of the day…people should, and will, make the art the want to make. they’ll edit images and gif sets and videos they way they want to edit them. it just feels weird and dystopian to me, personally, to see the subtle instagram edits on these fictional characters. especially when we so rarely get characters with these skin textures.

[carolmunson]

you keep me without chains | em.

this is a re-post of a ramble fic of me processing some stuff i've been through and am struggling with in my own healing. if you're familiar with my 'bad at feelings' series, it's in a similar vein of writing except eddie is incredibly soft and sweet to reader who is going through her own stuff. eddie sucks here, i don't think it's a correct characterization of him but it's just me using him as a placeholder.

originally, i didn't want to put this story in the tags because it's sad and explores the mindset of someone in a non-physically abusive relationship. however, since it is DV awareness month, i wanted to make sure to express that if there are people reading this who are struggling that they aren't alone and there are people there that understand and support them. and also that if there are younger readers reading (still eighteen plus!) who aren't sure if they are in an abusive relationship they are maybe able to get some context via fiction. my inbox is always open. DV Hotline US: 800-799-7233 DV Hotline UK: 0808 2000 247 tw: 18+ mindors dni, references to emotional and psychological abuse, minor threats of physical violence.

he left this morning with a kiss on your cheek and your lips, a nuzzle against your temple when you gave him two thermos's, one with hot black coffee and the other with the beef stew you made last night. hot hot hot. the way he likes it.

you made bread, so crisp on the outside, pillowy soft on the inside. he groaned when he popped it in his mouth at the dinner table, soaked in broth and butter. you warmed some in the oven when you put his lunch together, wrapping it in foil to trap the heat -- maybe it'll keep until his lunch hour. he might eat it all before his lunch hour. he never eats breakfast really.

you clean the counters and do the laundry while he's away. no kids to take care of, not yet at least. you mend his spare coveralls, treating the grease and oils stains, resewing his name tag stiched in red thread. you shine your mary janes and stilettos, shine his doc's just to be nice. you fix his patches on his vest from the last show he went to. you clean the stubble out of the sink in the bathroom.

he has the car so there's nowhere to go.

you shower, you do your hair, put make up on, go through the motions while he's not home. he hates to wait for you to do it but you hate looking tired when you're out and about. better to do it when he's busy doing something else.

next door neighbor is heading to the library, knocks on your door to see if you wanna come with. she just wants you to get out of the house for once, stop playing wife to a man who hasn't married you yet.

you hesistate, wanting to be home in time to make dinner, but you can't imagine the library taking too long so you go. she looks at you with a strained pity that you can't stand. he doesn't hit you, so why does she even look at you like that? he'd never do that. he just got back from all that shit with a few screws loose. he never knows what he means when he says it.

he's always sorry. y'know? he's always sorry. sorta.

doesn't hit you but you know how the day will go by the way he says good morning. by the way he wakes up with you -- or without you. know how the night will go by the way he breathes when he comes in through the storm door. by the cadence of his steps on the metal stairs. by the way the van pulls in.

sometimes things break and that's fine cause he just replaces them. he knows he shouldn't have thrown it, he knows he shouldn't have tossed it, he knows. he knows. that's why he gets it the very next day. new plates, new house phone, new coffee pot, new records, new casettes, new picture frames, new flower pots. he doesn't throw them at you. he's only punched the wall twice. he slams his head against it all the time. cause he knows he's not good. he knows. you go to the library and check out some books, laugh at your neighbors jokes, tell her about your weekend in the city visiting his friends. he held your hand in front of everyone and pulled you onto his lap, he joked with you and you laughed the whole time. you went to see a band play that you'd never heard of and he got you a t-shirt and the next morning you all went out for hot chocolate and breakfast and he kissed the whipped cream off your lips and ran his thumb over your engagement ring over and over. he never stopped calling you baby. so charming. so perfect. you don't know what you did to earn it, but you've been chasing it ever since. modeling that week's behavior into this one. tip toes through the tulips of the trailer. jagged. shell like.

you get home from the library and lunch, she even stops with you when you mention you have to go to the grocery store. out of eggs for meatloaf, needed some canned string beans for one of the sides.

it's the best dinner you've made in a while and the mashed potatoes are double whipped and extra buttery because he can never get enough of them. you know that it's little things like that. you love the smile he gets when you tell him you do some things just for him, so blushy and boyish.

'that's so nice, baby,' he gushes, 'thinkin'a me.' and god he gushes. cries when he can't contain it. saw you in a new dress and wiped his eyes. new hair cut sent him into orbit.

so pretty.

you're so beautiful, i don't deserve you.

you're gorgeous i -- i can't even like, think.

presents on your birthday. handwritten notes with tear drops washing over the ink in a wave, blurry letters blue and black, black and blue. he'd never hit you. too in love. too bursting with affection when he looks at you. too nervous when you look at him when he takes you out. when he plays a show. when he sees you get dressed into your pjs at night. you're so good to me. especially when you hold him through those nightmares. when you calm his anxiety, those deep breath panic attacks. the ones that the meds miss when he misses them. you're patient through the mood swings and he always says thank you. he always says it -- you're the only one that understands him. that sees him. sometimes you don't get it. that's what he says at least. you don't get it and that makes him upset. but you're not sure what there is to get. and you try not to get sad about it -- 'bout anything really 'cause you're not the one who got a few screws knocked loose. nothing bad like that happened to you. i mean, sure, maybe some bad things happened to you but not like the way bad things happened to him, right? you wouldn't get it. but he gets you, he tells you all the time. he gets you so well. symbiotic. the only person who knows you, the only person whose been in your skin -- right? at least that's what he says, and he's said it so long you can't help but believe it.

your eyes fall on the newly vased roses he bought you two days ago from the florist near the shop. bright red petals opened and fat, contrasting against the pea green of the walls. you smile at them while you pour gravy over each plate, extra on his mashed potatoes. he kissed you this morning, he was almost late leaving the house -- couldn't stop kissing you. couldn't stop looking at you with those brown eyes, sparkling with a mischief saved for tonight.

the van rolls in as you set the table, still in your outfit from earlier, the books you checked out on the counter need the flowers. the storm door opens off kilter, your throat constricts. you know by the way he doesn't say anything when he comes in the house. work boots kicked off with loud thumps. his jacket swishing with a thwap when he throws it with a grunt to the ground. something bad must've happened at work. 'hey honey,' you say quietly, 'got dinner for you.'

you know better, watching him turn the corner into the dinette, looking down at you from where he stands and you sit. you hold a mug full of orange juice on the table, fingers tapping on it silently while he holds his gaze. 'you goin' somewhere, dressed up like that?' he asks, there's nothing behind those sparkling eyes now. dulled out to hollow brown.

'no,' you shrug, you know how to coreograph your responses now -- still stepping on his toes sometimes, 'went to the library with gina, she just wanted a friend for some errands.'

'you know gina doesn't like me,' he nods, walking to the fridge to grab a beer, 'she doesn't like us together. she hates me.'

'she doesn't hate you, ed,' you assure, voice still calm, mediating, 'no one hates you.'

'your folks hate me, your sister hates me,' he nods, curls bouncing while he takes a swig, like it's normal conversation. so steady, 'you think they like that i got you ever here in this trailer park?'

'my parents don't ha--'

'they do.' and that's final. you don't argue. and he's right. your parents don't like him and that's why you don't call anymore, and they stopped calling you too. so did all your friends from back home.

'so what'd gina tell you about me today, then?' he presses.

'nothin'," you shrug, 'we didn't talk about you.'

'of course not,' he laughs but it's one that sends a chill under your skin, a laugh to not seem so mean when you know he's about to be, 'she was prob'ly tryna set you up with someone. that's why you got all dressed up right? anything to look good for other guys out there.'

's'cuse me?' 'you heard me,' he nods, voice still steady like nothing's wrong, 'that's why you wore all those tight jeans in the city last weekend, right? those dresses? tryna show off to harrington and the guys. don't act like i didn't notice.'

'what are you talking about? why didn't you say anything when we were there?' you heart rate quickens, you try not to get mad.

'i shouldn't have to. but that's how you are, y'know?' he shrugs, another swig, another chuckle, 'makin' dinner and everything, you must've been out there makin' eyes at everyone if you made my favorite.'

'i wasn't doing that,' you urge, voice raising, tears threatening to pool, 'i just made it cause you like it, cause it makes you happy.'

'so you just do anything to make sure i don't get mad? do you even know why you do stuff like this for me?' he asks.

'what are you even saying?' your voice raises again, a mild yell. you're frazzled now, heart racing, head already scrambled.

'don't yell, what're you -- fuck babe, see! this is why gina doesn't like me,' he grits through his teeth, 'cause you're always making a scene over nothing. you're over fuckin' reacting.'

'i --' your voice catches in your throat, quieting, 'i'm sorry? i'm sorry.'

'd'you even know what you're sorry for?' he nearly sneers, 'always sayin' your sorry over nothing. y'know somethin' babe, sorry loses it's meaning when you're sayin' it all the time. it doesn't mean anything from you anymore.'

you nod, losing your resilience, too confused about how quickly you got here -- and he's right. you're always apologizing but half the time you don't even know what you're apologizing for. just that you feel like you need to be sorry. like you need to say sorry.

he holds that stare on you like he's waiting for you to speak again. daring you to say something. you stare down at the wood grain of the table, blank and empty -- numb, even. the mug between your hands is warm from how hard you were gripping the ceramic to keep you grounded.

's'what i thought,' he nods, voice a low rumble while he makes his way to the bathroom.

he'd never hit you.

the slam of the bathroom door makes you flinch.

sometimes you wish he would. maybe it would hurt less than this. at least that physical pain fades, right? at least it wasn't the same dull ache on a bruise that won't go away. are you hemmorhaging? do you just not feel it yet? will it be too late when you do?

he slides into bed with you at night after spending the rest of the evening out back with the other couples and families that were smoking ribs, having a little fire out in the brush. he smells like cigarettes. you could hear his grizzly laugh through the windows while you laid in the dark of your bedroom. too tired after the way he spoke to you to do anything else. everyone's favorite mechanic loverboy in the park.

you feel his fingertips on your shoulder, one of them gliding down the slope of your arm. he presses his lips to your shoulder blade, your eyes shut -- blearing with tears from that dull ache.

'dinner was really good, baby,' he says softly, a whisper.

you try to get out a thank you but it becomes a choke, a sniffle, a gasp. then a cry and then a harder one, remembering how he rolled his eyes at you two weeks ago when you cried after he threw out the love letter you wrote him for your four year anniversary because 'you didn't mean any of that shit anyway'.

he sits up, shushing you softly while his hand smooths over your bicep.

'what is it, sweetheart?' he asks, 'are you mad at me?'

you shake your head no. looking up at him, lying flat on your back. he looks so handsome in the moonlight, concerned eyes and tilted head peering down at you. 'n-no, ed. m'not mad at y-you,' you push out, head still scrambled. you feel guilty about last weekend, about going out today. what if guys really were looking? you know you weren't looking at them but what if they got the wrong idea? gina doesn't know what she's talking about, she's always hated ed. ever since they were kids.

'you just havin' one of your moments?' he asks, soothing voice, 'yeah?' one of your moments. always just one of your moments. couldn't be him, you're just -- maybe you're over thinking it.

'yeah,' you nod, 'm'sorry i went out with gina, baby i -- she didn't say anything bad about you.'

'it's okay,' he smiles, 'm'not mad at you. never mad at my girl.'

'no?' you ask, swallowing hard -- your heart leaps. he's not mad. maybe he just had a rough day.

'no doll, m'never mad at you. you always think i'm mad at you,' he says, thumb brushing away the tears that threatened to roll down the sides of your face to your hair line, 'you need me to kiss it better?'

another sob rips through you, nodding, because you do. you need it. and you sort of hate that you need it. you hate yourself for needing it. but he kisses you and it does feel better. he knows how to kiss you just right, he always has. he knows just where to put his hands. just how to pull away and brush his nose against yours. how to kiss your forehead between affirmations. smooth and understanding, like a movie scene. his kisses are his apologies. his sorry. you accept it every time.

because he doesn't hit you and he never would. in the morning, when the bathroom door slams so hard the walls vibrate, you flinch.

[weebsinstash]

bro 😨 i swear some of these are actually psychological horror books

I think the problem at least for me is really how it's handled and a lot of these authors are like obsessed with high school teenagers having sex. Like for example if you just spent like several chapters describing all the ways she's been physically and sexually abused by her own father to the point she literally doesn't even understand what the mate bond or love actually is, like her dad fucked her up so bad he would molest and beat her and say it was love, and she's instantly terrified when she meets her mate because she fears his love too, and then the story will switch to his pov and hes like, LUSTING for her, that's not ok? That's fucked up, like tone wise?

Like for example i know teenagers who are 5'4 and curvy probably do exist but is it like truly appropriate to be describing how sexy and hot to protagonist is when she's 1. A high-school girl, a child 2. An incest victim and has been since she was 13 and 3. The abuse literally just ended like a chapter or two ago and she hasn't even mentally recovered

Rm for length

Like this story goes from her new future Alpha mate who is also a high schooler saving her from being raped, he literally walks in on, ew, her father forcing her legs apart, and then like maybe 4 chapters later "oh maybe to help her understand the mate bond and help her be more comfortable, we can have her spend time with these other two kids her age who are mates" and she's like watching them touch and cuddle and be physically affectionate which i find insanely inappropriate actually, she was molested and told it was love so you're exposing her to other people being touchy with each other? Like an actual talented author would have made the connection that, realistically, the protagonist would probably be massively uncomfortable if not outright triggered by this, like at one point she has a panic attack so bad she passes out. and the dude who is her mate like, tries to cuddle her while they watch a movie and stuff, and she kind of likes it, but from my perspective as an adult and as a reader i just keep thinking "can you guys not even give her like a couple of months before trying to like lowkey manipulate her"

Like for the love of fucking god I don't want to hear about how he's literally getting fucking hard by cuddling with her and his internal monologue about how sexy she is and how badly he has to hold his wolf back from pouncing on her when BOTH OF THEM ARE MINORS like GROSS, what age group is this story even intended for, it's going from really adult topics to like really tropey mid tier highschool drama bullshit? I don't want to hear the fucking boyfriend thinking shit like "she shifted just slightly, briefly putting her hand on my thigh for a moment, and it sent waves of electricity straight to my cock" when she's like. Trying to just watch a movie and let dinner settle into her stomach because she's so poorly malnourished she can't even take full bites of a sandwich, she has to tear pieces of it off and eat slowly bc she feels so sick. Like it's the WHIPLASH.

Like sorry maybe when you're still a teenager, shows that show teenagers being flirty and sexual with each other might be appealing, but im a grown woman, and it rubs me the wrong way, idk? IS there an appropriate way for adults to write about kids in this way? Sometimes it's cultural I guess but imo I basically consider everyone a kid until they're like 20, 21 and it just. It's creepy. Please stop talking about how this like 16 year old is gorgeous and doesn't even need makeup and she has double d size breasts and a flat stomach and a thigh gap and a fat ass but is somehow also dangerously malnourished like, it's very. It's just outta pocket. It's weird man and that's coming from me. I'm gonna listen for a little while longer but I just find the handling of her abuse a little bizarre.

And also like. They have her speak to a therapist about how horrific her abuse was and the therapist immediately goes to her future mate and is like "I'm not supposed to tell you this but you are her mate, so--" and just tells him all her personal shit. That should have been her choice to make. They're not giving her enough time to heal. Maybe it's just upsetting for me because I'm dealing with a lot of mental health stuff and these plotlines involving being manipulated and betrayed behind your back and not respected or having your own autonomy is really hitting me

[nightside-of-siberia]

Okay, so I had a weird dream that I think could be another vaguely depressing story alongside These Not Insignificant Chains or The Broken Parts Of Me:

Conscription in this world is a thing. MC (main characyer) gets set to a naval boat bobbing about in the middle of the ocean, where they and a bunch of other people are trained to fight in a VR war game type thing (newbies get knives and the like to learn hand to hand combat, then the longer you're there/the better you get, the better gear (e.g. guns) you're allowed. There's also a kill counter, where once your team has killed x amount of NPC enemies, you get an offensive vehicle (a humvee with a machine gun, a tank, etc).

Then, at the end of the session, you take the headset off, go have a shower with the team in the communal showers, and dry off/get dressed with the towel and clothes that have been set out for you in the changing rooms under the name the name of your in game avatar (which are passed down from person to person, regardless of what your preferences might be). MC doesn't know this, so, after the first session, is surprised to find that their own clothes aren't there, and that they can't remember the name of their avatar. This leads to them accidentally picking up someone else's towel, but this other person catches them before the clothes get mixed up (it doesn't happen again).

Now, this is where my dream ended, but if I were to turn it into a Wanda/Agatha thing, I'd make Wanda the new conscript who just experienced all this, and is getting bullied for either being the newbie (she and maybe two other people were sent to the ship at the same time, everyone else has been there a while), or fucking up so bad on her first day (I'm leaning towards the latter). Agatha, on the other hand, is an elite soldier on the same ship who, unlike everyone else, is part of an elite, secretive team that goes out to do real world shit (think Navy Seals/SAS). Wanda sees her in passing one day, and is immediately like, "who's that?! 👀".

And that's where the bullying stops, 'cause there's nothing her shipmates could say that'd possibly be worse than watching her going through what they have all gone through re: Agatha (maybe there'll be a bit of laughing at Wanda's expense along the way, though).

Unlike all the others, though, Wanda actually catches Agatha's eye, and they start hooking up/catching feelings. This is probably where the nightmares/psychological issues begin for Agatha, though, 'cause know she has a reason to feel and she can't just keep dissociating from what it is she does for a living. Wanda comforts her through all this, and pushes her to get help, which is how she gets diagnosed with PTSD, and probably some other stuff. The process for her getting discharged (she stayed on after her conscription ended 'cause she had nothing else to do) is set in motion, but she still has one or two missions left to do before she can go home.

This is where stuff starts to come crashing down, though, where Wanda (unknown to Agatha) gets sent out on one of Agatha's missions with her last minute (maybe the original person got sick or something last minute, so Wanda was substituted in without any on the team knowing 'cause the role was just for lookout or something minor like that). The mission goes well, but it ends up shattering Wanda and Agatha's relationship, 'cause Wanda looks around around just in time to see Agatha execute someone without a second thought.

Agatha doesn't find this ot until they're on the helicopter ride back to the boat, when Wanda pulls her helmet off and demands to know what she just witnessed. Agatha doesn't have a good explanation, and their relationship is shattered. Wanda moves back in to her old bunk room, and Agatha just . . . shuts down (stops eating/sleeping/talking, etc.), something that bothers Wanda, but she's not sure whether it should, 'cause she's still mad and maybe Agatha deserves this for lying (even if it's not really lying, 'cause Wanda never asked what Agatha did, and just assumed she was part of a different training group)?

This eventually leads to Agatha getting hospitalised, so to speak, which Wanda only finds out when a helicopter arrives to take Agatha back to land and an actual hospital, along with her discharge papers. Wanda panics upon seeing this, and rushes up to say goodbye, 'cause she was wrong, Agatha doesn't deserve to be at death's door, regardless of whether she's a killer or not, and she wants to be able let Agatha know that.

She doesn't get a chance to, though, 'cause Agatha's out cold, and her heart just sinks, 'cause what if something happens to one of them between now and Wanda's conscription ending?! So, once the helicopter's gone, she goes down below, and starts writing. She tells Agatha how sorry she is, how terrible a person she is for condemning Agatha for something that she knows is already haunting Agatha, and all that. She doesn't expect to get an answer, but she ends it by saying that she loves Agatha, and that one day they might be able to meet again?

She does get a letter back. It's short and simple, and it doesn't address any of the thins Wanda had said in her letter, but it does say something important: I'm going home to Salem when they release me from hospital. Maybe, when you're done, you can come find me, and we can talk in person?

And, when Wanda's conscription finishes a few months/a year later, she does. She has the address of Agatha's mother's house, so she goes there, and is directed to the nearby park. There, she finds Agatha, sat on a bench overlooking the lake. She's still unnaturally thin, and looks like she hasn't slept a day since their last in person interaction, but she smiles, small and reserved, up at Wanda anyway.

"I didn't think you'd come," she says, and Wanda's stomach just drops.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You seemed pretty set on me being the devil incarnate the last time we spoke."

". . . you didn't get my letter?"

"I got it," Agatha looks away, "I just wasn't sure if it was real."

Wanda begins to cry. Had she really made Agatha think she hated her that much? She reaches out, takes Agatha's hand as slowly and carefully as possible, in case Agatha wants to pull away. She doesn't, though, so Wanda begins to apologise.

She doesn't get very far, though, before Agatha interrupts her to say, "it wasn't your fault. You had every right to be mad at me for not telling you that I was a monster from the beginning."

That just makes Wanda feel worse, though, 'cause, "you're not a monster!"

Agatha meets her eyes, and just smiles. "It's nice of you to say that, but we both know it's not true."

Wanda's heart breaks. "Will . . . will you let me prove to you that it is?"

Agatha hesitates. "I can't stop you."

And thus ensues Wanda trying to both prove to Agatha that she's not a monster, and that she can be the person she once was without having to pretend like her terrible deeds never happened.

[jplupine]

Feral Possession: Chapter 4

Confrontation

Pairing: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Wynter Hughes [Nonbinary OC] Word Count: ~2.6k WARNINGS: 18+ Minors/Ageless get blocked, Exophilia, Demon!Grimmjow, Feral Behavior, Grimmjow being a Terror, Psychological Torture, Sleep Deprivation, Threat of Bodily Harm, Sexual Harassment

Summary: Wynter is getting more and more exhausted as the demon's antics drag on.

You can also read it on AO3!

Masterlist | Chapter 4:

  I didn't get much sleep that night either since the thing in the house wouldn't stop strutting about the place while singing the same lines from 'Sympathy for the Devil' like before. It was less terrifying now that I knew he couldn't physically hurt me, but he'd still pop up out of nowhere and scare the shit out of me. He'd laugh every time I yelped in surprise since it seemed to amuse him.

  His antics went on for days, mainly occurring during the night and making it difficult to sleep. Napping on the couch during the day to catch up on some missed sleep, Dagur had been curled up next to me, and I finally slept peacefully.

  Even so, I became suspicious when I woke up and nothing had yet to happen. For once in the past week, nothing was knocked over or torn up. Nothing was out of place and there was no singing or humming.

  Did he finally tire of messing with me?

  Rising to my feet, I grabbed my phone and opened up the back door. Checking the area, I then called for Dagur, and he ran right past me to go outside. Following him, I checked the messages on my phone. There were a few from Gary, and a couple from my boss telling me what needed to be changed on my most recent project. I had a week to fix it, but what he wanted could be done in two nights.

  Sighing as I answered the texts from Gary, I had to explain that I hadn't answered because of my nap. Now that those messages were taken care of, I glanced up to see Dagur peeing on the fence.

  "Lovely." I muttered before plopping down at the edge of the pool. Crossing my legs, I just sat there as I looked into the water while feeling the late-day sun on my skin. Throwing my hands up, I laid back on the rocky tiles and watched as a cloud slowly floated past.

  I was exhausted and only wanted peace, but this demon seemed hellbent on bugging me. The fear was morphing more into irritation as the days passed, and I was beginning to hate that damn song he always sang. I heard tapping on glass and looked up at the back door.

  The demon was standing there, watching me and reminding me of a cat. He was still just a solid shadow, but those feline eyes and the way his tail twitched was too reminiscent of a cat. I flipped him off, and he grinned. Those sharp teeth glinted in the fading sunlight.

  Once I went back into the house, I knew he would start bothering me. The only reason he wasn't now, I could only assume had to do with the sun still being out. Indirect sunlight didn't seem to bother him, but I guess direct would. As I lowered my hand, something began to dawn on me.

  He kept asking for my name, kept singing a song about guessing the identity of the singer. Maybe it was because I just woke from my nap, or maybe I was finally putting the pieces together, but this asshole was playing a Rumplestiltskin kind of game. The winner would be whoever got the other's name first.

  Of course, this was simply speculation, but what other reasoning would there be? He clearly had some sort of goal, and if he wasn't lying, it at least wasn't to eat me. But what was it?

  And as I was thinking, something else began to prick at my mind. ....What if this demon had something to do with Uncle Jordan dying? Sitting up, I placed my hands in my lap. What if Uncle Jordan had done something that brought this demon here?

  Maybe he was digging and found something, cleaning and happened upon something. I mean, Uncle Jordan would have been all over the property while renovating and could have stumbled onto something from previous owners. That, or maybe it came from one of the antiques Uncle Jordan just happened to bring home.

  Wherever he came from, he was definitely here before I was. I mean, I hadn't done anything but moved in. Though, Uncle Jordan was old....he simply could have just passed naturally. But something nagged at me that the demon did have a part in it.

  He was breathing down on my head as I was trying to get work done. Sat at the desk in the office, I was trying to focus on typing rather than the demon leaning on the chair. Unlike when it came to me, he could actually touch inanimate objects.

  And he was taking advantage of that by shaking the chair at random intervals.

  "Will you fucking stop?!" I slammed my hands against the desk. He chuckled and hopped up on the desk to crouch beside my laptop with his elbows on his knees.

  "Tell me your name then, Little Rabbit." His tail curled behind the laptop, and I noticed his feet were more like paws. Was it odd to find them....adorable?

  "How about you tell me yours?" I popped off, and his blue eyes narrowed. "Give me that look all you want, you're not even half as scary as you were before. I know you can't even touch me." His leg shot out to kick the back of the chair just over my shoulder. The chair spun and teetered before falling back. Grunting when I landed on the floor, the demon proved his point without saying a word.

  I saw the claw marks on the chair, and he was still crouched on the desk while looking down at me.

  "Don't get cocky just because I can't touch you. I can still touch everything else, human. And I do mean everything." He reached down to grab the front of my shirt before yanking me up to my feet. "Just because I haven't actually hurt you yet doesn't mean I can't, Little Rabbit. You're just more amusing when not broken."

  I tried to pull his hand off of me, but my hand went right through his wrist. That sadistic grin played onto his lips as he chuckled.

  "Oh, that face is good. That's right, Little Rabbit. I can't touch you, and you can't touch me. But I can sure as shit still do this." He stood on the desk while lifting me up off the ground as if I weighed nothing. "So long as you wear clothes, I could just as easily throw your ass around. That, or throw other things at you." He said while knocking the lamp off of the desk with his foot. The bulb shattered on the ground, and I was thankful it wasn't on.

  "What do you even get out of this?" I asked lowly while looking at him. His eyes narrowed at me with those slit pupils focused right on my face. "Seriously, what keeps you here? Day in and day out you bug me. Why don't you just leave?" I tilted my head as his eyes narrowed more. "You can't, can you? You're stuck here, aren't you? Maybe if you tell me why, I can help you to leave. Because, trust me, I don't want you here either."

  He dropped me, and his tail swayed as he placed his hands on his hips.

  "I want your soul, Little Rabbit. Would you so readily give it to me?" There was a silent pause before he burst into laughter. "You should see your face! The fuck would I do with your stupid soul?! You're right though, human. I am stuck here. The old fucker from before bound me here." He hopped down from the desk and stepped toward me. I backed away until I hit a bookshelf, and he was peering down at me. "But I can't break the seals myself."

  "Seals?"

  "There's two. One on my body, one on my power. You're related to that old fucker, aren't you? You have to break them." He raised his hand and tilted his head while watching me as he brushed his knuckles over my cheek. It felt like cold air was touching me. "Once you've broken them, I'll be gone."

  "You're not telling me everything."

  "You're right, I'm not. You're perceptive, Little Rabbit, and it's a fucking pain in my ass." He lowly growled.

  "What are you leaving out?"

  "Is it really any of your concern?"

  "It is if you want my help. From what I gather, having your body and power sealed is safer than letting you free." His hand slammed against the shelf by my head, making me flinch. "You want my name, right? Why? It's unimportant if the seals are what you're after unless you need it for something."

  "Knowing your name gives me the power to touch you." He sounded honest, so if he wasn't lying, my guess from before was right. "If I can touch you, I can make you break the seals."

  "Then what's with the whole 'Sympathy for the Devil' shit?"

  "Just having a little fun." He smirked.

  "Then my uncle. How the Hell could he 'bind' you if he was just a retired teacher?"

  "He wasn't 'just a retired teacher'. The fucker was an exorcist. Between him being old as shit and me being so powerful, he couldn't send me back to Hell."

  "So he sealed you in the house." I stated, and now I was a little pissed. If Uncle Jordan had sealed the demon in the house, why in the world would he leave it to me in the will? "....He knew I was smart enough to figure it out." I muttered as my eyes widened a fraction.

  "And you're also smart enough to figure out you either release me, or I'll make your life miserable, Little Rabbit. I just might even go after those close to you....again." He smirked. "How'd your little friend like his wake-up call?"

  "You pissed on his bed, not exactly threatening. And he thought it was the dog."

  "Would you prefer I did to him what I did to your uncle?" My lip twitched into a snarl.

  "What the fuck did you do to my uncle?" My voice was dangerous and it took me a second to realize I was actually holding something. My attention briefly went to my hand wrapped in shadow. It felt like soft fur between my fingers. I had assumed it was a part of him, but the fact that I could touch it said otherwise.

  A shirt. The fur was a shirt collar.

  "I did to him what I'm doing to you. Old man couldn't take it for long." The demon stated while not at all bothered by the fact that I'd figured out I could touch his clothes as he could mine. If this fur was a shirt collar, where did the clothes end and he begin? It all looked like the same shadow without seams.

  Tightening my grip on the fur, I shoved the demon back now that I had a hold on something. He only went back a step since he hadn't expected it, then dug his claws into the floor before pushing me back against the bookshelf. His hand was on my chest, using my shirt as a barrier since it wouldn't go through me like his hand would.

  "Don't try to get brave, Little Rabbit. Just break the seals."

  "I'm not that stupid."

  "Then I guess I'll just have to break you." I quickly brought my knee up, but he grabbed my knee since I was wearing pajama pants. "You catch on quick, you little shit. I didn't think you'd even figure to go for such a low blow."

  "Well, it was worth a shot." I swallowed as fear trickled in. I was hoping, with how he wore clothes and looked and sounded masculine, I could knee him in the crotch and run when he went down.

  "You've only given me another idea on how to torment you." His tone dropped as he stepped closer while still holding me against the shelf with a hand on my chest. "Don't get me wrong, your fear smells delicious, but why don't we see how else you can smell, Little Rabbit?" The hand on my knee moved upward, and I could feel the chill of his hand through the fabric.

  The demon leaned down, and his cold breath hitting my cheek and neck made my hair stand on end. My heart was pounding, and I was uncertain as to what he was trying to do until he grabbed my ass. He slid a knee between mine and rubbed his thigh against my crotch. I took in a sharp breath and tried to push him off, but the demon wouldn't budge.

  "My, my, Little Rabbit. Your scent changed so quickly." It sounded like he was purring now. His hand on my chest lowered as he pressed the rest of his body against me. I could feel defined muscle along his torso, and with how close he was, I could faintly smell something. Was it him?

  "Get off." I managed to keep my voice even, but it came out barely louder than a whisper.

  "Why? You're clearly pent up if just this is turning you on." His voice was close to my ear as both of his large hands were on my ass now. "Why not enjoy it, Little Rabbit? I can smell how badly you want to. Might I add, you really do smell fucking delicious either way."

  "You're a damn demon!" I hissed only to tense when he rubbed his thigh against me again.

  "Doesn't seem like that bothers you too much." He sounded amused before he pulled his head back and turned to the desk. My phone was ringing with the screen facing up and allowing him to see who was calling. "Oh, it's that punk-bitch." The demon pounced on the desk before crouching like earlier as he snatched up the phone.

  His tail was swaying as he answered the call, and my heart sank as Gary's voice came through loud and clear.

  "Hey, Wynter, I was wondering if you were up to me crashing by with some burgers. I got some work I'd like your advice on." The animalistic ears on the demon perked up before the shadow covering him began to melt away. Pure darkness gave way to bright blue as his hair was so long down his back. The fur on the back of his ears was green, however, and his tail matched his hair. His clothes, from what I could see from behind, were black and dark green. His skin was a bit tan, though what I could assume to be markings spiraled up his arms with a few more stripes over his hips that were also black and green.

  "~Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name~" The demon lowly sang while turning his head to look at me with an evil grin. His eyes were pools of black with his irises a bright blue. There were green markings under his eyes, and his horns were black.

  "Wynter? Wynter?!" Gary sounded frantic since he could hear the demon over the phone. If I wasn't so terrified by the fact the demon now had my name, I would have been floored by how attractive he was.

  "Hello, Wynter." He purred, and it sent a shiver up my spine before he hung up on Gary.

[colby-k]

My Collegiate Journey: Trials and Tribulations

I recently graduated from Regis University with a degree in English and a minor in psychology. I didn't graduate with my friends, though. It took me another semester, but I still got it done. I got it done, but not without a shit ton of struggles.

During my freshman year, I was smooth sailing. My GPA at the lowest was 3.8 and I just had tons of fun that year. I made great friends; I had good professors. Everything was great--except my roommate was a piece of shit. No, I'm just kidding. She was a very nice girl. We just weren't fit to live with each other.

After I moved into my own room, things started to look better for me. I even started a friends-with-benefits relationship with a friend of a friend. It was interesting.

But, anyway, it was a fun year.

And then sophomore year happened. I started smoking weed and, unfortunately, started getting into nicotine. Maybe those affected my schooling. Sophomore year was when my mental health started to get worse. I don't know what happened but I lost a lot of my friends. They just stopped talking to me and it kind of hurt. I mean, I still had friends. I roomed with my friend, Ellie.

My friend, Beaky, they brought me into their friend group, too. They actually got me into smoking weed, but that's a different story. I wish that I hadn't smoked so much right away. I wish I would've smoked in gradual amounts.

But, here we are: smoking pretty much every day. Oh well. It helped with my seizures, I thought so at least.

I was very optimistic about weed helping with my seizures. I didn't have one for a while after I started smoking. However, I then had a string of them over the course of about a month, having one or two per week. It was incredibly scary but I talked to my neurologist and she prescribed me a new medication as a supplement to my other medication.

This new medication truly helped. It's still helping, except for a spurt of seizures over the last two months. It seems to have stopped, though. So, that's good. I'm off-topic.

So, I didn't have a solid friend group. I belonged to two different social circles and it was confusing because they had completely different auras. It was almost as if I was two different people. I made it work though, giving all of me to both of them.

My depression took over me. My grades started to drop, and I dropped out of honors. Dropping out of the honors program was one of the best academic decisions I've ever made. It took a lot of stress off of me and kept me from going insane from the ego-filled cult.

Junior year is when things started to get even more mentally worse for me. It felt like a "just because I can" decline, though. There was no true reason for my mental capacity to be that small. I felt stupid, incapable, worthless, and restless.

It was difficult even to get out of bed in the mornings. It just felt like I couldn't. I couldn't get up. I couldn't get dressed. I couldn't go to class. I could barely eat. My grades tanked very quickly. I just couldn't function.

I was like this during my senior year, too, except that I had more medical problems. My dizziness got worse. I couldn't go to my morning classes because I couldn't function, and that affected my grades. I kept having seizures. My recovery time is different from the difference in the severity of them. It can be anywhere between one day and two and a half days. It gets pretty bad sometimes. That made me miss even more classes. I'm surprised I passed.

During my final semester, I missed more classes than I ever have. My dizziness was debilitating and it would start right before my class started. I wanted to go, I just couldn't even walk there. It was a terrible time. But I made it. I miraculously passed and got my degree.

What. A. Time.

[stilydinski]

☆ [22:58 PM] — RAN HAITANI ☆

pairing: bonten!ran x female reader

tags: no pronouns used but reader is called a girl/woman, established relationship, teasing, swear words, implied suggestive content?, based on a tiktok prank

"hey ran i have a question? just don't think too hard about it," you said out of nowhere to the man lying next to you in bed at this late hour. you were bored so you felt like messing with him a little.

said man just hummed at you, signaling that you have his attention but not taking his eyes away from his phone screen where he was texting one of his co-workers.

you turned your head to him so you could observe his reactions. "imagine you walk past a field of strawberries. you're really hungry so you wanna get some but there's a fence surrounding the field. how big is the fence?"

confused by the weird context-less question you see him stop typing mid-sentence. it seems you have his full attention now as his head turns towards you as well. all you receive as an answer is a "what?"

"don't question it. just answer, how big is the fence?"

still looking at you with a suspicious look he thought for a second before replying, "I don't know, probably one of those small white fences that you can just step right over if you're not as short as mikey," he let out a small laugh at his own answer.

you, however, didn't laugh but squint your eyes at him. "okay...how many strawberries do you eat?" you word out your next question.

he stared at the ceiling in thought before answering "if i'm really hungry maybe like 10."

you let out a short gasp, "ten? really?"

he turned his head back towards you with a confused look. "yeah? I mean if i'm already stealing those strawberries might as well take enough to get my fill."

you mouth opened in shock for a second before you continued. "the farmer comes by and asks 'what are you doing eating my strawberries?' what's your response?" you stare at his face intently for his reaction.

"I'd probably say something like 'oops sorry they just looked really good' i guess," he said without much thought.

you furrowed your eyebrows again but moved on without any comment. "okay you're walking away, how do you feel about the experience? do you feel guilty?"

now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow at you. "I've done worse than steal some fruit. I don't think I'll care," he tells you as if you didn't just ask a criminal if a minor theft would plague his mind in any way.

irritated by his casual response you voiced out your last question. "well rate the strawberries from 1 to 10," staring at his face while he just looked at the ceiling again.

ran closed his eyes for a second pretending to taste the fictional strawberries on his tongue. he hummed for a second. "they were delicious. 10 out of 10," he settled with a satisfied expression.

scoffing you finally turned away and looked at the ceiling, crossing your arms over your chest. "wow I didn't know i was dating an unloyal whore."

shocked at your sudden change of attitude your boyfriend turned to you, this time using his right arm as support to look down at your face. "what the hell?" he said obviously confused.

"that was a test of infidelity. you definitely didn't pass," you said not looking into his eyes.

"what? how does that even make sense?" ran's confusion doesn't seem to end.

you frowned at him finally meeting his eyes. "it's psychology. the fence represents the boundaries and your willingness to cheat in a relationship," you squinted your eyes at him, "you said you'd walk right through that shit and it was small!"

he stared at you in disbelief and speechless.

"the strawberries represent the women. TEN women. TEN!" you continued accusingly, "and the farmer? I'M THE FARMER!" you glared at him, "and you told me there was nothing holding you back to satiate yourself!"

ran had to hold back a laugh at how riled up you got in your speech but let you continue ranting about his disloyalty.

"you didn't even regret doing it! 'I've done worse' OH BECAUSE THAT EXCUSES IT you asshole," you exclaimed dramatically, "and you said the girls were great too....10 out of 10 even," you put a hand over your eyes to support your theatrics.

at this point ran could not hold his laugh in and fell onto his back again while his shoulders shook. "why would I even need anyone else if I already have your crazy ass. I don't think there's any girl out there who would compare to your insanity," he said jokingly but you know he fully means it.

"that's right. from here on you'll only get a downgrade, so honestly if you cheat on me that's your own fault," you teased him while leaning over his face. to tip him over the edge you added one last remark. "I'm sure I'd have no problem finding myself a new ran haitani."

he raised his brows at you. both of you staring into the others eyes, you with a daring glare and he with an amused one. you and him both fully aware that after all this time together there's no way either of you could ever replace the other.

"maybe I just have to remind you of how great and unique I am after all, huh?" he almost whispered considering your close proximity at this point.

you smirked back at him. "I mean you can try, I guess." and with that he finally closed the distance between you both, reminding you just why you can't get enough of each other.

[scuttling]

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don��t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

[getosubaru]

It’s such a long walk when you got somewhere to be; I just thought maybe you were gonna walk with me (chapter two)

a/n: ayy look at me getting another chapter out before a century passes

story summary: MC decides all of the student council is going to therapy and hell hath no fury like a prepared human. They’ve got highlighters and they’re not afraid to use them.

chapter summary: Levi is up to bat first, but he'll need his Henry by his side to get through it.

pairing: could be lucifer/reader, but i’m leaving it gen for now.

warnings: none; small text only for description; gn!reader; possible spoilers since author can’t remember when shit happened in canon; not proofread/betaread; author is a psychology grad student which is its own warning; angst and trauma; minor medical metaphor towards the end

current rating: t; may change.

chapter wc: ~3k

title taken from “therapy” by dresage & g smith

chapter one

A knock on your door as you get ready for classes isn’t unheard of. It’s the demon who greets you that’s the surprise.

“Levi? Come in,” you say, ushering him in and shutting the door.

He’s put himself together today. Every button is done up and his shirt is neatly tucked—even his pants have a sharply ironed crease to them. His hair, usually messy and in his face, is combed back with not a strand out of place.

“You look nice.” It’s hard to keep the shock and skepticism out of your voice, but you think you manage given the way his cheeks darken.

“I was thinking about the meeting,” he says to the ground. “About my work with the navy and stuff.”

You turn to rummage in your drawers for a tie, gesturing for him to continue. Levi doesn’t do well with eye contact and conversations are always easier for him if you’re not looking at him. His voice is stronger when he speaks again.

“It’s not something I really talk about, you know? But I am proud of it. And I just thought maybe I should, like, try to put more of it in my life? I don’t know if I’m making sense.”

“You are.” There’s the damn tie you want. You flip up your collar and start to put it on. 

Levi huffs when your fingers fumble the knot. “Let me?”

The offer stuns you both, especially when he takes the offending fabric away from you. You risk a glance at him to make sure he isn’t about to pass out. His face is a startling cherry color, but there’s determination in his eyes. 

“I feel like I’m cosplaying myself actually,” he says with a laugh. “Maybe I’ll hate it today. I mean, the others are going to make a huge deal over it.” 

“You’ll have your Henry to back you up,” you assure him as he finishes a perfect knot. 

“Th-thanks.”

Levi moves out of your space just as quickly as he stepped into it. He seems to breathe a bit easier once you’re no longer sharing air. Grabbing your bag from your desk, you catch sight of the schedule Diavolo sent you last night. 

“You know you don’t have to do this for your appointment, right?” you ask carefully. 

His face falls at the reminder. “I’m not doing it for that. Though, of course, they put me up first. I’m the one they probably think needs the most help—“

You give his sleeve a sharp tug. “Hey, knock it off. It’s just the way the schedule worked out. You know, the one that I made?” 

Levi seems even more crestfallen than ever.

“Leviii,” you draw his name out. “I scheduled it like this because you have that event later this week, remember? You told me you’ve been waiting forever for season two of The Panopticon’s Revenge to drop and you wanted to see how fast you could speedrun it on your first playthrough!” 

“Oh. Yeah, I forgot that’s coming out,” he mumbles, all bluster taken out of him.

You tug on his sleeve again, careful not to make sudden skin contact. “Come on, we’re gonna be late for breakfast.” 

True to form, his brothers do make a big deal out of Levi’s look. Well, Beel’s too busy eating and Belphie’s still asleep, so it’s just the Terrible Trio to cause a fuss. Lucifer, predictably, has already left.

“Levi, you should’ve told me last night you wanted to do this!” whines Asmo. “I have a gel that would be great for your hair.”

The demon in question focuses harder on his toast. 

Mammon shakes his head. “Don’t know why ya wanted to dress up, though. It’s just RAD.” 

“It’s not a crime to want to look nice, dummy,” shoots back Asmo with a glare.

“It’s not just RAD, though. Am I right?” asks Satan over his book. 

“Oh, you got that meeting today? Damn, you’re not gonna impress ’em just by combin’ your hair.”

You carefully set down your water glass so it makes an audible thud against the table. “Gentlemen, that’s enough.” 

Levi flashes you a relieved smile. 

Beel passes a plate of shadow hog bacon across to the third-born. “Here, you’ll want protein so you’ve got enough energy if you’re staying late today. Just carbs won’t be enough.” 

Peace is restored to the dining room and breakfast doesn’t end in bloodshed. Some days, it’s all you can ask for.

After your Devildom History class, Levi pulls you aside. 

“Come with me?” he pleads. “Idon’twannagoalone.”

You’re exhausted and have a mountain of homework (thanks, Professor Marchosias, for the 30-page potions essay), but Levi’s luminous eyes stare at you with desperation. His shirt is untucked and it looks like he’s been running his hands through his hair. 

“I get first character pick when we play Ascendance next?” you barter. 

It’s always a struggle when you play together because both of you want to be the dragon knight and neither of you handles defeat very well. You’d go with him regardless, but he’ll feel less bad about it if you’re getting something out of it. And you really want to practice this combo you saw online.

“Absolutely!” cries Levi. “I’ll even let you win just please, please come with me—“ 

Your glare stops his relieved rant in its tracks. “You better not ‘let’ me win, Leviachan, or I will spoil the series end of Primeval Throne before you can catch up.” 

“MC!” 

You slip into an empty classroom (pulling a stuttering Levi behind you by the sleeve) and dig a comb out of your bag. He takes you pushing him into a chair with surprising grace.

“It is very lucky Asmo slipped a jar of gel in my bag, hmm?” 

Levi yelps when you start to brush the comb through his tangled hair. It’s not too badly messed up, but you can tell he didn’t use anything stronger than water to slick it back. The gel works well with his hair, just as Asmo said.

“You made sure it’s not anything, I don’t know, weird, right?” asks Levi nervously. 

“It’s got glitter in it and is charmed to dye your hair pink,” you deadpan. 

“What?!”

You tap him on the head with the end of the comb. “Chill, Levi. It’s just gel, I swear.” 

Once he’s put back together, Levi huffs and straightens his shoulders. He adamantly refused your help with his rumpled clothes. 

“It’s just a meeting, not a battle,” you say, following him out the door and across campus. 

Levi hums. “I mean, it kinda is? A battle with myself, I mean. Plus, it helps to think of it like a battle in a game or something.” 

His insightfulness isn’t new to you, but the sentiment rattles around your brain while you walk. He’s not wrong. You’ve done enough therapy back in the Human Realm to know that. Sometimes you have to fight your own demons to make progress. Pun hopefully unintended. 

“Ah, Grand Admiral, you’re right on time,” greets a tall demoness when you both enter the designated room.

It’s probably usually used as a lounge of some sort given the couches and small kitchenette. A host of runes glow as you shut the door behind you. Levi rounds on the stranger, tail flickering in and out of existence. 

“Just privacy and security,” she assures him, hands raised with a gentle smile. “Duke Barbatos oversaw their implementation himself.” 

Levi calms when you rest a finger on the back of his arm. “Sorry, just wasn’t expecting it.” 

“Not at all. Please, be seated.” She gestures at the couch across from her. “MC, you’ve come to join him?” 

You nod, sitting down and pulling Levi with you. She looks to your friend for confirmation or acquiescence—though it’s hard to tell from the polite smile she keeps. 

“I wanted company,” says Levi after a moment. 

“Perfectly fine.” She nods. “How about I introduce myself a bit and we can get started?”

A tray appears with a wave of one clawed hand. Small pies and cookies are arranged delicately around a contingent of drink options. 

“There are savory and sweet options,” she continues, choosing a soda you’re familiar with from back home. “They should all be human-safe, but maybe stay away from the purple juice? I think it has nightshade in it.” 

“Beel’s going to love you,” you say, laughing when Levi nods solemnly. 

She smiles, this time a little bigger and less practiced. “I look forward to meeting him. Now, my name is Yoraissa. There’s a long and complicated version, but I went by ‘Rissa’ when I studied in the Human Realm. You’re free to call me whichever you’d prefer.” 

“You studied in the Human Realm?” asks Levi. His eyebrows (no longer hidden by his hair) shoot upwards. 

Rissa nods. “I attended a human university for my psychology degree about five years ago. I’m still a licensed doctor in the country I studied in, actually. There are a few clients I meet with topside, though much of my practice is dedicated to demons.” She pauses to let that sink in and takes a sip of her soda. “After I got my degree there, I came back to get my degree in demon psychology.” 

“There’s a difference?” Levi reaches for flavored water, passing you one without asking. 

“Of course,” replies Rissa. “Not only are we different physically, but mentally as well. I won’t bore you with the technical jargon, but even the way we use our senses or process emotions is different.” 

You bite down on the urge to grill her for more information. This is meant to be about helping Levi—not satisfying your curiosity. Rissa, as if sensing your intrigue, shoots a grin at you. 

“I have a couple of books I can recommend on the topic if you want.”

“That would be great,” you reply. As long as you can keep Satan from thieving them. 

Rissa taps one delicate claw to the dark skin of her cheek. “A final thing to note is that, by birth, I am a succubus. I don’t use my more…traditional powers when meeting with clients, but I am attuned to ambient moods. This means I will pick up on deception and hesitation, so lying won’t be any good with me. On a more positive note, I will know if we start to hit topics that are a little raw and I will know when to start backing off.” 

Levi shifts uncomfortably next to you, though you think it’s about her powers more than her heritage. He told you offhand once that his second-in-command is actually an incubus under Asmo’s domain. 

“Useful,” you supply when he doesn’t say anything.

“In my line of work?” Rissa laughs, showing off fangs that almost glow in contrast to her deep skin. “Most definitely.” 

She caps her soda and faces Levi directly, though her eyes focus on the tablet in her lap. “I want to get a grasp of you as a whole for this first session, okay? So we’ll just be covering some basics and anything you want to talk about.”

Levi nods. “Okay.”

They run through the story of the brothers’ fall, sidestepping the topic of Lilith. Rissa furrows her brow when he avoids talking about his sister and makes a note on her tablet. Part of you wants to let her know she’ll probably make that same note seven times over. 

“You were in charge of the Celestial Navy?” she asks.

“Yeah.” Levi looks down at his fingers and starts picking at the polish. “Back then, we had a lot more battles and assignments, so I was constantly busy.” 

“Not anymore?”

He shakes his head. “No, not since the Accords were signed.” 

Your Realm Politics class covered this a bit at the beginning. The Accords are a treaty signed by both the Celestial and Infernal Realms. Basically, it boils down to a peace treaty, though there are some sections dedicated to inter-realm travel and visitation. Diavolo used it as the basis for the exchange program. 

None of the brothers have used the clause stating they are allowed short visits upstairs, as far as you’re aware. Not that that’s very surprising.

“What do you usually do now?” asks Rissa. 

“Video games, anime, manga…” Levi shrugs. “I still run the Infernal Navy, but it’s not as time-consuming.” 

“Do you want more to do in your official position?” 

“No!” he objects. “That would mean another war a-and more violence and death and—“

You press your thigh against his. “Deep breaths, Leviachan,” you murmur into his ear. 

Rissa shoots you a thankful look as his breathing calms and the flush vanishes from his face. 

“I just… Everyone does stuff, you know? Even Mammon’s got his greed demons to manage and Belphie’s got the sleep paralysis department. What do I have?” Levi digs his hand into his hair. 

You weren’t aware of this department Belphie has, but you plan on figuring out what the hell that is all about. 

Rissa hums. “You don’t consider running the navy to be something?”

“I mean, not really? Besides training, diplomatic missions, cargo escorting, and patrols, there’s not really much.” 

“That sounds like a lot to me,” she replies neutrally. 

Levi shrugs again. 

“Don’t each of you oversee a punishment level?” you ask. “Like, the sins and all that?” 

“Technically, yeah. Mine isn’t really a lot of work, since it’s just, like, literally burning hot tombs. People in my circle are locked in them—kind of like coffins, I guess.”

You blink. Demons, right. It’s not the horrifically hot coffins that are the issue, but the lack of work involved with them. 

A clock on the wall chimes the hour, signaling the meeting is over. Rissa finishes her soda and holds up a finger. 

“There’s some reading I want you to take a look at, Leviathan,” she says. “It’s from the Human Realm, but I think it’s close enough to be relevant. A lot of soldiers can feel listless after returning home from battle, especially if ‘home’ has changed dramatically. It’s just a couple of articles, nothing too technical or dry, I promise.”

Levi presses his thigh more firmly against yours but nods anyway. 

“I’ll email them to you. I see you later this week, right? With Mammon?” confirms Rissa. 

A long, pained groan comes from the demon next to you. 

Rissa joins in when you laugh, the sound as melodic and enchanting as you’d expect from a lust demon. “Don’t worry about having read the before then—just before our next individual session, okay?” 

You both thank the demoness for her time and stand to leave. 

“MC? Can I have a second? I just wanted to pass on those book titles to you.”

You wave Levi on, shutting the door behind him. Rissa scribbles frantically on a notepad. 

“I had a second reason for keeping you actually,” she confesses.

“I figured,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. “If it’s about me being here, I’m sorry, it won’t happen—“

Rissa glances up and shakes her head with wide eyes. “No, no. You misunderstand me. I was going to ask you to attend whatever sessions they feel comfortable having you at.”

You jolt a little at her insistence. 

“I did some research into the brothers,” she says. “Admittedly, there isn’t much. There’s even less on Prince Diavolo and Duke Barbatos, of course. But I do know that all this change in them the Realm has seen over the last few months has been due to your influence. You are a large part of their lives.”

“I’m not sure how much I would attribute it to me.”

Rissa pins you with a no-nonsense look. “Leviathan was one of the ones I worried about the most in terms of getting him to open up. You calmed him down and kept him on track. This whole program was your brainchild. And, forgive my frankness, but it’s about damn time.

“MC, I’ve seen enough at events and in public to know just how much they rely on you. Today’s session only underscores that. Just being here would do a lot. I’m not saying you have to be at every meeting, but if they ask…”

Your face twists a bit under the heavy responsibility this throws on you. She’s not wrong. The past few months have been an exercise in guerrilla counseling and peacekeeping. Still, the idea sits wrong on your tongue.

“What about doctor-patient confidentiality?” you ask. “Or private things they don’t want me there for?”

“There will always be the option for them to ask you to step outside,” she assures you. “And you’re the last person that would betray their confidence, I think.” 

Again, she isn’t incorrect.

Rissa jots something else down on the notepad before ripping off the page and handing it to you. 

“The last one is a spell you can cast at the start of each meeting. It works similarly to the runes on the door but needs to be applied each time. Nothing said in the hour that follows will be discussed without the focus of the spell’s consent. I have the runes because it’s a tasking spell to cast for me, but your power levels shouldn’t be affected like mine are.”

She lays a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Think about it. That’s all I’m asking.” 

You agree despite your reservations before bidding the demoness goodbye and joining a quiet Levi. 

The first session of therapy is always difficult. Much of the “getting to know you” stage involves disclosing painful events or topics without much in the way of treatment. Like treating an infection, sometimes you have to open the wound again to drain the sickness out. 

Levi lets you hold his hand on the walk back home. You choose the elven mage when he boots up Ascendance. 

Lucifer doesn’t appear for dinner. You’ve stopped expecting him to.

tagging some people that reblogged the first chapter: @inb4belphienaps @velaris-citizen-in-devildom @ice-icebaby @omsimping @pandapantslovesyou @alexeizzo @stormberrie @bunnaccino @abberant-butler​

it won't let me tag everyone idk why but i've never done a long fic on here before nor a taglist. if you want to be added to the taglist, shoot me an ask and i'll figure it out. (and if you want to be removed don't feel bad just let me know)

i should have this cross-posted on my ao3 soon, but this will be the best place to get new updates as i honestly forget ao3 exists sometimes.

final note: if you caught the magnus archives reference, i love you endlessly.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 29: Prinxiety/Loceit (pt 4)

Aaaand, part 4, the finale! 

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 29:  You have a telepathic link with your soulmate until the two of you meet.

Content warnings: discussion of conversion therapy/after effects, PTSD, food mentions, anxiety/panic attacks, internalized homophobia, mentions of the foster system/abuse (mental, emotional, neglect, past eating disorder), minor self harm/blood, mentions of dissociating.

Word count: 5.1k

Despite Roman’s claims that being around other people would only distract him, and he didn’t want to have to walk to the library every time he had homework, Patton’s constant pleading eventually broke him down. Now, much to his roommate’s delight, they spent every night in the middle of the study floor in the library, and Roman found that he actually looked forward to it. Sometimes someone he knew would walk by, and give him a valid reason to take a short break, and having other people around somehow motivated him to work harder. He was starting to understand the appeal of the place. 

Now, Patton and him were spending their afternoon there between classes, both working on their own projects and sharing a bag of popcorn twists. It was the only oil soaked snack that didn’t leave much residue on their fingers. Roman was deep in thought, struggling to remember an especially flowery Shakespeare monologue for a mock audition next week, when Patton kicked his leg under the table.

“What, Pat?” He took another moment to finish the sentence before he tore his eyes away from the book, surprised at his roommate’s barely contained excitement. 

“You’ve been humming for half an hour!” 

He hadn’t even noticed. He tended to do it a lot without realizing; humming along to his soulmate’s music. Ever since he’d come back almost a year ago, an occurrence he’d never had explained but held onto with fondness, Roman’s heart jumped every time his music played. It was just like old times, their old system immediately reinstated, and more than once he’d found himself singing along to the melodies in his head. Patton knew this, and could probably tell by the genre whether Roman was listening to his soulmate’s songs, or just had his own earworm.

“No, no, no, I like your humming! That’s not the point!”

“Then what’s the-”

“The guy behind you has his earbuds loud enough to hear!”

Roman strained his ears, and yes, he could barely hear the music coming from behind him. He definitely hadn’t noticed before, too deep in thought to notice something so trivial. But Patton was always on high alert, never able to keep his mind on one thing at a time. 

“Okay, but what does that ha-”

“You’ve been humming the same songs as he’s been listening to for half an hour, Ro! I think he’s your soulmate!”

Roman’s eyes widened and he spun around, effectively dropping his book onto the ground. Yeah, if he concentrated, he could tell that the song in his head was the same as the one just audible through the other’s earbuds.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive!” 

That’s all the convincing Roman needed. He jumped to his feet and rounded the other table so he was face to face with the stranger and knocked on the table a couple times. When he made eye contact, he thought he saw fear in the other’s face, but that couldn’t be right. Roman was not intimidating. The man at the table reached up to pop out one of his earbuds. 

“Hello lovely, I have a question for you,” Roman purred, dropping onto his elbows on the table. 

“I- I don’t-”

Apparently that counted as a meeting, because in that moment, the music in Roman’s head faded into nothingness. And he could tell it wasn’t just the music being paused. He was left with a neutral emptiness he hadn’t felt in a long time, a silence that was rare, and an innate knowledge that it had happened: their link was no longer necessary and had dissipated. Roman grinned wide, barely concealing a squeal. 

“You’re my soulmate!”

He didn’t know what reaction he was expecting, but he sure as hell hadn’t expected the man at the table to get up and sprint out of the building at full speed. 

“Stay here, Ro,” Patton was suddenly at his side, laying a hand on his bicep, “I’ll go after him. I don’t know what just happened but I don’t want it to happen again.”

Patton scooped up the other man’s things from the table and jogged out the library door.

-----

Virgil didn’t know where he was going; he hadn’t planned on running out of the library. Dammit, he hadn’t planned to run into his soulmate. And he knew that was his soulmate, and not just some weird coincidence. Because the moment they’d locked eyes, it was as if something in his mind had snapped, like a rubber band that had always been there but the pressure was so constant he didn’t notice it there until it was gone. Their bond had snapped; it was no longer necessary, because he’d met his soulmate. 

He recognized the guy, just barely. They were in the same first year math class, a course often taken by upperclassmen (probably like his soulmate) because they’d put off getting a math credit until their final years. Logan had warned Virgil of that when he was choosing his first year courses, and so he was safely getting it out of the way so he could focus on his major in the coming years. 

His breathing was choppy and strained as he tried to calm down his panic attack, dropping onto the ground under a large tree. He couldn’t keep running lest he collapse and draw more attention to himself, and that was far worse than anything he could imagine. Fighting the urge to scratch at his skin, he buried his head in his hoodie clad arms, fumbling with one hand to free his phone from his pocket. 

It’s actually a guy, it’s a guy, he’s gay, wrong wrong wrong-

No, not wrong. It’s not wrong.   

Yes it is, it’s going to hurt, you’re going to hurt, wrong wrONG WRONG!

His hands were shaking far too hard to text but he tried anyways, begging Janus to come pick him up early. Logan wouldn’t be done work for another couple hours, and usually Virgil would be fine just doing homework until his dad was ready to drive them home, but he didn’t think he’d be able to handle being on campus much longer. 

“Hey, kiddo?”

Virgil’s head jerked up just as he clicked send, fighting every urge in his body to bolt again. It wasn’t the guy… his soulmate… but someone else he hadn’t met before, panting. 

“Heya, my name’s Patton! You ran out without your stuff, so I brought it!”

Oh, he was holding his backpack, and his folder under one arm. Virgil was just trying to encourage his legs to move, to stand so he could take his things, when the stranger dropped into the grass in front of him. He flinched. 

“Here ya go,” He pushed it towards him like a child trying to coax out a scared cat, “I’m so sorry me and Ro scared you. He just gets over excited sometimes. I promise he’s actually very gentle.”

Virgil stared, pulling in a halting breath. 

“The guy who ran up to you, that’s Roman. I’m his roommate, by the way. I’m Patton. Did I introduce myself? Doesn’t matter. I’m a third year psychology major. Roman’s in third year too, music and theatre major.”

He should probably introduce himself too, but his hands were frozen, clamped around his phone, and he found his voice wasn’t cooperating. That didn’t deter the other dude, though.

“Here, I wrote out both of our numbers. Roman feels super bad for scaring you, so you can take your time, if you want.” He delicately placed a ripped piece of notebook paper on the backpack between them, “His is the first one. But I put mine in there too, so you can text me if you want to talk. The more friends, the better.”

Virgil’s phone buzzed, alerting him of Janus’ response.

“I’ll let you be, okay? Remember to text!” With an exuberant wave, he dashed back to the library. Virgil read Janus’ panicked message, asking what had happened, in a bit of a daze. His dad agreed to come get him, so he stuffed the paper into his pocket and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

-----

Janus had asked him not to go into his room when he was so worked up, instead giving him free reign of the living room while the older restarted the dinner he’d abandoned in favor of picking his son up. He’d turned on the TV for Virgil, changing the channel to a nature documentary, given Virgil his favorite weighted blanket, and left him with strict orders to call him if he started spiraling or needed a hug. 

The distraction had worked for a while, the soothing voice of the narrator almost lulling him to sleep, until his racing brain had come to the conclusion that this was the worst thing to ever happen in the history of ever and that he was going to die alone. He’d been a little hopeful that his soulmate would be a girl, to somewhat appease his trauma, but life was never that easy. A part of him had also been a little miffed about that hope, because as much as he liked to pretend, he had a preference for boys. A big preference. And his soulmate was cute. 

“Everything okay, Virgil?” Janus called through the pass through window into the kitchen, taking his eyes off his food preparation to watch his son’s pacing. 

“Yup!” He lied, picking and scratching at the skin of his hands out of his dad’s view. The pain settled him a little, giving him something he could control, but he knew he’d get a figurative slap on the wrist for it later. A concerned slap, not an angry one. Maybe more of ‘a cuddle on the couch and wrap the little patches of broken skin and an update with his counsellor’. So not really a slap. At all. As it usually went. 

Everything was wrong. What kind of shit first impression had he given his soulmate? Getting up and running away like an actual child? And that was only part of it. He was damaged goods, a broken person, who needed more help and reassurance than any other person. How could he explain to his soulmate that he was the cause of his problems without making him feel guilty? That wasn’t the life the man had signed up for, wasn’t the soulmate burden he’d wanted. He would want someone easy, someone who wouldn’t have panic attacks when they got shocked by a door knob, who didn’t stop eating when they were scared, who pressed pause on life when he woke up in a dissociating headspace. He couldn’t say that to him. He’d lost everything, that vague musical connection to an invisible soulmate, that had given him a subtle hope. It had been a quiet illusion, a promise that he’d be fine if it were never fulfilled. Knowing there was someone out there, providing him music, had been enough. But now…

“Virgil, hold these for me.”

When had Logan gotten home? He put his hands out obediently, clenching the fingers over the ice cubes placed in each palm. The sensation startled him and sent a shiver up his spine.

“Four, seven, eight. Ready?”

He followed the breathing pattern eagerly, feeling the curls of anxiety in his stomach slowly settle into butterflies. When he was breathing normally, an overwhelming sense of dizziness almost knocked him over. Logan took his arm and led him to the couch.

The next moment, Janus was kneeling in front of him, rubbing disinfectant into his few bloody scratches, the melting water dripping through his fingers and onto the carpet. 

“I should have noticed,” he murmured as he stuck a couple bandaids onto each hand, refusing to meet Virgil’s eyes.

“Don’t blame yourself, Janus. I don’t think it was happening for too long,” Logan assured, running a hand down Virgil’s spine. “Did this have to do with the reason you left school early today?”

Virgil nodded.

“Are you nonverbal?”

“No,” he choked, clearing his throat, “Just dry throat.”

“I got it,” Janus leapt to his feet and hurried to the kitchen.

With a heavy sigh, Virgil leaned into Logan’s side, the hand on his back traveling to wrap around his shoulder comfortingly. The last drops of the ice cube hit the carpet, and he dried his hands off on his jeans. “I met my soulmate today.”

“I see,” Logan said. For the umpteenth time, Virgil was beyond grateful that Logan was an expert at masking reactions. It made difficult conversations easier.

“It’s a guy.”

“How did that go?”

“I ran out of the library and had a panic attack. His roommate brought me my stuff and gave me their numbers. I made an idiot out of myself.”

Logan was quiet, giving Virgil a little squeeze. A water glass was pressed into his hands and Virgil downed the whole thing, passing it back to Janus, who placed it on the coffee table. 

“I think… I think I’m magnifying. Maybe.” He described his thoughts that led to his spiral as quickly as possible, feeling slightly pleased when Logan agreed with his hypothesis. 

“You are definitely magnifying. Good job for recognizing that, Virgil. You don’t even know him, much less what he thought of your interaction.”

“What’s our next step?” Janus spoke up, resting a hand on Virgil’s knee and rubbing it with his thumb.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Can you sleep on it, and message him tomorrow?”

Virgil thought about for a second before shaking his head even harder, “No. I have class with him tomorrow, and we’re getting a study guide for a test. I can not miss it. But what if he comes up to me, or wants to talk, and I embarrass myself again, and-”

His dads both hushed him at the same time and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes against Logan’s side. “What do I do?”

“You could message him tonight,” Janus drawled.

“Are you crazy?” He shrieked, “No! What would I even say? ‘Hey, you freaked me out today, sorry for running like a lunatic’?!”

“Why not explain the cause for your hasty escape?” Logan piped in.

“That’s way too much to load onto him as a first conversation.”

“Not all the gory details, just a vague explanation. That’s how I started talking to Logan,” Janus stated, adjusting his position on the floor. “If he’s your soulmate, Virge, he’ll be okay to deal with this. It’ll come out eventually, and if something else happens, it will be nice for him to have some context.”

Virgil groaned. “I hate when you make sense.”

“We can help you construct an adequate message.” Logan squeezed him again, meeting Janus’ eyes with a small smile.

“Fine.” Virgil snarled, pulling out his phone and the two numbers, typing the first one into his ‘new contact’ list. “Okay, what do I say?”

-----

V: Hey, I’m Virgil. We met earlier today. In a manner of speaking.

R: OMG, hi! I’m Roman. I am SO sorry for startling you!

V: It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault. 

R: I still feel bad DX

“He feels bad, what do I do?!”

“I would suggest explaining the reason you ran off to ease his concerns.”

“Me too. But ask first, and don’t give more details than you’re comfortable with.”

V: Can I be brutally honest for just a second?

R: Should I be nervous? Haha go ahead!

V: I was forced into conversion therapy about a year back, and I still carry a lot of the trauma with me. That’s why I ran. It was just gut instinct.

“He’s not responding, oh god, he’s going to block me, why isn’t he responding?!”

“I assume this news would take a moment to process. Focus on your breathing, Virgil. Don’t magnify.”

“You also sent it, like, ten seconds ago.”

R: Holy shit, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry. 

“...That’s not what I expected.”

“This is a regular reaction from a human being with even a lick of common sense, Virgil.”

“Seconded.”

V: It’s okay, I have a really great support system now. 

R: That’s good. I’ve never experienced anything like that, so I can only imagine how hard that was. 

R: I don’t expect you to answer if you don’t want to or don’t know, so please don’t feel pressured, but do you know what kind of soulbond we have? Is it platonic?

“Shit, fuck, who do I answer that?”

“With the truth, I’d imagine. Do you have an answer to his question?”

“Remember what I told you, kid. Your own pace.”

“Logan, if I explain it, can you put it into words? Please?”

V: I’m not averse to a possible romantic relationship in the future, but at the moment I am still learning to become comfortable with myself, as I have negative connections to that part of my identity that can become problematic if not properly worked through at my own pace.

R: Give me a couple seconds to decode that

V: My dad wrote it, he’s a prof. I have both of them helping me not freak out right now. 

R: You might want to date one day, but you need to take it slow because of your trauma. 

V: Uhm… yeah. I could have said it like that. 

R: Is talking to me upsetting you? We can always talk another time.

V: No, I’m okay. 

R: Okay, then as far as I’m concerned, we move at your pace. That’s not an issue for me at all. 

“I… oh. He’s… wow.”

“I agree with your sentiment.”

“I like this boy already.”

“DAD!”

R: Your dad’s a prof? 

V: One of them is. He teaches at our school, Prof Sanders. 4th year chemistry?

R: Oh shit. I’m in his class.

V: Lol he thinks he knows you

R: You have two dads?

V: Yep

R: That’s so cool. I’d really love to meet them.

V: Wow, we met today and you’re already wanting to meet my parents?

R: Heeey, I want to meet them as a FRIEND. 

V: My dad says after the semester’s over, you’re free to come by

One at a time, Virgil’s dads left him on the couch with an ear to ear grin, Janus to reheat dinner and Logan following him just so he could cling to his husband's waist as he moved around the kitchen. Neither of them wanted to disturb the little bubble their son was in. 

-----

In the weeks following, they’d started to sit together in the one class they shared. Virgil had begun to join him and Patton on their nightly library study sessions, and after some more gentle convincing, had given in to sitting with their whole friend group during meals at the cafeteria. He was growing more comfortable with Roman, no doubt about that.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting off an anxiety attack as he waited by the door to get picked up for their first outing alone.

He kept checking his phone and glancing out the peephole as Janus ran calming fingers through his hair. Virgil leaned into the touch instinctively, consciously slowing his breathing as Janus hummed. Logan was watching him from the entrance to the hall, leaning on the kitchen door frame. There wasn’t much he could do, but dammit if he wasn’t going to watch his son go off on the most anxiety inducing situation of all of their lives.

“You’ll be okay, kid,” Janus muttered, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “You’ve been friends with him for a while now, and he said there were no expectations. You’re in total control here.”

“What if I have a flashback, or a panic attack, or go nonverbal or something? He’s going to freak the fuck out and then all the work will be for noth-”

Logan spoke up. “You’re worried about things that may not even happen. And besides, haven’t you spoken to Roman about these things already?”

“A bit. Not in detail,” he whispered.

“I would suggest you do so, today if possible. It will make any possible situations that arise easier and less jarring to deal with.”

Virgil looked up at Janus, a pleading look in his eyes.

“He’s right, kid. The sooner you get it out of the way, the better.”

There was a knock at the door and Virgil nearly jumped out of his skin. To his disdain, Janus backed away until he was next to Logan, gesturing at the door with a small smile. Virgil growled out a curse and opened the door, the scowl on his face melting into a sickeningly authentic smile.

“How’s my favorite emo? Hi Mr. Sanders, hey Prof.”

“Hello.”

“Salutations.”

“Your favorite emo?” Virgil snarked, pulling on his jacket. It wasn’t cold, not in the slightest, but he’d rather have the extra layer.

“You’re the only emo I know, so the choice is easy.”

“By process of elimination, doesn’t that also imply I’m your least favorite emo too?”

“Don’t start this again, Mr. Son-of-a-professor.”

“I’ll start it if I want to!”

The door closed behind them with one final wave to his parents, and the house was quiet. Janus leaned into Logan’s waiting arms, resting his head on the other’s collar bone. 

“He’s all grown up.”

“That he is, my love.”

-----

Virgil smirked as Roman set out a large cliche picnic blanket, gesturing for him to sit. He did, crossing his legs and leaning on his knees as the other began to unload the basket. 

“Okay, so for sandwiches, I have turkey, peanut butter and jelly, and ham. Patton made me bring apple slices because he’s a dad, but I’m sure we can convince the ducks to eat them.”

To prove his point, a group of ducks paddled out from under a weeping willow half submerged in the creek.

“I like apples,” Virgil defended, grabbing a slice from the open container and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. “How many people were you intending to feed with that much food?”

Roman pouted from behind a container of potato salad. “I had to show off my food skills, duh.”

“You made that?” Virgil asked with raised eyebrows as Roman set out a tin of mini quiches and a smaller one stacked with brownies and cookies. 

“The cookies were Patton’s, but he insisted I take some. And I would have bought more, but…” He tipped the basket towards Virgil, revealing the bottom absolutely filled with different canned drinks and water bottles. “I didn’t know what you wanted to drink.”

Virgil actually did laugh as he stretched forward to snag a Doctor Pepper, taking another apple slice as he sat back. 

“Do you have a sandwich preference?” Roman asked, choosing a Sprite for himself. 

“Turkey looks good.” Virgil said before his choice paralysis could come into play, breathing a sigh of relief as Roman handed one of the sandwiches to him. The less stress he added to his own life, the better. 

Roman had been right to bring an assortment of food, because dammit, he was a really good chef. Virgil was nervous to try a quiche, since he’d never had them before and the texture was odd to him, but Roman assured that if he didn’t like it, he’d eat it instead. Apparently he wasn’t eeked out by germs. After a nibble though, Virgil ate almost half the tin. Who knew cold eggs could be good? Roman took the ham sandwich, and they split the PB&J. The ducks were more than pleased to be given Roman’s half of the apple slices but Virgil refused to share, since fresh fruits were still a treat after a life of preserves. The younger wasn’t a huge fan of the potato salad, so Roman eagerly finished it, seemingly more excited to move onto the desserts but not wanting to leave any leftovers. 

They were just finishing up the frankly absurd amount of cookies and brownies when Roman broke their casual bickering, chasing a chocolate chip bite with a long swig of Sprite and tossing another apple to their swarm of awaiting ducks.

“So, tell me a bit about yourself, Virge.”

“What do you want to know?” Virgil replied, leaning back on his hands. 

“Anything, really. Childhood, siblings, favorite color, darkest fear.”

“Quite a spectrum, there.” There was a lot he could talk about, but he felt it might be better to get the bigger things out of the way. Janus was sort of the leading expert on this kind of thing, so his advice had probably been sound. He brushed his hands together to get the crumbs off them as he spoke, “Okay, so I grew up in the foster system.”

Roman tried to hide his wince. “Ouch. I’ve heard a lot of bad things.”

“It’s fucked,” Virgil drawled, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn, “I spent most of my time in a group home, though, because I was called ‘difficult’. No one wanted to deal with my ass.”

“Why?”

“Mmm, ran away, didn’t listen, talked back, antagonized any biological kids.”

“So like, a normal teenager?” The last apple slice was sacrificed to the feathered hoard. 

Virgil snorted, “Yeah, but I came with a receipt. And I kind of liked the group home more.”

“How many kids were in the home?”

“Never more than fifteen. It was a big home. But they circulated, and I was like a housecat. Never gone for more than a month.”

“Jeez,” Roman sighed, taking a sip of his soda. 

“My foster homes weren’t better.”

“Oh?” It was a subtle encouragement to keep talking, but now it was getting into territory that Virgil liked to avoid. 

“One of my foster houses was really neglectful, forgot to give us food, didn’t let us do laundry, that kind of stuff. Gave me a wicked ED. I was twelve.”

Roman grimaced.

“My next one was more emotionally and mentally manipulative. I was kind of made into a babysitter for their younger bio kids. I had to get them ready for school, make them dinner, just basically be a parent. After I ran away from them, they started having trouble placing me. I was older, had a shitty record, kind of a left over. I mean, I deserved it. I was a dick.”

“You were a kid, Virgil.”

“A kid who chose to make his own life harder.” He shrugged, “That’s why I was placed into… that home. They were a last resort place for other ‘trouble kids’.”

Virgil took a deep breath and, with Janus’ words in his mind, began to explain his attempted conversion; the slip of tongue that led to the placement, the verbal abuse, food deprivation, electroshock therapy, the snuck antipsychotics, forced isolation, ending with the day the wife had called the police behind her husband’s back out of guilt and he was rescued. 

Roman was quiet for a long minute after he finished talking, staring entranced at the can in his hands. The ducks had dispersed during Virgil’s story, upset at the lack of food. 

“I…”

Virgil waited for him to get up and leave, to say with false apologies that he didn’t think they would work out, that the connection was wrong. Because who would want to deal with him, his stupid trauma? But the man next to him didn’t move except to breathe, and Virgil took that as an invitation to continue, his tone quieter.

“I was super out of it for a while. Honestly, I don’t remember the rescue, or like a solid month after that, except for snippets here and there. The drugs were fucky. And then my social worker, god bless her heart, found Janus and Logan. Janus was in CT too for a while when he was younger, so they took me in. Took a long time, but I opened up to them, but by then I was eighteen. They still insisted on adopting me, though, and there’s absolutely no convincing Logan once he’s made his mind up, so… they did.” He waved his hands around a little. 

“Three months,” Roman blurted out of nowhere, making Virgil flinch.

“What?”

“Were you in ther-... CT for three months?”

“Two and a bit, why?” The moment it was out of his mouth, he realized the implications, and his heart froze.

“You were gone for three months. I thought you died, or… I don’t even know.” Roman looked like he was about to cry, watching Virgil imploringly. Him going MIA must have affected his soulmate more than he’d thought. 

“Two months of CT, and then another one before I got a new phone. I’m…” All the guilt he’d felt at the time came rushing back, the reminder of his soulmate’s music dwindling to almost nothing and him being helpless, “I’m sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry. That must have been…” 

“No, Virgil, you don’t get to apologize. That was not your fault.” He reached out a hand as if to grab Virgil’s and immediately pulled back, wringing his fingers instead. “Sorry, my choice of comforting is physical. But I won’t.”

“Thank you,” Virgil choked out, running his hands through his hair.

“Can you look at me?”

He did, taking a shuddering breath. He was moments away from a panic attack and he was not looking forward to that disaster. 

“You were being- quite literally- tortured for months. You were abused in ways that shouldn’t be legal, and you came out the other side stronger. Frankly, I’m amazed at your perseverance. You’re amazing.”

Simultaneously, Virgil felt a hot blush rise to his ears, and a sharp jolt run through his arms into his chest. He jerked violently, tipping over his own soda onto the grass. 

“Shit, did I say something wrong?” Roman gasped, reaching over to pluck up the can before it could spill more. It was already half empty, thank goodness. 

“No, I just… do that. Sometimes. From… CT. Kind of like ghost shocks, I guess.” Why couldn’t the ground just open up and swallow him whole, he wondered. He hadn’t done that jerk thing in front of anyone in so long. The last time had been in front of his now-parents, and they’d quickly grown used to it. He’d grown used to their own contact very soon and his twitches had stopped after he was accustomed to it, but it had never been directed towards him, and he had a feeling he’d need time to stop his impulse reactions. 

“And me calling you amazing…”

“Triggered them. It’s an exposure thing though, so I’ll just need to get used to it. Don’t blame yourself.” He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until bright white flashes of light burst into his vision. Suddenly, he was exhausted. 

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Roman asked, already packing up their picnic basket. Virgil nodded, his social meter drained, and all ability to be a civil person was quickly deteriorating. His therapist said that would also begin to heal after a while. 

Roman was an absolute angel though, letting the silence linger so Virgil could cradle his slowly growing headache, even opening the door of his car like a perfect gentleman. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Virgil rested his head against the seat and let a tiny smile tug at his lips. It would be a long process to retrain his brain (in theory, he was okay with being in a relationship with a man, but actually doing it? Infinitely harder), but for once, he was actually looking forward to the process. 

Would you guys like a collection of one shots surrounding Virgil’s gradual warming up to his new family, a decent mix of angst and fluff? I have some ideas. 

Thanks for reading! Now, a taglist. 

@sapphic-satan

@anxious-logic

@wigsnatchedhoteltrivago

@extraintrovertedalien

@punk-academian-witch

@ray-does-stuff

@chimneychimney

@i-cant-find-a-good-username

@falsemood

@wtf-casper

@cpmansion

@killjoyjay

@fandomfan315

@anxious-darkwolf

@eternalmoonlight19

@winterwynd

@espepspes

@ironwoman359

@willowaudreykeyes

@mycatshuman

@weweregoddesses

@im-an-anxious-wreck

@imknittingahat

@surohsopsisofclouds

@korsaromantic66

@astraheart04

@quartz-z

@mikalya12

@koalas-in-coffee

@isabelle-stars

@a-ghostlight-for-roman

@existentialeggdogg

@pumpkinminette

@coffeeflavoredtears525600

@wyvern-tales

@heyhalloween

@grayson-22

@bullet-tothefeels

@mostlikelytokillyouwithaspoon

@lovelivingmydreams

@sarcasmremovedsoul

@crofterskinnie

@blissbiscuit

@baka-monarch

@lostspacecat

@green-call

[vetrubius]

-Pain-

Pairings: BokutoxY/N (platonical), Surprise characterxY/N

A/N: Hey y'all. I'm not doing great per se. College is really stressing me out. And I really wanna write. But I'm not really getting time. Anyway, here's a piece I wrote a few months ago but had to clean it a little. Enjoy<333 Warnings: A LOT of ANGST, Suicide Attempts, Manipulation, Light fluff, Minors DNI

W.C: 1,329

You know you really missed him. Because the second you turned to the other side in the morning, the bed was empty. His now faded scent stayed on. Of course you’d been wanting to see him again. How could you even forget the way he made you feel? The happy aura, the comforting arms, the occasional breakfast in bed on weekends.

You fight a tear from your side. Why’d you have to go ahead and mess it up? What was the reason? A whole year, wasted.

Your thoughts were disturbed by the door bell ringing profusely. You hoped it was him. You’d hoped he’d come back to forgive you, to be the bigger person. You open the door slightly to have eye contact with Bokuto. You knew he’d rushed all the way from his practice for you. You really needed someone right now. And you didn’t know who to call other than him.

“I know you were at practice,” you said after opening the door and letting him in “I’m really sorry. I just wanted someone to be with” you said, looking at the floor in shame.

“Hey, it’s okay. We got off early today. So, I didn’t miss practice.” He said, softly taking off his jacket and throwing his bag on the couch. Observing your tear stained face Bokuto did not waste a second in engulfing your small frame into his arms.

“I know he meant a lot. But you should stop. You know he won’t come back.” He whispered while stroking your hair and planting soft kisses across your scalp.

Bokuto and you had been best friends forever. Which made it easier for you to share things with him. It was as if you both knew everything about each other. Exactly how each other felt. But you also knew you two would never work it out. It would never happen.

He would be in another city and you couldn’t be with someone who could not devote every single minute to you.

Your separation anxiety always becomes worse in long distance. That is exactly what had happened, didn’t it? Instead of going to him, you’d chosen someone else’s company. You’d cheated on him with someone else. You never knew you were capable of it.

You’d ruined a lot of friendships this way. Only for you to block your past relationships. Cutting them off without any hesitation. Which only lead to your small friend circle and a lot of self destructive tendencies.

“Bo...why am I this way? I don’t want to be this way. I want to get better. I want to be normal. I don’t want to be dependent on people. Please. Take care of me. I want to get better,” a burst of tears flooded your face, all being absorbed by Bokuto’s jersey.

“I don’t want to feel this pain anymore.”

Bokuto responded to this by swooping your shivering body off the floor. The walk from the foyer to the bedroom seemed long with the words you kept murmuring. Talking so negatively about yourself, it broke Bokuto’s heart.

“It’s alright, I got you,” He said, opening the door of your bathroom “you’ll be good, I know you’ll be. You’ve always been this strong.” He kept your cold, murmuring body in the bathtub and started filling it with warm water.

He held your hand. You saw his face. His grey hair, drooping. His face filled with stubble. His eyes surrounded by the dark circles clearly visible from the sleepless nights. It had been so long since you’d seen him you’d forgotten his rough, calloused hands in yours. His lips silently moving in a prayer.

You couldn’t blame him. He had too much on his brain, his schedule, his practice. His girlfriend blamed him for things he wasn’t responsible for. There was too much going on in both of your lives to have time for each other but you were eternally grateful for this moment.

Your thought process was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Your body refused to move. “Ko.. could you get the door, please?” you said with your croaky voice.

“Yes, just close your eyes” Bokuto said while getting up, turning the tap off and going out of the bathroom. What if you could end everything right now?

What if you just drowned yourself and got over with it. It’s not like your life wasn’t worth living anyway. You’d never done anything special since childhood. You’d never been loved. Just cast aside.

“Maybe I should slip in the water. Nobody would ever know.”

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

“Y/N, WAKE THE FUCK UP, I’M NOT GONNA LOSE YOU LIKE THIS.” Bo said with tears in his eyes. How could he be so stupid leaving you alone in a tub full of water. “WAKE UP WAKE UP PLEASE JUST WAK-”

“Give her to me, get the heater and blankets, I’ll carry her over to the bed. Get the hairdryer while you’re at it” he said.

“THIS IS BECAUSE OF YOU. YOU COULD’VE JUST STAYED AT HOME WITH HER. YOU SHOULD’VE JUST BEEN WITH HE-”

“It wasn’t my fault Bokuto. Refrain yourself. One of us needs to be calm. Get the things quickly” He said as he picked your unconscious body up from the water and kept it on the bathroom floor and petted you dry.

“DON’T TOUCH HER, SHE’S ALREADY SO RUINED. BECAUSE OF YOU.YOU TOOK HER SANITY.”

“You know what she’s done, Bokuto. You think it hasn’t affected me? I’m ready to do everything for her. There is no forgiveness. There is just something I wanna talk to her about. This is just psychological manipulation she’s doing to get you too. You know she doesn’t care. You know ho-”

“Get out. Leave her on the bed.” the pain in his voice was audible.

“I know.”

Bokuto looked at him in confusion and watery eyes. “What?”

“I know you’re in love with her. I know she cheated on me with you. Don’t you understand how hard it is for me to be here with you? Don’t you know, Bo?” he sighed “I know you cheated on your girlfriend too. I don’t know what to do. I love her. But this here, looking at her this way, with you? I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.” he said, briefly stopping to rub your body rigorously for heat and looking at Bokuto.

“I better leave. Take care, Y/N. You got what you wanted.”

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

“Ka….geyama?”

“Hi, angel. I’m back. Just like you wanted.” Kageyma said as he locked on your eyes and held your cold hands in his warm ones.

“Where’s Bokuto?” you asked him looking around the bedroom. He was sitting on the study chair, looking at you.

The fresh sheets were laid. The dirty laundry bunch you’d thrown in the corner had been put in the laundry. The curtains were pulled apart to get the sunlight in the room. The fresh set of clothes that you were wearing kept you warm. The warmth had finally woken you up.

“He won’t be bothering you for a while. He took his decision.” The black haired boy said as he looked up with a shit eating grin, holding a cup of hot liquid.

“Anyway, I know it was him,” he said while swirling around in the chair. “So I fucked his girlfriend. She told me to not tell you but she’s breaking up with him.”

A look of horror struck your face. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s simple, baby. He’s permanently leaving the country and I’m gonna move in with his girlfriend. You’ll be left alone again. And that’s a better revenge than I originally planned.”

He said as he got up from his chair, kept the tea on your night stand and stood near the door frame.

“Enjoy your loneliness. I really let you live so you could feel this pain. See you later, babe” he said as he broke the last eye contact you’d ever have with him.

series masterlist

[softyoongiionly]

Fear and Dumplings: Chapter Sixteen

(GIF does not belong to me,  my friend sent it to me over text! If anyone knows who made it, please let me know :) )

Confronting your fears for a final grade sounds unappealing but, with Yoongi as your partner, things might not be so bad.

Summary: You’re in your final semester at University when your Abnormal Psychology professor assigns you a partnered project surrounding your greatest fears. Lucky for you, your partner just so happens to be a cute boy named Min Yoongi.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Underground Rapper! Yoongi, Soft!!! Yoongi, Fluff!!!, College! Yoongi, Sub! Yoongi

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: the love I have for this man is absolutely ridiculous. I have missed this series so much. I hope you love what I’ve done with the place ;) This is such an important chapter that I’ve been planning for the longest time. I hope you like it and, if you do: please please let me know!

NOTE: ALL BOLDED WORDS INDICATE WHEN CHARACTERS ARE SPEAKING KOREAN

Warnings for this Chapter: ok here we go...(TRIGGER WARNING)

minor angst, mentions of anxiety, mentions of criminal activity, mentions of bad parenting and abuse, mentions of trauma and related consequences, language, drug use, smut (holy heck the smut is ALOT).

Chapter Sixteen: The Past and The Present

You’ve never seen Yoongi angry before

Frustrated? Yes.  

Annoyed? Often.

Stressed? Aren’t we all?  

But, never angry.  

He is pissed and, he has a perfectly good reason to be.

A short phone call from his dear friend Sejin left him flushed and furious.

The reason being? Sejin has just informed Yoongi that due to a recent rent increase, Sejin can no longer afford to keep SoundCrowd open.  

“We’re going to figure this out ok? This isn’t over. I’ll talk to you later...”

The two of you had been watching a movie when he called and, your finger finally moves from the pause button as he hangs up his call.

You don’t think you’re going to be finishing it tonight.  

“Yoongi-“

“What the fuck?” His voice is sharp, the fury clear in his rhetorical question as he turns to you, “What the fuck?”

Your hand twitches with the urge to touch him, to soothe him in some way but, Yoongi pushes himself off the couch by the time you try.

“I- I’ve been going to that building for 10 years. Sejin always pays his rent on time, he won’t even eat sometimes just to make sure his bills are paid and, this?? This is how they repay him? Are they serious? How can they just kick him to the side like this? What is he supposed to do? Fu- fuck what am I supposed to do?” Yoongi exhales, raking a hand through his hair as he seems to search helplessly around the room for answers.

Yoongi was supposed to work for Sejin after he graduated.

“Babe, I’m so sorry I- his landlord can’t just do that right? That doesn’t make any sense.” You offer, biting your lip as a humorless laugh leaves Yoongi’s lips.  

“Of course he can, that’s what people like him do right? They gotta make their money. Who gives a shit about this guy and his livelihood? As long as he’s filling his pockets and, collecting his checks- he doesn’t give a single fuck about people like Seijin.”  

Yoongi is blistering.  

He isn't raising his voice at you but, the intensity of his emotions is getting the better of him.  

“This isn’t right. There’s gotta be something we can do to help him, we can talk to Jin maybe? His dad’s a lawyer and-”

“I have to go. I’m gonna go down there and, see if I can talk to the landlord. I have money in savings, I don’t know- maybe he’ll take a bribe or something.” Yoongi interrupts you, completely disregarding your presence all together as he starts to grab his keys.

You don’t want to admit it but, his behavior is hurting your feelings.

You know he’s upset and, you want to respect that but, he’s closing himself off.

Just like he used to...

“Well, let me get my shoes on and I’ll come. You shouldn’t go alone and you shouldn’t have to pay this asshole off. We just need to-”

“I don’t need your help Y/N.” Yoongi’s tone is final, leaving no room for negotiation as his words hit you right in the gut, “I’ll text you later. I’m sorry about the movie.”

With your mouth parted in shock, all you can do is nod as your boyfriend disappears through your front door.

You can honestly say it’s the first time that Yoongi’s ever hurt your feelings.

Like, really really hurt your feelings.

Like, now you’re crying on the couch thinking about why you just became the scapegoat for his frustration.

It’s normal for people to get short when they are upset but, you can’t seem to understand why he treated you that way.  

You thought you were passed all of this but apparently, you were wrong.  

Part of you is telling yourself not to take it personally.  

Whilst the other part of you is wondering why he’s still shutting you out.

Even after everything you’ve been through...

You decide to give him some space.

He’s only human.  

Sometimes, we need time to process things on our own.

The sinking feeling in your stomach doesn’t leave you though and, you try and busy yourself with a few household chores before eventually succumbing to the sadness you feel and crying again.

It be like that.

You sent him a text shortly after he left that read:

You: I’m sorry if I pushed a little too hard. Please let me know if/when you need anything. I love you.  

He still hasn’t responded.  

In an effort to thwart the flurry of emotions in your heart, you end up falling asleep on the couch, hoping that he would respond by the time you wake up.  

Instead, you are awoken by him calling you.

“Hello?” You can hear the grogginess in your voice and, Yoongi picks up on it immediately.

“Did I wake you?”

“Yeah, sorry I took a little nap after I cleaned up.”  

Your hand is over your mouth as you cover up the sound of your yawn whilst Yoongi rushes out his reply.

“I’m the one who should be apologizing. I can’t believe I talked to you like that. I’m r-really sorry. I was so angry and I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” His voice is tighter as if he’s staving off his emotions and, it makes you wanna cry a little bit, “Then I just left? I feel like such a dick...I just didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to go and, I wasn’t thinking.”

“I get it, you just found out some really shitty news. I don’t blame you for being angry at all but, it-” You take a deep breath, attempting to reign in your hurt a little bit before continuing, “it did hurt that you just left like that. I would have given you space if you needed it, I just wish you would have told me instead of shutting me out.”

You can hear him sniffle on the other end of the line.

He’s a little devasted that he hurt you but, he isn’t going to make that the focal point of this conversation.

He just wants to make it right.

“You’re right. I’m so sorry jagiya. I just freaked out...”He sniffles again, the rawness in his voice apparent, “I’m still freaking out and instead of letting you support me, I left and now I feel like an idiot.”

You wipe your eyes, nodding throughout the duration of his sentence, “You're not an idiot at all. I’m still here and, I’m willing to figure this out with you. I just need you to let me ok? I want to help. Where are you right now?”

“I’m at my house. I talked to Sejin for awhile and, I guess he said the landlord is coming by next week to discuss the contract with him. He asked me to be there as a witness and, if you’re alright with it, I would really like it if you came too...”

“Of course.” You smile softly, “Do you want-”

“Can you come over?” Yoongi’s voice cracks finally as you hear him break down on the other end of the line.  

Your heart follows suit as you immediately stand up and, head to your bedroom.

“I’m on my way.”

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

“Come here.” You whisper as your boyfriend opens his bedroom door, pulling him against your chest.

He’s dressed in a hoodie and his boxers, his hair completely disorganized due to the amount of time he’s probably messed with it.

“Jagi, I’m really sorry.” He’s all choked up when he buries his face in your neck and, you’re quick to rub tenderly at his lower back.

“Hey- I forgive you ok? Everyone has their moments baby, don’t be so hard on yourself.” You kiss the side of his face, kicking the door shut before ushering him towards the bed.

“I’m so scared...” He’s whispering now, his voice barely audible as he seems to cling onto the material of your t-shirt, “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I don’t know how I’m gonna help him.”

Tilting his chin, you level with him, “We’re going to go there next week and, talk to this guy and, see what we can work out. The city instituted a law three months ago stating that rent increases have to be preapproved by the tenant, the landlord and, the property association. That’s what I was trying to tell you before you left.”

Yoongi winces, sighing as he shakes his head, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I just-” He glances towards you, a bit of apprehension in his eyes, “I’m not used to having someone around when shit like this goes down. I’m still really bad at relying on people and trusting them with my feelings. All I wanted to do was cry and, I didn’t want you to see that.”  

Placing a hand on his, you attempt to lock eyes with him, “Yoongi, I’m your girlfriend. I love you and, I’m not just in this for the good times. I’m in this for the bad times too. I get that it’s your instinct to close yourself off and handle things yourself but, if you want support I’m always here for you.”

Yoongi pulls you in for a hug then, tucking his face into your neck. He takes a deep breath but, he says nothing.  

He just holds you.  

The silence is natural and holds no expectation.  

You’d hug him all night if he needed you to.

Finally, Yoongi does speak and although he could pour his heart out to you right now, he decides to stick with the words that mean the most.

“I love you too.”

The two of you end up falling asleep together shortly after that.

Yoongi’s head is on your chest and the sensation of running your fingers through his hair is enough to lull you into a comfortable slumber.  

Despite the stress of the day, you both sleep through the night.  

Sleeping next to Yoongi brings you an immense amount of comfort.

It just feels right.

You wish you could sleep next to him every night.

The next morning when you awake, you realize very quickly that you’re alone.

Yoongi doesn’t appear to be anywhere in sight and in your slightly worried state, you decide to stumble out of bed to look for him.  

“I can pick up for you if you want, you look like shit.”

“Thanks, that’s exactly what I wanna hear right now.”

“You know what I mean. Hyung, she’s not gonna care, I don’t know why you’re freaking out about this.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No I don’t but, it’s Y/N. She’s doesn’t come across as the judgmental type. I do think it’s kinda weird you haven’t told her yet though, that might be the only thing she’ll have an issue with...”

“That’s why I’m worried. I feel like after everything we’ve been through, I should have been able to tell her this by now...”

“Why haven’t you?”

“I don’t like talking about it.”

“The weed or your parents?”

“Both. I mean, I don’t know-  the weed isn't that bad I guess but, I don’t want her to feel like I lied to her you know?”

“You didn’t lie. You guys just started dating. I’m sure there are plenty of things that you don’t know about her.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of- I feel like everything is always about me. I feel like I never ask about her...”

You know it’s wrong to eavesdrop but, you feel frozen in place, compelled by your own curiosity.

You have a million questions running through your head.

“I have to think about Sejin right now. I’ll smoke later on after I’ve had a chance to talk with her or something. I don’t know. She’s probably up right now, I should go check on her.”

“Take care Hyung, let me know if you need anything.”

Yoongi makes good on his plans to check on you and, thankfully you make it back to the bedroom before he realizes that you were listening in on his conversation.

The rest of the morning goes as planned.  

After grabbing coffee, Yoongi heads to SoundCrowd to ensure that Sejin doesn’t have an eviction notice on his door.

He doesn’t say much on the drive there; he merely holds your hand tightly on the center console, occasionally brushing his thumb over the back of your knuckles.  

It’s a little unnerving and the confrontational part of you wishes to break the silence but, you decide that now isn't really the time to bring up Yoongi’s conversation with Hoseok.  

Thankfully, Sejin’s door remains free of an eviction notice and, Yoongi visibly lets out a sigh of relief at the sight.  

You’re assuming the text he begins sending is to Sejin but, you don’t allow your gaze to linger long enough to find out.  

Upon pulling away from the studio, he lets out a breathy sigh before finally speaking up

“What are you doing this weekend?”

You cock your head, “This weekend as in tomorrow? Or this weekend as in next weekend?”

Yoongi’s lips twitch at your question, “This weekend as in tomorrow.”

“I was just planning on getting everything ready for graduation. I have a tenant coming to look at my apartment in three weeks so I figured I should probably attempt to scrub the spaghetti stain off the back of the fridge...”

He chuckles warmly and shakes his head, “Aside from explaining how you managed to get spaghetti on the back of the fridge, I was wondering if you wanted to uh- go somewhere with me.”

“Somewhere as in?”

“Daegu.”

Your heart skips a beat then, wondering exactly what brought on his sudden invitation.

With parted lips, you attempt to answer him immediately but, your words fail you.  

Yoongi’s teeth find a spot on his lower lip whilst he pulls out of his parking spot.

He can sense your confusion and he knows he can’t get away with asking you back to his hometown without an explanation.

“I need to go see my brother. He-” Yoongi sighs, glancing toward you, “He might be able to help Sejin if I let him know what’s going on.”

This only adds to your list of questions but, thankfully your brain hones in on the key part of this conversation:

“You want me to meet your brother?”

Yoongi hears the sincerity in your tone and it pulls his attention towards you.

“I do. If you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

Squeezing his hand a little tighter, you nod, a small smile forming on your lips, “I’m more than comfortable with it. I would love to meet your brother. When were you planning on leaving?”

Yoongi’s heart sings with your acceptance but, the only evidence of this is a small smile that emerges on his lips.  

“I was gonna leave tomorrow. My brother has uh- he has miles on this airline I can use and, theres more than enough for you too. I know it’s last minute but-”

“I love last minute.” You cut him off, clasping your hands together, “I just need to go back to my apartment to pack and feed Marizpan. I’ll text Jimin and let him know that I’ll be gone this weekend. Does your brother like anything from our area? Should we bring him something?”

Yoongi’s raspy laughter fills the confines of the car as he shakes his head, “I should have known that you’d be down for this kind of thing. If I was in your position, I’d be having a heart attack right now.”

You smile at the sound of his laugh, “Oh I’m sure the panic will set in shortly. But honestly, I’m more focused on the fact that you want me to meet your brother. It means a lot to me that you want me there.”

He squeezes your hand again and, you take a moment to admire the way he looks while he’s driving. Messy black hair, eyes slightly puffy from all the emotion, lips in desperate need of chapstick (and a kiss) and, his long spindly fingers carefully handling the wheel.  

He’s truly out of this world.  

“It means a lot that you want to be there.” He retorts but, there is something amiss within his gaze and you can’t help but remember the conversation you overheard earlier.

There is a beat or two of silence before the two of you break it at the exact same time.

“There’s something I-”

“Hey I-”

“Wait you go first.”

“No, I’m sorry. You go...” You insist, your heartrate picking up uncomfortably in your chest.

Yoongi sighs, dark eyes flitting over to you once or twice before he seems to hyperfocus on the road in front of him.

“There’s something, well- there are a few things I need to tell you before we go.”

Upon glancing away from him and back towards the streets in front of you, you notice that he’s heading towards your apartment.  

Part of you is glad that the two of you don’t have to separate for the duration of the weekend but, another (larger) part is very nervous about the information Yoongi has yet to share.  

Yoongi takes your silence as an invitation to continue but, he doesn’t exactly know where to start.

“There’s kind of a lot that you don’t know about me. It’s nothing I’ve hid intentionally but, I was waiting until it made sense to tell you I guess...” He rakes a free hand through his hair before a rather noticeable tightness arrests his features, “My brother is the only member of my family I still talk to but, it’s not just because they don’t approve of my music.”

You keep your hand firmly entangled with his and with the slight shift in his tone, you reassuringly thumb over his knuckles.

“Uh it’s kind of a lot to explain but- um...” His mouth hangs open as he hesitates between words. Despite the fact that you’re 2 minutes from your apartment, Yoongi looks eagerly at an alleyway, “I’m sorry, do you care if I pull over? I don’t think I can talk about this while I’m driving and, I just really need to get this out because, I’m kind of scared that you’re going to be mad at me and I-”

“Hey- hey...Yoongi it’s ok.You can pull over baby, there’s an alley right here.” You turn in your seat so you can get a proper look at him as he quickly zooms between the ramen shop and the liquor store.  

You’ve never seen him look so nervous before and, it’s starting to freak you out a little bit.  

He attempts to draw in a shaky breath through his nose as he hastily puts his car in park. For a moment, he seems to gather his thoughts, lips pursing in contemplation whilst he wipes a hand over his face.

At last, he turns slightly to unbuckle his seatbelt before he finally allows his eyes to flit to your face.

You shift again so you’re mostly turned towards him and squeeze his hand once more to encourage him to continue.  

“My parents didn’t just kick me out because they found out I was doing music. They kicked me out because I refused to join the family business-” He gathers the courage to look you dead in the eye because, despite his fear, he knows you deserve that level of respect, “and the family business is the within the largest criminal empire Daegu has ever seen.”

Your heart seems to stall in your chest then, your throat drying up with shock as you attempt to take in what he’s saying.

He brings your hand closer to him, wishing desperately that he could guarantee your presence after his explanation.  

But he knows he can’t.

“My parents run a counterfeit operation that basically operates as a gang. They don’t call themselves that but that’s what it is. They produce fake currency, participate in insider trading, they steal, they lie, they’ve-” He swallows, subconciously bringing your hand closer to him once again, “-killed. When I turned 15, my father told me that I’d have to start training to take over but, after everything I had seen. I knew I didn’t want to.”  

“When I told you my parents kicked me out, I wasn’t lying but, I didn’t exactly tell you the whole story. I told you that when they found my lyrics, they freaked out on me, which they did but, it was only after they had spent 6 months trying to bribe me into training.” He licks his lips, his eyes still trained on you as they try and decipher the thoughts running through your head. The truth is, your mind is completely blank at the moment.

“They bought me everything I wanted: cars, clothes, jewelry, they had another wing added to our house for me; they tried everything. I was considering it for a while, my parents didn’t start their operations until I was 9 or 10. I spent the first decade of my life in poverty until things began to turn around. At the time, I didn’t know why but, I figured it out when I was starting high school. My parents had gone insane with power. They got my entire family involved, even my brother. I didn’t blame them at the time; we were so poor our whole life and then suddenly we were rich. I didn’t want it to end but, then I realized- what the cost of our wealth really was.” Yoongi’s a bit breathless as the words just seem to tumble off of his tongue but, he’s unsure how coherent he really sounds.  

Nevertheless, he continues.

He wants to get it over with already.

“One night, when I was sneaking back in through the front gates, I heard something that would solidify my choice.” Yoongi swallows, his hand tightening almost painfully within yours, “My parents must have been on the phone with one of their allies or something but all I heard was a direct order coming from my father ‘kill them all’ he said, ‘every single one of them.’ The next day when I woke up, my brother was shoving his phone in my face. It was a news article about a homicide in another district. I wanted to throw up. I knew it was them. He knew too. We shared this pain between us but, unlike my brother. I couldn’t keep quiet anymore. I had to say something.” His voice is growing unsteady with every passing word and although you have a million questions, all you want him to know is that you’re still here.

“When I confronted my father, he went crazy on me. He had been up for a few days, probably strung out on something and, he beat the shit out of me. That’s when he destroyed my lyrics. He left everything else untouched but my laptop and my pages. He wanted to hurt me in any way he could because, he knew that I wasn’t going to follow in his footsteps. He told me I should be ashamed of myself for accusing them of being involved with the murder but, Y/N-” He’s voice his hoarse now, his sad eyes lined red with emotion as he shoots a desperate look towards you, “It had to be them. It’s the only thing that made sense. After he was finished with me, he told me I had a choice. He said ‘Yoongi, you can either stay here and start contributing to this family or you can disappear with nothing but the clothes on your back.’ So I made my choice. I lived on the streets for awhile until my brother found me one night, he told me about Sejin and tried to set me up with some money but, I wouldn’t take anything from him. Every bit of money my family has, has blood on it. I accepted his offer to live at Sejin’s place and, every thing else I already told you that night at my studio but, I didn’t know how to tell you all of this...I tried to put it all behind me for so long but, now that Sejin is in trouble- I have to go back. My brother left the business too but, he took money with him. He’s loaded and, I know if he knew about Sejin, he’d want to help out. I don’t know- fuck please just tell me what you’re thinking. I know you’re probably mad at me and that’s completely ok- I just didn’t know how to tell you...”

You are honestly shocked by Yoongi’s confession but, you can’t say that you’re mad at him.  

You understand that this extremely complicated.

You don’t think you’d necessarily want to share it either.  

Looking at your boyfriend now, your heart breaks.

His expression is akin to a man completely torn apart. He looks lost, broken, frightened: everything you don’t want him to be.  

You do what comes naturally because, words are not appropriate right now.  

Dropping his hand intially alarms him but, when you lean across the center console to pull him against your chest, he can’t help but break down.  

He cries.

No, he doesn’t cry- he sobs.  

His hands come up to cling to you, the tension in his grip signifying that he’s desperately afraid of letting you go.

With each rigged intake of breath, Yoongi seems to cry harder into your neck, staining the color of your shirt with his tears.  

“My life was so miserable Y/N. I didn’t know how to tell you how bad it was- my whole life. I’m sorry I was such a coward. I’m so sorry I- I didn’t know how to say it. I just wanted you to think I was normal.” He cries and with every word, you hold him tighter.

With every word, your heart breaks.

“You are not a coward Min Yoongi. You are the strongest person I know.” You whisper into his ear, teary eyed yourself as you do your best to hold it together.  

“I’m so sorry jagiya...” Yoongi cries, his voice nearly dropping to a whisper, the nape of his neck slick with sweat due to the anxiety he feels.

He is still so terrified of losing you.  

“You have nothing to be sorry for- look at me...” You command softly, guiding his face out of your neck and cupping it between your palms, “None of this is your fault. I understand why you wouldn’t want to tell me. This is a lot to take in but, baby this isn’t your burden to bear. You aren’t responsible for the choices your parents have made...”

“I don’t come from a good life Y/N. I come from such a horrible family. My family never showed me love, they never showed eachother love. They are bad people and, you deserve more than a man who comes from that. You deserve someone who has a normal family. You deserve more than me...”

“Yoongi, listen to me right now. You are the most incredible man I have ever met. You are smart and brave and selfless and clever and kind and so so special and, I’m not going to sit here and listen to you punish yourself for your parent’s mistakes. They had a beautiful son that they neglected. They created this warped version of yourself that apparently doesn’t deserve love and happiness but that’s bullshit ok?” You’re crying too now because, you want to drive this point home, you want him to know the truth, and believe it.

Everything starts to make sense now.  

Yoongi resists affection because he doesn’t think he deserves it.

He’s denied himself happiness so long because, he doesn’t think he’s worth the trouble.

You need him to know that he is.  

He’s worth so much more than he realizes.

“It’s such bullshit...” You repeat, kissing between his eyes which still flow steadily with tears, his breathing is still so uneven but, he’s hanging on every word you say, “You deserve everything you want. You deserve to be loved. I’m so sorry you had to live like that. I’m so sorry that they never told you how incredible you are but, that doesn’t make it any less true.”

His face crumbles under the weight of your words, his hands coming up to brush against the outside of yours, “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. It wasn’t intentional, you just made me forget how things used to be. I just wanted to pretend like it never happened.”

You understand that.

There are things in your life that you wish you could forget.  

Yoongi eases so much of your troubles that you could empathize with his decision to brush all of this under the rug.

You’ve both been basking in the warm glow of your first love that it was easy to forget what life was like before one another.  

But it doesn’t mean it never happened.  

“The last I heard, my parents had slowed down a bit. They told my brother that they were starting to liquify their assets. I guess he’s getting quite a bit of money from that. It seemed less important when he told me that. I felt like maybe I could just move on but, I realized when I started dating you how much of it really stuck with me. Plus, I felt like I was lying to you. I never want to make you feel like I’m hiding things from you. The only other people that know about this are Namjoon and Hoseok and, Hoseok found out cause he overheard Namjoon and I talking about it.”  

You lean forward once again to place a kiss between his eyes before pulling him back into your arms.

“I hear you. You’re not wrong for waiting to tell me. I’m just sorry you had to deal with all of this internal struggle. I think we forget that we’ve only been dating a few months because of how quickly we fell for eachother. There are things you don’t know about me too you know? Nothing as intense as being the offspring of two criminal masterminds buuuuut you know, still...”

Your attempt to slowly lighten the mood works as a small chuckle is felt within the crook of your neck along with the pinching of your hips.  

“I want to know everything about you.” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around your waist.

Kissing the side of his head, you smile, “It’s a good thing we have so much time then.”

This finally prompts a smile to appear on his face and, although you can’t see it, you can feel it.  

“I love you so much.” Yoongi whispers, placing a kiss on the side of your neck

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

The two of you head back to Yoongi’s house shortly after you pack your things.

Yoongi doesn’t leave your side the entire time, other than to use your bathroom to wash his face and even then, he leaves the door open the whole time.  

After your bags are ready to go, the two of you decide that staying at Yoongi’s place is best since he leaves a little closer to the airport.  

Yoongi booked your flight whilst you were packing and managed to find a flight leaving at 1:20pm the next day.

He didn’t even look at earlier flights because, there is no way he’s getting up before 9am tomorrow, especially not after everything that’s happened today.  

It’s not long before Yoongi is unlocking his front door and as he does, something new graces your senses.

It’s an unmistakeable smell and, immediately Yoongi’s eyes widen as he takes his first breath.  

“Yah Hoseok?? Why does it smell like shit in my house?” Yoongi calls and leads you toward the living room.  

“I told you I was picking up, and that smell is the sign I got the good shit! Come hit this hyung, its fucking gooood.” Hoseok calls back and immediately you start giggling

“Yeah Yoongi, go hit that.” You tease, his earlier conversation with Hoseok making a lot more sense now, “I didn’t know you smoked weed...”

“Did you tell your girlfriend yet or what?” Hoseok calls again and Yoongi’s cheeks are practically on fire at this point as he braves a glance towards you.

“No but you just did pabo...” Yoongi grumbles as he finally leads the two of you into the living room.

Hoseok and Namjoon are spread out on the couch, there eyes completely bloodshot, heavy with the evidence that they had been smoking for awhile. Namjoon chuckles lowly and shakes his head, “Yah, you’re so fucking loud. How do you have the energy to yell after how much we just smoked?” Namjoon smiles pleasantly at you, raising a hand politely, “Hi, Y/N. How are you?”

You smirk, putting your arm around Yoongi’s shoulders, “Hi guys. I’m good, I’d ask how the two of you were doing but, I think I have my answer.”

Yoongi groans before turning towards you quickly, tugging you so your body is pressed against his, “I was gonna tell you too but-”

“Before he starts groveling at your feet,” Namjoon interrupts, “He stopped smoking when he realized he liked you. He hasn’t done anything since because, he was worried that you wouldn’t like it. He was planning on telling you when he asked you to be his girlfriend, which was literally like a week ago so, I’m sure he was gonna tell you soon. But to answer your question, yes your boyfriend smokes weed. A lot of weed.”

Yoongi anxiously scans your face for any sign of disapproval but, all he gets is a tilted chin a kiss on his lips.

“Wow, you’re cute.”  

He furrows his brows, “You’re not mad?”

You giggle as you shake your head, gesturing to the couch, “Yoongi, you’ve met my friends. Taehyung and Jungkook might as well change their names to Jay and Silent Bob...”

“Yooo that’s what I always say about Yoongi and I!” Hoseok cackles, as he points at you, the sound of his voice causing Namjoon to wince.

“Hoseok-ah, lower your voice, you’re ruining my high.” He chuckles before nodding to the table, “See? There you go Hyung, now come over here and smoke this shit with us, you look like you need it.”  

Yoongi looks relieved but, he’s still apprehensive, “You promise you’re cool with it? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable...”

Another giggle leaves you lips as you start tugging him towards the couch, setting your bag on the kitchen counter, “It’s really sweet that you’ve considered my feelings in all of this but, smoking weed isn’t a big deal to me. My family smokes all the time. It’s just not for me because, I have baby lungs but, I have no issue with you smoking it.”  

“Yahhh that’s good shit right there, see hyung? I told you she’d be chill with it. Now come sit down, I’ll pack a bowl for you.” Hoseok smiles, finally heeding Namjoon’s request and lowering his voice.

A small smile is on your boyfriend’s lips then as he looks towards you once again, “Love you...” He mumbles before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You nestle into the corner of their couch whilst Hoseok thoughtfully packs the clusters of weed into a solid black, glass pipe.

“Is that my piece?”  Yoongi asks with an arched brow and Hoseok merely shrugs

“You havent been using it and this shit was expensive so Joon and I snagged it from you. You can have it back if you’re gonna start smoking again but other than that, I’m keeping it.”  

“You can’t keep it, that was his birthday present.” Namjoon grumbles, playfully hitting Hoseok’s thigh.

Yoongi licks his lips as takes a spot next you, mindlessly rubbing his hand over your bended knee, “I want it either way. Don’t take my shit.” He smirks before jerking his head  to the pipe, “Let me see it, you’re not packing it right.”

“Right? That’s what I’m saying, he packs it too thin!” Namjoon exclaims, his hand resting on his stomach

“Fuck off, if I pack it so thin, why are you stoned out of your mind right now?”

Namjoon chuckles again, tilting his head in agreement, “Because I haven’t smoked in awhile either, med school fucked my tolerance up.”

Namjoon and Hoseok’s dialogue seems to fade in the background as your attentions hones in on Yoongi.

His black hair is falling in his face while he tries to save the “poor” job Hoseok was doing. He has his tongue poking between his lips whilst he concentrates, his fingers delicately working the weed where he feels it belongs.  

He keeps twitching his nose and jerking his head to the side, trying to get his hair out of his face until finally you reach out and tuck the strand behind his ear.  

Yoongi instantly grins as you do and turns to the side and playfully snaps his teeth at your fingers.

“Heyyy, I’m trying to help you...” You giggle, “I don’t want you to smoke your hair.”

“I got this.” He assures you before timid eyes land on you once more, “Are you sure you’re good with this?”  

“I promise.” You assure him for the millionth time before reaching towards the coffee table to hand him a lighter, “Here.”

Yoongi smirks shyly as he mumbles a thank you before raising the pipe to his lips.

He raises the lighter to the nest of green positioned to his liking before using his thumb to set it on fire. As he inhales deeply, his eyes flutter shut while his chest puffs out with the force of his breath.  

Within 10 seconds or so, he’s pulling away, pausing for a second before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.  

“Fuck me...” He chuckle deeply, smoke still rushing out of his lips, “That is good shit. Who did you pick up from?”

“Right?” Hoseok laughs, flopping back against the couch, “It’s one of Jin’s friends, he started growing recently so, I wanted to help him get started. I need to tell him to keep doing what he’s doing.”  

Yoongi just nods before using the butt of the lighter to press the bud down. Within a few seconds, he’s lighting up again, the hair you tucked behind his ear quickly falling in his face again.

You really can’t help yourself.

You feel like a such a cliché right now but, there is something so hot about watching Yoongi smoke.

He looks like every bad boy in every single shitty romance novel and, god you can’t help but press your thighs together at the sight.  

Yoongi tilts his head back, exposing the long column of his throat as he exhales another hit, a smirk hanging on the end of lips.

His adams apple bobs as he swallows back a cough before slumping against the cushions.

“Here-” He hands the pipe back to Hoseok, “I think I’m good right now, it’s already kicking in.”  

You’re practically drooling at the sight of your boyfriend right now but, you don’t want to be too obvious.

Between Namjoon’s observation skills and Hoseok’s bluntness, you’re doomed to be called out if you don’t reign it in.  

“I told you hyung, this guy is the new plug. Y/N...” Hoseok holds the pipe up, “Are you sure you don’t want any?”

“No I-” Your voice comes out awfully squeaky and it immediately causes Yoongi to turn his head towards you. Clearing your throat, you continue, “No, I’m good thank you. Can I have some water though? My throat is really dry.”

Yoongi shoots up immediately, “Shit jagi, I’m sorry. I didn’t offer you anything. I’ll get it right now. You sure you want water? I can make you a drink or we have gatorade and some sprite too.”  

His eyes are definitely heavier with the slightest tint of red but, they still hold the same bit of attentiveness they always do.

“Water is good babe, thank you.”  

Hoseok grins, “Whiiiippppeeeddddd.” He slurs and Namjoon chuckles but, otherwise keeps quiet.

Yoongi merely smirks before heading over to the kitchen to get you a bottle of water.

“You’re being too informal.” He admonishes, still smirking as his face is illuminated by the light from the fridge, “Just one jagi?”

He holds up a bottle of water, his eyes holding a bit more sweetness as he directs his attention towards you.

“One is perfect.” You giggle at their banter, tucking yourself further into the couch, already wishing for Yoongi to be back beside you.

“One is perfect babyyyy...” Hoseok cackles again, the effects of the weed likely increasing his usual nature.

“Shut up.” You laugh again, smacking his shoulder lightly.

“Yah hyung! Your girlfriend is over here smacking me around!” Hoseok yells again despite the fact that Yoongi is literally in the same room.

“Hoseok-ahhhhhh...” Namjoon whines, putting a pillow over his face, “Stop yelling bro, it’s too fucking loud.”

Hoseok is still giggling, despite his hyung’s warnings as Yoongi finally returns from the kitchen.

“Seriously...” He mumbles in agreement as he hands you the water but, as you reach out to take it, he slumps beside you and takes your wrist in his hand,lowering his tone, “Yah, I’m the only one you should be smacking around yeah?”

His eyes are hooded, his lips still upturned in a smirk as he unscrews the cap for you, holding it out to your lips, “Here’s your water jagiya...”

For once, you’re a little speechless but, you take his offer anyway, securing your lips around the water bottle.

His eyes linger as you take a few sips from it before he screws the cap back on for you, setting back on the coffee table.

“You’re bad.” You giggle, impressed by Yoongi’s boldness

He just grins, cat-like as ever, and lays his head in your lap, subtly nuzzling against your thigh.

“This shit is going to put your boyfriend to sleep, Y/N so be prepared to carry his ass off to bed in a bit.” Namjoon comments, smirking almost fondly at his hyung.

“I’m prepared.” You snicker and, just like Yoongi, you lower your voice to a volume just for him, “I thought putting you to sleep was my job?”

With your teasing question, you run your fingers through his hair and much to your delight, a shiver runs down his spine.

He nuzzles further into your thigh, his hand gripping the outside of it whilst he replies, “It still is.”

It’s all he can muster up for now but, you don’t miss the glint in his eyes before they flutter shut.

The TV has been on since you’ve arrived but Hoseok finally changes the channel and, you continue you running your digits through your boyfriends silky locks.

This goes on for quite some time until your touch begins to have an unexpected effect on your boyfriend’s resolve.

Having you play with his hair when he’s sober is amazing/comforting but, it’s intensified due to his intoxication and the sensations are turning him on.  

It’s not long until you both end up in his bedroom and as soon as he shuts the door, he’s pressing you up against it.

With a dark chuckle, he’s kissing at your mouth, taking a deep breath as he allows his hands to explore your body.

“God you really know how to get my dick hard don’t you?”

You laugh into his lips, kissing him back eagerly as your hands push his jacket off of his shoulders, “Is your dick hard right now?”  

It’s a bullshit question.

You already know he’s hard.

You could tell by the way he walked you awkwardly into his room.  

“I don’t know-” He teases, pressing his hips against yours, allowing you to feel the tightness in his jeans, “What do you think?”

Your mouth waters at the feeling of him, your hand quickly travelling down to rub over his dick.

“Fuck-” Yoongi hisses, his head falling forward onto your shoulder.

“You feel hard to me.” You whisper in his ear, nibbling on the shell of it, enjoying the way he trembles for you.

“I’m so sensitive right now- jesus christ.” He mutters, mostly to himself before kissing up your neck.

With his hips pressed to your hand, he brings his heavy gaze to yours, a smirk crawling it’s way onto his lips, “Is this ready for me right now?” He practically coos, sliding his hand from your hip to the ache between your legs, cupping your pussy.

After the past few days he’s had, you don’t have the urge to tease him.

All you want to do is fuck his brains out.  

“Mhm...” You hum, kissing at his lips as you slowly begin to back him up towards the bed. “Right now.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles again, his eyes heavier due to the lust and the weed coursing through his body, “Will you come ride this dick for me then?”

Whilst the two of you are talking, you’re tugging at one another’s clothes and, the next thing you know it; you’re both laying naked on Yoongi’s bed.

He’s big hands slide up the outside of your thighs, squeezing roughly once they get to your ask before he continues his verbal assault on your sanity.

“I’m so fucking hard right now. I’m gonna give you so much baby. I’m gonna fill it up until it drips all over my sheets...”

This shit is hitting different.

Yoongi’s never spoken like this before and you’d be lying if you said it set you on fire.

When his head hits the pillow, the onyx tendrils on his head splay messily across the pillowcase.

Licking your lips, you slide your hands up your body, caressing your breasts, brushing your sex along Yoongi’s twitching dick.

“Oh my god, look at you. You’re so fucking pretty c’mere...” He groans, ushering you back down to his lips, kissing you tenderly, “You gon’ ride this dick for me baby? Let me into this pretty pussy of yours?”

“Uh-huh...” You grunt, sucking on his bottom lip, bracing your hands on either side of his head, “I wanna make you cum so hard...”

“Oh jagiyaaa...” He laughs and its that rickety, almost evil kind of laughter that you find so attractive, “That’s the only way you’ve ever made me cum. Your baby is sensitive when he’s high though, so you gotta be careful or I’m gonna cum before you’ve even started...”

Jesus christ.

“You want it gentle then?”  

“Nah. I want you to ride it how you want to. It’s your dick isn’t it? You take care of it how you see fit. I just wanna watch and cum inside you.”

His words snap something inside of you and, before you know it, you’re sinking down on his throbbing dick.

Yoongi grins as soon as he feels you, his hands immediately taking purchase on your hips.

“Oh shit, that’s it...” Yoongi’s whimpering but its low and slow and, it fills you with more motivation.

You lean down, brushing your mouth against his, nibbling on the plump flesh of his bottom lip.

“Good?” You whisper as your hands dig into the pillow beside his head.

His dick is made for you, you’re certain of it.

It curves perfectly against the spot inside of you that immediately seems to make you sick with pleasure.

Yoongi's lopsided smirk has yet to fade but he eagerly presses his lips to yours, his hands coming up to secure your face.

He just nods before sliding his tongue into your mouth, brushing slowly against the side of your own, his hips pumping up along with the rhythm you’ve set.

Throughout your lust-driven haze, you feel him pull away, his hand still cupping your cheek.

“This pussy is good. I swear to god, it’s gonna make me lose my shit. Fu-fuck me...” He stutters when you bottom out on him again, your walls fluttering around him sinfully,  

He shoots a pleading look your way but, he’s rendered speechless as you increase your pace on him.

“I love when you’re inside of me.” You say because its’ the truth and you never get tired of telling him, “I love when you cum inside of me. You’re the only one who makes me feel this way.”

Yoongi’s mouth parts in awe, his moan getting caught at the back of his throat as his gaze flits eagerly between your thighs.

“Mine...” Yoongi croons in Korean, unable to conjure up a coherent thought.

You know this word though and, you’re prepared with a reponse.

“Yours.” You kiss him again, locking eyes with him once more, “Forever.”

That’s enough to break him.

He’s cumming hard inside of you now, rope after rope of his release painting every inch he can reach, his body tightening with the force of his orgasm.

In spite of his current state, he still manages to rub your clit whilst you chase your own high, confessing his love for you over and over again until the two of you are completely spent.

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

Later on that evening, the two of you decide to sit in the backyard around the fire pit and snuggle up under one of Yoongi’s many throw blankets, relishing in one another.

Pressing a kiss to the backs of your knuckles, Yoongi murmurs some of the things he’s always too afraid to say.

“I hope you know how much you mean to me. I know that things aren’t always easy with me and, I hope that after today, you can understand why. But, I still hope you know...how much I love you.”  

His words send butterflies into your stomach as you snuggle closer to him, “I’ve never felt more loved than when I’m with you, Yoongi, even if you don’t say anything. I know.” You kiss his check before tilting his face towards yours, “And I hope, even when you’re having a tough day or a tough week, you know that I have your back. I hope you never have to feel alone or unloved ever again. Because I’ll always be here for you and, I’ll always love you.”

He smiles, gums and all before surging forward to kiss you, his hands delicately brushing against your cheeks.

“Angel.”

It’s all he whispers before kissing you again, pouring his love into each of his movements.

You want to argue with him; you want to tell him that he’s the angel but, instead you smile into his lips as you always do, and just kiss him.

Yoongi decides in that moment that he doesn’t have to do life alone anymore.  

He decides that he’s found his team member.

His partner.

His lover.

His soulmate.  

[yadds]

Heyyyy so guess who’s not dead!  Anyway, for anyone that’s interested, I’ve decided that I’m not posting ongoing works until I’m done with them then will post as I’m editing.  Sorry!  However, I do have an excerpt that I like a bit that can stand alone, so here it is!  Also, despite the sexual nature of the initial conversation, this is pre-starker and isn’t really much about sex.

Minor background info: Tony has come back from the dead and is still with Pepper but they’re having issues.  Meanwhile, the Starker bromance is developing and they hang out quite a bit.  

____________________________________________________________________

“Spit or swallow?” Peter asked out of the blue as they sat on the couch watching reality tv. 

Tony’s eyebrows were about to climb right into his hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Spit or swallow?” he repeated, over enunciating. “What are your thoughts?”

“Just to be clear, we’re talking about…” Tony trailed off slowly. 

“You know, bjs. Blowies. I’m sure you’ve gotten one once or twice,” Peter said with a roll of his eyes, tossing several pieces of popcorn into his mouth. 

“Yeah, might have happened on a rare occasion,” Tony responded dryly. “Well, honestly I can take it or leave it on the receiving end, doesn’t make that much of a difference to me.”

Peter’s head tilted back and forth, considering, before shrugging. 

“When giving though, I generally don’t like either. Don’t get me wrong, I love going down on people and making them feel good, but I prefer if they don’t finish in my mouth. Obviously I’ve done it before and may very well do it again so I guess I’d probably say swallow? It’s already there, so why make a mess?”

Peter’s attention was now fully on Tony, the TV forgotten in the background. Tony glanced over and smiled wryly when he saw his gaping mouth and red cheeks. “What’s with the stunned mullet impression? Did you not literally just ask that question? Am I going senile already?”

Peter cleared his throat and turned back to face the tv again. “Uh, yeah, I uh I did ask. But I was thinking more on the receiving end - I wasn’t expecting you to talk about giving.”

One of Tony’s brows crept back up. “Oh? And why is that? Because you think I’m a selfish asshole in bed as well or because you think I’m shy?”

Peter shook his head quickly, not catching the amused tilt of Tony’s lips. “No, no of course not! I just didn’t know that you, uh, you know, partake, in partners of the, uh, male persuasion?” If Peter shoveled any more popcorn into his mouth after the desperate handful he just shoved in there, he was going to suffocate. 

“Huh,” Tony said thoughtfully. Had they really never talked about this before? “Well, weird phrasing aside (because that was weird, kid, what’s up with that?), I thought it was pretty common knowledge that I was bisexual.”

Peter shook his head again, glancing back Tony’s way. “Nope, definitely not. At least not in any of the articles or interviews online. I mean, yeah, there are a few sources that mention the possibility of you not being completely straight, but they all sound like speculation.” 

Tony was speechless for a minute. He watched Peter notice the extended silence and seem to realize what he just said, curling forward and burying his face in his hands, ears bright red.

 He finally gathered enough wits to say, “Well, then I guess it was just common knowledge among people who actually know me. SI probably paid off the men I slept with - because heaven forbid the infamous playboy figurehead be seen with a man back in the day. I honestly never paid attention to what exactly was in the press, just made sure I was in it. If I’d known, I definitely would have been more blatantly obvious.” 

He was quiet again for about five seconds before he pulled his leg up on the couch and fully turned towards Peter. “I’m sorry, I tried, but I can’t just let this go. I knew you were a big fan, but sounds like you’ve really done your research, Pete.” He couldn’t drop the shit-eating grin on his face. 

Peter flopped all the way forward, shoving his face into his knees, groaning. “Can we not do this?” he whined. It only took another ten seconds of pointed silence before Peter broke. “Ugh, okay, so I may have had a crush on you when I was younger,” he admitted. “A teeny tiny, definitely not life-consuming, crush.”

Tony laughed. “And when was this?” 

“I don’t know, it started when I was like 13 probably.”

“And you thought you should google my sexuality to see if, what, you had a chance with the guy four times your age that you’d never meet?” Tony didn’t think he’d been this amused in a long time.  

Peter sat back up and peeked at him just to throw him a glare. “Yes, because thirteen year olds are so logical, especially when it comes to hormonal urges.”

“Never would have pegged you for being into older men.”

“Really? Because most people aren’t surprised - I apparently just radiate ‘twink with a daddy kink’,” Peter said matter-of-factly. 

Tony choked, coughing loudly. “I’m sorry, did you just, in a roundabout way, call me a Daddy? In a way that has nothing to do with my daughter?”

“I- can we talk about something else now?” Peter squeaked. 

“That...is probably a good idea,” Tony agreed, feeling his own cheeks heat. 

They both stared very intently at the TV, trying to think of anything else. 

After a while, Peter spoke up. “Why would you do it again?”

“What?” Tony asked, confused. 

“Sorry, I’m back on the spit or swallow question,” Peter explained. 

Now it was Tony’s turn to groan. “I thought we were talking about something else.”

“Yeah, something that’s not my personal and very embarrassing past. Now that I have the question, I can’t think of anything else.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine. So why would I do what again, exactly? Give a blow job?”

“Well, I mean, that too, considering that you’re still with Pepper and I’m 99.9999% sure she doesn’t have the right equipment for that. But I was talking about spitting or swallowing. Why would you do either? You said you don’t like it.”

“Relationships are about compromise Pete, even in the bedroom. And I don’t hate it when I’m in the mood for it.”

“What a ringing endorsement,” Peter said flatly. “Yeah, there’s gotta be some compromise, but that should be more along the lines of maybe trying new things that you may not have done on your own but are open to. Doing something you definitively, straight up don’t like in bed should not be one of them.”

Tony looked at Peter, perplexed. “I...don’t even know what to say to that. When did you become an expert in this?”

Peter shrugged. “You’d be surprised how much of my time as Spiderman is spent just lending an ear when people are having a hard time. And sex and relationships come up a lot because I guess it’s easier to talk to a random person in a mask than to someone you know. I try to just listen and not to give advice most of the time, since I’m not an expert and everyone’s situation is different, but sometimes people are in circumstances that are dangerous, emotionally and mentally. So I took a couple relationship health and psychology classes my freshman year in college and read up on some of these things to know what to say.”

Tony’s heart warmed, hearing how earnestly Peter wanted to help people. He smiled softly. “Never thought you’d use that on Tony Stark, did you?” he joked. 

Peter scoffed. “Please, you were like, the poster child for a lot of these issues. I like to think you’ve finally gotten wiser in your ‘old age’, but I’ve mentally given you several high-handed pep talks.”

Tony was taken aback. “Oh? And what was the subject of these pep talks?”

“Mostly self-worth and your complete lack of it.”

Tony chuckled again. “Well maybe you haven’t heard, but I actually have an unrealistically high opinion of myself, kid.”

“Yeah, do you think that if you keep talking about it loudly enough, you might start believing it?” Peter asked, eyebrow raised.

“Excuse me?  I am one of the richest, smartest people on the damn planet.  I single-handedly created a superhero while a prisoner in a cave.  I created clean energy that can power the planet and I’m pretty sure I’m damn close to being able to end poverty,” Tony rebuked, getting irritated.

“I know, so why do you still feel like it’s not enough?” Peter asked with a shrug, pointedly not looking at him.  “All those amazing accomplishments, things no one else would be able to do, but how often do you think about that instead of the few mistakes you’ve made?”

Tony crossed his arms.  “Get out of my fucking head, kid,” he grunted.

Peter turned to him with a grin.  “You think I should change my degree plan and become a shrink?”

“Definitely not.  You’re pretty much done anyway and I need you in my labs, not consoling lunatics like me.”

Peter reeled back exaggeratedly.  “You’re quite presumptuous, Mr. Stark, assuming I’ll be working for you.”

“You’d better,” Tony insisted.

“Is that a threat?” Peter asked cheekily.

“Definitely.”

Laughing, Peter settled back into the cushions and resumed his popcorn eating.

After several minutes of watching TV in silence, Peter turned back to Tony.  “You know I still think you’re just as amazing as you try to say you are, right?”

Glancing at Peter out of the corner of his eye, he shook his head at Peter’s earnest expression.  “No clue why,” he said wryly.  “But yeah, I know.  Thanks, kid,” Tony said, smile soft as his hand came up to grip the back of Peter’s neck before pulling him into a hug.

Tony cleared his throat and sat back before saying gruffly, “Now shut up and watch...whatever the hell it is you’re making me watch.”

Peter snorted but kept his mouth shut.  And as he settled more comfortably under Tony’s arm, his back pressed up against Tony’s side as Tony’s arm draped across Peter’s chest, Tony had to wonder if this is one of the things Pepper had been talking about.

But as he felt the warmth of Peter pressed against him, felt the soft rise and fall of his breathing, felt the proof that Peter was alive and safe, Tony shook away the thought.

_____________________________________________________________________

So I’m starting to see a pattern - I tend to write like hell during the fall and winter and not during the summer at all. So apparently I have an off-season lol.  Hopefully the pattern continues for the next few months and I can get a few projects finished!

[grxceblqckthxrn]

TDA characters as types of tiktokers

y’all KNOW i’m bored when i’m doing this shit lmao 

i’ll get around to doing the other TSC characters eventually TDA was just the first to come to mind also if you’re not actively on tiktok some of what i say might not make sense ahaha

also i named some tiktokers who yall can use for reference for some of them and from what i’ve seen they’re all fairly unproblematic so you should check them out!!

EMMA CARSTAIRS

okay so she’s DEFINITELY super popular and she uses her platform for good

she’s really funny and a lot of her audios go viral posts videos of her dancing saying that she cant dance but she’s actually really good at it

6M followers and growing fast 

 hypes up her boyfriend’s account ALL the time

calls out misogynistic/racist tiktokers through duets and KEEPS THEIR TAG IN THE CAPTION  

 she is not afraid of starting drama lmao

occasionally hops on POV and transition trends but its usually satire 

emma can’t act for shit lmao 

super active on tiktok and has a spam account

people are always asking her to drop the skin care routine but she doesn’t have one?? 

*pushes Zara down* “and no one’s gonna help her?? WOW some world we live in”

JULIAN BLACKTHORN

there’s no way he doesnt  have an art account lmao

a lot of his paintings go viral but 90% of his comments are 14 year old girls thirsting over him

yall know that pottery guy on tiktok?? the cute one?? (i searched up his account just for this post he’s @/daxnewman769) that’s the best way to describe him

literally all the famous tiktokers commission him

probably has like 4M followers lmao

will occasionally make about how respecting women doesn’t make you a “simp”

doesn’t get into tiktok drama tho

posts candid videos of emma and all his jealous 14 year old fans get so pressed but he shuts down anyone who says anything bad about her

sometimes does painting or drawing tutorials and he’s really good at teaching stuff lmao

CRISTINA ROSALES

omg okay so like yall know those really pretty girls on tiktok who are literal models and are always dropping tips on how to frame your face for pictures and best clothes and poses and whatever  ( @/ameliezilber is the first person that came to mind as an example)

thats her

alot of her content is just for the aesthetic

BLING EFFECT

GRWM’s all the time

10 step skin care routine 

GOOD VIBES

has a pretty decent following?? like at least 2 million

has a spam but it’s exactly the same as her main lol

also calls out problematic tiktokers but not by name

her entire account is full of body positivity and does a bunch of stuff on loving yourself

sometimes does POVs and all the comments are like “@ netflix hire her rn”

sometimes posts crack videos with emma and cute vids with mark and kieran

MARK BLACKTHORN

does a lot of reaction videos and duets

a lot of his videos go viral but he doesn’t have a huge following like maybe 800k

 everyone still knows him

gets at least twenty “are you wearing only one contact” comment about his eyes every post

he’s really funny without even realizing it 

sometimes goes inactive for weeks at a time and just forgets that tiktok exists lmao

shows off kieran and cristina ALL THE MF TIME AND EVERYONE IS SO JEALOUS LIKE HOW ARE ALL OF THEM HOT

KIERAN 

doesnt have a tiktok lmao sorry

but shows up so much on mark’s and cristina’s that a lot of people know who he is

DIANA WRAYBURN

unironically does POVs but is actually good at them??

lots of videos talking about the struggles of minorities like LGBTQ+ and POC and women

posts a lot of those vidoes that are like “what to do if you ever get kidnapped” “red flags in relationships” “most powerful parts of the body” etc

probably has like 500k followers 

at the end of the day she doesn’t really use tiktok that much tho ahaha

LIVVY BLACKTHORN:

does a little bit of everything??

posts dance videos sometimes 

omg her transitions are SO good

everyone is in love with her and she has to remind them that she’s a minor (i’m just a kid plays aggressively in the background)

posts videos that are just vibes?? like her skating at night, dancing in traffic with dru/her friends, walking through the city at night etc

lots of lip syncing videos to whatever sounds are popular and all her comments are like “i wish i looked like this” “guess im not eating today” and she gets so upset :((

she wants everyone to know that they’re perfect the way they are!!

also posts POVs sometimes and she’s not that bad at them ahaha 

probably has like 1 million followers 

doesn’t even need a spam just posts everything on her main 

shouts out her sibilings accounts all the time

overall just great energy

TY BLACKTHORN

never posts his face on his main but he does on his spam

yall know those accounts that post fun facts or psychology facts?? his is like that except he talks to explain them and everyone finds his voice SO calming 

he posts a lot of content of animals and everyone is in AWE with how good he is with them

his username is probably theanimalwhisperer or something djkfskjd

every single time he posts Kit on his account all the comments are like “OOH ICU” and “SHIP” and “ASK HIM OUT ALREADY”

he gives 0 shits about popularity on tiktok he’s just posting for fun because he likes teaching people about his interests

so he has like maybe 500k followers

lots of philosophical questions that has everyone questioning their existence

ugh i love him

KIT HERONDALE

be honest this is what y’all were waiting for 

yall know those unproblematic ppl that everyone refers to as the “king(s) of tiktok”???

yeah thats him

SO FUNNY

LIKE HIS CONTENT IS GENUINELY HILARIOUS

lots of sarcasm and satire

think @/adamkindacool  ?? (one of my favourite tiktokers lmao)

does reaction videos for those “pov: im the annoying hot cheeto girl sitting next to you in math class” videos

dark humor (not like rude humor but actual dark humor)

like “i put the baby in the oven and the pizza in the bed” type of jokes back when those were a thing

has like 4M followers but almost every single one of his posts go viral so he’s gaining fast

lots of pranks

starts a bunch of trends

any video he posts of Mina goes viral

sometimes he posts some really weird stuff that has everyone laughing so hard irl (@/benoftheweek)

he NEVER thirst traps but still gets a lot of those weird sexual fairy comments on his posts (iykyk)

TO BE CLEAR I MEAN THE FAIRY EMOJI ONES NOTHING TO DO WITH HIM BEING FAE 

reacts to the comments with a video of him just staring at the screen with the “oh to see without my eyes” or “im just sixteen” audio going on in the background which only encourages them to make more weird comments

anyways everyone loves him

any of his povs are pure jokes meant to make fun of pov’ers

posts maybe one serious tiktok every 5 months that talks about being respectful and using your platform for good

“i miss old tiktok”

posts a lot of random videos of Ty where, again, all the comments are shipping them except even more so on his account because everyone can see his heart eyes for Ty

collabs with Dru a lot and does a bunch of duets of her videos

everyone loves him bye

DRU BLACKTHORN

SO many memes

she deletes any hate in her comments bc she honestly doesnt care to respond to them and doesn’t need that kind of negativity in her life

but one time she got a “the f in women stands for funny” comment and she WENT OFF

does really dark povs sometimes that are really interesting

CLOWN MAKEUP + SCARY CLOWN TIKTOKS ( think @/avani ‘s clown make up posts

REALLY good at makeup and sometimes gets julian to do scary makeup on her for tiktoks and povs (like those ones with stitches over the mouth or skin peeling off)

huge ally!! posts a lot about minorities struggles and white privilege, and acknowledges hers

does movie reviews and stuff sometimes

“types of” videos

pulls a lot of pranks on her sibilings with livvy and sometimes with Kit

lots of body positivity + self love

calls out back-handed compliments

also has a lot of content like Livvy’s of just vibing in LA

julian and emma and mark go off at anyone who sexualize her in the comments

probably has like 650k followers

posts a couple of times a week

BONUS: 

JAIME ROSALES

lots of skateboarding videos idk he just gives me that vibe

doesn’t post that often but is super popular

like maybe 1.5M followers

really passionate about systematic racism

HATES all those privileged white boys using the “this is america” audio to pretend they’re oppressed ( this is a may 2020 thing so it probably wont make sense to anyone who sees this after lmao)

POSTS A LOT OF THIRST TRAPS LMAO 

also posts lots of videos that’s just him yelling about stuff but they’re really entertaining to watch ( like that guy sebastian @/sauceyogranny)

everyone thinks he’s super hot he always shows up in those “hottest boys on tiktok” videos except sometimes he’s just the token POC boy and it makes him mad :( 

DIEGO ROSALES

HIS ACCOUNT IS SO PRACTICAL LMAO

lots of tips 

“what to do if you’re trapped in the desert” “what to do if you’re kidnapped and stuck in the trunk”

doesnt reply to comments EVER unless it’s to clarify a point he made in the video or answer a question

has like 200k

okay thats it lmao im done bye this took me like an hour to make

i’ll get to all the other characters from the other series’ eventually 

also if yall are wondering abt the lack of f*ckbois in this post they’re coming dw

TMI CHARACTERS AS TYPES OF TIKTOKERS

TID CHARACTERS AS TYPES OF TIKTOKERS 

TLH CHARACTERS AS TYPES OF TIKTOKERS

[rightsockjin]

Hi, can i request 21 and Yoongi please?

Here you go! I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Collage AU! Yoongi and you are in the same psychology class and he really can not stand you...

Rating: K+

Genre: FLuffY flufF Fluff... It’s fluff. but like a lil..

This was really fun to write and I can’t wait until I get to write the rest! Please send in an ask if you want to request a prompt! 

Prompt list

She’s just so obnoxious,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Then stop talking to her,” Joon said with a shrug as he turned the page of his book.

Waves of frustration ran through him. He didn’t really think that Joon wasn’t looking at him. He knew he was overreacting but he needed to blow off steam.

“I can’t,” he groaned for what felt like the millionth time.

“Why?”

Questions.

That was what Joon was made up of.

Whats and whens and whys.

Yoongi, being the introvert he was, usually wasn’t fond of people like this but Kim Namjoon had been an exception.

He’d never tell him that though.

It was too fun to roll his eyes at his -

Fr-

Frien-

Fr-fr-

*cough* friend *cough*

He did just that before running a hand through his dark hair.

“If I had a 500 won for every time you ask a question-“

“You’d be rolling in money- yeah I know,” Joon said, still not looking up. Carefully, he highlighted a sentence.

Yoongi watched as the perfect yellow line appeared against the slightly beige page filled with poetry.

Namjoon was anal about things like his notes and books and writing.

Yoongi on the other hand, wrote like a kindergartener and didn’t give a single shit.

Still... It was kind of satisfying to watch him highlight words.

“Still, I don’t see why you keep in contact with her if she gets on your nerves.”

Yoongi scoffed.

How many times must he explain?

“Because!”

When he didn’t continue, Namjoon finally glanced up through his lashes as if this would be enough to egg him on to continue.

Yoongi raised his eyebrows, daring him to ask another question as he crossed his arms.

With an exasperated sigh, Namjoon grabbed a bookmark from his pence bag that was carefully coordinated by color and stuck it between the pages before he closed it and set it aside on the table they were sharing to study.

Study, being a loose explanation for their presence on campus since Yoongi had only set his multiple psychology books on the surface of the table and hasn’t touched them since he sat down half an hour ago.

“I‘ll bite,” Joon said, a smirk on his face as he straightened and pushed his glasses on the bridge of his tiny nose.

Yoongi smiled and waited for his Fr-Joon to ask him to continue.

Hey, he may be an introvert, but he had feelings and emotions that he wanted to get off his chest and Namjoon was a fantastic listener.

He never took his sarcasm to heart.

This is one of the many reasons that Yoongi liked...

Anyway-

“Because of what, Yoongi?”

A dopey smile graced Namjoon’s face as he rested his round cheeks on his knuckles.

This is what he was talking about.

Full attention bitch!

“Because,” Yoongi said once again as if it was an inconvenience to speak at all, “she’s the smartest person in my psyc classes! I refuse to acquaint myself with anyone who isn’t level with my intellect.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes tapping his long fingers against his dimples cheek.

“Big words for such a small man,” he said before breaking out into high pitched giggles.

“You know what isn’t small?” Yoongi challenged.

“Your ego-“

“My dick- awe come on man! Just once let me have my fun,” Yoongi groaned slamming a hand on one of the biggest and heaviest books he had.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the library aid glare in his direction.

He smiled and waved cheekily but shrunk into himself slightly before he turned back to Joon and his infuriating smile.

“You look like a big baby in those overalls,” Yoongi said when he couldn’t think of a good comeback.

Namjoon smiled and leaned back, his hands threaded in his hair.

“That’s the aesthetic I was going for.”

Stupid tree hugger.

Yoongi opened his mouth to say something else.

Probably something about his obnoxious habit of tapping his pens on the table when a chair was pulled up on his left quickly followed by one on his right.

Hoseok and Seokjin

Or as he liked to refer to them in his head-

Icarus and Narcissist

-weren’t exactly his friends rather, they were Namjoon’s friends but he tolerated them on most days as long as they didn’t come on too strong.

Today was one of those days that they got on his nerves instantly.

“Yo,” Hoseok half yelled, getting an annoyed “shh” from the library aid, his chair turned so the back was facing the table and his legs were spread on either side.

“How’s it going,” Seokjin added.

“Did your class end early?” Namjoon asked, looking down at his watch in confusion.

“Nah,” Hoseok answered looking at Seokjin mischievously.

“We snuck out of the lecture half way through.”

Namjoon scrunched his nose in distaste while shooting the library aid an awkward smile at Hoseok’s loudness.

“That is so irresponsible Hobi! Don’t expect me to stay up with you two all night for the next test like I did last time-“

“Oh don’t start with the lectures Namjoonie,” Hoseok groaned.

“We just snuck out of one, we clearly don’t want to listen to boring people drone on and on and on....”

“I hope you have fun failing your next exam.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Hoseok said clearly unbothered, “you said that last time as well.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. He’d never told Namjoon but that Hoseok really struck a nerve with him.

He was always relying on Namjoon to make sure he passed his classes since all of them were in the same minor- music.

He never did anything on his own and in general, Yoongi couldn’t help but feel he was using him.

Maybe he was jealous.

But nope that wasn’t it Yoongi didn’t do feelings aside from annoyance.

“Whatever,” Joon said, turning his attention back to Yoongi, “anyway, can’t you just- I don’t know, talk to her minimally?”

“Talk to who?” Seokjin asked curiously.

“Her?” Hoseok added, his eyes wide.

“Does Yoongles have a girlfriend?”

“Thanks a lot,” Yoongi said, staring directly at Namjoon with a ‘look at what you did’ expression.

Namjoon shrugged and blushed.

That was another thing.

Namjoon didn’t have a single filter.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Yoongi clarifies.

“I have a nemeses,” he said, his fist clenching on the table and his eyebrows connecting.

A slight silence followed after that.

Then like dominos, Hoseok burst out laughing, closely followed by Jin and then finally by Namjoon.

Yoongi felt his cheeks warm as the boys raucously laughed. Hoseok slapping his leg, Namjoon covering his mouth and Seokjin rocking in his chair.

“Wha-well she is! She’s like... top of my class! It’s always between me and her and it’s gone to her head!”

“Ah- Uh- a nemesis?” Hoseok asked between explosive laughter.

“Or like arch-enemy,” Yoongi said with a thoughtful sigh, accepting his fate as the boys laughed louder.

Even Namjoon, who was just as anal about following the rules- which Yoongi guesses had something to do with the pretty Library aid was laughing his full belly laugh.

“An arch-enemy?” Seokjin asked for clarity.

Yoongi nodded.

“She’s like my mortal enemy,” he finished.

Yeah

That felt right.

It was a couple more seconds in which the aid glared in their direction and their laughter died down.

Yoongi waited patiently for them to quiet so he could continue. Might as well. They all knew now.

When they finally did, Namjoon noticed the way the aid was looking at them and blushed, hiding in his oversized hoodie.

“Don’t you think that’s a little over the top?” Seokjin asked, whipping a tear from the corner of his eye.

“No.” He answered simply.

And he wasn’t.

You were everything he couldn’t stand.

You were inquisitive like Namjoon.

You were overtly loud like Hoseok.

And you were as full of yourself as Seokjin.

And on top of that, you were a genius?

You had all of their worst qualities, and

He.

Couldn’t.

Stand.

You.

Namjoon cleared his throat then, drawing his attention back to the group.

He looked flummoxed.

“Maybe we should go eat or something... I’m starting to feel bad for the people studying.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok giggles looking in the direction that Namjoon kept glancing in.

“It has nothing to do with the death glares that glasses is giving us, right?”

He pointed over at the aid who was indeed shooting daggers in their directions

“No!” Namjoon said instantly.

“It’s just that the library is supposed to be a quiet place for studying-“

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist English boy,” Hoseok said.

Yoongi scoffed.

“The best you could come up with was English boy?”

“Well I’m not an English boy,” Hoseok answered dramatically swooning.

“Clearly,” Namjoon murmured, putting his stuff in his satchel.

Yoongi began to pack up as well. He really had planned on getting some reading done while he was hanging out with Joon but he quite obviously got side tracked.

He’d have to do it later.

“So where do we wanna eat, gang?” Hoseok asked, standing up.

“I think I’m gonna pass,” Yoongi said, realizing that he hadn’t started on the paper he was supposed to do yesterday either for his music theory class.

“Awe no,” Hoseok moaned grabbing Yoongi’s shoulders, “it’s all of us or none of us!”

Yoongi huffed and pushed his arms off of him, “then I guess it’s none of us. I have a shit ton of homework to do and you people distract me.”

Namjoon crossed his bag over his chest and squinted at him.

“But hyung,” Namjoon began, “you’re the one who asked to meet in the first place.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<3~~~~~~~~~~~~<3~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s really not that hard,” you said as you spread your perfect color coded notes all over the table that you and Yoongi were working on.

Then your computer

And your pens that were sorted by thickness and color.

And your textbooks.

When you were done, Yoongi only had about a quarter of the space you had. 

Given, he just had his laptop and a single notebook-

No pen though.

It was still rude how you had taken the entirety of the space available for BOTH of you.

“It’s rooted in the way that humans tend to identify with colors and pictures. We can’t help but to interpret art in a way that speaks to us which is why it’s so useful for therapy.”

“I know that,” Yoongi snapped with a roll of his eyes, “I just don’t know if it’s the most useful strategy when it comes to someone who’s never been in therapy before.”

He bit at his thumb in thought.

“Why wouldn’t it be? It would take a lot of pressure off of the psychologist and the patient so they don’t feel cornered into talking about their feelings.”

“Well what if the patient is uncomfortable with their art work? Or they have no interest in drawing or music? How would you go about that?”

Yeah.

Art therapy was great.

Honestly, that’s the branch that Yoongi wanted to study and had chosen the topic for that exact reason.

He just hadn’t expected you to choose it as well.

Now, he was trying-

And failing

-At trying to discredit the practice.

“You have them look or listen instead. Then they can just write what they feel. It’s simple Yoongi.”

He grunted, leaning back against his chair.

“Okay fine. Put that into the powerpoint,” he conceded.

“I will.”

You booted up your computer and he lost himself in the sound of the keys you pressed.

On his screen, he could see the shared PowerPoint and her cursor moving. He’d done maybe two of the slides on it because you were so over the top controlling that he’d given up trying to contribute.

“Hey Yoongi,” you said as you continued to type.

He peeked up at the sound of your voice from behind his screen.

“Can I ask you an uncomfortable question?”

Yoongi’s blood ran cold.

She seemed to take his lack of negation as confirmation.

“How long have you been in love with me?”

How long had he-

Had he-

D:

Wha-what?

Were you kidding?

Yoongi laughed. Obviously it was a joke.

But you stopped typing and looked over at Yoongi.

Your hands were folded on the table next to your notebook.

Your glasses rested on the tip of your nose.

Your bun was messy. Strands of hair framed your face.

The top button of your white shirt was undone.

You weren’t amused.

“Wait,” he leaned forward, slapping his hands on the table and leaning forward, “you’re not serious are you?”

With a single finger, you pushed the black frames up slowly.

Tiredly.

“I am.”

How could someone misread him so badly?

Yoongi took a deep breath.

“Y/N,” deep breath, “I am not in love with you.”

With a soft smile that sent his stomach in a frenzy and a scowl on his face you leaned forward.

“Has anyone ever told you that there is a fine line between love and hate?”

“That’s just a theory,” Yoongi said instantly leaning back. If that’s all you were going off of then you had no basis to your hypothesis.

“A theory grounded on the intensity of emotions and the predictability or lack thereof of human psyche.”

He scoffed.

Not Yoongi’s.

He only held disdain for you.

While he really hadn’t thought that you would notice his clear dislike of you, he was a little confused as to why you would think it would lead to him falling in love with you.

This wasn’t a romcom.

Right?

“Look, Y/N,” he chuckled, “the only feelings I have for you are-“

Stop.

Don’t say it.

“Contempt.”

You raised an eyebrow at that.

A pretty smile-

What? Where did that come from?

A smirk tugged at your lips.

“We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Yoongi couldn’t take it any longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<3~~~~~~~~~<3~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’d had enough.

ENOUGH.

You hadn’t spoken to him ever since your presentation.

And it was a great presentation!

He even spoke and everything!

People were shocked.

He was pretty sure almost everyone in that class thought he was mute.

He had even been extra nice right before so that you won’t give him a bad peer review.

So. *Inhale*

*exhale*

Why in the name of all that is holy did you suddenly decide to not speak to him or even so much as glance at him?

He walked into class that day and had been kind enough to save you a seat.

Out of the pure kindness of his heart mind you.

Kindness that he displayed for no one.

And yet you had bypassed him entirely and sat way in the back without so much as a friendly hand wave.

What a bit-

*tire screech*

In the end, he supposed it didn’t matter.

You’d been a pain in his side since you both started your degrees and it would be much easier to destroy you if you weren’t friendly.

Fine.

Fine.

Okay.

Good.

If it was a war you wanted it was a war you would get.

…

…

...

....but why hadn’t you talked to him?

Had he hurt your feelings?

Maybe he shouldn’t have told you that he hated you.

Well not that he hated you more like he just thought you were beneath him or something like...

He surmised that girls tended not to like when men told them they hated them.

He’d been rude.

But it wasn’t his fault...

After all, isn’t it rude to assume someone is in love with you?

Conceded at the very least.

He knew you were full of yourself, what with your hanging mirror key chain and selfie studded phone case, but that was just too far.

To assume that because someone didn’t like you...

They were in love with you?

You were clearly in the wrong field.

Yoongi must have scoffed out loud because Hoseok, whom had been the first of the Fr-

*gag*

Of the boys to show up, looked up from his pizza menu quizzically.

“What’s on your mind Yoongles?”

“For the millionth time, Hoseok-”

“I doubt it’s been a million times-”

“Please,” he sighed, “don’t call me Yoongles. My name is Yoongi... call me hyung if you want-”

Hoseok made a high pitched noise somewhere in the back of his throat and put a hand over his chest.

“I thought you would never ask!”

He launched himself across the table and wrapped his arms around his neck, his cheek pressed against him.

“Tha’usen’t a’question...”

it was then that two sets of footsteps neared their table near the back and Yoongi felt his cheeks burn.

“Get off me,” he said in a monotone voice, using his palm to push Hoseok’s face off of his.

Joon and Seokjin stood side by side watching the two sitting men with confusion written all over their faces.

“Okay who died,” Jin asked looking at Hoseok’s now down cast expression.

“My Love for Yoongi hyung,” he said melodramatically.

Yoongi rolled his eyes and scooted towards the end of the booth so Joon or Jin could slide in.

It was Jin that sat next to him.

Joon slid into the opposite side only for Hoseok to wrap himself around his strong arms.

“You love me don’t you Namjoonie?”

“Sure,” Namjoon said, patting his friend’s head.

Hoseok shot Yoongi a smug glare as if he was meant to be hurt by his actions but he couldn’t care less.

He shrugged.

Clearly not taking kindly to being ignored, Hoseok cleared his throat

“Keep your balls blue Hyung...”

Namjoon scrunched up his whole face and pulled his arm from Hoseok’s grasp.

“Dude,” he said, “we’re about to eat!”

“Where did that even come from,” Seokjin questioned, looking Yoongi up and down as if the answer was written on him.

“I have no idea,” Yoongi answered with a slightly embarrassed shrug.

“Yoongi hyung’s been muttering about that girl in his class for the last 10 minutes. My guess is he’s frustrated.”

Joon and Jin turned to look at Yoongi who looked at Hoseok disgustedly.

“How many times do I have to say that I DON’T like her?”

The three men blinked at him in confusion.

“When have you ever had to clarify that?” Namjoon asked with his eyes wide.

?

Ha-hadn’t he?

Yoongi realized his mistake.

He’d told you that.

Not the guys.

Well Fuck.

“I just meant that I shouldn’t have to clarify that.” Yoongi said, trying to ignore Seokjin and Hoseok’s excited looks.

“Don’t push my buttons,” he warned just as a waitress approached with a fake smile and tired eyes.

“We won’t,” Jin assured making Yoongi relax slightly.

Then under his breath

“Looks like someone else already is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<3~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<3~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Y/N,” Yoongi yelled after you as you hurried out of class.

You had a stack of books in your arms and your bag seemed extra heavy.

Your hair was pulled up and out of your face again.

You seemed to be in a hurry.

You didn’t stop. Maybe you hadn’t heard him.

He called out to you again but you seemed to be walking faster.

He sped up.

So did you.

“Y/N!”

But you didn’t slow and then you got lost in the crowd.

Yoongi stood in the middle of the sidewalk totally confused.

With a sigh, he walked back to his car and drove home for the day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<3~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<3~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoongi grabbed your wrist loosely so that you could pull out of his hold if you wanted.

He didn’t wanna like...

Freak you out or something.

To his surprise, you didn’t pull away.

You stopped walking.

He had a whole speech planned out.

He’d written questions

He had his journal in his hand color coded and everything!

At Namjoon’s suggestion.

So why is it that now that he was looking into your eyes that he froze?

“Yes?” You asked with the most monotone expression he’d ever seen.

He opened and closed his mouth in confusion.

He looked like a fish out of water.

Why was he so thirsty?

He felt like he’d eaten a whole box of saltines.

As he looked at you he realized...

Had you always been this pretty?

He blushed profusely.

He let go of your hand.

He said nothing.

And now HE took off in the opposite direction.

See...

Yoongi wasn’t used to feelings.

As it was he didn’t even like the idea of calling the boys his...

Fr-

Frie-

*clearing throat* FrIEndS.

He’d never really had friends before anyway and he’d been just fine.

Feelings weren’t part of the equation ever.

It was business.

They were in similar classes and that was that.

So why did his hate for you, suddenly not feel so bad?

So heavy?

Why did Yoongi feel like he could fly?

Without thinking, he must have made it to the dorms because the next thing he remembered, he was standing before Seokjin’s door panting and sweating.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to see both Joon and Hobi-

Hoseok

-in the room.

They looked at him expectantly.

Like they already knew what he was going to say.

But they couldn’t know.

Though... Namjoon was highly receptive. He had a way of reading Yoongi that he’d never considered and was always ready to listen. He’d always made time for him even when his perfectly made schedule didn’t match Yoongi’s request to meet up.

Hoseok smiles at him from one of the beds. His body was stretched out across Joon’s lap.

There was a little sun sticker on his nose and two stars on his forehead.

Yoongi couldn’t help but smile back.

Hoseok may be annoying but he sure as hell knew how to make Yoongi smile and forget his current situation.

“Yoongi?” Seokjin asked.

“Did you...” with wide surprised eyes, “run here???”

His perfect nose twitched in concern.

“Hey hyung,” Yoongi said with a tiny bow.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” he answered, clearly surprised at Yoongi’s honorific.

He opened the door wider and let the flushed man in.

The room was small.

It felt cramped with all four of them in there.

Especially with Namjoon’s long legs but no one mentioned it.

“Is something wrong hyung,” Namjoon asked with concern on his features.

Ugh. Feelings.

“I Uh- no...”

“You know,” Jin began closing the door and sitting on the bed opposite Joon and Hobi-

Hoseok.

“For a psychology major you really don’t do a great job of analyzing your own feelings.”

...

He had a point.

How was Yoongi supposed to help other people when he couldn’t even help himself emotionally?

He cleared his throat, realizing that they were all looking at him expectantly.

“This is a safe place hyung,” Hoseok said with a smile, sitting up as if this made it more official.

Yoongi has to admit...

his... friends...made him feel safe.

With a deep, pained breath, Yoongi began.

“You guys know that girl I’m always complaining about?”

“Your mortal enemy ™️ ?” Hoseok asked excitedly.

Like a puppy.

A cute puppy.

Yoongi smiled.

“Y/N... yeah... uh she’s been ignoring me lately.”

Seokjin places a hand on his shoulder so he would look at him.

“What did you do?”

Yoongi scoffed

“No-nothing! I didn’t... okay well I did tell her I didn’t really like her but I mean- it’s not like it was news? Isn’t it obvious I don’t like her?”

The room was dead silent.

Yoongi expected his friends-

Hey that was getting easier to think about-

-to instantly say that it was clear as day that he hated your guts.

Instead, all the boys, his friends, avoided his gaze.

“Isn’t it?” He pressed in concern.

“Hyung,” Namjoon began with a pained expression, “if I'm being honest... I always thought you had a crush on her.”

Wait what?

“Yeah,” Hobi joined in as soon as he realized he didn’t have to be the one to break the ice, “you’re always saying how intelligent she is. How you only associate yourself with her. Damn you barely associate yourself with us! The fact you want to speak with her is kind of huge!”

“But... but I- No! That’s only because I need someone to be partners with in class!”

“Then why,” Seokjin cut in, his voice firm, as if he had the winning argument and he knew it, “do you insist on talking to her outside of class all of a sudden?”

Yoongi was ready.

He opened his mouth ready to explain exactly why he wanted to speak with her after class when-

He had nothing.

Not one thing.

There should be no reason for him to want to speak with you outside of class.

He should only be putting up with your smart... cute...-

*bleh*

mouth in class.

He closed his mouth and looked down at his thighs.

“Dude... have you ever considered that maybe... just maybe... you hate her so much because you’re attracted to her?”

Yoongi looked over at Namjoon. His eyes were soft. It was just a question.

Namjoon would have made a good psychologist.

Yoongi thought back to all those times he’d been irrationally angry

Like that time he’d gotten a lower grade than you by one mark.

Or that time you had corrected him in front of the entire class when he had answered a question in class.

Or even recently, worse still, when you began to ignore him.

Under the anger were other feelings.

Pride.

Surprise in like a good way.

Hurt...

“Wait let me get this straight,” Yoongi said as his heart raced.

The boys waited with baited breath.

“You’re telling me that you think I’ve fallen in love with my self professed mortal enemy?”

Hoseok blinked at him then from out of nowhere, he pulled out a sticker sheet and peeled one off.

He aggressively placed what looked like a smiley face on his forehead.

“Gold star for hyung!”

“That’s not a star Hobi,” Namjoon said with a roll of his eyes.

“Well I don’t have any more stars! I only have smiley faces!”

Yoongi groaned, reaching up to pull the sticker off but one pleading look from Hoseok and he retreated.

Hobi smiled.

“ I don’t know if you’re in love per se... I think maybe you have a crush on her? It’s just always felt like behind all your complaining there was-“

“Love,” Hoseok interrupted.

Namjoon glared at him turning to look at him.

He was met with a little tree sticker on his nose.

Namjoon stared at it surprised and effectively shut up.

“Yoongi hyung’s in love,” Hoseok singsonged.

Yoongi felt his cheeks reddened deeply. He held his face in his hands to cover it up but his ears were a five away.

“Look how red he is!” Jin said beside him.

“Oh my God it’s true!” Hoseok said with a gasp.

“Do you really like her Yoongi?” Namjoon asked.

This was what hell was made of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~<3~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<3~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was later that same day that you guys had class together again.

This time, Yoongi knew what he had to do.

When time was called for the class to be dismissed, Yoongi was prepared. He packed everything quickly and ran after you without calling out your name.

This way you couldn’t run.

Was that creepy?

That sounded creepy.

Anyway.

He tapped your shoulder and as if in slow motion you turned.

A pink aura surrounded you.

Your eyes sparkled.

Wow... you’re really pretty.

AND YOU WERE SPEAKING TO HIM.

Focus Min Yoongi!

“Wh-what?”

Smooth Casanova.

“I asked what you wanted.” You answered with a concerned expression.

“Oh... right,” Yoongi said, rolling his shoulders back and taking a deep breath.

“I just wanted to apologize.”

You raised your eyebrows,

Yoongi?

Apologize?

“For what?”

“For... for telling you I dislike you.”

“If I remember correctly, you mentioned contempt.” You said, your arms crossed but you didn’t seem mad. Just curious.

“Right. Well it was wrong of me to say. You are very smart and capable if it wasn’t obvious from our perfect score on the presentation.” He complimented

“Right, yeah, I know,” you said.

Silence.

“Well if that’s it then I have to go.”

Yoongi reached out for you, grabbing your hand with his much bigger one.

A fierce blush blossomed across his cheeks when u didn’t pull away.

It felt nice to hold your hand.

“I... I also wanted to say that...” this was it.

This was the movement everything changed.

Do or die.

Fight or flight!

“Yes?”

You knew.

He could tell in the way you smiled at him.

The way you raised a perfect eyebrow.

You knew.

It had come down to this.

Yoongi thought back to that day when you had first proposed the idea that he might well be in love with you.

And then he wondered…

Had you been ignoring him…

To prove a point?

It was a fact, psychologically, that distance made the heart grow fonder.

It wasn’t just a saying.

It was a genuine way for couples to appreciate what they had.

A common practice suggested by therapist.

Had you...had you just forced him to come to terms with his-

He cleared his throat.

“You... you were right... about um... your-your theory.”

He couldn’t look at you.

Yoongi was never one to show his true feelings.

Did he even have any?

...

But damn it they were bursting for his every pore at that moment.

He felt you take a step closer to him.

His heart stopped.

He looked up at you slightly.

You had a pleasant smile on your face.

You tightened your grip on his hand.

Your face was getting closer.

His blood pumped through his veins at inhuman speeds.

He could smell your summery perfume.

Your lips were inches away.

Yoongi has kissed girls before.

But something about the prospect of kissing you had him feeling like it was his first kiss all over again.

His eyes fluttered closed.

He puckered his lips.

But the kiss never came.

He opened his eyes only to see your face, still very close.

A smile on your mouth.

The mouth he thought should have been on his.

You reached up with your free hand and plucked something from his forehead.

You showed it to him.

The sticker.

Hoseok’s smiley face.

“You had this on your forehead,” you clarified.

He was mortified.

He’d forgotten...

“My friend....”

Friend.

:)

“My friend put it on me earlier and I guess I forgot about it....”

You shrugged, placing the sticker on his cheek instead.

“Cute,” you said before you got on your toes and placed a soft peck on the places you’d set the sticker.

How-

Did you just-

Was that-

You kissed-

“Do you maybe wanna get an ice cream? We can talk more if you’d like?”

Yoongi nodded dumbly, letting you lead the way.

You smiled up at him.

He smiled down at you.

He reached up and touched the sticker with tender fingers.

He’d have to thank Hoseok later.

Yoongi fucking loved stickers.

Masterllist

[kaepopsicle]

ncts majors in uni.

this is all my personal opinion. tehe シ enjoy! (some of them might have majors & minors :))

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𝐽𝐼𝑆𝑈𝑁𝐺 . 𝑆𝑂𝐶𝐼𝑂𝐿𝑂𝐺𝑌 // 𝐷𝐴𝑁𝐶𝐸

I feel like since he has a big heart he would like learning about others

The dance one is kind of a given, he does it as a minor but more for the fun of it

I can see him being someone that works with social services

Even though he’s shy he’s good at understanding others

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𝐶𝐻𝐸𝑁𝐿𝐸 . 𝑆𝑃𝑂𝑅𝑇𝑆 𝐵𝑅𝑂𝐴𝐷𝐶𝐴𝑆𝑇𝐼𝑁𝐺

He is such a good speaker I can see him being a sports broadcaster

At basketball games specifically

He has a strong voice which he can use for things like that

He also loves sports (especially basketball) and I think he would do a good job at it

if he was the sports broadcaster I might actually watch sports

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𝑌𝐴𝑁𝐺𝑌𝐴𝑁𝐺 . 𝐿𝐴𝑊

This boy has such a big mouth and just knows what to say at the right times

But he also seems like the type of person to have a strong sense of justice

He seems like an intelligent person who knows what’s right and wrong (good morales)

Him also being charming and convincing he could do a good job at getting people to believe what he’s saying

Him being a lawyer is just a hot concept

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𝐽𝐴𝐸𝑀𝐼𝑁 . 𝑃𝑅𝐸 𝑀𝐸𝐷 (ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑖 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑗𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑜𝑜)

He has said before if he wasn’t an idol he would be an doctor

And just big hearted nana would be such a good doctor

He probably would be a pediatrician, he’s so good with kids

He’s also quite intelligent as well so I know he would be good in med school

Just imagine him as a doctor y’all lab coat in all, I would never eat an apple

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𝐻𝐴𝐸𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑁 . 𝐶𝑅𝐼𝑀𝐼𝑁𝐴𝐿 𝐽𝑈𝑆𝑇𝐼𝐶𝐸 (𝑖 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑗𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑚//𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔)

For some reason I just see him being a criminal justice major

Works as a detective, he is good at figuring things out I feel like

His voice is also so nice to listen to and he seems to know what he’s talking about

He has a big heart for understanding others so he would do a good job at seeing all the sides to an investigation

Also just imagine him in a long brown trench coat and just ughhhh

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𝐽𝐸𝑁𝑂 . 𝐸𝑋𝐸𝑅𝐶𝐼𝑆𝐸 𝑆𝐶𝐼𝐸𝑁𝐶𝐸 // 𝑆𝑃𝑂𝑅𝑇𝑆 𝐸𝐷𝑈𝐶𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁

Since jeno is such an athletic person it’s not a surprise he would be good at exercise science

Him being a physical education teacher or a trainer just fits

He’s so patient and motivational that it would be easy for him to help others

Even though he’s on the shyer side he seems like someone who would be good at leading

GYM TEACHER!JENO OR WEIGHT TRAINER!JENO

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𝑅𝐸𝑁𝐽𝑈𝑁 . 𝐴𝑅𝑇 𝐻𝐼𝑆𝑇𝑂𝑅𝑌

He just has that vibe to him

He doesn’t just like something for being something he loves the meaning behind it

Being an art history major he would yes, do art but also be able to learn and tell stories about it

He just seems like an artistic and poetic person, he just would fit being some sort of art history professor or something

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𝐻𝐸𝑁𝐷𝐸𝑅𝑌 . 𝐶𝑈𝐿𝑇𝑈𝑅𝐴𝐿 𝑆𝑇𝑈𝐷𝐼𝐸𝑆 // 𝐸𝐷𝑈𝐶𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁

I know he loves learning other languages and of other cultures (he has said it before but I can’t remember where)

So him being a cultural studies major just fits, him traveling meeting new people and learning about them

I also think since he loves teaching Ten mandarin he is patient and gentle

He would make a great teacher too! Since he just all around seems like a warm hearted, lovely individual

If he taught a class no one would ever skip it

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𝑋𝐼𝐴𝑂𝐽𝑈𝑁 . 𝑉𝐸𝑇𝐸𝑅𝑁𝐴𝑅𝑌 𝑀𝐸𝐷𝐼𝐶𝐼𝑁𝐸 // 𝑊𝑅𝐼𝑇𝐼𝑁𝐺

Okay so we all know how Xiao is with Bella and the cats, so it’s not a surprise he would want to do something evolving animals

Being a veterinarian fits, he can also sing while taking care of the animals

He just has that kind of heart you know?

Finds them beautiful and special and he is also good at comforting people if they lose a pet

But also since he has such a talent for writing I can see him minoring in writing, songwriting, poetry, etc.

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𝑀𝐴𝑅𝐾 . 𝐶𝑂𝑀𝑀𝑈𝑁𝐼𝐶𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝑆 // 𝐸𝑁𝐺𝐿𝐼𝑆𝐻 𝐿𝐼𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑈𝑅𝐸

So for mark I had a little trouble thinking about what he would want to do, he has a lot of strengths

But one of his strengths is talking, he’s not the best at technology but him describing stuff seems to be powerful

So a communications // English literature major seems pretty fitting

He could be a communications director and brand leader for some big company

He also is a natural born leader (I blame the leo in him) so he would be good at leading people

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𝐿𝑈𝐶𝐴𝑆 . 𝐸𝑁𝐺𝐼𝑁𝐸𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑁𝐺 // 𝑁𝑈𝑅𝑆𝐼𝑁𝐺

I feel like Lucas is honestly a really sweet guy who would love to take care of others so a nurse fits him

And he also just seems like someone who’s intelligent and kindness is underestimated

And honestly him being the type of person to pick an easy major 😂 so he would pick engineering and actually like it

I’m not sure what kind of career he would do, but I just know he would be good at whatever he chooses

He’s a quick learner :) why do I want to see him as a nurse so bad

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𝐽𝑈𝑁𝐺𝑊𝑂𝑂 . 𝑁𝑈𝑅𝑆𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑃𝐴𝑅𝑇 𝑇𝑊𝑂. 𝐹𝑂𝑂𝐷 𝑆𝐶𝐼𝐸𝑁𝐶𝐸

I can see him being some sort of nutritional nurse

He loves food and eating it but he’s also a big softie

So why not combine both of his passions and make a career out of it

He can test different foods and make sure they are healthy enough for others

And make diet plans for patients in the hospital for Dr. Na

imagine him, Jaemin & Lucas working in the same hospital omfg

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𝑊𝐼𝑁𝑊𝐼𝑁 . 𝐶𝐻𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑆𝐸 𝐻𝐼𝑆𝑇𝑂𝑅𝑌 // 𝑇𝑅𝐴𝐷𝐼𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝐴𝐿 𝐷𝐴𝑁𝐶𝐸

Winwin just seems like the type of person to be an professional dancer

But in traditional Chinese dance

Since that’s what he is trained in

He has that raw, beautiful talent to him that he would be a good person to have shows and show off those talents

But studying in chinese history could be a back up in case he wants to settle down

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𝐽𝐴𝐸𝐻𝑌𝑈𝑁 . 𝐸𝐿𝐸𝑀𝐸𝑁𝑇𝐴𝑅𝑌 𝐸𝐷𝑈𝐶𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁

Okay so Jae being the strong and warm person he is and how much he loves kids he would make an amazing elementary school teacher

He has a way with kids and making them listen to him

He would make it fun and beneficial

All of the kids would be in awe about him they just couldn’t help but pay attention

All of the female (and maybe some male) teachers have crushes on him

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𝑇𝐸𝑁 . 𝐴𝑅𝑇 // 𝐸𝑁𝐺𝐿𝐼𝑆𝐻

Okie so this one is a given

He is a jack of all trades

There is nothing he isn’t good at, so personally he could do whatever he wanted

But since art is a strong passion I can see him being a professional artist, maybe owning an art museum

But also I see him minoring in English since he does love the language and speaking it, he could move to an western country and speak or teach it

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𝐷𝑂𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑁𝐺 . 𝑅𝐴𝐷𝐼𝑂 𝐵𝑅𝑂𝐴𝐷𝐶𝐴𝑆𝑇𝐼𝑁𝐺 // 𝐾𝑂𝑅𝐸𝐴𝑁 𝐿𝐼𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑈𝑅𝐸

Okay so three words; Doyoung radio show

He would have his own show and talk every morning

He would talk about pretty much anything, his life being an idol, his friends, family

Deep stuff dumb shit

Anything, and the korean literature could also just be a back up, he would do good in both

Vroom vroom talk show is quaking

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𝑌𝑈𝑇𝐴 . 𝑊𝑂𝑀𝐸𝑁𝑆 𝐺𝐸𝑁𝐷𝐸𝑅 𝑆𝑇𝑈𝐷𝐼𝐸𝑆 // 𝐽𝐴𝑃𝐴𝑁𝐸𝑆𝐸 𝐿𝐼𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐴𝑇𝑈𝑅𝐸

So we all know Yuta is a feminist (WE FUCKING STAN) so him being an women’s gender studies major just makes sense

He would want to learn anything he can about women and even be a women counselor or someone who helps women going through stress

Also Japanese literature just bc you know he is Japanese and I think he would do a good job at that too

But imagining him being someone who helps women in tough situations and just being an all around MAN makes me cry

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𝐾𝑈𝑁 . 𝐶𝑈𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐴𝑅𝑌 // 𝑃𝐼𝐴𝑁𝑂

I think you guys saw this one coming

He has such a passion and talent for cooking he might even own his own restaurant!!

He is a good leader so being a head chef and telling people how to cook things and also being able to make things he wants to just sounds like a good plan for him

And piano minor simply for the fact he loves playing for fun

He would travel around the world making food for famous people and just wowwww

Gordon Ramsey is quaking

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𝑇𝐴𝐸𝑌𝑂𝑁𝐺 . 𝑃𝑆𝑌𝐶𝐻𝑂𝐿𝑂𝐺𝑌

Honestly Taeyong being a psychology major isn’t surprising

He has been through so much in his life that his heart just feels like he should help others

Him being such a gentle sweet person it wouldn’t be hard to make others feel comfortable around him

His presence all around is calming, he would do a good job just listening to people and maybe helping them

HE IS JUST SUCH A SWEET PERSON IM SOFT

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𝐽𝑂𝐻𝑁𝑁𝑌 . 𝐵𝑈𝑆𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑆𝑆 // 𝑃𝐻𝑂𝑇𝑂𝐺𝑅𝐴𝑃𝐻𝑌

Hear me out, Johnny opening a coffee shop in Chicago

He would take pictures of the city and use it as interior design and he would make his own bouquets and have lots of plants around the coffee shop

It would be a very hip shop where a lot of college students goes

He would be very popular and everyone would know him

People would probably just go to his coffee shop to see him and taste his coffeee

I mean who wouldn’t want to go to Johnnys coffee shop ??? (Omg he should call it Johns Joe) hahaha I’m sorry I’m laughing at myself)

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𝑇𝐴𝐸𝐼𝐿 . 𝑀𝑈𝑆𝐼𝐶 𝑆𝑇𝑈𝐷𝐼𝐸𝑆

Again this is a given

Taeil just screams music teacher

Choir teacher, travels the country having his class and choirs sing in competitions

He is such a calm soul he would be good at it

And his voice is ANGELIC so it would be such an honor to be taught by him

He also just seems like he knows what he is talking about when it comes to music

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