#dont stick with him for another year and a half he WILL NOT get better | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonlightjeno · 3 years

Text

pairing :: mark x reader

summary :: a series of melodies encompassing the feeling of falling in love with your best friend

wc :: 8k

a/n :: haven't been here in a hot second, but this story ties up my little psa dont fall in love with your best friend blurbs. all of these experiences are based almost soley on my own personal experiences this one shot included and this is kind of my way of figuring out my shit. so enjoy <3 + huge thank you to my queen and absolute love @suh-insane for reading this over love you lots <3

playlist :: psa: don't fall in love with your best friend, advice from a hopeless romantic ( a compilation of songs that fits their story please listen while you read <3 )

i. seventh grade and blink-182

The world revolves around song. Through music in which people are determined by music; and relationships can be made stronger and more clear through song or melodies. The melody of one person when clashes with another can do one of two things: it can align with it, the chords of one balancing out each other through the staffs of a five-set bar filling spaces in between quarter notes or half notes as one rests and the other rises up to meet it or it can create chaos. This chaos that can be created through the clash of notes, it can be seen when the melodies don’t choose to align with each other, instead the dance around each other avoiding one another as the music swells and swells until there is no other option but for the two melodies to meet and either reach crescendo or crash.

The first time you meet Mark Lee you’re convinced he hates you. You know this from the way he gives you what could only be recalled to be as the “stink eye” in seventh grade which has your mind leading to all the possibilities as to why the boy might hate you. Where one melody and the next are crashing into each other in anything but harmony, one reaching as the other darts away.

It had never been something in particular that had made you believe the song that defined you and Mark weren’t meant for each other. When you had first seen him, you had just assumed he hated everyone in your small seventh grade class except the loud overly energetic boy named Lee Donghyuck who you had somehow called your best friend.

But your internal rivalry with Mark, a clash of harmonies between one another, had started in the lunch room of your school. You vaguely recall the day you met him, brown hair fitted onto his hair in a bowl shape that you had just glared at. The hair was cut at odds ends making what your twelve year old self thought to be a bowl cut look more like a bowl with jagged glass pieces sticking out in uneven cuts. Donghyuck, leg bouncing up and down as his fingers tapped in and out of the rhythm that poured through the old cable headphones that you had managed to sneak into the lunchroom, had informed you of the new kid that was coming in. The boy, being the social butterfly, had managed to get the new kid’s schedule - and though he had lost it the moment the new boy had given it to him - Hyuck swore that he had managed to retain enough information to tell you about him. At the end all you had managed to get out of your best friend who had now rushed to the new boy, half of a headphone still on his ear so that your tiny ipod had been ripped from your hand and was now on the lunchroom floor Blink-182 playing from the now unplugged headphone jack, was that his name was Mark Lee and had just moved in from Canada.

The news of a new kid had elated you at first. Like the bridge to a song, where the melodies are being changed, a new instrument has been introduced altering the path of the constant song structure. Your young mind reeling at all the different possibilities of you being able to share your interest and getting someone new that wasn’t donghyuck attached to the books that you liked to read or even better into the very indie pop music you had just recently found. Though you would never stray from the occasional blink-182 that made both you and donghyuck feel older and cooler than the other seventh graders around you. It’s that exact music that has your lunch proctors coming over to your small lunch table, where donghyuck had dragged a mark towards, your ipod in their hands as they scorned you for listening to music that was too “mature” for your young age. Your reaction had been to stick out your tongue at the back of the proctor who you decided that fateful day as they took away your orange ipod, the faint buzz of music still heard, that mark didn’t like you. He didn’t like you because when you had asked him for help to get your iPod back because Donghyuck had disappeared and you had figured because the boy came from canada that he was supposed to help you - looking back at it in retrospect you understand that the stereotype your american history class had drilled into your young mind was not correct.

Mark did in fact not help you. He did the complete opposite and called your music taste awful before he walked over to the lunch proctor which you had just realized had been your old english teacher who already didn’t like you - no matter how much you tried to be enthusiastic in their class, and showed your love for reading - to tell them that you had stuck out your tongue at them.

It doesn’t occur to you that mark had in fact not snitched on you as you believed but instead had asked the teacher for your ipod back and had only gotten a shake of the head that you had deciphered as disappointment towards yourself instead of the teacher informing young mark to tell you to come pick it up after school. But at the time Mark had been too shy, and overly conscious of himself to tell you that himself so he said nothing and walked away from your table in an attempt to find Donghyuck the only boy he found himself energized to be around.

It is from the moment that you see the boy with shaggy brown hair, eyes wide in amusement at everything, hands fidgeting with a guitar pick after he walks away that you have convinced yourself he hates you. This is not something you have to prove, it is something you deduced because for the rest of the year all you ever got from the boy were rude words and the stink eye. A list that though only consists of two items - three if you count how the boy would at times tease you and complain to donghyuck in your presence about the fact that you had been moved up to his english class - that the boy everyone adored detested you. A clash of songs, of melodies between one another. The push and pull between two forces that are syncopated with each other, not matching but not against one another.

ii. two years and a crush

You think that hate might have been a strong word to describe how Mark felt about you. Dislike or maybe he felt too awkward around you. The song of hate is one too strong to pinpoint on any set person with no valuable excuse. It is the border between hate and care that is often blurred between two people that have yet to know each other or often already do. The beauty of music, the fluidity of it that is said to have strict rules to follow in order for chords to harmonize with one another can be changed and modified through the course of time. Change that a year or two can prolong, where donghyuck guarantees you that Mark does indeed not hate you but thinks the opposite that you hate him.

It is the shock, sprawled all over your face when your best friend informs of you this news that has you take a step back. Mind reeling at the possibilities that could have made the boy you wished to be friends with from afar - only for his awkward but adorable demeanor and knowledge in the language of music that had you slightly grown fond off - that had you set on walking up to the brown haired boy black sharpie in hand as you scrawled a message on his ninth grade yearbook.

The book feels heavy in your hands, the turn of pages not balanced evenly as you picked it up from one of the many grey speckled lunch tables in your school's lunchroom. Mark’s signature - a bold star on the center of the page - marking it as his. In the time between seventh and ninth grade the number of markings on his pages have expanded. Each corner filled with some note or another about having a good summer, the most common being “hags” a term very much detested on your part. Though some would thank him for his help in English class or talk about the way his laugh would always be heard echoing down the halls of the school making anyone who heard it smile even for just a second. You are stuck on what to write in the boy’s yearbook, where “hags” was most definitely out of the way but how else to express that you in fact did not hate the boy before you, but felt something else entirely.

Your fine line pen - you had switched out the marker ( though a mark and marker joke had been tempted to be made on your side ) for a pen to donghyuck who had insisted the writing utensil he used had to match his loud personality - had just begun to write the initial entry to the yearbook when a cough sounded from behind you. Pen smearing to the side at the abrupt noise that had broken you from your thoughts as you turned your head around, to find Mark cheeks slightly pink and a confused look on his face as he looked down to the book in your hands and then back to you. The question written on his face, what were you doing with his yearbook?

The brown haired boy had sworn he had left it on one of the many desks littered around though that wasn’t too say much when all the tables had at one point clumped together in the center of the room and mark had been dragged from one person to another - because after two years in a music program it seems people begin to want to talk to you - to sign books. What he hadn’t expected was to find you, crouched in the corner next to the pile of yearbooks, eyebrows drawn in concentration as you stared down at his yearbook.

Mark knows that you are not a person of hate. He knows this because Donghyuck talks enough about you that if Mark was to be given a trivia on who your favorite band was and what subject you hated the most he would have aced it ( you would never be able to choose just one band and obviously music but not because you didn’t like the class but because of its teacher ). It is evident from when you speak to Donghyuck, a smile grazing your features even when you scold hyuck for not getting enough sleep that you care deeply for others. He knows this yet he thinks that there is something wrong with him for when you look at him he only ever sees confusion written in your features.

The same confusion that you look at him with now, but this time what seems to be the ghost of a nervous smile grazes your lips as your eyes dart from him to the book on your hands before you are scrambling up yearbook flopping slightly to the side and before mark can greet you, you’re off towards another pile of yearbooks and people with only a “oh...um...hi! I'm gonna go.”

When he picks up his yearbook, only the beginnings of a scribble before the pen smudged read “I don’t hate you” which has mark now copying your face of confusion at the rest of the words that have smaread and he can’t seem to make out but wishes he could because the small little smiley face you’ve drawn at the top has butterflies tumbling around in his stomach.

It is people who do not have music, people who do not have a song that we should fear. This is something to be believed in because with no song whether audible or not people become less of self and more of one. Dips and staccatos in one’s song that create variety are what then allow us to match with other harmonies and rhythms between each other. So when a boy presented you with the opportunity to learn how these dips worked, how they would bounce from one end to another trailing behind a note or holding it for a note longer harmonies between these two people become more insync with each other.

- -

By the time that the end of tenth grade rolls sound you know for a fact that Mark doesn’t hate you, because if he did you don’t think the poor boy would have helped you in music class. Mark Lee most definitely doesn’t hate you or he wouldn’t have helped you write a whole song for a class that everyone - except the musical prodigy himself - hated.

It is said that music in syncopation will at one point catch up to each other in order to create a beautiful rhythm. When one beat is off the next, it will become the foundation to that song, as one beat chases the other and they dance around each other never quite crashing into each other but grazing one another to fill in each other’s missing beat.

The idea of what syncopation is has been drilled into your brain for the fifth time this week in music class. One of those many music theories that you understand in exactly what they are but when put into practice you’re left looking into space with a hopeless look. Which left Mark looking at you a mix of emotions coursing through him as you bit your lip in worry as the teacher went on about what the end of the trimester’s project would be.

The assignment was simple, in theory of course. Simple if your music teacher had bothered to teach you how to play the keyboard that lay on top of your desk, the computer plugged into the weird conversion device that you had yet to understand its function, with the holy Sibelius software open. Its purple background and paper-like overlay with a single music staff only managed to meddle with what you knew of music. It wasn’t that you were a complete music disaster. You knew how to play the guitar - or at least the intro to Blink-182’s I Miss You - and had begun to learn the bass because your favorite member of a band you followed played the bass. Basic understanding of music theory was also stored in your brain, you knew how notes worked, just not how to place them. You understood what each note was, just not how they fit well together, just like you knew what chords were just not how to play them on the piano. So when given the task to compose a full original song in the span of a month, it wasn’t looking great.

Not great until Mark, sitting next to you, saw how your eyebrows had drawn in together as you tried clicking away at the screen only to get half notes instead of whole notes. The boy wanted nothing more than to remain by his chair, as he happily played the piano keys. Their loud thunk thunk a soothing melody to him as the melody in his head was played out in front of him. When the music teacher, purple tie with too many dots for anyone to count, had announced the assignment he had been beyond excited, that is until the teacher had also announced they would be sharing their songs by the end of the month.

Mark loved music. He loved the melodies and rhythms that would play in his head, as he hummed along to whatever jazz or new radio station he had found earlier that day played through his headset. Music was a translation for the way his heart felt or brain was thinking, when he got too awkward or shy to the people around him. The lyrics that he was constantly jotting down on his beat up notebook were words and thoughts that would flit back and forth through his head, different ideas or butterflies that would create a turmoil in his stomach. Mark however did not like performing in front of people, the blame was on the way his heart would alter its constant path when there was someone in front of him to listen to his music or see his notebook. It was too personal the scribbles on the notebook that had gone with him through one move and then another a whirlwind of houses and unknown people through each new city.

He had tried once to perform in front of people, the audience consisted of his mother and father and the church group he had been going to in their small living room back in toronto. When he looked back at it, the performance shouldn’t have gone awry, it should have been one happy moment in his life that had helped him express himself and be more out there. Except when he got on the small DIY stage his parents had prepared for him for the annual church talent show, guitar ready in his arms and he started to strum the first couple of chords to the song he had just written all he could see was the world laid before him as they saw him raw without any protection. Nothing to grab onto except all his secrets - though a song about how much he liked chicken was truly not that deep - that he had run out of the stage, and into the city street notebook in hand.

It’s been too long since he’s tried again to perform in front of anyone, but he tries to convince himself that if he could help you write a song then you would be able to help him with his anxiety about his own work. He most definitely tries to convince himself that he doesn’t want to help you because he knows you think he hates you and wants to prove otherwise. Mark definitely doesn’t want to help you, because he thinks you’re cute. He definitely doesn’t want to help you because he heard you laugh once - when he had lunch by your table - and heard you laugh so hard that tears had started to spring in your eyes as you smacked donghyuck in the arm and he wished he had been the one to make you laugh. By the time Mark has convinced himself of all this, class is almost over and he’s only able to mumble a “do you need any help?” to you, as you stare at him blankly, confusion drawn across your features.

“Are you talking to me?” you ask, head turning from side to side as you look at other classmates around you, even renjun a fellow friend of donghyuck shrugs before walking out the door.

“Yep” is the only thing Mark can manage saying, as he aggressively nods towards your computer screen, only slightly catching the smile that blooms across your face.

“I’d love that. I seriously have no idea what any of these buttons do” you sigh, waving dramatically towards the keyboard that sits on your desk, the computer screen blinking as the random notes you have placed create a jumbled picture.

Mark can feel his anxiety ease away when he gets near the keyboard. The way the keys work makes perfect sense to him bringing comfort, but the bubble you two have created as you start talking about the piece you’re trying to make. A piece you had first suggested that should be about your love for pizza which Mark had laughed at - a sound you had found to be equally adorable and contagious - but the look your teacher gave you made you rethink that. Though singing about how good cheese and pizza dough was would always be a dream of yours.

It is through music that your friendship blooms. Where a syncopated song has managed to catch up to each other even if it’s only for a small time, in order to greet each other.

When you two begin to hang out more often, at times at his place or maybe yours. At first the idea is to help each other on the song, Mark tells you about his fear, or more so the panic he gets when people listen to his work live. It’s strange to think that someone that talented had anything to fear really, he always looked so at ease whenever he was playing music that it had never fathomed that it might scare him to show it to the rest of the world.

Music you and Mark have both determined is the universal language. Music allows you both to express yourselves when the world seems to only grab at your words and throw them in the other direction so that no one else can see or hear.

iii. scribbles on the yearbook

The black marker is stark against the red page of your yearbook, as you flip through the pages. The room’s ac flipping the pages, landing on where Mark had signed your yearbook. A small note that has you slightly smiling at the boy’s visible awkwardness on the pages. Most of the signatures insignificant with the typical “hags” that you have seen over the years, you almost yelled at donghyuck who had written hags on your yearbook as a joke. Mark has it scribbled on the margins of the paper, surrounded by different colors of scribbles from the rest of your classmates until his comes along, reading “this is mark, and i approve of this message” only for it to be followed by another message right next to it “this is mark - and oh wait i already wrote something! I hope we make that pizza song one day :)”

It’s the small detail to the pizza song that has you staring at the message, a small smile on your face as donghyuck barges into the room you're in - that though technically his room has you yelling at him for walking in without any warning.

“Who has you smiling like an idiot?” the brown haired boy jokes, the rainbow highlights he just recently added into his hair catching in the light.

“No one” you force your voice to become an octave lower, trying to wipe the smile from your face with no actual success because donghyuck has taken your yearbook from his bed and is laughing. You start to speak, trying to explain to your friend that it was just that you two had finally started talking to each other and maybe he didn’t hate you.

“No way you like Jaemin?” He exclaims already picking up his phone and because you know he has Jaemin on speed dial you lunge across the room into him.

“What?! No!!” Though you’re both on the floor donghyuck is still grinning like an idiot, the brightness in his phone almost blinding you.

“Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!” The phone has been forgotten, and he’s clinging onto you as you try to sit up heck grabbing you by the arm, “come on, I’m your best friend you gotta tell me these things”

“I don’t like anyone dude” your words are accentuated as you unwrap hyucks hands from your arm before standing up, leaving a pouting donghyuck on the bedroom floor.

“Then who the fuck has you smiley?” You almost gasp at the curse word that leaves Donghyuck’s lips, he’d been saying them more often, and you stare at him trying to convey through it that it was none of his business. It is only because the doorbell rings that Donghyuck gets up, giving you a glare before he heads out to the door, yelling at his brother that it’s his turn to get the door.

You’re more than happy for the distraction, picking up the yearbook from the ground, the pages now slightly crumpled from the movement. The music that plays through your iPod has you bopping along, a dance move or two escaping your body at irregular intervals when the chorus hits or you attempt to lip-sync to the melodies of the cab.

The music has you too distracted to hear Mark as he walks into Donghyuck’s house, his laugh echoing around the house at something that Donghyuck said, clapping along until they enter the room you’re in.

Mark is happy that you don’t see him. He’s happy that you aren’t aware how concentrated you look as you look down at the yearbook finger tracing images or words he can’t see. words seem to fail him when he looks at you, smile present on your face and though the music you're listening to is strange to his ears he makes a slight effort to see what appeals to it - he doesn’t get very far but he tries. It’s a different expression from what he’s used to. Your music is heavier, the lyrics tend to be sadder than the music he listens to, John Mayer being a classic and the reason he picked up a guitar years ago, but he doesn’t mind it when he sees the way your face brightens up at it.

“Earth to Mark!” a snap in front of him shakes him from his thoughts as Donghyuck looks at him, a puzzled look on his face that is quickly replaced by a knowing grin. As if he knew something that had recently become very obvious to him and only him, a secret he would keep close to his chest until he decided the card was to be dealt. But then you’re looking up, yearbook discarded on the bed as you rush over to him and donghyuck asking him how practice was, and if he was staying over for japchae - a classic at the lee’s house that mark could never truly turn down - donghyuks grin only widening before mark had a chance to say anything about it.

iv. a catapult of zooms

The five words you’ve written down for your English paper on The Catcher in the Rye stares at you from the blinding white screen. Cursor blinking in and out to let you know that your computer is ready to type next, a constant reminder that you have only made it a sentence in for a paper due tomorrow. You type out another sentence hoping this one fits before deleting it, a cycle of movements you have been doing for the last thirty minutes you notice when you glance up at the time 11:30 pm.

An incomprehensible noise between a sigh and a scream comes out of your mouth before you look back at the book to your side, the annotations on the side of the pages mocking you with their information on the loss of innocence and youth. Looking back at your screen you switch tabs the current music playing through your headphones distracting you more than actually helping you as you sing along to most of the songs giving a small dance routine when you feel like it all to not write the damn paper in front of you.

It takes a small second for your eyes to adjust, the white screen of the google docs pages in stark contrast to the black grey of the spotify app as it shows you all the different playlist you have accumulated over the years. You can see on the top right corner what donghyuck and you had been listening to for the better part of the afternoon at his place when you’d both claimed having a dance party would have helped your inspiration for the english paper - spoiler alert if very much had not. Right below it you see mark’s profile the username “besquaremusic” making you slightly laugh, before seeing that he’d stopped listening to music twenty minutes ago but it’s the music that the boy was listening to that has your heart rate pick up a beat and your mouth split into a smile. Right under his username the song Free Love by Honne plays, from the playlist PIZZA SONG <3 a playlist you’d made for him a couple months ago during one of your hang out sessions.

You can’t seem to shake the smile of your face as you go over to your account, scrolling until you find your study playlist hope it never fades out and click play. The melody of i believe in you starting to play only to be immediately disrupted by the blaring sound of a call coming in. The Justin Bieber song playing too loudly on your headphones indicating mark’s call before you press the answer icon smile never leaves your face because though you had a paper to get too Mark did too and suffering together was better than suffering alone.

“Yo!” is Mark’s introduction, a smile present on both of your lips as he grabs his guitar playing random chords.

“Ayo! What’s up?” you ask, eyes only leaving your facetime call for a second in order to write the theme to your essay because you had finally found the quotes you’d been looking for in your overly annotated book.

“Wanted to show you a new song i learned and if you could tell me if it sounds too similar to the original or not” the proposal makes you perk up from the sentence you were writing, giving you full attention to mark who had begun to strum the intro chords to John Mayer’s Dancing in a Burning Room.

The moment Mark starts to sing you are lost. Just like you become lost in the music that plays through your earbuds most of the day, Mark's voice is able to capture you and lose you.

It is when the right melody finds itself paired up with a harmony that matches it. When that moment feels so right that the music can be seen when you close your eyes and you can imagine the world that the piece creates if only for the four minutes and two seconds that the song lasts.

There is a world that is solely music. A world where the only thing that exists are the chords and riffs as they are paired together with melodies and lyrics in order to ground one to that world.

You feel transported anytime you hear Mark play music. Taken to a place that is only yours, with Mark and his guitar - glasses usually on the tip of his nose as he strums the strings - and you as you nod your head along to the music listening to every note that Mark plays or sings. It is not often that you join in but when you are too giddy you mouth along the lyrics with him.

The last note of the song plays and you are already clapping, the slapping of skin against each other causing a yell from your younger brother to stop making so much noise. Your clapping stops but you are now whispering, yelling to mark, telling him how much you loved the cover, marks ears reddening at the compliments as they always do.

“There has yet to be a time i have no been impressed by your musical talent, i’m pretty sure haechan would agree”

“Haechan would only agree if you told him that he has the voice of angel”

You can’t help but laugh, though contradicting him slightly in which “but you better feature haechan in your first original, and i say your number one fan can’t help but agree”

Mark only laughs, hands clapping almost hitting his guitar before telling you he wants to show you some new music he’s found through “tiny desk” which has got to be the only youtube channel you think Mark knows if you don’t count Justin Birber’s or Bruno Mars’ music accounts.

The soft music plays in the background as you two talk about the week you’ve had, the world always seems to stop when you talk to each other. Zoom backgrounds change in order for the mood of the conversation. Where you had begun to discuss if Mark were to ever write an original song what it would be on and as a joke had given himself the bright yellow genius background.

The random lyrics to Honne’s Free Love in the background as mark presented them to you laughing after every sentence.

You’d stopped paying attention to the music, or the paper that was halfway done time marking almost one am, sole focus on the boy with brown hair and doe eyes in the pixelated screen of your beat up school laptop. It had been weeks since you two had called, and yet the moment the ring ring of the facetime call had been answered it was as if the world had just skipped over the last weeks that you hadn’t spoek as much. The world just waited to click play until you two would find yourselves with each other, laughing at dumb jokes or commentary at mark’s music as you helped each other with the english homework. Though homework mostly consisted of you writing and every couple of minutes reminding a distracted mark - who was riffing with his guitar, scales played up and down one chord to the next - to start his homework.

The last sentence to your paper finally ends as you click the period button on your keyboard. You are sure that the grade isn’t going to be the best, but you put it through grammarly so at least your periods and commas are placed in the correct places before you submit the document. When you look up at your screen the time reads 3AM and Mark is jotting down something you can’t read in his notebook. The doodles on the cover make you smile, from when you had gifted him the watermelon themed notebook for his birthday before entering senior year. His old one had been beaten down and you would often see him look for empty spaces every corner crammed with writing.

The question had popped up once, what was in the notebook he carried around everywhere but Mark had only turned red before changing the topic of conversation. He had told you once - though you are sure it was unconsciously - that his form of escape was writing and music. It took little for you to assume that he wrote his own songs in that notebook, that you wished you could hear. Attached by the USB he carried everywhere, a gift you’d gotten him for a birthday when you’d found out about his love for music. Maybe you’d thought that if he could have a place to store it he would be able to record it and share it with the rest of the world.

“What are you thinking about?” The soft voice interrupts your thoughts as your eyes focus on the screen. The light bouncing off his eyes, green hoodie making him look overwhelmingly soft. The pixelated mark on your screen, a smile on his face as he begins to strum his guitar again while looking down at the notebook has your stomach swarming. And all of a sudden you can’t think of anything else except how it would feel to hold Mark’s hand and kiss him just to make him giddy. The second the thought crosses your head you are avoiding it at all costs, shaking your head aggressively.

“Just how adorable you look and that i’m gonna have to hear that song you’re writing one day” you say the first part too quickly before you can stop yourself, and mark shrinks into himself and you can feel blood rush to your face.

“I-” there is stuttering on his side as he tries to compose himself, one hand covering his face as the other tries to hide the pages of his notebook.

“No song...um...i’m not writing anything,” Mark whispers, and your glad for you headphones that allow you to hear him say that so that you could let him know that it didn’t have to be now or even in a while but that you hoped one day you’d be able to listen to his music.

Mark knows his ears are red. Just like he knows that you can most definitely not read his journal that he cherished, because then you would find out how he felt about you. It was one thing he thought for you to hear him sing covers, his escape from the world and that he had slowly become more used to other people hearing him perform, but something completely different for the person the words written on the paper for to hear them.

Haechan had heard some of it, the lyrics had yet to be refined from a jumble of messy thoughts that streamed out of his consciousness anytime you would smile at him or remind him of something he liked and would bring it up. Haechan’s only feedback apart from that he had to be part of the vocal takes and a couple of jokes at mark’s inability to talk to you about his feelings was that he actually thought it was sweet.

It was the notes, one after the other that they could both hear in Mark's small apartment room that seemed to create a love sick melody. Haechan almost thinks it’s laughable if he didn’t feel bad that two love sick idiots weren’t able to confess to each other. A series of missed opportunities, where stolen glances were never seen by each other, and excuses to be closer were pushed off as acts of the friendship that had been blooming throughout years. The notes never quite reached the other and yet when they looked at each other and the notes were in sync the whole world knew of their song.

v. one song in a room full of notes

The room smells of cheap liquor and even cheaper perfume to try and mask the scent of the weed that had been smoked outside. It comes as a shock, the hiding and sneaking of alcohol that was most likely bought off from your school’s dealer Tony, a bottle of Japanese whiskey that Mark claims is not easy to come by. No one in the room has the heart to tell him that that’s the exact liquor that Tony sells to absolutely everyone, well Haechan does but you're able to stop him from saying anything when you tell him there’s a brownie buffet bar.

Maybe it’s because you’ve all just graduated, the room’s atmosphere is celebratory, everyone's had at least a couple of drinks, or the fact that in three weeks the chances you’ll all see each other again or so slim that if you do something today any repercussions might not last. It’s these thoughts that don’t stop your mind from wandering over to Mark who's sitting next you.

You’re a couple of drinks in, every point in your body that is touching mark arm to arm is alive. The music isn’t loud but the voices from your friends create a melody of their own as they tell stories of the past years. You wonder if maybe that’s why it feels like you and him are in your own bubble, chairs touching arms close together, fingertips only a breath from holding onto each other.

Maybe it’s the way you feel light and the world seems to end if you don’t let the boy next to you know how everytime you are near hear him your heart is in your throat, and you feel warm all over butterflies flapping their wings all around your body. Migrating from stomach to your heart to a constant beat of love. It’s seconds like these when your eyes meet and you can appreciate the way his hair curls at the back of his hair, and his eyes distant when watching the crowd in front of him turn to yours focusing. Lips tugging slightly upwards and he smells of the perfume used to cover the smell of alcohol that lingers in his breath only slightly when he speaks to you. Voice so low that you are leaning in slightly so that you share breath as you hear him ask you the single question that sends your heart into a paradiddle on on off on on off, faster and faster.

“Who do you think I wrote A Ring For No One for?” The question has you pulling back eyes searching across the room as your heart beats faster. You can feel the rush of blood in your ears, a dizzying effect, the single thought repeating over and over in your mind maybe it’s me. But you look around not realizing that Mark has kept his eyes on you and only you hoping you get the hint.

You want to ask if it’s you. Want to know if there was some way that he might have felt the same way you had since that day in your free period when the world had crumbled around you and he had been there, your favorite song playing through his precious headphones the same easy smile on his lips. When he’d offered you the headphone so that you would each be listening and you were able to calm down because though the world seemed to be spinning out of control, Mark had been there to keep you grounded.

Instead you say the name of a friend who’s standing a couple of feet in front of you as she talks to someone else. Mark’s eyes slightly shift to your friend before he says “no”. For every no you get you can feel your heart beat louder, hands get clammy as the possibility that the only person you haven’t said is you.

You’re close to giving up, as you look at Mark he eyes looking everywhere but you and he wishes you had just said your name from the first second because now he was doubting you ever felt the same. No longer did he have the liquid courage that had prompted him to ask you the question in the first place. All he had left was a bundle of nerves that made his hands hot and clammy, fingers tapping on his leg over and over again, and zero confidence. He’d promised himself that today was the day he’d tell you, but when you were done listing the names of everyone, as if you couldn’t possibly be the one he’d been in love with, your eyes were full of light.

The room felt too small, too warm.

You could feel the shortness of your breath, the way air wouldn’t fully reach your lungs catching at your lips. No sense of stillness, just pure chaos raging on in your mind, your body as your hands - always cold now blazing - until the boy in front of you opened his mouth.

In three short words, constituent of less than a couple seconds before the world turns cold. His mouth forms a name, it slips from his lips, voice slightly pitched as he talks about the girl from theater he met only a couple months ago.

You wish you’d taken a hit of the joint. Wish you’d had a bit more of the sweet liquid that would burn down the back of your throat, maybe burning away the sickly feeling you felt. Replace it with liquor and fake sweetness from the overly sugary cocktails instead of the acid building up in the back of your throat.

One word, a name. Not yours on his lips that you’d tried one too many times to not think about. Eyes dazed, bright with the alcohol that still burned in his system when he looked at you that if you’d had more liquid you could have fooled yourself to believe that the admiration in his eyes was meant for you not the girl behind you who was fixated on what her friend was saying.

The world revolves around notes, you’d believed that if you were patient enough those notes would arrange themselves for you. Black and white keys playing a melody that only you and him would understand, crescendoing into confessions under cold nights, hands held together.

Not every song is a hit, because not all notes work together, cohesively to create a melody for your ears. This time the notes reach crescendo, as the burn at the back of your eyes threaten to yell, scream burst at their sockets. These notes don’t align, they don’t reach their conclusion, they rip your heart out with quick breaths, warm hands that wrap around yours in the middle of the night as you drag the other part of the melody across the city at night.

vi. one too many times to say goodbye

The breath in front of you curls around the night, wrapping itself around the sole lamppost that hasn’t flickered out in the street. A boy with brown hair stands in front of you, usb in hand the yellow neon post it wrapped around the stick and you can make out a couple of the letters.

The ring in your finger spins around and around your finger. Breath soft, almost not visible except for the way that it makes you squint your eyes slightly to catch onto the face of the boy you loved, love in front of you.

Two notes. Two opposing melodies on a cycle of crescendos and diminuendos never reach each other, only just half a beat, a quarter of a beat away from each other. Catching up, slowing down until the world moved by, continued to create new beats and rhythms around you for years until moment.

You can hear the constant click click as the boy in front of you opens and closes the stick in his hand, eyes looking everywhere except at you, the melody he keeps missing, the one note he can’t seem to figure out and doesn’t think he ever will.

It's almost as if for the first time since you two have met, the world is able to syncopate itself to your own rhythms, an eight note of a pause as you both take a shivering breath and breathe the cold air of the New York night catching up to you both.

A hand reaches out, always so warm against yours, the metal of the hard drive cold against your palm, and he mumbles words you’ve heard before. You’ve heard the word before, coming from haechans lips almost everyday since you graduated, the word from partners you’ve had each saying the word with different connotations. But this time you hear the word fall from his lips, as if he’s holding on to it.

A musician through and through, trying to convey a history of feelings and memories with just the melody that he says your name. But you whisper his name too, as paper crumbles slightly in your hand, eyes flickering slightly to the post it note, and you can mostly make out the words before his hand covers yours with a small shake of his head, a small smile grazing his features. Not now, it tells you, later it urges you.

The issue with later is that it is never specific, later was what you’d told yourself over and over when he broke your heart. Later was when you reminded yourself to not cry out against the world when you’d realized you’d fallen in love with your best friend but your world would never align. Later is what remains, when later becomes years down the line and you play back the usb. The engravings on the side bring a flash of memories, two kids in love sprawled on rocks as they talked about the way their hearts would only feel alive when next to each other. Later quickly becomes now, and the almost faded note on the post it note mark gave you years ago, the pizza song I never gave you but wished to show you only visible if you stretch your imagination and trace the dents on the faded sticky note, the tiny journal drawing you’d seen him carry around endless times a brown spot of the page.

Your notes, chords on chords, melodies on beats and rhythms creating layers to the soundtrack of your life, are played out by the usb drive as the rhythms that finally sync up with your own play in the background. One song, one melody you become but not in time, never at the correct time. Because music never has one right time, it has halves, and fourths, it has eights and sixteenths but never wholes. Wholes that you learn to create with time, creating your own melody a syncopation to your own beat and heart.

#mark imagine #nct scenarios #mark x reader #mark lee #nct 127 #nct dream #nct dream mark #nct imagines #nct scenerios #mark lee angst #mark lee fluff #dreamwritersnet

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markberries · 4 years

Text

a l o n e t i m e┊draco malfoy

ALONE TIME — DRACO MALFOY

info: you and the infamous draco malfoy were always at each other’s throats, so when you’re by yourself planning to prank the irritating slytherin, you take this as an opportunity to finally relieve yourself. but of course, things go a little unexpectedly.

warnings: absolute filth, smut smut smUT !! cursing

genre: SMUT, fluff at the end, enemies to lovers, gryffindor!reader word count: 2400+

a/n: ok so like... i got onto dracotok, and decided to write this. it's been awhile so i hope u enjoy!! btw this isnt edited at all (n if u know me irl, no u dont)

god — you absolutely despised draco malfoy.

he reminded you of why you asked the sorting house to not place you into slytherin; he was rude, a smartass, and an asshole.

everyone knew how much you and draco liked to bicker with each other. it's almost as if he knew what got under your skin, or maybe it was because everything he said gave you the urge to tell him to shut up. he would never stop talking about how you would ruin the school's reputation, being an international student from north america.

honestly, arguing with draco had been a regular thing. maybe a few small pranks here and there, but that was only when he had royally pissed you off (it happens quite often). although you did find draco quite attractive, it was completely overlooked by how much of an arse he was.

you sat in the dining hall with your fellow gryffindor students, harry, hermione, and ron. they were the only ones you really talked to, well in your year at least.

from across the room, you locked eyes with draco. you glared at him, then rolled your eyes, focusing your attention back to your three friends.

"seriously y/n, if you want to ace herbology, you're going to need to listen to me," hermione mutters, continuing to go over notes with you.

"sorry, it's just malfoy has been giving me dirty looks, kind of in the mood to punch him right now," you snort, then feeling hermione flick your forehead shortly after. "come on y/n, you can deal with malfoy later."

"how long have you and malfoy been going at each other?" ron asks, "it feels like it's been decades."

you laugh, "it's only been a year, alright? and it's only because he's such an ass."

"me? an ass?" you hear malfoy emitting from behind you, you could practically hear the arrogance dripping from his voice. you roll your eyes, then turn to look at him.

"listen here malfoy," you hiss, "i swear to god, if you don't fuck off, i will personally, beat the shit out of you."

malfoy laughs, looking back at his friends, than back at you. "looks like the pretty girl has a potty mouth," he says through his laughter.

"get out of here malfoy," harry told draco, and draco only replied with the roll of his eyes.

"whatever, potter. see you guys around, and watch yourself, y/n. you never know what's coming."

malfoy leaves after that, and you groan in annoyance. hermione breathes deeply, feeling the same amount of irritation as you.

"how do you put up with his shenanigans? i cannot stand malfoy," ron states, venom lacing his voice when he says malfoy's name.

"well you know," you sigh, "it just never ends. i get him back for doing something to me, and then he does something even worse after, but i don't mind."

harry looks at you with confusion in his eyes, "what do you mean you don't mind? i would definitely mind."

"well," you pause, glancing at draco who is already glaring at you, "i've been thinking. ever wanted to see draco with red hair?"

"oh my god, y/n no! we'll lose a terrible amount of points!" hermione gasps, closing her notebook to convince you that this would be a big mistake.

"it would be worth it," harry chuckles, imagining how draco would react to having gryffindor's colours among his head.

"harry!" hermione snaps.

"by the way y/n, are you coming to the common room party tonight?" ron asks, but you shake your head. "no, i don't think so. i want to prepare for malfoy's new hair do, but i'm sure you will have fun."

"but y/n! i need you there to survive," hermione begs, she's told you before that she was so excited to have another girl in her friend group, if that's what you can call it. she didn't mind being the only girl with ron and harry, but it was a nice change to have you there.

"i'm sorry hermione, next time, i promise!" you smile, winking at her and tilting your head.

"okay.. just be careful with malfoy, alright?"

—

you sat in bed, reading spells that you could do to make draco's hair red. even if there wasn't a spell, you had red hair dye ready to go.

while you were sitting there by yourself, you couldn't help but realize it had been ages since you were left alone, you were almost always surrounded by people, and that means it's been awhile since you had "relieved" yourself.

i shouldn't let an opportunity go to waste, right? you thought to yourself, fuck it.

you placed the book onto your bedside table and removed your cute little pyjama pants that had penguins on them, discarding them onto the floor and sticking a hand down your black lace underwear.

you brought your fingers to your clit, letting out a mewl. it truly felt so nice to finally be able to touch yourself again, after months of not doing anything.

you slowly trailed your fingers to your folds, collecting the building up wetness. you slid your fingers up and down, rubbing on your clit a little more as well. you slapped your free hand onto your mouth to cover up any loud noises.

you moaned to yourself, shutting your eyes as you played with your little bundle of nerves, before sliding a finger into your pussy swiftly, moaning quietly. lost in the moment, you began thinking of draco, sure he was a douche, but he had a pretty face, and that was good enough for you at the moment.

you imagined what it would feel like for his finger to pump into you like this, how it would feel like for him to call you pet names as you moaned.

you slid another finger in, whimpering even louder as you felt the unforgotten feeling of the knot being formed in your stomach. you imagined how it would feel like for draco to kiss you as he finger fucked you, how it would feel like if he curled his fingers in your pussy as you moaned his name.

"draco.." you whimpered quietly.

"oh love," someone said from the shadows.

you immediately froze, retracting your hand from your panties as you scrambled to cover yourself with your blanket. you heard footsteps, and then saw a familiar figure emerge from the darkness.

"what do we have here?" the platinum blonde boy smirked, staring at your embarrassed form on your bed. "never thought someone like you would be wanting me this badly."

"what the fuck, draco?" you whisper-shouted, holding the blanket to your chest and staring at him with furrowed brows, "you better get out of here before you regret being here in the first place."

"ah yes," draco chuckled, walking closer to you, "i would love to leave and tell everyone about how you were moaning my name as you touched yourself." you wanted nothing more than to smack that stupid, hot smirk off of draco's face.

"what the hell do you want?" you asked, quickly looking at what he was wearing. a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of black dress pants.

"i was actually here to dye your hair green, you see, i saw you weren't at the party, and thought you were sleeping, but i can see it's obvious that you weren't. but now," draco explained, "y/n, the question is," he took a seat on your bed, lifting your chin to look into your eyes, "what do you want, hmm?"

his eyes trailed to your exposed neck and shoulders, "do you want me to bend you over like the bad girl you are? or do you want me to fuck you with my fingers, is that it?"

you stayed silent.

you hated the fact that you could feel yourself getting wetter as he spoke, and you hated how much you wanted him. you wanted him to do all those things, and more. you wanted him to make you say his name, you wanted to tangle your fingers in his hair as he fucked you.

"perhaps i misread the situation," draco said, rising from his position and dusting off his pants. "i better be going, crabbe and goyle may be looking for me already."

you grabbed his arm, "draco malfoy, i swear to god that if you don't fuck me, i will kill you." draco smirks at you once again, "now that's something i'd like to hear."

draco gets into your bed as you lower the blanket, exposing your top half, only being covered by your bra. he gets on top of you, kissing you with desire and hunger. you moan into his mouth as you feel him unhook your bra and grab your breast. he takes this as the perfect chance to slip his tongue into your mouth, asserting dominance with your own.

he breaks the kiss, panting to take off his own clothes and throw them onto the ground.

"you know, i always thought you were hot," malfoy says, and you scoff. he throws your bra onto the floor as well, before getting on top of you again and kissing your neck.

"i never thought that i'd get to fuck you, though."

you palm him through his boxers, and he groans, hardening quicker by the minute. he bites down softly on your neck, making you gasp. he drags his hand down to your clothed heat, rubbing you through the thin fabric.

you bite down on your lip, wrapping your arms around draco's neck. he kisses your collarbone, before tucking his hand in your panties, playing with your clit between his two fingers.

"love, i think these drenched undies of yours are gonna have to go," he says, grabbing the elastic part, pulling it back and then letting it go, slapping your skin lightly. "mind if i take them off?"

you quickly shake your head no, and he puts on that smug smile of his, before going down to crotch level, and sliding your panties down in a one, quick movement.

"god, i bet you imagined this," draco muttered, sliding a finger into your already soaking core. "all prettied up for me, saying my name.."

he slowly inserts a finger into you, pumping in and out slowly. "fuck, draco!" you moan, grabbing onto the bed sheets. it feels so much better to have him with his finger inside you, pressing light kisses to your stomach.

he inserts another finger, pumping faster this time. "how do i make you feel, hmm? how much did you want this? did you want to come with my fingers inside you?"

draco keeps his fingers inside you, thrusting them at a steady pace, but he comes up to look at your face. you screw your eyes shut, enveloping yourself in the pleasure.

"look at me, love," draco says sternly, making you lock eyes with him. he puts another finger inside you. "do you want to come like this?"

you nod furiously, intertwining your fingers in his hair. "oh god draco.. i'm gonna come.. fuck.."

suddenly, draco removes his fingers from your insides, chuckling to himself as he sees your face form into a vicious glare, almost as if you were ready to slap him. you clenched around nothing, irritated with draco for retracting his fingers as you were just about to reach your high.

"what the fuck, draco?" you yelled, he just laughed and sat up from his position.

"we're just getting to the good part, love, and you're lucky i brought condoms just in case. now be a good girl and turn around for me, yeah?"

you quickly obliged, scrambling to get on your hands and knees as draco rolls on the condom.

"tell me how much you want this," draco whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. he lines up with your entrance, only waiting for your word.

"i want this so much," you say, panting.

draco squeezes your ass, "not good enough."

"for fuck sakes draco, i want you to fuck me. i want you to mess up my insides and make me moan your name. that's what i want, malfoy."

draco doesn't help himself after that, he thrusts into you, making you yelp and grab a fistful of the bed sheets. you clench around him, making him groan out in pleasure. "do that again, fuck. it feels so good to be inside you like this."

malfoy grabs the headboard, slamming into you at a moderate speed, and you could feel your high approaching.

"you take my dick so well, y/n, i've wanted nothing more than to take you into my room and fuck you just like this," he admits. the sound of your skin slapping is the only thing that could be heard in the room, other than the party going on in the common room.

you feel a knot forming as draco hits a spot in you, making you whimper. "right.. there.. fuck!" you yell, as draco continues to hit the same spot.

"i'm gonna come," draco grunts, picking up the pace and biting his lip. "are you gonna come with me, love?"

"yes! yes! i'm gonna... fucking come!" you moan, your arms almost giving out as draco's thrusts become deeper and faster.

"come then, i wanna hear you scream my name," draco groans, slapping your ass lightly. "f-fuck! i'm-"

"draco!" you cry out in pleasure, as the knot in your stomach untangles in the most euphoric way. draco pulls out, taking off the condom and throwing it in the trash. you collapse on the bed, breathing heavily with sweat glistening on every inch of your body. you feel a dip in the bed beside you, and you hear draco panting.

"well," draco says, facing you. you turn your head to see him with a confident grin on his face. "unexpected, huh?"

"yeah whatever, shut up malfoy," you reply, now turning to lay on your back, but still looking at draco. "still don't like you."

"i think different," he teased, playing with strands of your hair. "i think you like me."

you scoff, "as if! i just needed some dick."

"okay y/n, whatever you say," he grinned, "but how about i take you out to hogsmeade, and lets see if you have a change in heart."

#draco malfoy #harry potter #draco smut #draco fluff #draco imagine #draco scenario #ron weasley #hermione granger #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine

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sugokawata · 3 years

Note

Your theme is immaculate. Wakasa x Single Mom Reader? 🥺 Just tooth rotting fluff.

• Wakasa Imaushi

Genre: Fluff, Scenario

Warnings: None

Request: Yes

Note: Hello anon-chan, thank you so much for you support, I really appreciate it !❤ the fact that i wrote this 3 times.. and i stIll dont like that much?

Masterlist

Being a single mother was not easy and you knew it very well. Having to take care of the house, take care of the kids, and still working to have money to support your family was certainly exhausting. But no matter how hard you try, your day always gets better as soon as you see your daughter's smile.

But one thing was for sure, you were grateful to have Wakasa by your side all this time. From the moment you found out about your pregnancy, from the moment your boyfriend decided to just leave without saying another word, to the moment you are now.

Even though he was still in a gang, he still came to visit you when he wasn't busy, it was either in the morning before you left for work or it was at night after the Brahma meeting.

And today was just another one of those days.

Laughter was echoed inside your house, where you and your daughter were running around the couch, what was supposed to be just a quiet moment to do your daughter's hair, became chaos from the moment she just decided to start running away from you, rushing around the house.

"You won't be able to catch me!" The girl shouted as she continued to run taking short breaks to breathe. You looked at her as you found a way to get closer, taking her by surprise.

"That's what we're going to see!" You started running, jumping on the couch and couldn't help but laugh at the sight of your daughter's wide eyes, but before you could catch her, the sound of the doorbell rang which caused you both to become curious.

You took a deep breath and walked to the door, opening it, revealing Wakasa who was leaning against the wall, with the same old stick in his mouth and with his bored expression. Your gazes met and he soon frowned as he looked into the house, revealing how messy your living room was. A hairbrush on the floor, along with the couch cushions scattered in the corners and the little girl just sitting in the middle of them.

"You sure have been having a good time." Your cheeks turned red as you turned back seeing the chaos that was in the room. The girl this time was looking in your direction and her smile widened as she saw the boy in the doorway and didn't waste two seconds as she got up and ran towards him.

"Waka-san!" As soon as she got close to him, Wakasa picked her up on his lap and went inside the house and you couldn't help but feel your stomach churn at the little action.

You closed the door behind you and looked at the clock that indicated 11 pm. It was getting really late and you couldn't help but let out a little yawn, which made Wakasa smile and he started walking towards the stairs.

"I'll put her to bed. You're tired so let me help you." You gave him a small smile before he disappeared up the stairs with your daughter already half sleepy from all the running around that had happened.

Walking to the center of the room, you picked up the cushions putting them on top of the couch and picked up the hairbrush that was on the floor, starting slowly up the stairs and before you could enter her room you heard her talking to Wakasa.

"Waka-san, when are you going to marry mommy?" with one of your hands, you covered your mouth before you could say something without thinking and he could hear you. Because being found out after someone said something like that could create an awkward atmosphere between the two of you.

You heard Wakasa laugh softly and peeked through the doorway watching him pull the covers over her before answering.

"I don't know... soon." Your heart started beating fast and you couldn't help but let out a few curses, trying to calm yourself down after the boy's declaration.

Maybe this was the moment you had been waiting for these last few years, even though it could only be an answer so the girl wouldn't ask any more questions about it, it made you quite nervous and hopeful that maybe in the future something could happen between you.

You had feelings for him a few months after you found out about your pregnancy, but because of this you stayed with the father of the child, because you didn't want other people to start pointing fingers at her and saying that she didn't look like her father.

You put your daughter first, ignoring your feelings for him, but even after your ex-boyfriend left, your feelings only became bigger.

"You know... it's not very nice to listen to other people's conversation." You looked away seeing Wakasa looking at you with his arms crossed and your cheeks turned red.

"I-I’m sorry." You looked down and before you could ask any questions, your body tensed up as you felt the boy approaching you.

"Are you available tomorrow after work?" You could feel your legs weaken and your heart continue to beat fast so you leaned against the wall, trying to regain your balance.

"Y-Yes."

"I'll pick you up and the three of us will go to dinner. At 8." Wakasa turned away from you, going to the stairs and he looked at you once more. "See you tomorrow princess."

Tagging: @kallikrein

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers imagines #wakasa imaushi #imaushi wakasa #wakasa x reader #imaushi wakasa x reader #wakasa imaushi x reader

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qloof · 2 years

Note

heeey, you got me extremely curious when you mentioned you have a mom for Masamune. Of course take as much time as you need, but if you want, please talk about her. I wanna know :D

im crying bro i got this ask right as i began listening to cariñosa

*rubs my hands together like a fly* oh my god here we go..

Ok for a little background information i kinda like the idea of Doji being Masamune’s biological father but then him and Masamune’s mom decided to seperate because Masamune’s mom did not want to be involved in any of his things and didn’t want that kind of environment for her son. ( the reason why nobody ever suspects that doji and masamune are related is because masamune looks more like his mom than he does doji )

🎉Doji divorced arc🎉 Masamune just does not remember his dad and honestly he does not gaf, [ It’s mainly a crack thing because i find the idea of Doji being Masamune’s dad and then drop kicking him to the USA very funny. u can literally replace Doji with some other dude, it’s all good, i switch between the ideas in my head a lot. ]

...

I decided to come up with a sort of idea for her when reading some fics that mentioned Masamune's mom but didn’t really go into much detail with her. I wanted to draw something to help me visualize her a lil better.

m pretty sure any one who take one glance at my profile ever can tell that i headcanon masamune has half filipino lmao so i headcanon his mom as from the Philippines

Before the divorce, she and Masamune lived in Japan. Afterwards, they moved to the Philippines for 2-3 years. Then, they moved to the USA to link with relatives.

Her nickname is JoyJoy !! the name is based off one of my relative’s names because i like it and always found it amusing. her real name? unsure tbh maybe Juanita. ( Masamune's full name is Masamune Oración Kadoya )

Her first language is bisaya, second tagalog, third japanese, fourth english

she’s the owner of a little filipino restaurant somewhere in the city Masamune lives in :D ( isn’t it new york city or something?? ) when Masamune was younger, he would stick around at the restaurant and help around with chores. (ALSO Masamune CAN cook... i said it in an earlier post but this mf is just too lazy to clean up so he doesn't cook regularly in his teen years).

JoyJoy also spends a lot of time around the general asian market places. Masamune would come along and he could speak both Japanese and Tag/Bis to the other kids and adults. He could surround himself in both of his cultures and others as well here.

earlier i said fuck it and decided that JoyJoy and the mom of my OC, Acec, are cousins so that’s how Masamune and Acec are related. whenever masamune and acec were younger, they’d kinda be pushed aside with the other kids at the filo mom parties ( jesus christ they have so many parties,., im speaking from experience mine literally had a get together a few days ago )

...

For some funnies, i want to think JoyJoy didn’t agree to Masamune going on a trip to Japan to fight Ginga, but Masamune being the troublemaker that he is, decided to leave on his own accord….he could dodge the walis (broom) when he returned home. (he did not get hit, dont worry jsjsjdsjkjsdk). However he did get an earful when he returned.

(JoyJoy watched the tournaments and admittedly did enjoy them) (she probably disturbed neighbors with her cheers watching her son) (i imagine her cheering just like how my mom did whenever i used to play soccer, it’s very funny)

She’s always very joyful whenever Zeo and Toby come around, she’s very happy that Masamune has made some friends in America. When Masamune told her another friend would come over and join the group (King) she spent so much time cleaning the house and had full meals cooked when everyone got there. (if u come to a filipino’s house you WILL eat and you WILL be full and there will be extras to take home..)

For her role in Fury I don’t really have much at the moment. Though, the first thing she did when Masamune came home with all his clothes dirty and ripped was give him a short scold in tag/bis but then she sobbed because she was so afraid of what could have happened to her son.

Here’s the first drawings i did of her !! it’s very simple and barebones. honestly writing all of this out makes me want to draw her again, so maybe i’ll do that soon :) Masamune gets the white tips of his hair from her !!

There’s a lot of ideas and such about interactions and dynamics between JoyJoy and Masamune, and a lot of them about Masamune’s life surrounded by filo culture. Both positives and negatives (personal experiences 💀 i loveeee generational trauma /sarcasm) but anyways i love them and i love these headcanons i have they make me so happy. It also gives me some time to connect and express as much as i can to my Filipino heritage (other than food, customs, languages that i struggle with remembering lmfao, habits and mannerisms, etc) since i’ve lived in the USA most of my life. It makes me really happy.

Thank you so much for this ask !! i really enjoyed writing all these down and i may or may not have cried at some point ( do not worry it was positive )

#ah yes my daily projections #i still have many thoughts...maybe one day i will draw or write them out #metal fight beyblade #masamune kadoya #pinoy masamune kadoya #mfb oc #beyblade metal masters #beyblade metal fury #beyblade metal saga

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krabjoons · 3 years

Text

omg professor... what are you doing?!?!?! [pjm]

⮕ summary: park jimin is the hottest, most popular guy at school. the only catch? he also just so happens to be your teacher.

⮕ pairing: park jimin x reader, mentions of jaebum x reader

⮕ genre: smut, university!au, pwp

⮕ word count: 12.8k

⮕ rating: 18+, nsfw

⮕ warnings: hard dom!jimin x bratty-ish sub!y/n, professor!jimin x university student! y/n (he’s 27-28 ish and she’s 21-22), fuckboy!jaebum, pussy eating, fingering, thigh riding, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk (carries the whole fic tbh), degradation, edging, dumbification, impact play (pussy + ass spanking), manhandling, humiliation, exhibitionism, creampie, teasing, praise, orgasm denial, begging, overstimulation, crying, kissing/making out, jimin’s a meanie but y/n likes it (aka i go ham on the degradation and edging you have been warned), aftercare (like 500 words of it :P)

⮕ a/n: this took too long to come out and has literally been sitting in my drafts since august but here it is! writing this was definitely a rollercoaster because this was my first smut and honestly i felt like it was really bad at times but other times i was like wtf this is so hot,, ANYWAYS, i’m glad that i’m posting it and getting over that fear of imperfection. i hope that you guys enjoy this piece :). i would also like to add that please don’t hook up with your teachers… if you do, that’s on you i take no responsibility for that whatsoever lol. excuse the title i literally have no idea what to change it to but i like it the way it is tbh LMFAOOO OK I’LL STOP RAMBLING NOW BYEEE ILY ALL

University has never been when you’ve expected. When you first graduated high school and came here, you expected your late teenage years to be filled with just as much studying as high school combined with only a few parties here and there. You didn’t expect to make as many friends as you did and certainly did not expect to be known as the girl with the high grades and even higher alcohol tolerance. No longer are you the shy Y/N L/N that walked through the entrance gates on the first day of school; you’ve changed a lot.

It was a surprise to you. With academics taking precedence much of your life, the freedom university provided you with was welcomed - perhaps a little too much. You quickly learned that polar bear shots were great to keep you in a good mood at parties and that eating mangoes before smoking gave you a better high. And, you also learned about sex.

Admittedly, the first time you had a hookup, it was awkward and messy (at least for you… it was a guy, what else were you expecting?) but with more practice, you were able to get the hang of it. You’ve found your tastes and now willingly talk about who catches your eye to your best friends, something you never thought you’d do last year.

Speaking of who catches your eye, as of now it’s Park Jimin. A really hot guy, according to your friends, and according to you, an even better voice. When you first walked into your Applications of Economics class, you nearly spit out your Starbucks drink after you saw the astonishingly handsome man with silky black hair in a dress shirt and tie. Surprisingly formal for a university student, you thought, but you weren’t one to talk, considering your current outfit of business casual.

Only, he wasn’t a student. He was your teacher. You should’ve put the pieces together earlier but you didn’t. Let's just say a Coconut Lime Refresher is good for hangovers, and you needed one desperately (basically, you were drunk as hell the night before and were still in the process of recovering). It certainly didn’t take long before all of campus was talking about the new economics professor who was hotter than hell. Girls (and some guys) immediately tried transferring into his class, one of them being your best friend Lisa, just to get a glimpse of how attractive he was. You remember a couple of girls offering you literal cash to transfer out, but you didn’t.

A good call, thinking about it now. You’ve gotten closer with Mr. Park, although it’s nothing too special yet, the two of you are on good terms and have even hugged before (you still get giddy thinking about it). Y/N from 2 years ago would be screaming her head off at how bold you’ve gotten, but now, you can’t bring yourself to care. Park Jimin is a hot guy, and you’re pretty hot too (if you must admit), so it would only be logical if the two of you could hook up. Unsurprisingly, you’ve lost your shame, nothing but thoughts of your teacher filling your mind in your spare time.

So here you are, another day of university, as monotonous as ever. The only highlight of your day will be the morning, where you have a class with Mr. Park. You've started changing your style a bit recently, opting for more, let’s just leave it at provocative outfits. Walking into the room, you take your usual seat in the front, closest to Mr. Park’s desk.

The class progresses like it normally does, starting with a review of the work from the last class and a discussion about the new material. "I’m going to give you guys this last half hour of class to review the material individually if you want or you can leave early, I don’t mind. I know it's a Friday so there’s gonna be some parties around campus, if you want to prepare yourselves for that then go ahead." Your professor glances around the room, smirking at you when mentioning the parties. You flush and look away, biting your lower lip.

You make the decision to stay in the classroom while the majority of the other students file out of the room. "I'll be available for any questions," Jimin calls out, returning to his desk across from you.

Sticking to your reputation, you get a head start on the assignment and easily work through the homework. Surprisingly, you forget about Jimin for the time being, focused on finishing your assignment so that you have as little work as possible to do after classes. You don’t notice your teacher looking at you, admiring the way you put so much effort into the things you’re passionate about. Hearing a student call his name, he gets up to help him.

Surprisingly, Mr. Park has assigned a disturbingly low amount of homework, probably because of the upcoming weekend and maybe a pop quiz later next week (ugh). You’ve finished your work in a mere twenty minutes and are surprised to find that Jimin is not at his desk when you look up from your laptop. You turn around, looking for him, and see that he’s helping another student. Whipping out your phone, you text your best friend Lisa (who just so conveniently, also thirsts over Jimin the same way you do).

to lisa: hey i finished classwork for mr park and have like 10 minutes of free time now lol

Instantly, she responds as if she wasn’t in class. Then again, she has never been one to pay too much attention to her professors.

from lisa: ayo talk to him

from lisa: also save me from bio i literally cannot

Smiling slightly, you respond to her.

to lisa: i WOULD but he’s helping other students

from lisa: then be like "m- mister park, i- need help please" and use puppy eyes

to lisa: LMFAOO PLEASE he’d be like whats wrong with you since when did you struggle in this class

to lisa: but i mean, anything to hear him talk i guess

from lisa: god i'm so jealous you have him early so you can hear his morning voice it must be hot asf

to lisa: it is omg

from lisa: god what if he moans like that it'd be such a turn on

to lisa: dUDE STOP NO the way this is literally true like if he has a good sip of coffee or a pastry he likes hes gonna go all "mmmm I wish you could try this" pls its so fking hot

to lisa: like SIR I WANNA TRY YOU or you to try me no complaints

from lisa: wtf he finishes his breakfast before my class so i can't even hear it tf I hate it here

to lisa: u have him right after my block bro at leAST you have him

to lisa: what ab the people who don't even have him

from lisa: idk what i'd do honestly. imagine not having a literal sex god teaching you every day i pity those who dont

You’re about to type out a response when a smooth voice sounds out from behind you, "alright guys, you’re good to go. Have a good weekend!" You jump in your seat, not realizing that your teacher was helping the student right behind you for the past five minutes.

As the rest of the class begins to pack up, you pray that he hasn’t seen you talking about your sexual fantasies less than five feet away from him. Mr. Park doesn’t say anything, so you must be in the clear, right? You’re hoping and praying that he didn’t find out, but your heart rate is already rising and you’re getting a sick feeling in your stomach. Your gut must be trying to tell you something.

Well, your gut’s telling you that the universe must not be on your side because as soon as you stand up, he says, "Ms. L/N, can you stay a bit after class? I have a few things I want to discuss with you." Cheeks flushing hot, you squeak out a "yes, sir."

When everyone has left and it’s just the two of you left in the room, Jimin pulls up a seat next to his desk. "Sit," he commands, leaning on his desk. You scramble to your feet and walk over, mind buzzing with thoughts. Oh god, what if he tells the administration department? Then you’d definitely be punished and maybe even kicked out of the school. Maybe you could make up a story? Oh, it’s ANOTHER Park Jimin, haha. Definitely NOT my teacher. Even if you did, they could go the rest of the texts between you and Lisa and you’d be screwed. And not to be petty or anything, but being kicked out would mean that you wouldn’t be able to be in Jimin’s class anymore and wouldn’t be able to see him. Oh, and the bigger problem would be that you’d also be unable to get your degree.

You start internally panicking, heart rate picking up even when your teacher rolls up his sleeves and leans down in front of you. Stop thinking about dirty things FOR ONCE, Y/N, half of you screams, while the other half of you has already started fantasizing about things which shouldn’t be thought about, especially with one of the people in the fantasies less than a couple of feet in front of you. With his hands on his thighs, the ones you’ve thought about riding far too often, he smirks.

"So, I heard you wanna try me?"

You gulp, absolutely mortified that Jimin caught you. Yes, he was attractive, and you would do practically anything to fuck him, but you didn’t expect to be humiliated into admitting it. "Um, no sir! I mean, maybe, but not in the way you think!" you ramble. Shut up, Y/N, part of you screams. You’re only digging yourself into a deeper hole.

"Yeah, sure. Because I definitely didn’t see what you were talking about with your friend. Be honest, Y/N," he says, smirking down at you. "You think about me, don't you? I'm not new to this. I see the way girls like you look at me. I know the way they talk about me when they think I can't hear. I know the way you think. Who would've thought? Little Miss L/N, all prim and proper on the outside, would be so filthy deep down?"

"Sir, I- uh. I-" you stutter out, cheeks burning furiously hot.

"You what? You're not going to try to prove your innocence now, are you? Not when you've gotten this far, hm? Getting to do what you’ve wanted after all this time?" he asks, standing up from his desk, and walking over to you, kneeling in front of you so that you were forced to hold eye contact.

"You know, nobody else has been as daring as you, my dear," he hums softly. "Sending promiscuous texts about their teacher in the very class they're in. Rubbing their thighs together every time their teacher catches their eye." You shift in your seat, Jimin's words sparking the slightest of fires in your core. "Gazing ever so obviously at said teacher’s dick, too. Y/N, you amaze me. So, so brilliant. yet so, so naughty. You thought that nobody else would catch onto you? Unfortunately, you thought wrong."

"I'm s- sorry sir," you whisper out.

"You're just sorry that you got caught, Y/N. You'll keep doing this even after today," Jimin chuckles lowly. "Possibly even more after today," he adds on, taking note of how his words have affected you. Your pupils are dilated and your cheeks are starting to get flushed. "Such a dirty girl. I'm here trying to scold you, and here you are, getting turned on by my words. Is this why you ask so many questions, doll? To hear my voice?"

You bite your lip in a mixture of embarrassment and nervousness, nodding imperceptibly. The logical, studious side of you is thinking, oh my god, is this really happening? Am I going to fuck my teacher? I really shouldn’t be doing this. The relaxed, easygoing side of you (pretty much your horny side) is thinking, finally, it’s happening. I’m going to FINALLY be fucking Park Jimin.

"What else have you imagined about my voice, hm? How I'd whisper into your ear while pounding into you? Hear me moan as your tight cunt clenches around my dick? Tell you how good you're making me feel? Reminding you how much of a slut you are to fuck your teacher in the middle of his classroom, where anyone could walk in?" he continues, seeing you shift in your seat more. "Would you like that?" he asks.

"Y- yes Mr. Park. I- I would," you whisper. You have to consciously clench your thighs together to keep them from spreading at his words.

"Hm, I don't believe you. Try again another time, darling," he sighs, leaning back on his knees, getting ready to stand up. You don't want this, whatever it is, to be over that quickly so you make up your mind. Swallowing your pride and succumbing to the dull throb in your panties, you pout.

"But professor, I really do want you. I want you to make me feel good and I wanna make you feel good. Please," you whine out. "I wanna be thinking about you all the time because you fucked me so well in class. And when my friends talk about wanting to get in your pants, I want to be the only one who already has. Please, Mr. Park. I need you." you breathe out. At this point, the pressure in your core is rising steadily, and only intensifies when you see the way your teacher's eyes are glazed over in lust and eyebrows are furrowed. Your eyes travel down the expanse of his face to his lips, plump and pink. Oh, the number of times you've wished to kiss them, imagined them suckling on your clit. And now that Jimin knows, perhaps it's finally coming true.

"You'd like that, hm? God, you're so dirty," Jimin mutters, inching closer to you, cautiously placing a hand on your knee. Your legs instantly part to make room for him in between and he inches forward. "Does dirty talk really turn you on that much, Y/N? I can smell you through your panties," he remarks.

"Mr. Park, please do something," you whimper. And with that, Jimin pulls you over to his desk and sits you on the edge. You spread your legs and he stands in between them. He leans his head closer to you until he's next to your ear.

"Want me to get you off with my words? You seem to like that already and I haven't even tried, doll. Or perhaps," he pauses, bunching up your skirt so that it pools at your waist. "You want me to touch you?"

You nod eagerly, chest heaving in anticipation. "I want both Mr. Park. I want you," you purr salaciously. And with that, your teacher lets out a low growl and presses his lips onto yours harshly. It’s already bruising, but you just can’t get enough of the way he tastes of caramel and coffee and how ridiculously soft his lips are, so you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in even closer. He seems a little put off by how eager you are, but once he hears you sigh in enjoyment, he melts into your eager grasp.

His hands start sliding down your waist so that they are resting on your upper thighs, and he rubs comforting circles into them, trailing them closer and closer to your panties. He breaks off from the kiss to look down and smirks back at you before joining his lips to yours with even more fervor and you praise yourself for deciding to wear your lace thong today. You feel his tongue slide against your lips, asking for permission to enter and your mouth immediately complies.

The feeling of his hot breath on your lips and thumbs rubbing against the juncture of your thighs has you feeling needy for more. Jimin swirls the tip of his tongue against yours, the filthy action turning you on even more. You moan into his mouth and thread your fingers through his hair, causing him to let out a low groan.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the two of you break apart. Chest heaving up and down, you take note of your teacher's face. His lips are redder and plumper than ever before. His cheeks have the faintest blush on them. His eyes, the ones that crinkle into a happy smile whenever you answer a question correctly in class, are now clouded over with deep lust.

"Get onto all fours. On the desk," Jimin commands, and you immediately comply. Now your ass is facing Jimin and you're very nearly completely exposed to him, save the thong you're wearing.

"God, you're such a slut," Jimin moans out at the sight. "Do you get dressed up like this just so you can get fucked in class? Such a short fucking skirt that I can see whatever you're wearing underneath whenever you bend over, hm? You wanted me to give in to you, doll?" When you nod weakly, he chuckles, "I don't think so."

Arching your back so your ass sticks out even more, you whine, "professor, please fuck me. I'm so fucking horny, please." Jimin cups your pussy from outside your panties and leans over you, "I don't think so, kitten. I'm the one calling the shots here." Your pussy flutters in response and Jimin slaps it lightly, chuckling. The brief stimulation has your cunt clenching around nothing.

He spreads your knees slightly and begins trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses up your thighs to the arch of your back. Feeling his breath so close to your core has you getting wetter by the minute in anticipation. He finally hovers over your back, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder, muttering, "I'm going to wreck you, Y/N", and you feel yourself clench in excitement.

"Then do it," you whisper, and Jimin hooks his fingers around the waistband of your thong and pulls it down, so slow that it's almost painful, exposing your heat to the cool air of the classroom and causing you to shiver in response.

You don't see it, but his eyes widen seeing the strings of your slick connecting your pussy to your panties. He takes a look at your core and his mouth starts watering. You're soaking and clenching around nothing, thighs shaking ever so slightly in anticipation.

He flattens his tongue and licks a flat stripe up your pussy, from your clit to your entrance. He pauses to suck some of your juices from it, but your cunt just keeps leaking them out. He runs his tongues through your folds over and over again until you let out a wanton moan.

Encouraged by your reaction, he hooks his arms around the side of your hips, nuzzling closer into your pussy. He laps at your cunt and purposely avoids your clit, only heightening the pressure in your core.

"Mr. Park," you whine out, pushing your hips back. "Please. More," you pant out. Suddenly, Jimin spanks your right ass cheek, rubbing his hand over the fleshy globe soothingly afterward. You let out a little yelp and turn around to catch his eyes.

"More what?" he spits out, smiling at you evilly. "My little slut's gotta tell me what she wants. How else would I give it to her?" your mind is foggy, pleasure causing you to lose track of everything other than the man behind you. "W- want you," you garble out, "t- to play with my clit too."

"What's the magic word, doll?" Jimin teases, breath fanning over your slit, causing your walls to clench erratically. "Please, Mr. Park," you whine, pushing your cunt closer to his face. He smirks at you, avoiding your advances.

"Good girl," he praises before finally positioning himself just barely in front of your clit. You feel him blow cool air onto your slit, but the temperature of it is magnified even more due to how wet you are. You whine out, expressing your displeasure, and Jimin finally indulges you by taking your throbbing button between his plush lips.

"F- fuck, sir, yes! Right there, please," you squeal, back arching even more. Jimin hums, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel yourself growing wetter, your entrance squeezing out more and more of your arousal down to where Jimin's lips are sucking. He momentarily pauses to flatten his tongue out, letting your juices drip onto them and slurping them up eagerly. The obscene noises behind you combined with the low thrum of student life just outside the classroom door mesh together to have you realize where exactly the two of you are doing this.

You glance at the clock, and your eyes widen. "Prof- oh my god, Pr- Professor Park," you moan out, trying to keep your focus. Jimin again hums, making you jolt in pleasure. "I- uh, there’s only ten minutes until the next block of classes start. I need t- to leave in around five." When Jimin releases from you with a pop, you can feel your slick running down your thighs and some dripping onto his desk. You feel a rush of excitement at the thought of everyone walking in during class to see the mess Jimin made of you on his desk and again squeeze around nothing.

"Well then," Jimin hums lazily, "guess you better cum within five minutes if you want to cum at all." He dives back into your heat, tongue skillfully running through your folds. He cycles between kitten licking and delivering harsh sucks to your clit and dipping his tongue into your entrance. You grind against his face in desperation to reach your release, and just when you finally feel it hurtling towards you at an alarming rate, suddenly, Jimin gets up.

He leans over you, trailing a hand up your slick-ridden thigh to cup your bare heat and mutters lowly in your ear, "time’s up." Your heart drops in frustration, and you whine out. Grinding into his palm, you beg for him to touch you once again, knowing nothing but how good he was making you feel just seconds ago. "Mr. P- Park, please. Make me cum," you cry out.

Jimin spanks your pussy, a wet echo sounding through the room. You jolt forward and your cunt leaks out even more of your arousal in response to the combination of pain and pleasure. "I said no," he hisses, "you couldn't cum in time, you don't deserve to cum."

"God, look at you, you're a mess. Bent over and spread out so desperately for me. You taste so sweet, doll. So responsive, too," Jimin murmurs, lazily rubbing your slit. He's, once again, avoiding your clit and driving you insane. Your sensitive nub is now swollen and throbbing with need, slick with your arousal.

"Has anyone touched you as well as I do, Y/N?" he asks. When you shake your head, he slaps your cunt again, another wet sound echoing through the room. "Words, baby girl," he goads, fingers dancing through your folds.

"N- no, sir. they can’t make me feel half as good as you did. I’ve al- I’ve always been thinking about having you touch m- my cunt and making me cum really hard. and I- shit I’m so needy sir, I wanna cum," you garble out, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. You feel Jimin’s hand leave your pussy, exposing your soaked heat to the cool air of the room. Slowly, he pulls your thong up your thighs and the light touches make you clench in desperation and whine out.

He marvels at the sight of you so fucked out in front of him. The way his top student was falling apart at the slightest touches he gave you. And the words you said. God, to have you say such filthy things in comparison to your gentle demeanor, all because of him, it really did something to him.

Jimin finishes clothing you and presses a kiss to the top of your ass and walks across the room to get some tissues to clean up the mess you made. Still perched on the desk, you watch him needily, thighs rubbing together to relieve some of the pressure from being denied your orgasm. "So I really don’t get to cum?" You ask meekly, holding back a sob. "I need to cum, Mr. Park."

He chuckles, "there’s a difference between need and want, doll. You want to cum, you don't need to cum. But what you do need," he returns to you, leaning down so that his face is right in front of yours, "is to get to your next class." Your face, once eagerly lit up in anticipation, has now fallen in disappointment.

Rolling your eyes, you huff out a "fine" and get off his desk, feeling your arousal make your thighs stick together. Your panties are uncomfortably damp and you’re so wet you can even smell yourself. "Can you make me cum later?" you question Jimin, sliding closer to him and playing with his tie, praying that he’ll be the one to make you release instead of having to do it yourself when you get home.

"If you play nice I might. If not, then�� we’ll see," he hums, handing you a tissue to clean yourself up while heading to wipe down his desk. "I have a lunch meeting in the second half of the lunch block, so if you really need me, I’ll be here before then."

You grin and nod in excitement. "Cool! so I’ll-" you begin before the first students from the next class start filing in, making you jump. "The door wasn’t locked?" you whisper frantically to him. "We could have been caught, Jimin! Are you crazy?!"

He smirks at you, "didn’t you say you wanted it that way? Where anyone could walk in? I only did what you asked, doll." You’re left speechless as he continues. "Anyways, you should be in your next class pretty soon. I’ll write a note to your professor just in case you’re late. But get going, yeah? I’ll see you in time for our meeting." He hands you a slip of paper and straightens up, tossing the dirty tissues into the trash can in the corner of the room.

"Okay class, we’re going to get started soon. I presume you all did the reading, so just prepare for the discussion we’re going to be having about it when the bell rings," he calls out to the class. Turning to face you, he questions quietly with genuine concern, "you okay? Did I push you too much for our first time?"

Your mind swirls with thoughts. Our first time. The words fill you with giddy excitement. It’s just the two of you that know about this, the dirty things you were doing just minutes ago, very nearly getting caught. Knowing that this won’t be the only moment you guys are doing this, fills you with excitement.

"On the contrary, actually," you tease your teacher with a smile. "It was really nice honestly, but perhaps, you didn’t do enough." You bite your lip at the way Jimin's eyes darken and he looks away. "Get to class, Ms. L/N. The bell will ring any minute," he says lowly, jaw slightly clenched. Your core throbs at the sight and you head towards the door.

"Goodbye, Mr. Park. Thank you!" you call out, catching sight of Lisa, who raises her eyebrows at you teasingly and mouths text me. Blushing, you nod at her before leaving the room to go to your next class.

Being "one of the smartest students on campus" comes with its perks. Like right now, for example. You always (somehow) come to class overprepared, so when your next teacher gives you a day to work on your project (which you've already finished), you head to the back of the room to text Lisa in private.

from lisa: dude wtf was that you were literally talking to Mr. Park outside of ur class time with him

from lisa: omg wait don't tell me you fucked him

from lisa: did you

to lisa: NO I DID NOT OMG I wish tho lmao

to lisa: I was asking him for help on the paper he's assigning us and to proofread it and stuff before I submit it

from lisa: omg I forgot he assigned us that shit

to lisa: dude lmao its due in a week or so you have plenty of time

from lisa: ugh literally he's such a hottie why does he have to be so into teaching

to lisa: sis commitment to something is hot

from lisa: omg ur right wait a sec tho

from lisa: dude

from lisa: omg

from lisa: he definitely has a boner

Knowing that you were likely the cause of it, you shift in your seat cockily, smiling slyly to yourself while looking down.

to lisa: whAT

to lisa: wait how big is it

from lisa: ok I dont think he’s fully hard yet he's like semi hard but barely

from lisa: LMFAO Y/N don't worry I think he’s packing seems kinda thick too

Taking in a deep breath, you look up at the ceiling. You imagine him slowly sinking into you and making you whimper at his size. Him seeing your face and growling, "if you’re really a good girl, you should be able to take it." You cross your legs tightly and rock up and down in a lame attempt to diminish the rising pressure between your thighs and look back down at your phone.

to lisa: pls thats so hot

from lisa: IKR I want him to r a i l me

to lisa: or eat me out… have you sEEN those lips of his wtf

from lisa: on god do not get me started

to lisa: pls i bet he’d be the type to tease you

Oh Lisa, if only you knew the truth behind those words.

from lisa: YES hes lowkey cocky bc he knows like the entire fucking population simps for him

from lisa: he’s def gonna make you beg to cum

to lisa: pls thats hot do not get me riled up in class istg

from lisa: too late i've already started babe ;)

You continue texting Lisa throughout the entirety of your class. Finally, you look at the clock and seeing that there are only a few more minutes till the class ends, you wrap up your conversation with her.

to lisa: hey btw i’m gonna be coming to lunch late… save me a seat at our regular spot?

from lisa: when ur best friend is a teachers pet :(( fiNE I guess I will

to lisa: love u!! xx

from lisa: love you too nerd xoxo

The bell finally rings, signaling the start of the lunch break and you immediately stand up and walk out the door, bidding your teacher goodbye and thanks.

Running into the bathroom, you do a quick check of your appearance. You tug up your skirt a bit higher and tuck in your shirt so that your outfit accentuates your curves. You glance at your face and notice how abnormally large your pupils are in comparison to most days. Jimin has completely ruined you today, just like he said he would. I'm going to wreck you, Y/N. His words echo in your ears as you make your way out to his classroom. Trying to ignore how uncomfortably wet your panties are, you knock on the door to his room.

You hear a smooth voice answer with a, "come in," and take a deep breath before opening the door to see Jimin sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head. He scans you up and down, eyes taking in every inch of your figure. "Nice outfit alterations," he notes, patting his laps as a hint for you to sit on it. You quickly lock the door and make your way to him, placing one leg on each side of him so that you’re now straddling his thighs. "Is this all for me?" he asks and you tuck your head down, suddenly shy now that all his attention is on you again.

"Mhm, depends on whether you like it or not" you smile timidly, hands reaching out to play with his tie again. He laughs. "Princess, I’m conflicted. You do look very nice, all dolled up for me like this. It’d be a shame if I were to ruin your efforts. But on the other hand," he remarks, "you’ve very nearly crossed the line for indecent exposure. What if another teacher caught you like this? you would get in trouble, hm? And what if it were a student to see you like this? What would they think of you then?" He questions, causing your cheeks to burn at his words.

"They would think I- that I’m a whore. I- and that I dress up like this just so I can pass my classes," you whisper out, biting your lips in a combination of excitement and humiliation. You can feel yourself start to throb again and you start to rut against Jimin’s thighs. He shifts you over so that you are sitting on only one and slightly bounces his leg. The stimulation to your neglected cunt sends a shock running through your body and you squeeze your thighs around his.

"Look at you, so fucking desperate to cum. You think that you aren’t a little whore already, so needy for me this quickly, hm? Do you really think you deserve to cum?" He hums, admiring the way you’re worked up. He pushes up your skirt and slaps your thigh just underneath your ass. You shift away as a reaction, causing your clit to get the stimulation it finally deserved. The way your underwear rubs against your neglected bundle of nerves causes you to let out a groan and drop your head to Jimin's shoulder. He spanks you this time, making you yelp. "I asked you a question, doll."

"Mmhm, yeah," you whine out, "I deserve t- to cum, sir." At this point, your hips are moving on their own accord, shifting back and forth desperately against Jimin's thigh. He grabs your waist tightly, holding you still. "Look at me," he commands, bouncing his thigh. You mewl into his shoulder, the change in motion making you lose focus. He spanks you again, the sound echoing around the room. "Listen to directions, sweetheart. Or else you’ll get punished," he warns.

You lift your head to look at Jimin, faces just inches apart. His eyes scan over your face, lingering on your lips. Slowly, you lean towards him, closing the distance between you two. He gives into your eager kiss and you glide your hands up his firm chest to run your fingers through his hair. He starts bouncing you on his thigh and you groan into his mouth. Breaking apart panting, you place your forehead against Jimin’s, moving your hips back and forth harder to increase the pressure going to your clit.

"God, Y/N, you’re so wet," Jimin pants while looking down at the way your clothed pussy drags over his thigh. "I can feel you soaking through my slacks," he says, shifting you over. just like he said, there is now a wet spot on his thigh from where you just were. Thankfully, it’s barely noticeable, but if you focus enough, you can see it.

"What are you going to do about it, hm? I have classes to teach, meetings to attend. Do you want people to see the mess you made all over me?" He hisses, spanking you to elicit an answer. "N- no, sir. I’m s- sorry," you whisper out, eyes clenched, still rutting against him. You feel your orgasm bubbling up as every second passes.

"I don't think you're sorry, doll. Look at you making a mess all over me through your panties. You're absolutely soaked, so fucking desperate to cum," he tuts, clenching his thigh muscles purposely. You gasp and shove your head into the crook of Jimin's neck, letting out a low groan.

"Mr. Park, I'm so wet because of you. I- god, I wanna cum. please. I'm so close," you mewl into him, legs starting to tighten around his thigh.

You shut your eyes, feeling your impending orgasm build up. Right when you're about to let go, Jimin holds your hips in place tightly, preventing you from moving. Squeaking out, you make an attempt to shift your pussy over his thighs. It's no use because you can feel it start to drift away slowly and you look at him in need. Tears stinging the corners of your eyes, you plead, "S- sir I need you to touch me again. Please."

"Well, since you asked so nicely," Jimin smiles cockily, lifting you onto his desk and spreading your legs after stripping you of your panties. You lean back so that you face the ceiling. Your eyes roll back once you feel him take your clit into his mouth. You moan and arch your back off of the desk, thighs involuntarily clenching around his head.

"God, Mr. Park, yes! O- oh, fuck, please," you blabber out incoherently, your mind hazy and overwhelmed with pleasure. "More," you whimper out without thinking.

Jimin disconnects from your heat to look up at you, murmuring, "Greedy little slut wants it all, huh? Won't even ask nicely for it. Tell me what you want, Y/N. Beg for it, and I might just give it to you."

"God, I- I want it all, professor," you call out, wiggling your hips in search of stimulation that never comes. "Want you to stuff me with your f- fingers and lick my p- pussy and make me cum. Want you to fuck me r- raw with your fat cock from behind and sp- and spank me. Want you to ma- make me cry from cumming so hard just as much as you have from not letting me cum. A- and I want you to leave hi- hickies on my thighs so that if I bend over, p- people are gonna know how much of a cockslut I am, just for you."

"Yeah? Well, I can tell you this," Jimin says, fingers dancing up your thigh closer to your sick-ridden core. "You are a cockslut. So fucking dirty. Most people come to class to learn but it seems that you come here to get off." He inserts a finger into you and your walls immediately clamp down on it. He moves the digit in and out of you smoothly, your arousal allowing the smoothest of motions. "You like that, baby? Finally having something in that tight cunt of yours?" You nod at his question, adding on "want more, sir."

"Not enough? Greedy little bitch. look at you, so needy. What are you gonna do when I have my cock out, hm?" He shoves a second finger into you and starts curling them into your heat. You arch your back to the ceiling and he hovers over you. For a moment, there’s nothing but the squelch of his fingers in your wet pussy and your panting as he stares into your eyes. Jimin's eyebrows are furrowed and he’s biting his lip - he’s focusing on something.

That "something" becomes apparent when, all of a sudden, you nearly sit upright and let out a loud moan of pleasure, "Fuck, Mr. Park! right there." His fingers continue rubbing that special spot inside you repeatedly and your legs start shaking ever so slightly. You look back at him to see a smug smile on his face. "I found it," he chuckles as you writhe underneath him. He leans down to kiss you, lips melding together.

He keeps fingering you, bringing his thumb up to ghost over your clit ever so slightly to provide enough pleasure to bring you close to your orgasm but just not enough to make you cum. You whine against his lips and he breaks the kiss, asking "you want to cum, doll?" to which you weakly nod. "Then fuck yourself on my fingers. Show me how much of a little slut you are for me. How you’re a cocksleeve for me, so wet and needy as soon as I touch you, so ready for me to fuck you." He stills his digits inside of you and you buck your hips on them, rolling your pelvis repeatedly in an attempt to get to your orgasm. You reach down to provide some stimulation to your clit, but he smacks it away.

"Jim- professor, it’s not enough. I- I need more, please." Tears start welling up in your eyes at the thought of not cumming for the third time. Jimin kisses your temple, the gentle action reminding you that he’s not going to do something you can’t handle. "Please, Mr. Park. I wanna cum," you whine out, hips jerking back and forth in a pathetic attempt to chase after your high.

"Show me then, Y/N. how much you want it. A good girl can show me that she wants it bad enough and will make herself come on my fingers alone. She’s not greedy. She doesn’t need to touch herself too. She just needs my fingers to cum. I know you can be a good girl, Y/N," he goads. "Can you show me what the pretty little face of yours looks like when you cum? I bet you’ll look so beautiful, even more than you are right now, all fucked out for me."

"Hhngh, sir I- I’m trying," you pant out. "It’s just not enough. I promise I'm a good girl, I swear. Please let me cum. Oh god, I wanna cum." At this point, you’re nearly crying. You haven't ever been edged like this and are desperate for release.

Jimin sees this and purposefully retracts his hand from your cunt covered in your honeyed juices, glistening in the lights of his classroom. "Professor Park, please," you choke out weakly, chest constricting in disappointment. With a soft smile, he brings his fingers up to his mouth and cleans them off, savoring the flavor of you.

"Be a good girl for the rest of the day and then I’ll let you cum, baby," he hums. "You promise?" you plead, holding onto his arm desperately.

"I promise, Y/N," he kisses you gently and you taste the remnants of yourself on his tongue, the filthy action causing your clit to throb even more. Combined with the way your cunt is still clenched tight in preparation for an orgasm that won’t come soon, you can definitely say that you can't wait for the school day to come to an end.

"Go to lunch, doll. I have a meeting soon. Don’t think of me too much, hm? Gotta keep those straight A’s the way they are," Jimin teases, pulling down your skirt slowly, fingers just grazing your thighs. He grabs your panties. "Oh, and I think I'll keep these for now," he says cheekily, putting them in his pocket. "They didn’t seem to be doing their job when you were riding my thigh."

You watch him in shock, cheeks flushing red hot. "I- okay. uh, I’m going to lunch now, Jimin. Have a good lunch and meeting, I guess?" you say awkwardly, shuffling to the door with him, tugging your skirt down.

"Jimin? We’re on a first-name basis already, Y/N? Don’t let anybody hear you call me that in class, baby," he winks, holding the door open and you nod, preoccupied with the little "situation" your skirt just barely hides. You can feel yourself still leaking down your inner thighs, and pray that nobody’s going to notice when you walk into the dining hall.

"Ugh! Bitch, what took you so long?" Lisa exclaims when you sit down next to her with your lunch. You pout. "I wasn't even gone for that long."

"Ha! That long, my ass. You were gone for more than half of the break! I had to tell Jaebum and his cronies to fuck off on my own! I’m not as intimidating when you’re not around, though, so I don’t think it worked. They’ll probably come over again soon." Lisa rolls her eyes. You snort, "One of them probably likes you, that’s why they keep bothering you."

"They just like any female and will take what they can get," Lisa mutters, "but anyway! How was your meeting with Mr. Park? Did you solve his boner problem?" she wiggles her eyebrows.

You clear your throat. "No, Lisa I did not. I'm obviously above that," you say in a sarcastic tone. "I simply offered to," you tease. Lisa squeals and slaps your arm in response. "But for real though," she says. "Anyone that gets to hook up with mister Park Jimin automatically wins at life," and you hum in agreement.

You scan at the dining hall around you and catch the eye of Jaebum sitting with his friend group. He winks at you and you roll your eyes and stand up, "come on Lisa, let’s go. Those assholes are going to come over any second if we stay here any longer." You drag her to your guys’ next class.

The bell rings and the two of you burst out of the classroom. Thank god that’s over. Only one more class left, you think to yourself, gripping your books tighter to your chest in excitement.

"Jesus fuck, since when were you this eager to get to the last class of the day, Y/N? I thought you loved staying in school for as long as possible," Lisa huffs out. You steer her into the direction of your locker, right across from Jimin’s classroom.

"I'm picking up my books, you dummy. Be grateful I paid for this locker because otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to put your books here." You put in the code and exchange your books while Lisa checks herself in the magnetic mirror attached to the door. you have to be careful when bending over because otherwise you’ll flash the entire school, so you do a weird sit-squat thing. "Geeking out over lockers? You act as if you’re still in high school, Y/N," Lisa teases. "Only during the school day," you wink up at her.

Lisa spots someone through the reflection of the mirror and groans out. "Incoming," she warns, rolling her eyes and turning around. "Wha-" you begin when you get cut off by a smooth voice behind you.

"Damn, L/N. didn’t know you wore skirts this short on campus. Looks good on you," the guy winks. "But it would look even better on my bedroom floor." You hold back a gag and turn to Lisa, raising your eyebrows in exasperation.

"Wow, I see the originality," Lisa says in the most sickeningly sweet voice. "What do you want, Jaebum?" He chuckles and places an arm over your head, leaning over you. "Well, I’m having a party tonight, and it would be amazing if you two little ladies could attend. Be mine and Jackson’s plus one?" he says. You’re about to say no when he leans in closer to you, inches away from your face, "plus you can get the high-quality drinks for free, not the cheap booze we leave out for the randos who show up."

"You’re probably gonna drug them or something. No thanks, dickwad." you huff out after a second’s hesitation, pushing him away, ready to go to your next class. "Nah, baby. I may be a fuckboy but at least I've got morals. Whaddya say? You get me off, I get you off? Maybe make you cum so many times it starts hurting? You look like you haven’t been able to get an orgasm in a while, you’re so uptight, L/N," Jaebum smirks.

"You fuckin-" you start to hiss out but you’re shut off again. This time it’s by someone different. Jimin. "Mr. Lim, I don’t think it’s necessarily appropriate to discuss your sexual endeavors while in an academic setting. I’ll be letting you off with a warning for now." He turns to you, eyes flitting across your DIY skimpy outfit. You feel your cunt leak more of your honeyed juices under his piercing gaze and clamp your thighs together to keep them from dripping down your thighs. "And Ms. L/N, I expected better from you. You’re not typically one to do these things in a school environment. Get to class, the two of you," he says, turning back to his classroom.

"Oh," he adds, "and Y/N. fix your outfit. I would hate to see you get dress coded by a teacher who isn’t as lenient." You, Lisa, and Jaebum stare at his back in shock as he heads inside his classroom.

"Well, uh, that just happened," Lisa states, turning to you. "Ready to go?" you nod numbly, mind swirling with embarrassment and excitement as you tug down your skirt. The two of you walk to the last class of the day while Jaebum calls out, "my place after 11, L/N! I’ll be waiting!", making you wince. Great, now a bunch of people are gonna think you’re hooking up with him.

The last bell of the day finally rings, and you head to your locker after bidding Lisa goodbye. You put your books in your locker and head to the bathroom to fix your clothes. You decide to tease Jimin even more by adjusting your skirt so that it ends just at the bottom of your ass. It’s a terribly risky decision; if you walk too fast, you risk flashing everyone. You’ve tried to wipe the slick off the juncture of your thighs, but it keeps getting replaced with more of your arousal.

You speed walk down the halls and fling open the door to see that Jimin isn’t in his classroom - or so you think. Once you take a few steps into the room, you hear the door shut behind you and lock. Jimin looks at you up and down. "You didn’t fix your outfit, Ms. L/N. Looks like I’ll have to dress code you for indecent exposure then," he hums, heading to his desk to take out a slip of paper.

"Wait Jimin, what? I thought we were- um. You know, going to-" you splutter out, realizing he was actually serious. You can’t have this on your academic record! What would your parents think?

"Going to what? Fuck? Seems like you already have someone else for that, Y/N," he shakes his head, grabbing a pen. You reach forward quickly to stop him, hand, gripping his forearm in desperation.

"No Mr. Park, I- I never told Jaebum yes. I just-" you try to explain, but Jimin cuts you off. "You what?" he asks bitingly, taking you by surprise. "Did you think that you could just come back and hop on my dick after nearly making out with another guy? God, you really are a slut, aren’t you?"

You rub your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the steadily mounting pressure in your core at Jimin’s words. "Look at you, I told you to fix your outfit and you fucking pulled up your skirt. You pulled it up. You don’t listen to me, talk to your friends about how much you want me to rail you, and yet let other guys make plans to hook up with you. And you expect me to let you cum after all of that?" he continues, noticing the effect he has on you. "You really think I should let you cum, Y/N? I'll tell you what I think. I think I should leave you like this, dripping and needy for me. So ready to get fucked by me but not being able to."

Your eyes widen, "no, please professor, no!"

"Should I jack off in front of you and not let you touch me? Maybe then would you learn your lesson? Or maybe I should spank your ass till it’s blue you’re unable to sit. Would that work, hm? What if I just send you back to the dorms? You could ask Jaebum to touch you, even if he can’t make you half the mess I can," he continues, pushing you onto his desk. He grabs your jaw and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him, humiliated, with tears in your eyes.

"Aw," he pouts sarcastically, "is the baby crying? Because I didn’t let her cum? Well, princess, you knew what you were getting yourself into. Little cocksluts like you don’t deserve to cum so easily."

"P- professor, please. You can punish me. Teach me a lesson. B- but just please let me cum." You whimper out, attempting to cross your legs together to assuage your aching clit, but Jimin stops you by holding your knee with his other hand.

He slowly trails his hands up your bare thigh, admiring the way your soft skin seems to get chills at his touch. He pushes you back onto the desk and you prop yourself up your elbows to look at him. "Are you a cockslut, Y/N?" he asks, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers.

"Y- yes Mr. Park. I- I’m nothing but a hole for you to fuck," you whimper meekly as he pushes up your skirt. He pushes apart your thighs and tugs you to the edge of the desk. "Damn right you are. Nothing but a little whore that I can use to get off. I’m going to fuck you here in school like you’ve never been fucked before. And this dick you’ve been thinking about all this time, it’s going to finally be in you, and I better not hear any complaints," Jimin growls, pumping his length in his hand. "No sir," you whimper out.

"You on the pill?" he asks, to which you reply with a yes. He teases your slit with the pink head of his cock and your entrance flutters at the touch. "But on another note, tell me if you want to stop. I don’t want to push you too much."

You smile, "Jimin, you’re being too kind. I promise I'll tell you. But I did say before perhaps you weren’t doing enough. Mr. Park, I want you to ruin me," you bite your lips, mimicking his words from earlier in the day. He cocks his head in amusement.

"Don’t worry princess, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing." Without warning, he thrusts forward into your heart, barely giving you time to adjust to his size. The girth of his cock stretches open your cunt with painful pleasure. Once he’s sheathed inside you, you can feel him very near your cervix.

You let out a shaky breath but it’s cut off as he continues thrusting in and out of you, wet slaps echoing through the room. "M- Mr. Park-" you moan incoherently.

"Fucking take it, Y/N. You wanted me to ruin you? Well here I am doing it; be fucking grateful." he rolls his hips into yours, hands gripping your sides harshly.

"Th- thank you Mr. Park, s- so much," you nearly sob out, almost crying at the relief of being fucked. You’re so turned on that your walls are clenching around Jimin’s dick so hard that he grips your jaw harshly. Gritting his teeth, he spits, "loosen up, babe. You’re so fuckin’ tight." You whine and try to relax but the stimulation Jimin’s providing has your eyes rolling back instead.

He snakes a hand down to your stomach and under your skirt, circling your throbbing clit. Your pussy flutters at the stimulation and you bite your lip harshly. He changes his angle slightly, causing your thighs to start shaking. His precum and your honeyed juices drip out your sopping cunt, the sound of wet slaps echoing around the room.

"Mmmmh," you moan out softly, back arching slightly. You can feel Jimin hitting your g-spot with impeccable accuracy each time. Doubled with the way his thumb is rubbing circles on your sensitive clit, you feel yourself reaching your orgasm. You try to suppress the giveaway signs of your impending release, knowing that Jimin, in order to "teach you a lesson" of sorts, is likely to take it away from you, so you attempt to just breathe out, "Jimin, fuck, it feels so good."

"Yeah, you like that, baby?" he thrusts into you deeper and harder and you bite your upper lip to stop your moans from slipping out. "Come on Y/N, let me hear those pretty little moans. Let everyone else know how well I'm fucking you, how good I make you feel," Jimin urges.

As soon as he utters those words, you give in, letting high pitched whimpers spill from your lips. Your pussy lets out filthy squelching noises at each of his thrusts, your wetness dripping down your ass and onto the desk. You feel your walls tightening around his cock and try to fight it off, but Jimin can already tell of your impending orgasm. He pulls out of you, leaving your warm and soaked cunt open to the air.

"Fuck," you exclaim in frustration, bringing your hands up to cover your face so Jimin doesn’t see your face, tears starting to spill down your face. It’s frustrating you so much that he won’t let you cum. That he enjoys seeing you whimpering and teary-eyed for him. Your thighs haven’t stopped shaking and Jimin parts them after you close them. He pulls down your arms and smiles evilly.

"Well, what do we have here," he exclaims, "looks like the baby finally did start crying. Come on, Y/N, I thought you had it in you. But look at how you’re spread out on this desk for me, such a fucking mess. I bet you like it, huh? Dirtying up my desk with that cunt of yours."

"I need to cum, Mr. Park," you choke out, trying to gather your thoughts. "I need to cum now." your teacher’s eyes narrow and he grips your thighs harshly. "What did you say to me?" he asks, a tone laced with dangerous amusement.

"You heard me. I-," you hesitate for a moment, but decide you’ve already put yourself through enough teasing today. You muster up your courage before saying, "I want you to make me cum now."

There’s a moment’s silence before you add on shamelessly, "o- or if it’s too much to ask of you, I- I’ll just find someone else to help me do it. Maybe Jaebum? He promised a good time a- and said he would let me cum as many times as I want."

Jimin grabs you by the chin and pulls you up. "You’re such a fucking brat, Y/N." Shifting his hand so it’s gripping your throat, he mutters, "you don’t fucking learn, do you? I thought you were smart, hm? But has the need for sex made you lose your sense? Made you turn into a dumb little bitch, ready to bend over for anyone because you’re so horny? And here I was thinking you were better than that. That you had standards. Perhaps I was wrong, hm? Would you like to tell me?"

You try to look down, away from his piercing glare, but he turns your chin to look back at him. Humiliation courses through your veins as Jimin’s gaze wanders down your body scathingly. "Look at you," he coos sarcastically. "Y/N, baby, you’re such a fucking mess. Pathetic." Suddenly, he lifts you off the desk and bends you over it, cheek pressing the top and ass exposed over the edge to him. You whimper at the feeling of your shirt being stickied from your arousal left on the table from just a few minutes ago. You try moving away from it, but Jimin holds you in place.

"Are you afraid that everyone else is going to see the mess on your shirt, Y/N? Is that why you’re trying to move?" he hovers over you from behind. "Or perhaps," he continues, hot breath tickling over the shell of your ear, "you want to continue being a brat. Make me punish you until you’re begging for me to make it stop."

He spanks you, the sound echoing across the room before you register the sting of his action. You clench involuntarily and let out the slightest of whimpers. "Fucking hell, are you this turned on? Making noises even if I don’t touch your filthy little pussy?" he asks, smacking your behind again. You bite down on your lip to avoid giving him the answer he already knows.

"Count for me. Be good and maybe I’ll finally let you cum." he commands, spanking your right ass cheek again. "O- one!" you groan. He spanks your left side, the stinging sensation causing you to leak more arousal. "Louder, Y/N. Let me hear you," he hisses, hand in your hair, and pulls you up slightly. "T- two," you stammer. another slap echoes across the room. "Three! God Mr. Park, please." At this point, you’re not even sure what you’re begging for; your mind is numb with lust.

"T- twenty! Agh, fuck, please," you squirm under Jimins grasp. The throbbing of your clit has increased tenfold, and you can practically feel the shaking of your thighs through the desk.

Jimin slips his hand between your legs, feeling the soft flesh of your inner thighs slicked with your juices. "You’re fucking dripping, Y/N. Look at you. Did getting punished turn you on this much, doll?" He swipes up your slit, teasing your fluttering hole. You scrunch your eyes in displeasure and try to back up into him, only to be stopped by a harsh smack onto your already throbbing cunt. You yelp and flop back on the desk, cheek pressing the surface.

You feel him rubbing his dick against your folds and sigh in relief. Suddenly, Jimin slams into you from behind with no warning causing you to let out a harsh groan. "Ah, professor!" you exclaim, balling your fists in pleasure at finally being stimulated. His cock seems even bigger from this angle, and your entrance stings delectably at the way he splits you open.

"You feel how tight your pussy is, princess? How tight it is for me? Nobody else makes you feel this needy. Nobody," Jimin mutters in your ear after pulling you up. He pulls your head back by your hair, exposing your neck, which he plants wet kisses on. He reaches down in front of you, tracing an achingly slow path from your stomach to your slit with his fingers. You’re reaching your orgasm at an embarrassingly fast rate due to all of the edging you’re been through, so when Jimin finally brushes over your clit, it’s no surprise that your walls tighten even more instantaneously.

"Ji- ‘m gonna cum," you moan wantonly. "Yeah? Is my little slut finally going to cum?" He hisses out at the way you tighten around him. You nod desperately, gripping his arm rubbing figure eights over your sensitive bud.

"Oh god, Jimin, I feel it coming. Please please please let me cum. I'm being good for you, Mr. Park, please let me cum," you sob out incoherently as Jimin continues railing you from behind. You feel the ridges of his cock brushing your walls and shudder at his ministrations.

"Let go, princess, I got you. Cum for me. Tell me how good I’m making you feel," Jimin snarls, snapping his hips into yours, eager to get you to finally melt in his arms. You feel your orgasm crashing over you and you clamp down on his dick, legs shaking in relief. Jimin's grip on your hair tightens as he feels you pulsing around him, getting impossibly tight. Nevertheless, he continues thrusting into you.

You mewl, trying to shift away from Jimin's hold as his fingers return to your clit, rubbing figure eights into them, "J- too m- much," you whimper out, straining against his arms.

"Yeah?" his smooth voice asks, "but I thought you wanted to cum, princess? Didn't you? I need to cum, Mr. Park. I need to cum now." He mocks you. “Well, that's what I'm doing doll. I'm. Making. You. Cum," he emphasizes each word with a harsh thrust, jolting you forward.

You're being reduced to a mess, tears streaming down your face and slick dripping down your thighs. You can feel your gummy walls tightening more and more on their own accord, without even trying. Without even realizing it, you've changed from trying to move away from Jimin's fingers to grinding down on his dick.

Jimin, however, notices this. "God, you're such a slut, Y/N. Weren't you just asking me to stop?" He raises your left leg onto the desk, allowing him to have more access to your folds. He slaps your clit when you don’t give a response and you yelp, clenching down on his dick. He slaps you a couple more times, and your cunt drips even more, making your thighs sticky with your honeyed juices. You can feel yourself nearing your orgasm once again from his motions.

Suddenly, Jimin pushes you back on his desk and begins hammering into you from behind. "You're going to cum again, aren't you? Filthy little girl, didn't you just cum? Are you really that needy for some dick?" You try to hold back a whimper from his words but it slips from your lips. "You're really a whore, aren't you, baby?"

In response, Jimin spanks you, and you yelp. "Keep doing that," he hisses when you clench down on his dick. "You like being punished, don't you?" You nod meekly in response. He smacks your already reddened ass again and you hiss at the stinging sensation. Paired with the pleasure his cock is giving you, thrusting so deep into you, you can feel yourself practically getting high off the feeling.

Jimin feels you cumming before you realize it yourself. His hips nearly stutter at the way your walls have clenched around his dick. He opts to rut his hips into yours, no longer being able to thrust in and out due to how tight you are. He reaches under your body to rub tight circles on your throbbing clit and you start cumming again, clenching erratically around his dick. "You cumming, Y/N? Be a good girl and let go for me. Get this fat cock all wet," he commands. You ball up your fists and dig your nails into your palms, pleasure coursing through your veins. Riding the course of your high, you wish for nothing more but to be in the moment.

When you come down from your orgasm, Jimin finally pulls his hard dick out of you. You feel his precum and your cum drip down your thighs. Whining, you rub them together to get rid of the feeling but it only serves to make you stickier. Jimin parts your thighs and runs a hand up them to cup your pussy, pausing to feel your cunt still clenching from the aftershocks of your orgasm. He smacks your abused heat, jolting you forwards and causing you to grit your teeth in overstimulation.

He flips you over, spreading your legs open. He leans over you, rubbing the tip of his dick over your swollen and throbbing clit, making you shiver. "Prof- professor, I can’t-" you begin but are interrupted my Jimin quickly shoving into you. Gasping, you clench down onto his dick, eyes rolling back into your head.

"You can, Y/N, and you fucking will," he grunts harshly, snapping his hips into yours. You grasp at his arm after feeling him in you deeper than before. The head of his cock nearly kisses your cervix and his impossibly hard dick stretches your tight cunt open even more, making you wince at the pleasurable pain.

"I- oh god, I really can’t. It feels-" you choke out through your tears. "It feels too- oh!" your head rolls back as Jimin hooks your legs over his shoulders, creating a new angle of penetration. He rubs your clit ever so slightly, the abused bundle of nerves pulsing under his touch. "It feels too what?" he hisses, rolling his hips upward so that his tip just barely grazes your g-spot. Too good, you want to say, but pleasure is clouding your mind and you can’t get the words out.

"That’s it, baby," he hums, "taking my fat cock so well even though you’re so- shit, you’re so fucking tight. Are you gonna cum again, hm? Cream all over my dick and make another mess?" you’re being reduced to a blathering mess, Jimin’s name rolling off the tip of your tongue. "Yeah? Can’t even hold it back a little? Even though I let you cum so many times, you still want more? Greedy little bitch," he spits at you.

When you clench down at his words, he starts pistoning his hips into yours, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass echoing around the room. His cock seems to be splitting you open even more, and you can feel every pulse of his dick on your walls. "Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to cum," he groans.

"I- I’m close too, Mr. Park. It- fuck, it feels really good," you breathe out as Jimin leans down over you. He slows his hips down, opting to roll his hips smoothly and brushing over your g-spot with painful accuracy. Hovering over you, his stare bores into yours, eyes flitting down to your lips, reddened and swollen from you biting them. You whimper and tilt your chin up towards him and he leans his head down to yours.

He lets his lips ghost over yours, warm breath brushing over your lips as his hips grind into yours. "P- please," you beg, and Jimin finally relents and melds his lips to yours, bringing the two of you into a searing kiss, groaning as you near each of your highs. You break the kiss to gasp out, "I’m c- cumming again Mr. Park."

"Yeah?" he breathes surprisedly, "your little pussy’s that sensitive that you’re gonna- fuck, you’re cumming already? So quickly?" he leans down as your orgasm washes over you, this one hitting you slowly and harshly. You arch your back into Jimin’s chest, hands gripping at the collar of his shirt. His thumb continues to gently rub over your clit, causing you to roll your eyes back into your head at the overstimulation. You start shaking underneath him, squirming to get away from the overload of senses, but he holds you in place as you ride your high for what seems to be like an eternity.

"That's a good girl," he soothes as you continue to writhe underneath him. "Look at you, stuffed so full of my cock it’s making you cry. Does that feel good, darling?" you nod, sobbing. When your orgasm starts to fade away, spots of white dotting your vision, he still doesn’t stop thrusting into you.

You bite your lip, and seeing that he’s close, you whisper, "M- Mr. Park, I want you t- to cum too. I- in me." His hips stutter at your words. "Shit, yeah? You’d let me do that?"

You nod, "want you to fill me up w- with your cum and s- stuff me so full of it that it’s gonna be in me for days. And I wanna fe- fuck, I wanna feel you in me even when I’m alone, professor." At your words, Jimin lets out a slightly animalistic growl and leans in. "You’d like that, huh?" he asks. "Me fucking you so well till you can’t think straight? Putting my cum in you so that when you walk out of here, it’s dripping down your pretty little thighs, making you look like the filthy little slut you really are? You think you deserve that?"

"Please, sir, I really want it," you beg, "please." With that, Jimin attaches his lips onto yours again, grinding his hips into yours even deeper as he finally orgasms. He doesn’t stutter his hips as he continues his ministrations, even though he can feel your walls desperately squeezing around him, milking his cock of its seed. You feel the thick ropes of his warm cum painting your inner walls every second. Each time he pulls out slightly, a bit of it leaks out of your cunt, dripping down your ass onto his desk. He continues fucking his cum into you until he’s satisfied with the way you’re shivering under him.

For a moment, all is still, nothing but the sound of the two of your breathing filling the air as you stare into each other’s eyes. "Um-," you begin, and Jimin quickly looks away, brushing his thumb over his plump lips. So that just happened. I fucked my teacher. I fucked Park Jimin.

"Wait here," he mutters, making your heart drop in disappointment. You nod, offering him a weak smile. Seeing this, Jimin reassures you, "don’t worry, I’m not leaving you. I’ll be right back," and cautiously steps out of the room after clothing himself.

You take this moment to recollect what exactly happened. Okay, so you just fucked your teacher. It still hasn’t sunk in yet, and probably won’t till you leave to clean yourself and look at the marks he’s made on your thighs and ass. You can’t help the giddiness you feel, like a kid who got the best candy bar in the world. After all, you got to hook up with your crush - in fact, the entire campus’s crush. The door creaks open and Jimin returns with some paper towels and wipes.

"H- hey," he smiles nervously. For the first time, he’s the one that’s stuttering. "Let me clean you up. It’s the least I could do after putting you through so much today." He spreads your legs gently, cheeks flushed, and begins wiping off the slick and cum between your thighs.

"Jimin, you didn’t do anything bad, calm down. Well, I mean you fucked your student? But other than that you’re fine. I really liked it," you try to explain, stumbling over your words. He looks at you incredulously, but shakes his head, smiling. "I don't want to tell anyone about this," you continue, "and I highly doubt you will, so this can stay as our little secret."

"Well looks like someone got fucked a little too happy. How come you never smile this much when I’m teaching, hm?" Jimin jokes after he finishes cleaning you up, kissing your knee gently. He hands you your thong that he’s kept for half the day and tells you to put it on.

"You’re still going to the party, right? Jaebum’s?" he asks and you shrug. "You should go. Have a fun time there, drinking and all that stuff." He leans into you, whispering into your ear, "and if that rascal wants to get into your pants, he’s going to see your soaked panties covering up that precious little cunt of yours stuffed with all that cum of mine. Maybe then he’ll finally back off," he smirks.

You blush, "maybe, Mr. Park. You know, you’re pettier than I thought you’d be." Standing up, to face him, he pulls you in by the waist till your chests are touching. You wrap your arms around his neck and he leans in, whispering, "well, Y/N, I don’t think you knew too much about me in the first place." Closing the gap between the two of you, you give him a peck on the lips, which quickly turns into a more heated kiss, lips melding together and tongues colliding. When you break apart, a faint blush on the two of your cheeks, Jimin smiles fondly at you and you look away.

"Well," you hum contentedly, "if I don’t know much about you now, I’d at least like to get to know you better in the future."

"One day," he breathes out. "One day."

Your grin, disentangling yourself from his arms. "One day soon, I hope. I’ve got to go now, but I’ll see you next class. Goodbye prof- Jimin. Have a great weekend."

He smiles softly, walking you to the door. "You too, Y/N. If you do end up going to that party, have fun. Stay safe."

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mysmegrace · 3 years

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i recently installed mystic messenger again after like a month or more of not playing (was afraid of someone finding the game in my phone) , and it felt good to "see" the characters again , so can i please request headcanons of the rfa seeing mc after a long time ?

hello, that's completely understandable lol. i remember back in 2016 when i played it the first time around (i deleted it after the first bad ending and didn't play again until 2019 lol) and was worried people would look on my phone and see it. oh how times have changed lol. but of course!

RFA Seeing MC After a Long Time

---

yoosung kim:

you attended the rfa party during the last summer you had before going to college.

life was looking up for you.

you found an amazing boyfriend, started becoming independent, and got a good summer job.

things only got better when you found out you had gotten accepted to college.

only problem was that the college was in the US, and your friends and lover were in South Korea.

as much as you loved your new life here, you reminded yourself of your feelings before meeting the rfa.

how everything you created here would only be temporary.

but now, you didn’t want to stick to that anymore.

your life was going so well, and you knew yoosung wouldn’t be happy about you leaving to go across the globe.

however, it was too good of an opportunity to let it go.

this was what you were to planning to do for the last decade.

if you were to give up now, all your hard work would be for nothing.

you were incredibly conflicted, but eventually choose to follow your passion at college overseas.

and yoosung was frantic about it.

he wouldn’t be able to see you, protect you, help you, feed you, walk with you, the list went on.

however as he’s gotten more mature over the past few days, he knew he didn’t have the power to stop you, nor should he guilt you about it.

besides, he wanted you to pursue something you were passionate in and become successful.

some sacrifices would just have to be made.

that didn’t mean he would let you go either.

the two of you made a promise to call, facetime, and visit each other as often as possible.

you’d make it work.

so with much regret, you left to the states.

and when the holidays approached, you decided to bring yourself to him as a gift.

it had been months since he saw you at this point.

you both could enjoy the holidays together while relaxing.

it was a win win.

and what better way to carry out your surprise than by showing up to his front door at 10pm?

and that’s exactly what you did.

giving the door a good few knocks, you waited until you were greeted by yoosung standing in his unwashed pajamas, staring at you.

it took a few seconds for it to click who you are, yet once that processed, he was overcome with joy.

you thought it was adorable how his hands flew to his face as he began to pull you into a hug shortly after.

you were met with only parts of words as yoosung couldn’t explain his excitement fast enough.

and you were ecstatic as well.

you never realized how much you missed him until you were reunited with him again.

hence why after you two spent the holidays together, you found it incredibly difficult to leave again.

however with his encouragement, you went off to work your hardest so he could meet a successful you the next time you reunited.

hyun ryu / zen:

much like zen, you were an actor too.

you were a much lesser known actress, but you had began building connections.

and those connections all paid off when you were offered a new role in a movie that was predicted to be going big.

you couldn’t be more grateful.

yet as you began reading farther into the offer, your heart slowly sunk.

if you were to take the role, you would have to relocate to germany for the next 9 months.

you wanted this so bad, but you didn’t want to leave zen alone for 9 months.

he if could, he would join you in germany.

but he already had a role to work on in south korea.

as much as you wanted him to join you, you didn’t want him to give up his role he had been working so hard on for the past year.

you were conflicted, and knew it would be best to talk about it to zen.

not only to see what he thinks, but to ease your feelings.

and once you had the discuss about it with you, you came to a conclusion.

you would could, keeping in contact with him everyday.

though zen was heartbroken about it, he knew how much you wanted this and how much this would advance your career.

so with a heavy heart, he sent you off.

the moment you left on the plane, he was already longing for your reunion.

9 months never went by so slow.

when you were with him, there was never enough time to bask in each others love.

but without him, everyday had an extra 8 hours.

even though you were working 24/7, time stayed still for days on end.

yet when the production ended a month early, all your worries and stresses eased as you could finally reunite with your love in person.

without thinking, you packed all your stuff up once you got back to your trailer to get the next plane back to seoul.

you hadn’t even thought to tell zen until you boarded the plane.

too late now though, as you weren’t aloud your phone on the plane.

what an idiotic rule, you thought.

but perhaps it was better this way, as you could surprise zen with your return sooner than expected.

you gave into the tiredness that followed you around for the months prior, awakening to the speaker saying you’ve landed.

in your half awake state, you got off the plane and called for a cab.

it only took an hour to reach your destination, in which you got more sleep on the way there.

you thanked the driver before heading out, practically running to the front door.

you knocked, hoping to make zen believe you were only a door salesman or a mailman.

you heard some footsteps approaching behind the door in a hurried state, before the door opened and you were greeted with your future husband.

his expression changed in the speed of light once he quickly realized who you were.

you were met with a tight embrace, doubting if you could breath for a second.

zen pulled away not too long after, his excitement getting to him as he said “i didn’t think you were supposed to be home so soon!”

to that, you could only giggle as you admitted the reason behind your surprise.

zen was more than happy to see you home earlier than discussed before.

“this day is too important, we have to do something now!” zen said as he got dressed up to go out in the christmas weather.

with a small laugh, you agreed.

the rest of your day was spent going out to cafes and buying presents for the other rfa members.

and to your luck, the movie turned out a huge success.

not only in germany, but in korea as well.

things worked out for the best, you thought.

but one thing was for sure, you weren’t doing that again.

jaehee kang:

jaehee had brought up the idea of opening a cafe, to which you were 100% in on.

however, in korea you had to have a culinary certificate to own a cafe.

i dont know if thats legit or not i completely made that up

but if you had to get a certificate, you were going to get it in the best way you could.

and a college you had come across was perfect for that.

it was a good price and had a great reputation.

there was one problem however, and that was that it was located in france.

which was a 12 hour flight away from seoul.

you knew there was no opportunity like it, but you couldn’t stop yourself from being on the edge about it.

you didn’t want to leave your friends and family here for 2 years while you went off to another country on your own.

plus who knew if something would happen to you while you were aboard?

your concerns were slightly lessened after you brought up your worries to jaehee, and the encouragement she gave you was overwhelming.

she suggested for you to go for it and that she would hold everything down in seoul while helping the rfa in planning future parties.

on the upside, it would give her more time to save up more money for the opening just in cause it was needed.

with hesitation, you decided to go along with her words and study in france for some time.

you would miss each other, but you both knew it was what you two needed to ensure a sucessful future.

while you were aboard, jaehee would attend culinary classes in korea here and there.

you would keep in contact frequently, but never had the money to go back to seoul on holidays to reunite.

so once those two years had passed, you were out as fast as possible.

you loved france, but you loved your girlfriend more.

you hopped on the plane home, eager to see everyone again.

and once you arrived at the airport in seoul, the first thing you saw as you exited the plane was your girlfriend standing there, eyes focused on the doorway waiting for your arrival.

and once your eyes met, you were quick to run up to her while opening your arms to hug her strongly.

two years was such a long time to be apart, but all was well now.

shortly after, the two of you opened the cafe and were met with an incredible amount of support from the community and rfa.

now you were content to settle down in seoul with the love of your life.

jumin han:

you were very business driven, which jumin liked about you.

even having your own fashion company.

you were unlike many other women he had come across before in various ways.

but the downside to your business focused mind were your frequent business trips.

some would last a day while others would last a week.

though this recent one you were expected to take was unlike anything you had ever had to do before for work.

it suggested you stayed in china for a month as you worked out many business issues and proposals.

while your company had began trending recently, you had never expected this.

the first thing that came to your mind once reading the email was your husband.

you felt horrible when you had to leave him alone for a day, but a month?

you couldn’t even imagine how much that would hurt him.

however, this wasn’t something you could just refuse.

if you did, you weren’t sure if your company would continue standing.

and so later that night, you told jumin everything over wine.

how you didn’t want to but knew your company wouldn’t survive without it.

he didn’t know what to make of everything.

this came at the worst timing.

he needed to stay in korea for the time being for business, so he couldn’t join you in china either.

reluctantly, he supported you in your travels.

he understood your situation, but made you promise to call him every night.

which you had no problem with.

and so with a sad smile, you had left a few days later.

things were frustrating in beijing, but you at least had the comfort of your husbands voice to fall asleep to.

everyone at the office noticed jumins shift in mood as soon as your left.

yet without a voice of concern, things carried on as if nothing happened.

the day you were set to come back, jumin cancelled all plans to spend the day with you.

you needed to make up for the time the two of you lost, and you needed to rest in the comfort of your own home again.

thankfully, your company didn’t meet it’s downfall just yet.

in fact, it was now prospering.

saeyoung choi:

your day was going as it normally would.

well, as normal as a day with saeyoung can go.

yet it all changed when you got a call that your brother had gotten into a bad car accident, and the situation wasn’t looking good.

you didn’t know how to react, so many emotions and fears were overwhelming you.

you knew you were your brothers emergency contact, as he had no one else close to him in his life, so it was no question about why they called you while you were in seoul and he was in brazil.

but after learning about the situation, you quickly realized that you needed to get back to brazil as soon as possible.

they didn’t know how long he had left, and the remainder of his days would require for him to get help to do everyday things.

with your eyes barely spilling over, you told saeyoung everything.

you were met with a hug as he comforted you.

when you brought up the fact of needing to leave, he didn’t think twice before giving you his blessing (though he knew you didn’t need it).

it would be hard on him because he wouldn’t be able to join you as he was in an active mission, but he would keep in touch and make sure of your safety from countries away.

after all, he would do the same if saeran were in your brothers position.

the next day, you backed your flight to brazil, packing only what you needed.

your days in brazil passed in pain, as you watched your brother fight for his life daily.

until one day, his body gave up on him and he passed.

you were devastated.

you were on autopilot in public and breaking down in your hotel room when no one was around.

after attending your brothers funeral and a week of mourning, you began to book your ticket back to seoul.

yet in your state of heart ache, you didn’t realize the change in the countries health as the coronavirus started running through every town in the nation.

planes were unavailable and travel was banned.

now you were stuck here for the next 6 months, always hopping the next month would be better and you’d finally be able to go home.

saeyoung was on his toes all the time, not feeling the same without you.

and you missed him more and more as the days went on.

when the time finally came, you rushed to buy a ticket, though most people weren’t flying due to their fears surrounding the situation.

the plane was empty, allowing you to sneak your phone, sending a text to saeyoung.

“i’m on the plane home now” you typed.

saeyoung was overcome with joy to see your message.

though you had to isolate for 14 days, at least you were in the country and close to him.

once you got off the plane, went into isolation, and tested negative for covid, you ran to your shared home.

opening the door to be greeted with the same old smile that teased you every morning was a refreshing sight.

you ran up as he lifted you in a tight embrace, swaying you side to side in a wave of excitement.

after months of stress and anxiety, you could finally breath.

that realization alone was enough to make you burst out into tears of relief.

your feelings were contagious, as you saw saeyoungs eyes starting to water as well.

you were finally safe and sound in his protection, and that was all he could’ve asked for..

---

01:51 AST - 09/01/21

#mystic messenger #mysme #juminhan #jumin #jumin x mc #707 #saeyoung choi #saeyoung x mc #luciel choi #yoosung x mc #yoosung kim #zen #hyun ryu #jaehee kang #jaehee x mc #mystic messenger headcanons

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wri0thesley · 3 years

Note

Nat... 👉👈 since requests are open can I please request some Gojo fluff? If you need a little inspo maybe like, reader and him meet after they were abroad for a mission or something? I'm in love with this funky man and I just wanna give him kiths

sweet tooth - gojo x reader, sfw, 2.5k

the early bird catches the worm. or the cake, you guess.

(just a lot of talking about food tbh . . . i dont get to write pure sfw fluff much, thank u for letting me indulge in my jjk brainrot NFJVND. gn reader! )

You know as well as anyone how little free time a jujutsu sorcerer has. You’ve spent most of your past few years rushing around from place to place, calling it a good night’s rest when you manage to fall amongst your coverings before the clock strikes three in the morning. You think this probably has to go double for somebody in such a constant state of being needed as Gojo – but still, he’d shown up outside your room this morning, bright and early, and said; “We’re going out!”

He hadn’t mentioned that you were still clad in pyjamas, your hair still a mess about your face, eyes still sleep and shadowed. You had jumped out of bed at the knock, of course – you’re used to being needed at the drop of a hat – but there is nothing at all in the way Gojo is looking at you to suggest there’s any kind of danger brewing.

He got in last night at the same time as you, after an exorcism had dragged on longer than expected – you know this. So how is his skin still glowing like moonlight, his voice still so bright, his hair still falling over his blindfold in that effortless perfectly-styled-without-being-styled way?

If he’s slept, he’s gotten the same hour and fifteen minutes you’ve gotten.

“Not even a warning?” You sigh, stifling a yawn. “I haven’t had time to clean my weapons or anything--”

“Woah!” Gojo’s grin doesn’t fade, but he holds up his hands as if he’s trying to avoid a savage attack. “Just you and me. No curses, promise. You won’t be needing those.” He cocks his head to the side. “Unless you wanna try and take me. I think you’d lose!”

Your brow furrows. You know you’d lose, and so does he.

“Have you seen the time?” You ask him, instead. You don’t question why or how he’d gotten into the hallway to stand like this outside of the room you’re renting in Tokyo for a while. You’ve learnt after knowing him for a while that what Gojo wants, he gets – besides. If he’d sweet-talked your landlady into letting him in, you couldn’t blame her for falling for his charms.

He sticks his head into your room and turns his face towards the clock on the wall, ticking merrily away, mocking you. You had hoped, after last night, the next time you saw a clock the hour hand would be well past twelve again. He pulls back.

“Now I have.”

“. . . aren’t you tired?”

Gojo shrugs, maddeningly. Half of what he does is irritating to the highest degree – the other half makes your stomach do strange somersaults that you try and push away. Getting a crush on Gojo Satoru is just going to lead to disaster. Although at this point, you have to admit to yourself that it’s more a case of ‘having a crush’ – there’s not much denying it, when he twinkles at you like this.

“You’ve gotten a good hour of beauty sleep,” he chirps. “Not that you need it. Let me take you out!”

You’re still focussing on the compliment, slipped into his words as if it’s as simple as breathing, when he enters your room full-on and is opening your wardrobe.

“H-hey,” you say, weakly. He’s rifling through the rack without a care in the world. “I—I can dress myself--”

“It’s quicker if I do it,” he replies, pulling out one of your favourite shirts. “Here, catch--!” Your reflexes allow you to not make a fool of yourself in front of him. “The colour of that one’s pretty! It’ll look nice on you.”

You’ve had more clothes piled into your arms before you can blink. You guess that Gojo must know his way around clothes – you’ve seen some of the brands and price tags of things he wears – but you can’t help but be a little flabbergasted by just how casual he is about everything. Maybe it’s the fact that your brain is still short-circuiting after being woken up earlier than you were expecting.

He finishes and walks over to you.

“I’ll wait outside.”

“W-what a gentleman,” you manage, and he throws his head back and laughs, and the laugh feels like it lodges warm in your chest. “After waking me up, bursting into my bedroom--”

“I’ll pay for everything,” he promises. He saunters out of your room, pulling the door closed behind him, calling; “I’ll make it up to you, promise!”

You stand there for a few more moments, still struggling to process the whirlwind that is Gojo’s presence in your life – half joking, half serious, half making you think that maybe you stand a chance, when he calls through the door;

“I can’t hear you moving!”

You jump. You wriggle out of your nightwear, your cheeks heating up, as you snap back;

“You said you were going to wait out there, not that you were going to press your ear to it and listen like some kind of stalker--!”

–

You stare in confusion at the fancy window in front of you, decorated with swirling cursive in gold. From outside, you can see into the establishment – the white scrollwork chairs, the cake stands, the menus standing up in their pale white leather covers. The early morning sunlight from outside is reflecting off a perfectly organised display case teeming with tiny little perfectly formed cakes.

“If you were craving something sweet,” you say, eventually, “surely there was an easier way to get it than this.”

Gojo grabs your arm cheerfully, pulling you towards the entrance of the patisserie.

“Well, I got the first sweet thing I was craving,” he ticks it off with his other hand. “But then I had one of my patented brainwaves.” He elbows you. “Put them both together!”

“I’m not feeling very sweet after you interrupted my sleep,” you mumble, but you know that there’s no real bite in your words. You hope Gojo doesn’t notice the reaction that you have – you know he’d never let it go. You often don’t know how to respond to his flirting – he has a reputation, after all, and you are just . . . you.

“We had to get here early, anyway,” he says, as he stands before the counter. The man in the apron and chef hat behind it recognises him immediately, lighting up – you wonder how much money Gojo spends on expensive patisserie. Everyone knows he has a sweet tooth. “They sell out of some of the best stuff well before ten!”

Gojo knows exactly what he’s doing as he points out various desserts from the display case, the man falling over himself to get the – frankly absurd amount of sweets – carefully packaged up for him. You’re not surprised, knowing Gojo, about the cute animal-shaped cakes that he chooses, the smiling bears and cats with ears made of sliced strawberries. You’re a little more surprised by all of the fancier pieces he chooses that you don’t recognise, but you don’t have much time for dwelling on it.

Spoils in hand, you peer further into the establishment to choose a table.

“Nah, don’t worry about that,” Gojo says cheerfully. “We’ll find somewhere outside to sit. It’s such a nice morning!”

You don’t miss the grin he shoots you as he says ‘morning’, the sidelong tip of his head as if he’s waiting to see if you’ll scold him again for interrupting your sleep. You do no such thing, content to be pulled along behind him again as he goes off in search of a place to enjoy his spoils.

People just tend to be pulled along by Gojo’s magnetism, you’ve discovered – and you are, hopelessly, no different.

He finds a quiet bench in a shady corner of one of the local parks; the only other people going past occasional elderly, walking their little dogs. He pats the wooden frame of the bench next to him, smiling.

“You’re not going to make me eat all of this by myself, huh?”

“It’s enough for eight people,” you say, sighing and resigning yourself to your fate as you take the place. He’s lucky you have a sweet tooth too; if he’d brought someone else, they’d probably be shirking back in horror at all the sugar. “You could probably eat it by yourself anyway.”

He pouts.

“I want to share it with you,” he says, cajoling – his fingers hover over one of the smaller cakes, a perfect bite-sized morsel. You try not to think about the elegant lines of his fingers and the power behind them as he plucks it up and offers it to you. “This one’s really good.”

You bring up your hand to take the sweet from him, but he laughs as your fingers bounce away from him, not quite able to get a purchase.

“Let me feed you,” he says to you, and blood rushes to your face all over again.

“I—I can feed myself,” you say, swallowing thickly. Gojo’s smile, on full, sculpted lips, makes butterflies crash into one another in the pit of your stomach.

He brings the treat to your mouth and he’s right, it does look really good. It’s a neat little roll cake, small in Gojo’s fingers, with the green colouring so many sweets you’ve eaten in Japan have been – you hope it’s not matcha, knowing the flavour will surprise you and Gojo will probably laugh, but you open your mouth in defeat and let Gojo pop it in there. His fingers linger a little too long against your lips, his expression fluttering so quickly you don’t quite catch it.

If you didn’t know better . . . you’d say that he had just fought back a blush.

“Is it good?” He asks, and his voice sounds a little strangled. You bite down on the cake, the juice of the strawberries coating your tongue – it is matcha, but the flavour is offset by the sweetness of the vanilla and fruits, and you’re glad about it. You nod enthusiastically, and he laughs.

“I told you!” He taps your cheek. “I know what I’m talking about!”

“You’re so smug,” you tell him, unable to hold back the laughter that’s bubbling out of you. Alright, maybe he woke you up too early and maybe he’s dragged you outside and maybe he’s been haunting your daydreams for months now, but . . . you think he means well. And you can’t deny that the sun is shining and the cakes are really delicious.

“If you were me,” he says, stretching out his arms over the back of the bench, “you would be smug too.” You shake your head at him, but he has a satisfied smile on his face. “Feed me one!”

“Are you going to let me?” You ask. “Or are you just going to bounce it away with your Infinity to make fun of me?”

You hover over the selection yourself, considering what to choose for him. In the end, you go for one of the mini slices of mille crepe cake, reasoning with yourself that even if it’s unusual to be eating so much cake this early, at least crepes are a traditional breakfast. Gojo obediently opens his mouth wider as you lift the slice.

You falter.

“You really want me to feed you?” You ask him, unsure. He laughs, grabbing ahold of your wrist – you almost start as he takes a bite from the treat, his lips tantalisingly close to your fingers. Another bite, and the cake is gone (you’ve never seen slices of mille crepe so small – but then again, judging by the eye-watering amount Gojo paid for his spoils, you’d never be able to afford to buy from a place like that).

“Mm,” he smacks his lips together. “It’s good.”

You swallow, noticing that there’s a smear of the cream between layers at the corner of his mouth. Gojo notices you staring, and quirks his lips into a smirk. “You’re staring,” he says. “I know I’m gorgeous, but--”

“You’ve got . . .” You say, awkward, motioning to his face. Somehow, it feels too intimate to lean forward and dab it away yourself – he’d asked you to feed him, after all. If you did it of your own accord. . .

“Huh? Oh,” He moves one of the arms casually draped over the bench to his face, and you think he is going to wipe it away – but instead, he hooks his thumb under his blindfold, pushing it up casually so the light hits the swirling colours in his eyes.

You’ve seen them before, of course – you’ve seen Gojo at work, after all – but they’re still a surprise, a bright moment of swirling starshine dropped on you when you’re least expecting it. Your stomach does that flip-flop again, the one that you try so hard to ignore – but when he’s looking at you like that, curious and smug all at once, you don’t really know how to handle it.

You’re glad you’re in a secluded spot. There’s nobody to see the embarrassing display of you not quite knowing what to do with yourself.

“You can get it,” he says to you. “I don’t mind.”

“I—”

“Look.” His other hand rises, cups your face, thumb ghosting across the same spot on your cheek that he’d tapped earlier. “I left icing sugar on your face. I’ll get that, and then we’ll be even.”

(Did he do that on purpose, you wonder? You wouldn’t be surprised.)

Your hand is trembling as you reach for the cream. You try and force your fingers to be still as you lean in closer to him, eyes concentrated, as you wipe the little splotch of cream from his mouth. You’re so close you can see galaxies in his eyes, the fan of white lashes, the way that his throat bobs when he swallows as if he’s nervous--

Nervous? Gojo? That can’t be true.

“I got it,” you breathe, though you don’t move. Your faces are so close together. You could lean forward, just a bit, and meet his lips with your own. Gojo’s eyes stay trained on you, not faltering in the least. His thumb is still on your cheek. Your own finger hasn’t moved from the corner of his mouth.

“Wanna know what it tastes like?” Is that a falter, in his voice? You’re stuttering all over the place, but Gojo--

“I’m not gonna put that in my mouth after it’s been on your face,” you tell him, without moving. Your heart is beating ten to the dozen. Gojo’s eyes crinkle at the corners.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says – and he breaks the distance himself, and suddenly he is kissing you. The hand on your cheek cupping your face into his, the other hand going about your waist, holding you tightly against him like he’s been wanting to do it since the moment he woke you up that morning.

(The mille crepe cake is delicious, you find out, from the lingering taste on his lips. Next time you two go there in the early morning rush, Gojo buys two slices.)

#writing #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sfw #please take this from me so i dont have to look at it anymore fnjkbgfnb #this just made me... hungry....#magnolia-penn #jjk writing tag

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Black

Prompts: After POF, Roman takes over the abandoned color black. He becomes the hated side that Virgil used to be. By most, anyway. Janus and Virgil are concered. Patton chooses to ignore it. Romans room is really cold? and boy is he touch starved - anon

(Sanders sides Prompt) Any one of the sides is touch starved. fluff. (You dont have to do this just thought I might ask) - anon

Hello there!! I just wanna say that I love your work and I think you’re such a talented writer. Idk if this is a weird ask but would you consider writing Roman angst with the song “it’s OK I wouldn’t remember me either” by crywank as like inspiration? Thank you so much <3 -anon

buckel up babes this one's a doozy

Read on Ao3

Warnings: implied/reference self-harm by way of self-negligence, pretty intense self-hatred and neglect that could verge on suicidal, but NO ONE DIES, everyone's fine at the end, we don't break shit and not fix it in my house

Pairings: it is platonic found family hours

Word Count: 5697

Do you know what no one ever tells you about the color black?

It’s seamless.

There are no cracks, no tears, no imperfections, because everything’s so dark you can’t tell what’s a trick of the light and what isn’t. Everything blends together. At first, second, even third glance, it’s perfect. Pristine, even. It hides absolutely everything. It’s intimidating, honestly, that level of deception. The way it can make anything look like it’s meant to be there, as if to live the colorless and lightless life is all it was ever destined for.

Darkness has always found a way of feeling like home, even to the ones who are afraid of it.

You either die the hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.

Roman hadn’t wanted to go to the wedding. He didn’t want to go, but it’s what Patton wanted. It’s what Thomas would’ve wanted. If Roman hadn’t been so loud. But it hurt, it did, when they said that they shouldn’t go to the callback because there was such a slim likelihood of Thomas winning. Because Roman couldn’t win. But Roman wasn’t supposed to be the villain and do something bad so he sent Thomas to the wedding.

Bruises were supposed to be yellow, or green, or purple, not black.

But if he had yellow, green, or purple bruises, he would’ve blamed a yellow, green, or purple Side. And that was bad.

So he hid them, because as he learned, no one was looking for them anyway. Patton cared when he didn’t show up to the video and then he was there and oh, having someone there, even if they only cared a little, was like rainfall in a desert, it was wonderful, Roman would’ve sung if he thought it wouldn’t make everything worse. But Roman was good, so he never complained, and he did his job to the best of his ability.

But what if his job was bad?

But there are two Creativities, a Roman and a Remus. And no one else liked Remus, because Remus was bad and Roman was good. But Remus isn’t bad, he’s just the opposite of Roman. And Roman didn’t want to be Remus because Remus was bad. But Remus isn’t bad.

Creativity isn’t bad.

Bruises aren’t supposed to be black but they can’t be red.

Roman isn’t supposed to be the villain but what else do you call someone who laughs at vulnerability, who scorns people’s earnest attempts to help, who single-handedly ruins someone’s life?

Roman isn’t supposed to be the villain, but bruises aren’t supposed to cover every inch of his skin unless he deserves it.

His skin burns. It crawls and aches and screams and darkens into bruises. His throat aches from the wordless screams and the horrible things he’s said to everyone. He’s been so selfish, he’s tried to make everything go his way, tried to make it about him, not about Thomas, because everything they do is supposed to help Thomas, help Thomas, that’s what they’re supposed to do, they’re supposed to help Thomas, not themselves, why is he doing this, why is he doing this?

Because he’s the villain.

Roman cries.

What else is he supposed to do?

He cries until the tears grow thick, sluggish, oozing out of his eyes until he can’t see anything but them, until his breath grows thick and his chest heavy. He cries until he has to struggle to open his eyes because of how swollen they are, how globulous the tears have become on the ends of his lashes. He cries until his head splits and his chest wails from the pain he isn’t supposed to have but deserves, deserves every little bit. He cries until his body is consumed by the bruises.

His costume is a straightjacket. He needs it off. The white hurts now, it burns his arms and cuffs his wrists. He doesn’t deserve it so he rips it off. Every seam that he ruins is another bruise. The rips are so loud they burrow into some soft part of his brain and live there. The white is still imperfect because it’s on him.

Only when his costume lies in tatters around him, his sash torn off and thrown away, far away, does the white look pure.

He cries himself to sleep with a smile on his face.

Far, far away, a black hoodie is tugged back into the Conscious Mindscape.

When Roman wakes, his head is full of static.

His lungs inflate and collapse on autopilot, driven by the merciless pump of some distant machine, turning the crank to draw air in and out, in and out.

His hands are numb, fingertips rubbed raw and inflamed from tearing relentlessly at fabric. He turns them slowly and it’s like watching himself in a video game.

His face is cold. He paws at his cheeks and feels sticky residue, etched into his skin. His eyes stick slightly when he blinks and he doesn’t know if that’s just his face or if there’s something else.

He is swathed in black fabric, an old threadbare hoodie that has gone years unloved, untouched, unseen. It’s selfishness that makes him tug it closer, feel a faint bubble of pressure on his screaming body.

He should get up, he should go make sure he hasn’t hurt anyone else with his tantrum again, he should apologize.

But…what would be the point?

Like Patton asked, does there come a point when someone keeps apologizing so much that you just have to admit they’re bad?

Roman isn’t good. Has he ever been?

Something interrupts the pleasant numbness and it shoots from his chest to the soft points at the base of his wrists, making his hands tingle. He decides he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want it. He wants everything to stop.

He’s selfish, they all know that, he’s just going to end up hurting them anyway, so why bother trying to fix it?

Apathy, his tired brain supplies when he lies there, unmoving, on the ground, for hours and hours and hours, unwilling and uncaring to fix things.

But that can’t be right. Roman is here because he cared too much, he did too much, he was too much. How can he now be the epitome of not caring at all?

If only he never cared, if only he wasn’t so attached, if only.

If only he had been Apathy, maybe he wouldn’t have been so hurt.

His pride got him here. His pride, his wants, his his his. He wanted everything and burned down the things that would’ve helped him get there because he couldn’t do it right. He is the villain and villains always have too much pride.

Pride. Apathy.

Prapathy.

Apride.

I’m not Creativity anymore, he thinks to himself as he lies there, still on the floor as his chest aches and his eyes sting and the sticky residue drips down his cheeks onto the bruises. He stares and stares and stares at the wall and a faint part of his mind that exists outside of the static realizes he never did get around to fixing that crack in the baseboard.

Pride, apathy. It doesn’t matter. There’s a much easier word that he can use to describe both of them.

Wrong.

—————————————————————

“I don’t know, Thomas,” Logan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I don’t think that’s a valid solution either.”

“But it makes sense,” Virgil protests, shoving his hands into his pockets, “all we have to do is not talk to anybody else—“

“But that will hurt their feelings!”

“But we won’t hurt ourselves.”

Janus and Patton look at each other for a moment before Patton sighs and scratches the back of his head.

“I—I don’t know, this…this feels weird.”

“None of us are happy about this, Padre,” Virgil mutters, “but it’s the best solution we’ve got.”

“Real high bar we’re setting there, isn’t it?”

“Listen, Snake Face, if you’ve got a better idea—“

“Virgil, enough.” Logan shakes his head. “We need to keep thinking.”

“We’ve been at this for an hour, Logan,” Thomas says cautiously, “I don’t know what else you think we’re gonna get to.”

“We’ve already passed the optimal point for productivity, yes.”

“Oh, well, we can’t just give up now!” Patton puts his hands on his hips. “I’m sure if we just keep at it for a little longer—“

“You said that half an hour ago, Patton.”

“And I’ll say it again!”

“Because that’s going to make everything go much easier.”

Thomas sighs as the Sides fall back into bickering. Normally, this wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary—pretty much all they do is argue back and forth—but Logan’s right. They’ve made almost no progress. He finds himself staring at the TV.

Why is he staring at the TV?

He frowns, tilting his head. It’s literally just his TV. Why is he so fixated on it right now? It’s not like it’s gone anywhere, it’s sitting right where it always is. He stares at it most of the day, why is it so weird that he’s looking at it now?

Wait—

“Guys,” he interrupts, still staring at the thing he’s not supposed to be able to see like this, “where’s Roman?”

The room pauses. Then Logan sighs.

“Oh, of course, that’s why we’ve been having such a hard time coming up with solutions, we don’t have Roman.”

At Virgil’s side-eye, he glances around to see similar looks of disbelief on the other’s faces.

“What?”

“Did you…did you just admit we need Roman?”

“He is Creativity, it makes sense that if we are struggling to be creative, he isn’t here.”

“Okay, that makes more sense.” Virgil shakes his head. “Thought you were admitting he was important or something.”

“Please, his head is big enough as it is.”

Janus hides a snort.

“Why didn’t he show up earlier,” Thomas asks, “he’s normally one of the first of you to get here.”

Virgil shrugs. “I dunno, I haven’t seen that much of him lately.”

“Is he…okay?”

“Who the hell knows, he’s Roman.”

“My guess is he’s been in his room,” Logan says, glancing at Roman’s usual spot, “I haven’t seen him either.”

Thomas doesn’t miss the way Janus and Patton glance at each other. “If you two have information now might be the time to share it.”

“Roman…hasn’t come out of his room,” Patton says after a beat, “not since…”

“Wait, he hasn’t come out since the wedding?”

Janus shakes his head. “I’ve barely seen him open his door.”

“That doesn’t…normally happen, does it?”

“No,” Patton says, “and, uh, he doesn’t normally ignore us either.”

“Ignore you?”

“We’ve tried knocking. It doesn’t work.”

“Perhaps Thomas can summon him,” Logan offers, “you have more power than any of us do, he’d have to answer you.”

“Well, here goes nothing. Creativity!”

Someone pops up in front of the TV.

Someone in a white costume with green embellishments and a mustache.

“Remus?”

Remus glares at them, his Morningstar at his side, his costume white, pristine, and light.

“What the fuck have you done with my brother?”

—————————————————————

It’s been weeks.

The fans have accepted Remus as Creativity. They think that the videos are better than ever. They think this was Thomas’s plan from the beginning.

There is one end card where the Sides are watching a movie and some of them spot a dark figure in the corner. Who could this be? Is this the mysterious orange Side everyone has been waiting for? Is this the Side that’s been hurting Thomas so much?

Zoom and enhance. It’s Virgil’s old hoodie. They’re sitting where Remus used to sit. They’re not staring at the screen, they’re looking at the others. What could this mean?

Someone spots the faint outline of a tiny crown perched atop the figure’s head.

And then, well, then it all makes sense.

There was always one Side that messed up everything, that made everything more complicated. There was always one Side that, if you thought about it, you could trace everything back to. There was always one Side that was told he was making the bad choice and yet, never seemed to learn.

They start to put together timelines, evidence, essay-length meta posts on how of course, this is the plan, why didn’t they see it before? Those that had disliked him from the start crow about how they were right, how everyone doubted them but look who’s laughing now. They point out how he’s become a Dark Side, maybe he was always a Dark Side, and how incredible would that storytelling be? To warn against the pressures of society’s expectations, the idea of good versus bad, or authentic versus forced. How of course, they’re wearing Virgil’s old hoodie because they’re the hated Side now. How they’re not looking at the screen because that’s not what they want, they want to be a part of the famILY.

Vitriolic rants. Accusations. Vent fics. The unsympathetic tag is overflowing.

Because who else could the villain be?

—————————————————————

Roman lives in the cold now.

His fireplace isn’t lit anymore. The door to the Imagination doesn’t work anymore. The blankets on his bed aren’t thick enough anymore. He drifts through a haze where only the emergency systems in his brain are online, where only the awareness needed to sleep, breathe, and move the little bits he needs to move are present.

He doesn’t know that there’s nothing behind the red door anymore, that when Janus and Virgil come to knock on it, worried, or when Remus storms through the Imagination and tries to knock it down by force, there’s nothing for them to find.

He doesn’t know that a new door, a black door, leads from his room to the hallway, far away from any of the other rooms. He doesn’t know that it’s so dark back here that no one would be able to tell there was a door if they didn’t put their nose right up against it.

He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care.

A new kind of ache settles in his bones now. Pain is an old friend, but he’s yet to give suffering a proper handshake.

He misses when he could go and ask someone for help.

He misses when Patton would turn to him without any judgment in his eyes, without any ‘well, you know, kiddo—‘, without any ‘let’s start off with—‘, just the soft words of I’m here, I’ll help you. He misses being able to walk up to Patton’s door and knock on it and know that he would be safe on the other side.

Patton would open the door and soften, his mouth curling up into a small smile as he says hey, kiddo, come in. He would sit Roman down on the bed and press a glass of water into his hands. He would rub his back as he drank, taking the empty glass gently and cupping Roman’s face in his hands. He would ask what’s wrong, sweetheart, what can I do? And Roman would say he just wants a hug, he just wants to not be alone for a bit. And Patton would smile and coo about how Roman was always welcome here, sweetheart, I’m right here, I’ll take care of you. And Roman could fall asleep with his head on Patton’s chest and believe that everything was okay.

He misses when he could walk up to Logan and ask for help and he wouldn’t be scoffed at or turned away, he wouldn’t be looked at suspiciously and asked what he really wanted. He misses when Logan could come to him too and just spend time together.

Logan would knock on his door and ask if you have a moment, would you like to walk with me? And Roman would smile and say, of course, he always has time for Logan, and they could go somewhere in the Imagination and just talk. And Logan would say that’s an interesting idea, I wonder if—and they would walk and talk for hours. And Roman could bustle up to Logan’s door and say I’ve just thought of something, and Logan would open his door and be happy to talk with Roman and it would be okay.

Roman curls up tighter and feels nothing.

He wishes he could have something to miss for Virgil. He wishes they could have bonded over their love of Disney, their want to talk about the things they’re interested in, or even the need to just have someone else in the room with them for a bit. He wishes their relationship wasn’t just spitting barbs at each other, each hoping to hit the bullseye first and knock the other one out of the race. He wishes he could’ve done better.

He wishes he could have something to miss for Janus. He wishes they could’ve done this right, that they could’ve bonded over the want to keep Thomas safe but also have him be himself. He wishes that he hadn’t laughed, hadn’t scorned, hadn’t fallen back on his pride to keep himself safe at the expense of Thomas. He wishes that maybe, just maybe, if he had been a better puppet, then he wouldn’t have been dropped so suddenly.

But as it stands now, more than anything he wishes he could hear them when they say the things they say about him because then he could figure out which bruises were theirs and take comfort in knowing that they still touch him in some way.

The bruises are a constant now. From the online hate to the casual remarks from the others to the way that Patton hasn’t even tried to come find him anymore—he can hear that, you know—he can’t turn over without landing on a new smattering of bruises. The hoodie helps to cushion the blow a little bit.

He misses Remus.

Remus was…

…Remus was everything.

Roman misses his other half. Roman misses his brother. Roman misses his Creativity.

When they were small they would curl around each other as if they could fuse if they focused hard enough. They would wrap their arms around each other so tightly that it would be a pleasant ache when they woke, never minding because they were tighter. Remus was always so warm and Roman hoarded every single bit he could get.

Roman was cruel to push his brother away and now he understands how it feels.

He misses Thomas.

He misses when he was allowed to go and see Thomas. When he could talk to Thomas. When his presence was celebrated or at the very least, tolerated. He misses it. He misses helping.

But he’s helping now, by staying away.

He’s cold.

He’s so cold.

—————————————————————

do you remember what it felt like

to be touched?

press of fingertips against shoulders

bump of a forehead against yours

palms meeting and parting a mere second later

in days gone by

do you remember

warm?

humans thrive off physical contact,

we’re not built to hold each other

at arms’ length.

infants will die

if they aren’t held enough.

and I am so

cold

—————————————————————

Something is wrong and even Patton can’t ignore it anymore.

The Sides shuffle uneasily in front of the red door until Remus raises his hand to knock against it.

“Roman?”

Silence.

“Roman, please, please, just—just say something.”

Silence.

“Where the fuck are you, Roman?”

“Don’t yell,” Logan mumbles, “you’ll make him think we’re angry at him.”

Remus takes a deep breath.

“We’re not angry, Ro-bro, we’re just—just please make some noise.”

Silence.

“…we’re coming in, Roman.”

But they can’t. Because as Remus turns the knob on the door, it falls forward. The entire door comes off just to reveal—

A blank wall. With no sign that there was ever a room behind it.

Thomas can hear the scream.

—————————————————————

Roman hears the scream and can’t move. But he can close his eyes and reach out and see what’s going on. After all, he hasn’t done anything, so something must be wrong if someone else is screaming.

He feels something in his chest twist and snap.

“Re?”

Across the Mindscape, Remus’s head jerks up.

“Ro,” he breathes, getting to his feet and rushing off down the hall as the others hurry after him, “Ro!”

“Remus, what’s going on?”

“Why isn’t Roman’s room there anymore?”

“Where are you going?”

They barrel into the hallway and smack into a black door. Logan’s eyes widen as he realizes what’s happened.

“Roman’s become a Dark Side,” he says, fingers scrabbling where the door meets the wall, “he’s—he’s really hurt, we have to help—“

“Move, L, I’m gonna break the door down.”

“You’re not gonna do it without me.”

“Roman!”

Roman turns his head to look at the door. Are they…here? The hoodie rasps against his undead skin and he winces. There are still bruises.

“Roman!”

The door shudders its frame. He could open it. He could. He just has to reach out and—

“Ro!”

Remus.

The door unlatches and his brother pours into the room, letting out a wail when he spots Roman in the bed.

Janus hisses as soon as he crosses the threshold, this room is freezing. It feels as if no one’s moved for years inside, as if the heat has been sucked out entirely. His gaze flies to Remus, who’s over on the bed, his hands scrabbling at something in black material.

Roman.

“Oh, little prince,” he whispers, horrified, “no, no, no—“

“We have to get him out,” Logan orders, startling Remus into action as he scoops Roman into his arms, “we have to get him warm. His core temperature is too low.”

“Shower? Bath?”

“No, if we shock his system we could make it worse. Janus, I need your heating pads, Patton, something warm to drink.”

Janus and Patton vanish.

“Virgil, weighted blankets, Remus—“

“I’m here.” As Virgil ducks away as well, Remus helps Logan cradle the limp and freezing form of his brother in their arms as they begin to rush out of that horrible, horrible room. “You thinking bathroom?”

“Get him to Janus’s, that’ll be the safest place.”

“Got it.”

Sure enough, Janus has no objection and sweeps them inside, setting down the heating pads as Patton bustles in with two thermos flasks and a mug. Virgil pops back with thick blankets as they lay the cold form on the ground. Roman’s eyes blink sluggishly as he stares up at Remus.

“...Re?”

“Yeah, Roro, it’s me, I’m right here, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here faster.”

“What’s…wha’s going on?”

“You’re too cold, Roman,” Logan says gently, “we need to get you warmed up.”

“Oh…”

“It will be easier if we take a few of the layers off,” he explains, still careful to keep his voice low and even as the others scurry around, “is that alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to unzip the hoodie.” Logan works slowly, patiently, stopping when any flicker crosses Roman’s face. “That’s it, you’re doing very well, I’m almost done.”

By the time he’s coaxed the hoodie off of Roman’s shoulders, there’s a little bit of color back in his cheeks.

“Very good, Roman, you did well. Virgil’s brought a few warm blankets and Janus has heating pads for you, do you think you can sit up?”

“Don’t know.”

“That’s alright, you’re doing alright.” Logan glances up at Janus.

“Little prince,” Janus murmurs, sitting by Roman’s head, “if you can sit up, I can sit behind you and help warm you up, does that sound alright?”

“Okay.”

“Thank you, sweetie, we’re going to sit you up now.”

Logan and Janus sit Roman up slowly, only to pause when the long sleeves of his shirt fall down.

“Roman,” Logan asks, trying frantically to keep his voice calm, “are you hurt?”

“Mhm.”

He bites back the fearful response and patiently asks where, how bad, can he see?

“Everywhere.” Roman lifts his arms weakly. “’S all bruises.”

“…can we see?”

“Okay.”

Logan’s hands begin to tremble as he works the shirt over Roman’s head. He wasn’t kidding when he said everywhere.

There’s barely an inch of skin that doesn’t look bruised black and blue. Patton stifles a cry as he drops to his knees next to them, looking at Roman like he’s never seen it this bad before.

Oh, Roman, how did they not know? How could he just ignore him like that?

“Get him covered,” comes Virgil’s voice, “he’s still too cold.”

Janus grabs one of the blankets and wraps it carefully around Roman’s form. It should help distribute whatever pressure they apply so it won’t aggravate his injuries too severely. He takes one heating pad and scoots forward, bracketing Roman’s legs with his own and wrapping one pair of arms around him to press the pad to his chest.

“Can you feel that, sweetie,” he asks softly, “is that too warm?”

“No.”

“Good, good, little prince, you’re being very brave.” He turns away to reach for another and so misses the little shudder that goes through Roman. “Do you think you can handle another if I press it to the back of your neck?”

“Mm.”

“Let’s try, little prince, and if it’s too much, I’ll stop.”

“Okay.”

“Here we go, sweetie—“ Janus presses it carefully to the base of Roman’s skull, just at the edge of the blanket— “there, does that feel okay?”

“Mm.”

“Good, sweetie, you’re doing so well, so good for us, that’s it, you relax now.”

Roman starts to tremble.

“That’s alright,” Logan soothes, “you’re warming up, it means you’re going to shiver a little more, you’re alright, Roman, you’re safe. You’re doing well.”

It certainly doesn’t seem that way once Roman’s breath starts to come in gasps. Virgil nudges Patton out of the way and sits, gently calling Roman’s name until his gaze snaps to Virgil’s.

“Hey, Princey,” Virgil says slowly, “you gotta stay with me now, okay? We’re right here, no one’s angry, nothing’s going to hurt you. Just focus on me.”

He ignores the startled noises when Roman starts to cry thick, black tears.

“Eyes on me, Princey, that’s it, stay here. We’re just gonna sit here and breathe for a moment, okay?” Roman nods and Virgil starts to take big, exaggerated breaths. “Good. That’s it, Princey, you focus on me and you breathe. It’s okay. You’re doing great. Just stay here.”

When the viscous black liquid slows, Virgil reaches out and begins to tuck Roman’s hair back. A moment longer and he pauses, noting how the scratch on Roman’s face is covered in the thick black tears.

“Princey, can I clean your face off for you? You’re doing really well at breathing, I’m proud of you. Can I help you with the rest of it?”

“O-okay.”

There’s a bottle of micellar water and a pack of cotton circles pressed into his hands. He moves in slow, careful strokes, changing out the circles as often as he needs to. A pile of them grows beside him as he works, doing his best to get all the black off of Roman’s face. Roman just cries.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Patton murmurs when Roman’s cry gives way to a wail, “it’s okay, you cry all you need to, we’re not going anywhere, it’ll be alright.”

“We have you, sweetie,” Janus says against Roman’s neck, “we’re here.”

Remus lets out a broken noise.

“Oh, Roman, you didn’t…”

Logan’s head whips sharply around to scold Remus only for his mouth to fall open in shock.

Remus’s costume is bleeding too. The same black that drips down Roman’s face is slowly coloring Remus’s costume again, back to what it normally looks like. Remus’s mouth is agape, staring horrified at Roman.

“Oh, Ro—“

“What’s going on?”

“Check the bruises on his neck,” Remus orders as Janus pulls back the blanket, “are they still there?”

“They’re here, but they’re…lighter, how is that—?”

“Roman is the Ego,” Patton mumbles, “he gets bruised when—when—“

“Oh, shit,” Virgil curses, before quickly hushing Roman’s discontented mumble, “and with all the hate that’s been gunning for him—“

“Oh, sweetheart—“

Roman lets out another sob and the tears run clear.

“The Ego is kept healthy by positive attention,” Logan says softly, scooting closer and rubbing Roman’s shoulder through the blanket, “you’ve been starving, haven’t you?”

“He’s not cold because he’s hypothermic,” Remus blusters, “he’s touch starved.”

“It’s still not safe to introduce him to direct contact all at once,” Logan warns when Patton and Remus look like they want to rip the blanket off, “we have to take it slow.”

“So what do we do?”

Janus just leans down and presses a kiss to Roman’s temple. “You’re so brave, sweetie, you’ve been so strong.”

They watch as Roman’s tears begin to wash away the black.

“We love you, sweetheart, you’re so important to us.”

“Stay with us, Princey, we need you.”

“You’re doing very well, Roman, we’re very proud of you.”

Roman cries, ducking his head into Virgil’s waiting hands as Remus’s costume colors itself black again.

After a long while, when Remus looks like he normally does, Roman shakes his head and looks up at them.

“Where am I,” and he sounds like Roman again, “what’s happened?”

“You were starving, sweetheart,” Patton mumbles, “and we didn’t notice until it was too late.”

“O-oh,” Roman blinks, “is that…is that why I’m so cold?”

“You’re touch starved too,” Virgil adds, “and we, uh, L said it wasn’t a good idea to try and shock you out of it.”

“Try and drink something,” Logan says quickly as Patton reaches for the mug, “you’ve been crying for a while and you’re dehydrated.”

“Is that…hot chocolate?”

“Your favorite, kiddo.”

Remus sits down at Roman’s side as he drinks, staring at him like he’s not seen him in ages. Which, well, none of them have, really.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” Roman repeats, looking sheepishly at all of them, “I, uh, well, the last video I messed up a lot. I, uh, I shouldn’t have laughed at your name, Jan—where are you?”

“Right here,” Janus mumbles, giving him a gentle squeeze, “and you’re forgiven.”

“Oh. Uh, that was easy…are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Yes, it wasn’t great of you to do, but I’m not exactly blameless either and…”

He squeezes him again.

“…you’ve been hurting enough.”

“Logan, you too, I—I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Roman, but I agree. It’s alright.”

“Why are you all forgiving me so fast?”

“Because,” Remus mumbles, cupping Roman’s head and resting their foreheads together, “this happened.”

They all watch as Roman shudders as Remus shows him what happened.

“Oh—oh—I—oh no—“

“It’s over now, sweetie,” Janus reassures, “we’ve got you. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

“C-can I have a hug?”

“Of course, honey, come here—“

“Let’s get the blanket out of the way, L, is he—“

“It should be safe now, yes.”

“Remus, I—oof!”

“I gotcha, Ro-Bro.”

“It’s still—I’m still—“

“Patton, grab that end of the blanket.”

“This one?”

“That’s it, yes.”

The Sides end up swaddled in the blanket, their heads poking out, as each of them pulls a little bit of Roman into their arms to warm up. Janus and Remus wrap around his upper body, mindful of the few bruises that haven’t been healed yet. His legs are in Patton’s lap, as Logan and Virgil each hold on to his hands. The poor thing is still shivering, still shaking, still a little overwhelmed.

But Janus coos into his ear as his head lolls back, Remus holding him tightly. Logan’s thumb strokes over his palm as Virgil lets him squeeze as tight as he needs to. Patton makes sure he’s off the cold tile and he’s warm.

They’re going to have to work out what to do about the fans, about the videos, but right now they need to worry about Roman.

Speaking of Roman—

“I—I need to apologize to Thomas.”

A cry goes up as he says so, Patton reaching up to pat his knee. “You don’t have to do that right now, sweetheart, rest, it’s okay—“

“I won’t—he won’t be able to rest until he knows what’s happened.”

As if he can hear them, they feel the familiar tug of one of them being summoned. A quick glance around shows that if one of them is going, all of them are, so they appear on the floor of the living room, swaddled in the blanket.

Thomas’s mouth drops open and he rushes to their side.

“I was gonna ask if you found Roman, but I—Roman, buddy, are you okay?”

“I…I don’t know,” Roman mumbles, “but I’m sorry.”

“For what, buddy?”

As Roman begins to apologize, for being away, for hurting Thomas, for being selfish, Thomas just shakes his head.

“No, buddy, that’s not all on you. You—yeah, okay, some things happened, but it’s not entirely your fault. You don’t need to think of it like that.”

“Well said,” Logan mutters, “now help us get Roman to rest.”

“So what Disney movie are we watching and how many pillows do we need?”

A lot, as it turns out, is the answer. And they have to bite back laughs at the way Thomas makes a noise when he’s swept into the blanket too. But Thomas is warm and Roman is still cold and the movie plays on the screen.

“Hey, Roman?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re my hero.”

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