#I'm sorry to any of y'all that thirst over him

[whysamwhy123]

About a minute or so into the one women's match and Nigel starts talking about himself, putting himself over instead of the talent in the ring 🙂🙂🙂

[fettuccin-e]

Flying to New Heights

Summary: A flight delay means you're spending your night at the hotel bar, praying for sleep to come to you. Instead, a certain Captain Francisco Morales shows up, tall and broad and far too tempting. With undeniable attraction burning between you, you can't help the way you fall right into his arms.

A/N: Alright! I know it's been a while, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Life has gotten a tad crazy, but the Frankie thirst never stops okay? And this AU has been buzzing in my head for a little while now, so I just needed to get it out there. I hope y'all enjoy the porn. (dividers are by the lovely @saradika-graphics!)

Tags: Frankie Morales x Reader, Commercial Pilot!Frankie, Flight attendant!reader, afab!fem!reader, alcohol consumption but barely, this is essentially an excuse for porn so, oral and fingering(r!recieving), unprotected piv (pls wrap it up I'm begging you), Francisco Morales and his dirty mouth have struck again (w/c: 4.2K)

You love your job, you really do. Deciding to actually train to be a flight attendant was one of the best decisions of your life. Gone were the days of short-lived stints in retail, and you’ve never been happier for it.

You’ve lived the attendant life for a few years now, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ve met some of your best friends through this job, seen some of the most beautiful places in the world, met celebrities on their way to new production locations and concert venues. 

It’s the dream, you tell your family, during the rare moments you actually get to visit them. And it is. The perks far outweigh the cons in your profession, and you’re happy to be where you are.

That’s not to say there aren’t any cons though.

There are always rude flyers, unruly children, issues with luggage. The turbulence is never much fun, nor are the months spent without being able to go home at all.

There are always nights like tonight, where the rain made the flight arrive later than expected, and you’ve got another flight scheduled for the morning. Between jetlag and the copious amounts of airline coffee you’ve imbibed to remain bright and chipper over an eight hour flight overseas, there’s no way you’ll get more than five hours of sleep before you have to clock in again.

A nightcap in the hotel bar seemed just the thing to cool off. You haven’t even taken your uniform off, the thick fabric stretching across your skin, your legs exposed to the cool air as you sip on your drink. The alcohol burns a bit in the back of your throat, but you take comfort in it, trying to lean into the calming warmth it creates in your stomach.

“Can’t sleep?”

The unexpected voice rips you from your reverie, and fuck, what a wake up call. The voice is deep, a pretty rasp edging into the ends of his words, the warmth of his tone making you far warmer than the alcohol in your glass ever could.

Captain Francisco Morales. Even his name has heat swimming in your stomach, and you wish you had just gone to bed like a normal person instead of drinking at the hotel bar at midnight. 

You can’t decide if the pilot is a perk or a con of the job, only knowing that he seems to pilot most of your flights, and is a fucking distraction during every single one of them. With his big broad shoulders and patchy beard, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles and his insistence that you call him Frankie, not Captain Morales. 

The whole “flight attendants fucking pilots” trope never really applied to you until you met Frankie. You’ve made it a point not to hit on him, no matter how much you desperately want to. It would be far too stereotypical, and with how fucking nice Frankie is, you’d feel like you’d be taking advantage of him. So you’ve kept your distance, talking to him kindly, trying to cross your legs discreetly when he flexes his damn hands on the plane controls, and doing your job like a normal person.

But as he crosses into your line of vision, sitting in the barstool directly next to you, you’re struck with the realization that you’re in unknown territory. There’s no distracting yourself here with other passengers, or your fellow flight attendants. You can’t excuse yourself to an airplane bathroom to splash cold water on your face and yell at yourself to get it together. No, Frankie is right in front of you, ordering a whiskey neat from the bored-looking bartender, and smiling at you so fucking prettily with those big brown eyes and big hands and oh god you’re not going to survive-

“Nah, the jet-lag is really getting to me this time,” you say casually, your voice working on its own accord. At least you aren’t staring at him dopily like some kind of imbecile.

He chuckles. “Same here. Flight go okay?”

“You got us here, didn’t you, Captain? I’d say that’s a success.”

“Then let’s hope I’m always successful,” he winks, and it takes effort to breathe normally. You giggle, and he smiles at you again, his eyes crinkling up.

“You have a flight tomorrow?” he asks, sipping at his drink. 

“Yeah, unfortunately," you sigh. "10:00AM, which is making the whole ‘no sleeping thing’ even worse. Y’know, it’s really the airline’s fault if I collapse on a passenger." You grin at him, and he laughs.

“Oh, they should be so lucky,” he chuckles, and you could swear that you see just a flicker of heat in his eyes. A heat that turns into a raging inferno inside of you, spreading from your cheeks to the tips of your toes. 

“How about you, Captain? Flying again tomorrow?” You need to keep your mind out of the fucking gutter, not that he makes it very easy.

“Yup. They’ve got me in the air at 8:00AM.”

“Oh man, and you’re listening to me complain about my 10:00AM?”

“Work is work, sweetheart,” he smiles at you, and you want to collapse into him at that very moment. Sweetheart. Coming from anyone else, it would sound smarmy, like a pick up line, but from Frankie, it just sounds warm and comforting. You want to be his sweetheart. “We’re all allowed to complain. We aren’t in any kind of competition.”

He sips his whiskey, his eyes feeling like they’re boring into your fucking soul. “And either way, we’re both in the same bar, at midnight, sleep nowhere in sight. We’re pretty much in the same boat.”

“If you say so, Captain,” you say, your body positively burning under his gaze. You hope that you can blame it on the alcohol.

He raises an eyebrow, “I thought I told you to call me Frankie, sweetheart.”

“Frankie, sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” he says, taking another sip. You try to not watch his throat work as he swallows. You fail. “Think you just need more practice,” he mumbles into his drink, so soft you almost miss it.

“Practice?” you blurt, mind too distracted to think of an intelligent response.

“Practice saying my name.”

A laugh startles out of your mouth. “I have no idea how I’d practice that, Frankie.”

He hums, pretending to think. “I have a few ideas,” he murmurs, and fuck, you definitely aren’t imagining the heat in his eyes now. It’s blazing into you, and you have to press your thighs together to alleviate the ache between them, hoping that Frankie doesn’t notice. Or maybe you hope he does, as you watch those thick fingers wrap around his glass.

Fuck it. He’s hot, you’re horny, and God, you can’t take much more of this. “I’d love to hear all about them, Frankie,” you say, adding a little rasp to your voice that you hope sounds sexy.

Frankie chuckles, but it doesn’t sound like he’s making fun of you. No, he sounds surprised, like he can’t believe you’re flirting back at him. Confidence swims in your chest as red colors his cheeks. You gaze up into those warm, brown eyes of his, and fuck, he’s so pretty up close like this.

“You sure about that, hermosa?”

You don’t break eye contact with him, and his deep gaze burns into yours. “Positive,” you breathe, and Frankie’s smirk is absolutely devastating.

Captain Francisco Morales doesn’t do this often. No, he doesn’t do this ever. Fucking between flights is supposed to be a perk of being a pilot, but it’s a “perk” he rarely utilizes. One night stands have never really suited him; he gets attached far too easily, and with his job, he can never stick around for long.

But god you’re pretty. And you’re licking hotly into his mouth, and whining in the back of your throat like you’re fucking desperate for it.

He couldn’t help himself when he saw you, still in your little uniform skirt, nursing a drink at the hotel bar. He couldn’t help himself when he struck up a conversation with you, wanting to see your pretty smile and soft laugh that he only ever hears mid-flight. And damn it, he sure as hell can’t help himself from pressing you up against the wall of the hotel elevator, pressing one of his thighs between yours while your fingers curl into his hair and his arms wrap around your waist.

You wiggle down onto his thick thigh, and it creates the most perfect pressure on your clit. You whimper against Frankie’s mouth, and he groans with you, pulling you flush against him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and his voice is deep and gravelly, breathless from your fevered kisses. “I, uh, I don’t usually do this kind of thing.” His cheeks burn, but he doesn’t back away, just leans his forehead against yours and tries to catch his breath.

It isn’t a surprise, his confession. You’ve heard stories about every other pilot, about their conquests with flight attendants, or how someone saw one of them take their wedding band off when they got to their hotel. There are stories upon stories about every pilot you’ve flown with, except Frankie. And it’s intoxicating, knowing that he wants you enough to have you like this. 

“Good. Me neither,” you whisper, and Frankie grins again. That boyish, devastating grin, and fuck, your clit is throbbing so hard that you could cum like this. You could cum, right in this elevator, Frankie’s thigh between yours and his tongue in your mouth, fuck-

The elevator dings, signaling your arrival to your floor, and Frankie jumps away from you as the doors slide open. You don’t take it personally, not when you’re instinctually tugging your rumpled skirt down. You glance up, and Frankie is already staring down at you, gaze blazing as he braces a hand against the elevator door, holding it open for you. 

“Where’s your room?” he asks, and the question is casual, but his voice certainly isn’t. There’s promise in it, and you have to make sure your knees don’t buckle. 

“Why don’t I show you?” you say, stepping toward him to press your bodies together. Frankie doesn’t answer, he only cups a hand under your jaw, dragging your face up for a sticky kiss. It’s so much better than a yes.

He breaks the kiss far too soon, but one of his hands makes its way down to your ass, squeezing the fat of it through your skirt. “Lead the way, princesa,” he grumbles, and how could you ever think to refuse him?

Maybe you’re a little too eager in your walk to your room, but Frankie doesn’t seem to fare much better. No, he’s just as desperate as you are, with the way he presses you against the door of your room the moment you close it. With the way he swiftly kisses down your neck, sucking your skin between his teeth as he unbuttons your blazer, shoving the fabric down your arms. The buttons of your white undershirt follow, and you keen as he sucks maddeningly at your pulse point, his mustache scratching at the sensitive skin of your neck.

As soon as you’re divested of your shirt, Frankie’s moving again, kissing his way down your chest. He drags his teeth against the soft skin of your breasts, and you dig your hands into his hair. 

“Fuck, baby, you’ve got the prettiest tits,” he murmurs against your skin. It doesn’t sound like a line, no, it sounds like a prayer. 

“Frankie, please,” you breathe.

He looks up at you from his position at your chest. “What, gorgeous?” he asks, coy, as if he doesn’t know what you want. What you desperately need. 

“Please, just,” you use your grip in his hair to drag him back up to your mouth, and he goes willingly, groaning softly as his tongue meets yours again. “Please fuck me, Frankie,” you whisper, and Frankie groans like he’s dying.

“Take- take your clothes off, baby,” he mutters, and it sounds more like he’s begging than he’s commanding. “Take your clothes off, and get on the bed.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

You have to make sure you don’t trip on your way to the bed as you kick off your heels. You tug your skirt and nylons down your thighs, making sure to wiggle your ass a bit more than normal as you bend over to tug them the rest of the way down your legs. You smirk at Frankie’s soft groan behind you.

The air of the hotel room is slightly cold, but as soon as you kneel on the bed, arching your back in a shameless display of your desperation, Frankie is burning hot above you, and you can’t feel the cold at all. Frankie’s thick, calloused hands palm your ass, and you moan as he spreads you apart, staring unabashedly at your aching cunt.

“Can I eat your pussy, baby?” he grumbles from behind you, and the fact that he’s asking permission to eat you out is making you so much hotter, making you clench around nothing. 

“Yes, yes, Frankie, oh please-” you whine, and Frankie barely lets you finish your sentence before he’s dragging his tongue in a long stripe up your dripping pussy. “Fuck, Frankie,” you groan, and he moans into you, sounding like he’s enjoying eating you out just as much as you are. 

His nose drags maddeningly through your folds as he brings his lips down to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it in circles that send pure pleasure sparking endlessly up your spine. You arch your back into it, pressing yourself into his mouth, and Frankie groans again. The vibrations of it against your clit make you jerk wildly, whining high as you clutch desperate fingers into the pristine white sheets of the bed.

Frankie tries to keep you still with one of his big hands pressing into the small of your back. His other hand makes its way to your pussy, and you don’t even realize, not when he’s licking into you so feverishly, until there’s a thick finger pressing into your achy entrance.

“Frankie, oh my god-” you gasp wetly, his finger so much thicker than one of your own. It’s been so long, too long, since you’ve had the touch of anything other than yourself. Your tiny, traveling bullet vibrator doesn’t feel like this. You can’t stretch yourself like this, you can’t drive yourself wild like he can.

He moves his finger around inside you, searching, searching, while he licks softly at your clit. “Where is it, baby?” he mutters against you, and you have to force your brain to work at least a little bit to decipher whatever the fuck he means.

His finger is still searching, stroking against your slick inner walls, and you can barely gasp out a, “up, up,” before he’s finally touching that sweet spot deep inside you. You can’t hide it when he does, gasping out a high pitched moan as pleasure rockets up your body.

“There it is, sweetheart,” he says, “good girl.”

And fuck, how do you hold yourself together when he says things like that. He licks again at your clit, but plays with that spongy spot inside you, abusing it. You’re so slick and hot, it doesn’t take long before he’s pressing a second finger into you, then a third. And his fingers are so fucking thick, breaking you apart and pressing into that wonderful spot inside you. Your vision is blurring at the edges as he plays with you like a practiced instrument. How is he so good at this? Your body barely feels like it’s your own, just Frankie’s; his to play with, his to fuck. God, he’s ruining you. It’s never been this good.

“Frankie, Frankie-” you whimper his name like a prayer, and his fingers move fast into you, jackhammering you into the mattress. You whine as he breaks his mouth from your clit, but he keeps his fingers pressed deep inside of you as he leans over your trembling body. 

“C’mon baby, c’mon baby,” he mutters, moving his fingers inside you so roughly that you could swear he’s trying to break you in two. “What do you need, sweetheart? What do you need to cum all over my fingers, huh?”

“Just keep-” you gasp between shuddering moans. “Just keep talking to me, fuck, please-”

“Talk about what, gorgeous? Talk about how hard I am for you right now? How hard you always make me?” You whine at his words, and you can feel his smirk against the skin of your shoulder. His fingers move into you even harder, if that’s even possible. “Fuck, princesa, you have to know how fucking sexy you are. Make me so fucking hard whenever we fly together. Fuck, watched you bend over to pick up your bag once, right in front of me. Had to fuckin’ jerk my cock as soon as we got back to the hotel. Can’t help it around you baby.”

You feel like you’re underwater. Frankie’s voice is deep and dark in your ear, and your pussy is so fucking sensitive. You can feel your orgasm burning relentlessly in your stomach. Just a little more, just a little-

“Thought about taking you to the back of the plane, mid flight. Thought about fucking you hard, stuffing this pretty pussy, making you go back out to work with my cum dripping down your thighs. You want that, sweet girl? Fuck you’re so pretty, so pretty baby, you’ve gotta cum. Please, please let me fuck this pussy. Be my good girl, cum all over my hand.”

You don’t think he means it like a command, but you follow it anyway. You moan, throaty and wet, into the sheets as your cunt clenches around Frankie’s fingers, hips twitching as he presses reassuring kisses to your shoulder. You turn your head blindly, and he leans forward to meet your lips in a bruising kiss, his fingers buried deep inside as you gush all over his hand.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” you whisper against his lips, repeating it like a mantra, and Frankie whimpers, needy and so hot that it makes you want to cry.

“Okay, baby, okay, I’ve got you,” he says, and you know he does. 

When Frankie presses the blunt tip of his cock against the opening of your sensitive pussy, you both groan. You push your hips back just as he pushes his hips forward, and the tip of his cock is just as big as the rest of him. Which, of course, means fucking massive. You have to breathe through the stretch of him inside you as he sinks deep, deeper, deeper. 

“Doing so fucking good, sweetheart. Jesus fuck- ah- so fucking tight baby- fucking beautiful- oh fuck-” Frankie mutters, sounding just as overwhelmed as you feel. It feels like forever until he bottoms out, his hips pressed against your ass as he hunches over you, hot and big and all man. It’s a dream that you’ve had before, but the reality is so much better than anything you could have ever imagined.

“So- you’re so big, Frankie,” you whimper, and Frankie groans behind you. “Need you to fuck me, wanna feel it tomorrow, please, please-” and he does. He pulls his hips back, just to shove himself back in, and the drag of his fat cock against that spot he found earlier has tears springing unbidden to your eyes. 

“Yes! Oh my god, like that, just like that-” you’ve never talked this much before during sex. But his unyielding thrusts, deep, deep inside, have you babbling wildly.

“Christ, you can’t talk like that, princesa, gonna make me blow my fucking load-”

“Want it, fuck Frankie, want you dripping down my fucking thighs, wanna gape open after you fuck me, oh god-”

Frankie fucks in harder, and it’s like every thought you’ve ever had flies out of you. His chest and stomach press into your back as he holds you still, thrusting desperately into you, harder and harder.

The bed is creaking, a rhythmic squeak that mixes in with the endless sounds of your keening whines and Frankie’s moans, and the obscene squelching of your pussy around Frankie’s cock. Your wetness drips down your thighs as Frankie bullies his way inside. He’s hitting that beautiful spot inside you, so perfectly, so overwhelmingly perfect, and fuck, tears are dripping down your face as you clutch onto a pillow, only able to squeak out pitiful whines of “Frankie, Frankie,” as he destroys you.

“So fucking gorgeous for me, god, bebita, fuckin’- fucking tight, fucking strangling me. Been too long, honey? Too long since you got fucked like you deserve?” Frankie growls into your ear, fucking you like a god damn animal.

Frankie’s lost control above you, which he just doesn’t do. He’s always in control, always, he has to be in this profession. But it’s like you’ve stripped him bare, literally and figuratively, to the most primal parts of himself. You’re so fucking hot and wet and tight around him, whining and throwing yourself back on his cock like it’s the best you’ve ever had, and he’s losing it. Losing it far too quickly, and he’s going to cum far too quickly.

“C’mon, baby, give me another one,” he groans, “squeeze my cock with this perfect fuckin’ pussy, wanna, wanna feel it.”

“Touch my clit- oh please, please, Frankie, ah- ah” and he does, the moment the words leave your lips. He reaches underneath the both of you, not breaking the rhythm of his hips driving into yours, and rubs two of those thick, calloused fingers against your throbbing clit.

“Fuck- yes, just like that, just like that, oh my god.” You’re slurring your words, so stupidly drunk on the feeling of his cock filling you over and over, of his body radiating heat above you.

“Gonna take care of you hermosa, make you cum like you deserve, so fuckin’ beautiful crying on my cock,” Frankie says, rubbing your clit hard and methodical. “Never gonna get enough of you baby. Gonna fuck you in every hotel we ever get, fuck you at the terminal, fuck this pussy in the god damn cockpit, oh shit-”

And you’re screaming, outright screaming into the sheets as the thread in your stomach snaps, your pussy clenching and gushing all over Frankie’s giant cock. He’s still mumbling into the cook of your neck, mindless mumbles about how pretty you are, how perfect, as you tremble through the most powerful orgasm of your fucking life. It’s devastating, it breaks you apart and puts you back together all at once, and you just have to trust Frankie to hold you together in his strong arms.

“Where do you want it, huh baby? Please, please, you’ve gotta tell me, oh shit-” Frankie whimpers, and it’s a damned good thing you still have enough brain cells to understand what he means.

“Inside, inside, 'm on the pill, please, please fill me up.” It’s fucking risky that you both didn’t even think about a condom, but with a man like Frankie, it’s hard to think about anything.

His hips still, his cock pressed inside so deep that it feels like he could be in your lungs, as he fills your pussy with his cum. He bites harshly into your shoulder, but it doesn’t fully muffle his whimpers as he crashes through his orgasm. Your eyes flutter shut. You wish you could bottle those sounds and listen to them forever.

Your knees slide out from under you, leaving you laying flat on your stomach, and Frankie follows, holding himself against you as you wait for your breathing to slow. 

“That was…” you whisper into the quiet.

“Fucking amazing.”

You can’t suppress your giggle. “Took the words right out of my mouth, Frankie.”

He tucks his face into the crook of your shoulder, and you can feel his pretty smile, before he’s lifting himself off of you, and you realize how cold you are without his heat.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” he says, and you can’t bring yourself to do anything more than nod. Frankie rushes quickly into the en suite bathroom, and you can hear the sink running for a moment, before he comes back. A warm, wet rag makes its way down your back, over the curve of your ass, and between your legs. He’s ridiculously gentle as he wipes you down, and it’s wonderful. 

Once Frankie deems you clean again, he climbs into bed next to you. He wraps his arms around your placid body, tugging you close. “Didn’t take you for a cuddler, Frankie,” you murmur, but you only snuggle closer, relishing in his deep chuckle.

“I’m usually not.”

“You don’t do this often, though?” you say, dragging a finger down his chest, your eyes already fluttering shut.

You feel Frankie’s lips press to your forehead as he murmurs, “I think I’m willing to let this,” he hugs you against him softly, “become a new habit.”

You smile, and you lean up to kiss him gently. “I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

[here2bbtstrash]

the shape of your body (explicit)

genre: fluffy slowburn smut

pairing: jimin x reader

summary: the same day you finally manage to speak to your months-long public transit crush, you end up seeing much more of him than you bargained for.

word count: 24k 🙇‍♀️

contains: explicit sexual content~*~ (after a slow burn lmao) - new york city grad school AU, strangers to lovers, reader is an art student, public transit thirsting, jimin is a dancer and a nude model, namgi and vhope as side characters, basically everyone is gay (they're ART STUDENTS in NEW YORK CITY it's called realism 💅), a smidge of member x member side character relationships, jimin is biromantic demisexual 👀, conversations about body image issues/past relationship struggles/demisexuality and libido, soooo much making out, a couple "failed attempts" at sex, accidental voyeurism (but not how you think lmao YOU'LL SEE), showering together non-sexually, and: fingering, clit stim, nipple play, come eating/sharing 🤭 an attempted blowjob, face sitting, & protected sex (multiple rounds 🥵)

A/N: asjdshgkdfjgs i can't believe it's done 😭 there were so many times i thought i would never finish this fic !!! i have too many friends to thank for talking me off of SEVERAL ledges where i was convinced this whole thing was trash and that i should just stick to short porn or perhaps simply never write again. i'm so glad i saw this one through because there are concepts in here that are deeply important and personal to me wehhh 🫠 i sincerely hope y'all enjoy this one!! thank u for enduring mostly radio silence while i was in jimin lockdown, and of course, happy early birthday to mini, the light of my mf life 🥰💜 (oh and LDOMLT ch 8 is coming next so buckle tf up bitches 👀)

an eternity of smooches to @haliiimede for beta reading and just generally being the best fucking person on planet earth ✨ AND TO @goodsoop FOR THE DEMI SENSITIVITY READ VERY SORRY THAT I AM THE WORLD'S LARGEST IDIOT AND FORGOT TO CREDIT..... i love you both 🥺

read on AO3!

~*~

You’ve taken the subway thousands of times since moving to New York.

Morning rides, squeezed nearly to death between commuters in suits blinking back sleep and school-uniformed kids scream-laughing and paper coffee cups gripped tight by winter-numb fingers.

Long trips with your sketchbook on your lap, riding the line all the way to Pelham Bay Park and back, to surface above ground out where there’s a little more space to breathe, until the setting sun floods orange glow between the buildings just before you descend again.

Late nights coming home, Namjoon’s head thudding back against the train window behind him as he dozes off, one arm thrown around your shoulder to ward off any drunk creeps, his free hand interlaced with Yoongi’s on his other side.

It’s always been the three of you, first in friendship, and now that the two of them have figured out they’re something more, you don’t mind it. But when it’s late and you’ve had enough drinks to feel warm all the way through, to melt something open inside of you, and you glance over to see a loving flicker of eyelashes exchanged as Namjoon leans down and presses a kiss to Yoongi’s temple, you can’t help it.

There’s a little bit of an ache there, right behind your ribs. Sometimes.

But mostly, when it comes to the train, you take the 6 to school. You go through the motions this morning the same as you always do: headphones around your neck, bag slung over your shoulder, immediately dropping into the first empty seat you see as the train doors shudder closed and the car starts to move. Six stops down, 51st street to Astor Place, five days a week, you know it like a heartbeat.

You just wish you knew him, too.

Subway Boy, as Yoongi affectionately labeled him the time you got two pitchers of margaritas deep and made the mistake of confessing to your roommates about your crush— if it can even be called that. Can you truly have a crush on someone you know nothing about, not even their name?

Well, you know a few things.

He must live further north than you, because on the days you see him, he’s already on the train when you board at 51st.

He must like music, because he always has a set of fancy bluetooth earbuds in.

You’re pretty sure he’s an athlete of some sort, because he’s usually carrying a gym bag—and because during this summer’s heat wave, the one and only time you’ve seen him wear shorts, you nearly fainted at the thick, defined muscles of his thighs.

He has an affinity for jewelry, delicate silver always glinting through the multiple piercings in his ears. At odds with this, he seems to prefer to dress comfortably, and you’ve seen him in enough branded school t-shirts and sweats to figure he must also be an NYU student, though you can’t say for sure if he’s undergrad or graduate.

You deeply hope you’re not crushing on someone who still needs a fake ID to drink, but there’s no way to be certain.

Most importantly, you know that he is absolutely stunning. Elegantly handsome, with expressive deep brown eyes, skin like glass, and round cheeks and full lips that flush frozen pink on particularly frigid New York days. His hair has changed colors a few times over the months that have passed since you first took notice of him, but it’s currently a honey blonde, and long enough that he often reaches up to card a hand through it. He does it now, pushing loose strands back to expose his forehead as he frowns down at his phone.

On days where you share the same car, you notice very little else that happens on the ride, thoroughly entranced in Subway Boy’s beauty and his mystery. The train could probably catch fire and you’d miss it entirely.

Today happens to be one of those days, and excitement glitters in your bloodstream as you realize he’s seated across from you. The rush of seeing him always feels like its own reward, some kind of cosmic sign that the day is going to be a good one.

And then the train stops moving.

There’s an audible reaction from a few people in the car, and you glance up a moment later when a voice buzzes over the intercom. You’re able to make out “attention passengers” and very little after that, just the basics about some sort of unforeseen interruption of service and that the train should resume moving again soon.

You sigh, knowing very well that the MTA’s definition of ‘soon’ does not often align with typical human expectations. Figuring you’ve got some time to kill, you reach into your bag to retrieve your sketchbook and the first pencil you can dig out of the bottom.

“What did they say?” A voice, quiet and deep, surprises you before you can even flip to your in-progress page.

You glance up to find Subway Boy staring at you, forearms braced on his knees as he leans forward into the gap between his seat and yours. He’s got one bluetooth earbud pinched between his fingertips and a confused look on his face, having clearly missed the announcement.

Heat floods your face at the feeling of his eyes fixed on you, and it takes you a second to form a response. “Uh— I didn’t get most of it. Something about unforeseen interruption. And that we’ll be moving again soon.”

A muscle works in his jaw as he rolls his eyes. “Typical.”

“I don’t think they know what ‘soon’ means,” you murmur, mostly to yourself as you tear your gaze away from Subway Boy and return to the sketchbook in your lap, rifling through to find your latest half-finished drawing. When you hear him huff a laugh, you have to bite down on the hopeful smile that threatens to shine across your face.

“Definitely not.”

You force yourself to keep your eyes on the page, assuming Subway Boy must go back to his music when he falls silent after his last comment.

With featherlight flicks of your pencil, you start to add a little depth to the quick study you were working on last night, Yoongi’s half-peeled tangerine that he left abandoned on the coffee table when he stepped out onto the fire escape for a smoke.

Subway Boy’s voice catches you off guard a second time. “Are you drawing?”

You bite down on your lip again, a nervous habit, and you nod as you tilt the page so he can see from across the car.

“Wow.” You wonder if you’re imagining the way his voice seems to soften a little. “You’re really good. Are you an artist?”

You can’t help it— your gaze flits up to meet his again. It’s nearly overwhelming to lock eyes with your Subway Boy and hear him compliment you, like something out of a wild daydream. “I guess so,” you remark, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a small smile as you say it. “I’ve certainly paid NYU enough money in my attempts to become one.”

“Know the feeling,” he scoffs, but his eyes smile back, pulled into crescent moons.

“What did you pay them for?”

“Currently, a dual MFA/MA in dance and… teaching dance. Really went all-in on the dancer thing.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen automatically. You’ve wondered— and yes, occasionally drunkenly speculated with your roommates— what Subway Boy’s line of work might be, but you have no idea why dancer never occurred to you. Because now all the pieces suddenly fall together in front of you: the toned muscles that flex beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, the natural grace he exudes, not to mention his perfect posture.

Of course he’s a dancer. It makes perfect sense.

It occurs to you, a beat too late, that a wide-eyed ‘oh’ is not the most normal response to a truly innocuous answer to a question asked of a random stranger.

But the smile in his eyes doesn’t falter. “I feel like I see you on this train a lot.”

Your stomach flutters like butterfly wings, and you have to look away, back down to the safety of your sketchbook. “Really?”

There’s an extra pause before he speaks again. “Man, sorry. Think I misread that. Now I feel creepy. I promise I’ve only noticed you a normal amount.” Your eyes snap back up to find him wincing slightly, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“No, no, I’m— it’s not—” you stammer, trying to recover. “I, uh— me too, I have too. Noticed you. A normal amount. I… I don’t know why I just pretended like I didn’t.”

Subway Boy leans forward, head dropping down with a genuine laugh that shakes his shoulders, and you can’t help but laugh too, out of sheer embarrassment. He’s beaming when he rights himself again, and it sends a thrill buzzing through you, all the way down to your fingertips still clutched tight to your pencil.

“That makes me feel better,” he admits. “At least we’re both creepy.”

As if the universe itself is intervening to save you from any further humiliation, the train shudders back to life and begins to move again. The sigh you breathe is a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.

“That’s definitely a new record,” you say shyly as you move to shove your things back in your bag. “Maybe the MTA actually looked up what ‘soon’ means.”

His focus is tracked over your shoulder when you look up again, and his eyes dance left to right to chase the patterns in the subway tile as you pull into the next station.

“Guess it’s a miracle,” he says softly, not making eye contact.

“Must be,” you murmur back, letting your gaze drop to the floor, unable to hide your smile now.

He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you, but the warm flush stays in your face for the rest of the ride. When the train pulls into the Astor Place station, you and Subway Boy get to your feet simultaneously, so quickly that your bags knock together as you pull them over your shoulders.

“Sorry,” you say in unison, immediately sharing an exhaled laugh at the synchronicity of the moment.

The doors slide open and he gestures for you to go first before following after. It’s a surprise— he’s never gotten off at Astor before, and when he doesn’t take the option of heading in another direction but instead falls into lockstep next to you, you seize the opportunity.

“Astor Place today, huh?” You hope the observation still falls into the category of ‘noticing a normal amount’.

“Yeah, first day of a new gig. What about you? Class?”

You nod. “Pretty standard stuff. But we start a new unit today, so that’s fun.”

“You in grad school too?”

“Yup, MFA in studio art.” You can’t help but tease, just a little. “Only one master’s degree for me, I’m such a slacker.”

His eyes squint again as he smiles. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re not, like, eighteen.”

“I thought that too!” You keep talking before you can stop yourself. “I mean, when I was… noticing. I distinctly remember thinking, like, please let me not be thirsting over a straight-up child right now.”

“Ahh...” Subway Boy trails off, and you can see a faint pink starting to blossom in the apples of his cheeks. “You were thirsting?”

You can’t help but scrunch your nose up slightly, resisting the urge to full-body cringe at your own stupid mouth. “We are now officially both creepy.”

He fidgets a little with the strap of the dance bag slung over his shoulder. “Hopefully I’m living up to the hype.”

You’re grateful to reach the art building before you can dig your grave any deeper. You nod your head in the direction of the glass doors as you slow to a stop, and he does, too. “This is me.”

“It’s actually me, too,” he remarks, glancing up at the building as if to double-check. “But I have a little bit, so I’m gonna grab a coffee I think. But it was nice to finally talk to you. Not that— sorry, that was weird. Take out the finally. It was good to talk. Meet a fellow starving artist and all.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, until you finally work up the courage to ask the question. “Do you have a name?”

“Oh!” His eyes widen, more heat-blush coloring his face. “Yeah. Park Jimin. Probably could’ve led with that.”

You give him your name, and his voice is like music when he repeats it back.

“Well, good luck in class,” Jimin says with a nod. “And hopefully I’ll see you around sometime.” A smile toys at the corner of his mouth, and then he pauses as his words seem to catch up to him. “Well, I mean. I guess I know I will. On the— train— yeah, I’m gonna go before I say any more stupid things.”

“Bye Jimin,” you giggle, and he gives a shy departing wave before he spins on his heel. As he walks away, you can’t help but notice the way he drops his gaze and shakes his head, like he’s thoroughly embarrassed by his social performance.

And just like that, Subway Boy has a name— one that loops in your head as you float to class, barely feeling your feet touch the floor. Park Jimin. It’s sweet like him, warm sunshine in your veins as you shoulder open the door to the studio, grab a seat, and start to get set up.

A voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin as Kim Taehyung leans in, having occupied the seat next to you while you were off in la-la land. “Know what the new unit is?” You start to shake your head, then realize it was a rhetorical question when he waggles his eyebrows and continues. “Life drawing. Ready for some naked people?”

You roll your eyes and grab at the strings of his gray beanie, pulling it down over his fluffy hair and eyes in one swift tug. “Bro, we are literally in grad school. Stop acting like a virgin.”

“Like you weren’t thinking it too,” he grumbles to himself as he shoves the hat back up his forehead.

You shoot him a look as your professor signals the class to settle and launches in. It’s the same routine as each unit you’ve rotated through in your graduate studio, so you only half-listen, mostly distracted by Taehyung tearing open the paper wrapper of a red heart-shaped lollipop and popping it into his mouth. His latest oral fixation in his millionth attempt to quit vaping.

You lean down to dig into your bag, trying to ignore the sound of hard candy clacking against teeth as you fish out both pencils and charcoal to give yourself options. You pull a couple of each out of their cases, glancing up in an attempt to refocus on the professor, who is still talking.

It takes a second for your brain to process the image in front of you. His shy smile has been replaced with a serious, professional expression, but there’s no questioning the familiar face, the posture, the silver jewelry, the way he reaches up to run a hand through his hair. Subway Boy Park Jimin is standing in the center of the room, wearing a short black satin dressing gown.

Your jaw goes slack. It feels like it happens in slow motion as you watch Jimin’s strong hands move down to undo the sash at his waist before he shrugs off the flimsy fabric and lets it fall to the floor. And then he’s not wearing anything at all.

You lose your grip entirely on your handful of pencils, and they hit the studio floor with a clatter that certainly feels deafening, each one choosing to roll off in a different direction.

Taehyung glances over at you, brow slightly creased. The lollipop tucked in his cheek impedes his speech slightly, but not enough that you can’t understand him. “Now who’s the virgin?”

You crouch down, praying that maybe you can gather your things unnoticed, but it already feels like every pair of eyes in the room is burning a hole in your back. To his credit, Taehyung at least helps a little, extending a sandaled foot to kick any pencils he can reach over towards you. You scramble around the room to chase after the rest, and you can’t bear to look up and see if Jimin is watching you or not. You’re not sure which would be worse.

Fighting the urge to army crawl out of the room, you grip both hands tightly around your materials as you return to your seat, then tuck everything into the tray of the easel in front of you. You’re a professional, you tell yourself. It’s not like it’s your first time drawing someone nude.

It’s just your first time doing it when you happen to have a crush on them.

But it’s fine. You let out an exhale to ground yourself, then pick up a pencil. It’s just a body.

You vaguely recall hearing your professor explain that you’d be moving through ten quick-sketch poses to begin with, each held for only a few minutes, before switching to a few longer sessions for the rest of class. As you were too busy chasing your pencils around the room, you’ve missed the first pose entirely, and you have to work quickly to get a very rough outline of the second before Jimin moves again at the professor’s instruction.

He switches so fluidly from one pose to the next, and you have so little time, it’s enough to get you out of your head just trying to keep up. You find yourself falling comfortably into a flow state, focused on little more than lines and shapes in front of you and the act of reproducing them on your page. It’s an exercise you know well, and the repetition of it soothes you.

The studio is quiet, save for the scratching of pencils on paper and the soft classical music your professor has switched on.

By the time you finish sketching the tenth pose, it feels like you can breathe a little easier, and your professor offers Jimin a quick break just as you lean back to admire your work. You do your best to quickly duck behind your easel as he stretches, then reaches for a bottle of water set on a nearby table.

Taehyung removes his sheet of sketches and sets it aside before leaning in, pressing his face against his easel to match yours. “He’s cute. Bet he gets like, infinite ass-pussy. Just the absolute most.”

“Shut up, Tae!” You jerk your foot out to kick the leg of his chair, and a boxy grin stretches over his face as he giggles. You stare daggers back. “You’re too damn horny today. Like you didn’t just get your ass eaten in the supply closet last week.” The rumor had spread through your cohort practically overnight— probably started by Taehyung himself.

The menace in question shoots you an over-exaggerated wink. “And I’d do it again, too.”

You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”

The professor claps to get everyone’s attention again, and you peer around your easel to watch as Jimin resumes his place at the center of the room. You settle in for the first of a few longer, more detailed sketches, trying desperately to keep your cool about it. But Jimin is unquestionably gorgeous.

He turns to the side for the first pose, arms wrapped around his muscular torso and eyes downcast, fingertips and thumb resting over his neck and chin as if to cradle his own face in his hand. After a long stretch of time where you manage to get most of a sketch done, the professor cues him to move into a second pose, and he faces the back wall, reaching up to drape his arms over each other, crossed wrists resting delicately on the crown of his head.

You could easily see him as a statue carved out of marble, and you try to ignore the flutter of your heartbeat as you attempt to translate his beauty onto your page each time. You have to hold in several sighs as you work on outlining the strong, toned muscles of his back and thighs— not to mention his perky ass. You can’t help but wonder if the rest of the class is struggling silently, too.

You’re beginning to think you might survive after all when the professor asks Jimin to move again and he does, shaking his body out slightly before reaching to grab a provided stool and shift it to the center of the room. He takes a seat, abdominals flexing as he leans back on his hands and unabashedly lets his legs fall open.

Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.

You try desperately to keep it together as you start your third sketch with unsteady hands. The minutes tick by, and you aren’t aware of Taehyung’s eyes on your paper until you hear his stupid whisper again. “Why aren’t you drawing his dick?”

He’s not wrong. There is a noticeable blank spot at the center of your page. “I’m getting there,” you huff. “Worry about your own sketch, Tae.”

“Girl, you are literally doing detail shading on his legs and he doesn’t even have a penis. What is he, a Ken doll?”

You grit your teeth and refuse to dignify Taehyung with a response. Fine. You can do this, you tell yourself. Don’t think. Just look and draw. It’s not a big deal.

With a hard swallow, you trace your eyes down his body, and… well, you don’t know what you were expecting. It’s just a soft penis resting limp between his legs, framed by an extremely regular pair of balls. Nothing scary, though you can’t quite will the heat back out of your face, can’t manage to silence the recurring thought that makes your stomach drop— it’s cute.

You resist the urge to smack your head against your easel as you finally fill in your sketch’s dick.

You somehow manage to survive the rest of class, but relief still floods your veins when your professor signals for everyone to wrap up what they’re doing for the day. Jimin starts to come alive again from the fixed pose, tilting his head to one side until something cracks audibly in his neck. You tear your gaze away for fear that his eyes might find yours, and shove everything into your bag as quickly as you can, not even caring what ends up where.

“Where’s the fire?” Taehyung questions beside you, but you ignore him.

You zip your bag up and sling it over your shoulder, then make a beeline for the exit, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the floor. It’s only once the studio door swings shut behind you that you feel like you can breathe again, and you have to keep yourself from outright sprinting to your next class.

~*~

The rest of the day rushes by in an overwhelming blur, your focus entirely shot by the events of the morning. You collapse into a seat on your train home, hugging your bag to your chest, thankful for the first time in your life to not be sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.

When you turn your keys in the lock and stumble in the front door of the apartment, the divine smell of what could only be Yoongi’s cooking immediately hits you full-force. You find him in the kitchen with a towel thrown over his shoulder, searing a large steak in a cast iron pan for what must be a planned date night with Namjoon.

You wrap your arms around his tiny waist from behind as you approach. He responds with his usual greeting: a soft grunt of mild discomfort.

“Can I ask you a question?” you ask, trying to sound as sweet as possible.

“You just did,” Yoongi notes.

You decide to let his sass go, since you really do need help. “Two more?” Yoongi hums, somewhat affirmative, and you continue. “I know you work like 47 jobs and never get any time off—“

“Some of us have to pay rent without the luxury of stipends or rich parents, yes—“

“But is there any way I could… maybe possibly encroach upon your date night just this once? It’s an emergency. I need advice.”

Yoongi sighs, and you shift to peek over his shoulder, arms still wrapped around him as you watch the way he tilts the pan to one side, collecting butter on a spoon to baste over the steak as it cooks. You squish your cheek into his bicep.

“Lucky for you,” he begins, his tone relenting, “Namjoonie just called. They’ve got him working late to prep for the exhibition next month. So date night was canceled anyway.”

“Aw, Yoongiiiii.” You squeeze him tight enough that he makes another disgruntled noise, and you finally release your grip. “I’ll be your girlfriend tonight.”

He rolls his eyes, but willingly plays along. “Then get the wine, darling?”

You fall into a typical routine: Yoongi pulls a tray of roasted vegetables out of the oven as he lets the steak rest, while you grab a bottle of red at his instruction and fight with the corkscrew in an attempt to get it open. Yoongi watches you, slow-blinking, unamused.

“You wouldn’t last an hour in the restaurant industry.”

“Either help me, or shut up,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

When you finally get settled at your tiny kitchen table, Yoongi nods as if to prompt you while he fills each wine glass with a heavy pour. “Let’s hear it.”

You take a deep breath before launching in and recounting the events of your day, trying not to choke as you simultaneously stuff your face with food. Yoongi eats and listens quietly, no discernible reaction on his face save the occasional lift of his eyebrows. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest as you finish detailing the way you ran out of the studio the minute class ended.

“Alright. So you saw Subway Boy naked, big deal. Do you know how many dicks I’ve seen?”

You groan. “Spare me the details, please.”

“But this is what you wanted, right?” You shrug, and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t play coy now. You’ve been lusting after this kid for months like a weirdo. So why are you stressed?”

“Because!” you huff, frustrated. “It’s— it’s out of order. It’s not like he chose to get naked in front of me specifically, he obviously just thought it was going to be a roomful of strangers. And it seemed like maybe we could be friends or something, but now I don’t know if I should keep pursuing that or just leave him alone. I want to be respectful, but I don’t want him to think I took one look at his penis and decided I didn’t like him anymore, but then it’s like, how do I hold a conversation when he and I both know I have seen his penis, not only seen but studied it, drawn it, and will continue to, weekly, in detail, from multiple angles—“

“You are absolutely overthinking this,” Yoongi laughs into his glass of wine, downing the rest before he continues. “Just get on the fucking train and say hi like a normal, well-adjusted human. This is my advice to you.”

You sigh as you shove a roasted potato in your mouth. “At least you’re a good cook.”

“I’m a great cook,” Yoongi corrects you as he gets to his feet. “Now help me with these dishes.”

~*~

Yoongi’s advice continues to echo in your brain as you lapse back into something like normalcy for the rest of the week.

When the day of your studio class rolls around again, you find yourself hustling not to miss the train, having hit snooze on your alarm a few too many times that morning. You fly down the subway steps just as the 6 is pulling into the station, and you try to ignore the way your pulse is already quickening, telling yourself it’s just from rushing and nothing else.

Pulling the strap of your bag up on your shoulder, you make it to the platform just as the train doors slide open, and your heart instantly leaps into your throat. There he is, leaning against a pole, overwhelmingly beautiful as ever. Park Jimin.

He’s scrolling through something on his phone and hasn’t yet looked up to notice you, and you find yourself frozen in place, jostled angrily by commuters exiting and boarding the train on either side of you.

Panic floods your veins. There’s no time to talk yourself off the ledge, no time to remember Yoongi’s words of wisdom, no time to do anything but make a snap decision. So you do the only thing that feels right: you turn around and sprint back up the stairs and out of the subway station.

The sidewalk is equally bustling, and you try to dodge people while you think through what to do despite the way your head is spinning. You were already going to be cutting it close for time today, and you don’t exactly have the disposable income for a taxi or an Uber. As you try to settle your racing thoughts, your eyes alight on a rack of Citibikes.

Fuck it. You don’t have a better option. Securing your bag on your back, you quickly scan the code to unlock the bike, then shove your phone in your pocket and swing your leg over the seat.

You’ve never biked in Manhattan traffic before, but it can’t be that difficult, you tell yourself. Definitely easier than sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.

Thankfully the street you’re on has a defined bike path, and you do your best to follow the flow of traffic, squeezing your hand brakes to slow to a stop when you hit a red light. It’s been years since you’ve ridden a bike that wasn’t stationary, but it comes back to you relatively easily, like— well, riding a bike.

When you hit a long stretch of green lights, you do your best to pick up speed, trying to make up for lost time. An approaching red light threatens to slow you down again, and you breathe a sigh of relief as it flips to green at the last possible second.

Just as your front tire rolls into the intersection, a deafening car horn nearly gives you a heart attack. You instinctively slam your grip tight around your brakes, and your bike screeches to a halt so fast you’re almost flung over the handlebars. A taxi just barely veers around you as it plows down the intersecting avenue, and you gasp for air, adrenaline coursing through your system.

Holy shit.

You drop one foot to the ground for leverage as you try to get your pulse back under control— you’re pretty sure you just saw your life flash before your eyes. Reality feels a million miles away, but you’re vaguely aware of someone shouting after the car as it speeds down the street.

“Fucking asshole!”

It takes a few seconds for you to realize that it’s a familiar voice, and when you do, you whip around as best you can with a bike between your legs.

“Yoongi?!”

“Oh my god,” Yoongi groans, knuckles blanching as he presses down on his own brakes. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You squint, taking in the helmet strapped over his wavy dark hair and the insulated bag tucked into the basket on the front of his bike. “Since when do you deliver food?”

He grimaces, speaking up to be heard over the noise of traffic. “I just do it to make extra money when my hours suck.”

“What about the coffee shop?”

He shakes his head. “They only have me opening Mondays and Wednesdays right now.”

“What about the bar?”

“That’s just weekends, reliably. Sometimes extra evenings, but only if someone calls out.”

“What about the—”

“Christ, woman!” Yoongi cuts you off with a growl. “The food’s gonna get cold if I have to sit here and run through my entire résumé with you! Are you alright? Why aren’t you taking the subway?”

“Because!” you snap back. “There is a man on that train whose dick I’ve seen and I… I don’t know how to handle it! Okay?!” Though you don’t intend to raise your voice, it comes out loud enough that a group of high school kids on their phones exchange stifled giggles as they fast-walk around you.

“Well you need to be fucking careful,” Yoongi chides. “Biking in the city is not for the faint of heart. And if I’m not allowed to give in to my suicidal ideation, you’re not allowed to crack your head open on the pavement all because you’re trying to avoid a penis.”

“Fine,” you spit back through gritted teeth. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to class.” You push off the asphalt, legs still shaking a little with excess nerves as you re-find your balance and make your way cautiously through the intersection.

The rush of wind in your ears isn’t quite loud enough to drown out Yoongi calling after you as you bike away. “It’s only weird if you make it weird!”

When you somehow make it to Astor Place in one piece, you dock your bike and quickly sprint to the building, well aware that you’re already late. It’s only once you push the studio door open that you realize how truly frazzled and out of breath you are, and though you keep your gaze fixed on the floor, you can feel every pair of eyes in the room on you. You hold a hand up in an apologetic wave and hurry to find your seat.

Trying to collect yourself, you begin to unpack your materials as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the class. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear Kim Taehyung’s voice beside you.

“You’re sweaty. Why are you so sweaty?”

He’s got an eyebrow cocked when you look over, and you give him the most powerful death glare you can muster, enough that it must actually scare him. “Shutting up now,” Taehyung murmurs, voice shaking slightly as he returns to his own sketches, and you huff an exhale as you attempt to catch up to the rest of the group.

Class passes surprisingly quickly once you manage to get your breath back, much in the same way it did the week prior: you do your best to compartmentalize the body in front of you from the human person you have a giant, embarrassing crush on. It goes decently well in the moments where Jimin is frozen in a fixed pose, just lines and curves and light and shadow for you to emulate. During the breaks when he comes alive again, you hide out behind your easel, trying to ignore Taehyung’s inane bullshit and wishing you could disappear entirely.

The second your professor dismisses everyone for the day, you stuff your things back into your bag, hoping to once again speed-walk out of the room.

But despite your better judgment, you can’t help yourself this time. As you get to your feet, you glance up to watch Jimin pull his dressing gown back on, only to realize his eyes are already on you.

You’re distinctly aware of how much of a mess you must look from biking over, and the fact that you almost assuredly smudged charcoal on your face when you reached up absentmindedly to scratch an itch mid-sketch.

Jimin’s plush lips turn up in the smallest of smiles, and the bottom drops out of your stomach.

With a hard swallow, you avert your gaze from his, sling your bag over your shoulder, and quickly make your escape through the studio door. You can feel your pulse pounding in your throat even after he’s out of your sight, and your hands shake like a leaf all the way to your next class.

~*~

That night, sleep evades you until the early hours of the morning, and it feels like you’ve only just begun to doze off when the harsh noise of your alarm pulls you up from dreaming. You roll over in bed and glare accusingly at your phone, then shut it off, promptly letting the waves drag you under once more, seminar be damned.

It’s nearly noon when you finally make it out of bed and stumble into the living room in your sweats. Namjoon is curled up in his reading chair, a feat for someone of his size, surrounded as always by his massive stack of ever-changing ‘to read’ books. He glances up from the one that’s open on his lap, clearly surprised to see you.

“No class?” Namjoon’s voice is rough-edged, like he’s only just woken up himself.

“Skipped,” you grunt. His eyes track you as you cross the room and collapse face-first onto the couch.

“Is this about the penis?”

The cushion muffles your groan. “Not you too.”

You hear the distinct fluttering sound of Namjoon closing his book and shifting in his seat to give you his undivided attention. “Seems like you want to talk about it.”

You turn your head to the side to take in your roommate. “Maybe. Are you gonna give me the same stupid advice your boyfriend did?”

He smiles softly, one dimple flexing at the corner of his mouth. “I can try to be gentler.”

You huff as you flip onto your side, pressing your palms together and slipping them under your cheek. “Sounds like you’ve got the details already, so please. Enlighten me. Tell me how I’m supposed to handle seeing this guy naked once a week in the name of art.”

“Didn’t William Blake say ‘Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed’?” Namjoon poses it like a serious question, brow creased as if in contemplation, and you roll your eyes.

“I don’t know, Joon, did he? I said enlighten me, not write me a thesis.” You reach up to grab a couch pillow and fling it in his direction, missing by several inches. “Did Blake have anything in there on dealing with a naked crush and trying not to make it weird as fuck?”

“Well, does he seem weirded out by it?” Namjoon counters, patient as ever.

“I don’t know.” You shrug unsurely as you play back your last interaction with Jimin. “He smiled at me yesterday, at the end of class.”

Namjoon steeples his fingers together, leaning forward slightly in his chair, interest clearly piqued. “Okay, and what did you do?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I… threw all my shit in my bag and ran out of the room.” When you crack an eye open again, you can see Namjoon trying and failing to keep the smug smile off his face, his dimples giving him away.

“Maybe you could try smiling back next time?” he gently suggests.

You sigh, because you know he’s right. “You make it sound so easy. What’s next? You’re going to tell me to talk to him?”

He laughs a little. “I’d quote another poet, but I fear you might launch more projectiles at me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Let’s hear it, nerd.”

Namjoon clears his throat for dramatic effect before launching into a recitation. “‘It’s cool, not tryna put a rush on you / I had to let you know, that I got a crush on you.’”

There’s a wide grin on his face as you sit all the way up. “Did you just quote Biggie Smalls at me?”

“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”

You feign annoyance, but you can’t quite hide the smile beneath it, and you get to your feet as Namjoon continues to mumble a verse of Crush on You under his breath. “Whatever. I need to do laundry.”

“Oh—” Namjoon pauses to interrupt himself. “Lucky’s closed, by the way.”

Already halfway out of the living room, you whip around again at the mention of the laundromat you’ve been exclusive with for the last few years. “What?”

He nods solemnly. “Me and Yoongi found out the hard way last week. They’re putting in an Equinox.”

Your face twists in disgust. “A stupid bougie gym?! You’ve got to be kidding me. Where am I supposed to wash my fucking clothes?”

“We found a place a few blocks up. Quick Clean, or something like that.” Namjoon shifts to dig his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll send you the address. It’s not bad, just a little more expensive.”

“This is such bullshit,” you groan as you stomp back into your bedroom, the day already off to a terrible start.

In a gentrification-induced rage, you angrily shove the contents of your overflowing laundry hamper into the giant yellow IKEA bag hung up in your closet, just barely managing to fit it all. Glancing at the mirror on the back of the door, you briefly consider changing out of your sweats, or at the very least doing something with your hair, but you shrug it off— it’s not like you’re trying to impress anyone at the damn laundromat.

You grab your headphones off your desk and sling them around your neck, double-check that your sketchbook is still tucked into your bag, then lug everything out to the front hallway. You pull your slides off the shoe rack and slip your socked feet into them.

“Bye, nerd!” you call over your shoulder to Namjoon before the front door slams shut behind you.

By the time you make it to the weird new laundromat, you’re sweaty and pissed off. You knew the walk to Lucky’s by heart, but you had to do this one while looking down at your phone GPS and trying not to get hit by a car. Not an easy feat while carrying every article of clothing you own over one shoulder.

You miss the way the nice old man who owned Lucky’s would greet you warmly and sneak you a cup of coffee from his pot in the back, the way his cat would roll over on the front counter for belly rubs, the way there was always a deeply entertaining telenovela playing on the ancient tiny TV.

The stupid Quick Clean has none of these things, just a shitty pile of magazines in the seating area and weirdly sticky floors. You slam into the front door a little harder than is necessary to push it open, the bell tinkling violently overhead as you enter. The only compliment you can give the place is that it’s relatively dead, save for a couple people on their phones or half-asleep in chairs as they wait on their stuff, and two guys in the corner loading armfuls of wet clothes into a pair of dryers.

You grab a machine a respectful distance away from them and swing the door open when a laugh that’s nearly musical gives you pause. Unable to shake a sense of familiarity, you glance over at your neighbors again, just in time to see one of them reach up to run a hand through his honey blonde hair.

Your IKEA bag hits the sticky floor with an audible thud as panic kickstarts your heart.

This isn’t fucking happening. Of all the laundromats in New York City, you did not just manage to stumble into the one currently being used by Park Jimin.

But even before you can catch a glimpse of his profile, you’re already certain it can’t be anyone else. You’ve spent too much time familiarizing yourself with the slope of his neck, the definition of his forearms, his dainty hands. There’s no mistaking them, adorned today with several silver rings that catch the dim fluorescent light as he grabs more of his clothes from the washer.

The desperate need to turn around and run rises up in your chest, just as before, but this time you steel yourself. You can’t keep running away forever— particularly not when you pulled on your last clean pair of underwear this morning.

A rush of heat floods your face at the thought of the many pairs of underwear in your bag that will soon be sent spinning around this washing machine, where Jimin could easily see, but then it occurs to you that you have seen his penis. Maybe the trade-off will put you on slightly more equal footing.

But you really don’t need to be thinking about Park Jimin’s penis in this laundromat right now.

Shaking your head slightly to try and banish the thought, you set about your laundry routine, trying not to drop any unmentionables on the floor when you dump the contents of your tote into the washer. You dig quarters out of your bag and slot them into the machine, then press the button to start the cycle.

With a final exhale to steady yourself, you turn to look over your shoulder again, only to find Jimin leaning up against the empty dryer next to his, unabashedly watching you with a small smile on his face.

It occurs to you now that you couldn’t have put less effort into your appearance if you tried, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every random stain on your sweatpants and your extremely fashionable socks and slides combination. Jimin’s just in a white t-shirt and a pair of distressed jeans today, but literally everything looks fresh off the runway on him. You suppress the urge to walk out the door and go lay down in traffic, and instead take Namjoon’s advice: you smile back and even lift your hand in a shy wave.

You drop into an empty chair across from your machine and watch as Jimin starts to cross the room to join you, his eyes never leaving yours. Before he can make it, you suddenly become aware of someone else sliding into the seat beside you.

“You didn’t tell me she was cute, Jimin-ah!”

Eyes wide, you turn to see Jimin’s friend sprawled out next to you, one arm draped lazily over the back of your chair. His wavy dark hair peeks out from under a lime green beanie, and he’s swimming in an oversized long sleeve tucked into baggy pants, cinched tight at the waist with a Gucci belt.

“Jung Hoseok,” he gives you a nod. “Friends call me Hobi. You can call me whatever you like.” The way his wide smile pulls his mouth heart-shaped makes you giggle a little, slightly dazed by whatever the fuck is happening right now.

You hear Jimin sigh as he takes the open seat on your other side. “Please ignore Hoseok’s tendency to come on way too strong. If it makes you feel any better, he’s as gay as they come.”

Hoseok flicks his wrist just so. “Guilty as charged.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you say with a shrug, your gaze flitting from Jimin to Hoseok and back again. “I have two gay roommates, so.”

Hoseok hums, clearly interested. “Gay together or gay separately?”

“Gay together.”

He narrows his eyes. “Open to a third?”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected question. “Uh, I’d have to ask.”

He looks like he’s going to say more, but Jimin interjects. “Hoseok— can we get a minute?”

Hoseok’s lips pull together, fish-like, and he nods as he gets to his feet. “Say no more. I’ll just, uh…” He fumbles, looking around for something to do, then crosses the room to take the open seat next to the sad pile of magazines. “…do a little light reading.” He picks up one at the top of the stack, holding it up for you both to witness. “Oh look, the queen died!”

You bite down on your bottom lip to suppress another laugh, but Jimin’s face is surprisingly serious when you look back at him. “I just want to say one thing,” he murmurs, voice low, “and then I’ll leave you alone.”

Nerves settle in the pit of your stomach like a heavy weight. “Jimin,” you start, and when he opens his mouth to keep talking, you blurt out the first thing you can think of.

“I’m sorry,” you say in unison, and there’s a beat where you both blink, equally taken aback by the other’s apology. It’s quiet apart from the rumble of the laundry machines and the distinct sound of Hoseok smacking the magazine over his mouth, clearly more invested in your plot line.

You break the silence first. “Wait, why are you sorry?”

Jimin’s eyes drop down to the floor, one black boot toeing nervously at the tile. “I figured you were upset with me because I didn’t warn you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise when you play your initial conversation back. “Oh my god— when I said graduate studio art, you… you knew.”

He nods, somewhat remorseful. “I was kind of hoping that maybe it would be a different class, but. Yeah. I figured. I’m really sorry, I should’ve—”

“No, no,” you interrupt. “I get it. I’m not mad, obviously I didn’t even put it together until right now.” You pause for a second and can’t help but smile a little. “And, I mean, how do you just casually work that into your first conversation with someone? ‘Great talking to you, ready to see my dick in five minutes?’”

Jimin’s head tips back when he laughs, his cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink. “Right.”

You can feel your own face grow hot as you realize what you’ve just said. “God, sorry, I didn’t mean to— clearly I don’t know how to handle this. That’s why I wanted to apologize, for avoiding you and being weird.” You twist your hands uncomfortably in your lap. “I’ve just never been in this situation before, and I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to talk given… the…” Every cell in your body screams at you not to say the word ‘dick’ again. “Yeah. I thought it might be easier to keep my distance. Keep it separate.”

Jimin’s eyes drift back up to find yours, and his casual beauty is so stunning, it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs. He shrugs softly. “I mean, maybe it would be. But I don’t want to.”

“Great,” you manage a laugh, still breathless. “Because I nearly died on a Citibike the day I didn’t take the subway.”

He laughs, too. “Not gonna lie, I missed seeing you on the train.” You’re not expecting it when he extends a hand out. “Friends?”

You realize belatedly that he’s offering a handshake, and you gently take his hand in yours. His skin is soft and warm, a contrast to the cool metal of his rings that press into your palm as he squeezes.

“Friends,” you echo with a smile, squeezing back.

There’s a sudden thump and a cackle as Hoseok falls out of his chair with a peal of laughter. “You are so fucking weird, Jimin-ah!” he gasps from his spot on the floor. “Who shakes hands?!”

The two of them keep you more than entertained until the buzzers on their dryers sound a second apart from each other. You learn that Hoseok and Jimin are roommates, that they met as dance majors in their undergrad program, and that Hoseok now works as an adjunct instructor and freelance choreographer.

“Because some of us decided we wanted to actually make money instead of digging ourselves further into debt,” he explains with a sly grin and smack delivered to the back of Jimin’s head.

You watch as they meticulously fold, Hoseok regularly leaning over to redo Jimin’s work and chide him about wrinkles, and then they stack the clean laundry back into their bags and head for the exit.

“Bye, new friend!” Hoseok calls as he maneuvers the door open with his foot, and Jimin pauses at the threshold, the bell overhead tinkling gently.

“So… guess I’ll see you on the train?” he asks, like he’s still a little unsure, and your heartbeat flutters.

“Guess so.”

“Cool.” He gives you one last soft smile before he disappears after Hoseok. The bell sounds again when the door shuts behind him, as if to snap you back to reality.

The floating feeling in your stomach doesn’t quite dissipate even long after Jimin has left the laundromat. While you wait on your clothes, you flip to a blank page in your sketchbook and start on something new: the outline of a hand extended in mid-air, rings glinting like an offered promise.

~*~

The next week, Jimin is waiting for you on your morning subway ride, the dance bag that he usually keeps tucked between his legs set on the bench next to him. When he sees you step through the train doors at 51st, you watch him reach over to swing the bag down to its rightful place on the floor, freeing up the space. An open invitation.

You can’t help but feel a little shy as you sink down next to him and murmur your thanks. There’s something about being this close to him that just makes your mind go blank, puts you at a loss for words entirely.

To your surprise, he doesn’t try to strike up conversation either. Instead he plucks one fancy bluetooth earbud out of his ear, gives it a diplomatic swipe across the fabric of his joggers, then holds it up, pinched between his fingers in front of you.

Another invitation, you realize dumbly.

The corner of your mouth turns up as you pluck the bud out of his hand and press it into your own ear. The music that must have paused itself upon the earbud’s removal resumes, and your smile grows when Jimin quickly unlocks his phone to restart the song from the beginning.

An acoustic guitar and a light, pretty voice fill your ear, underscored by a gentle yet driving beat, not unlike the rumble of the train beneath your feet. It’s like the rest of the world fades away to nothing as you stare down at his sneakers next to your shoes, hyper-aware of the mere inch or two of space between you in this moment.

As if to prove your point, the train comes to a sharp stop, enough to make you slide a little on the bench and then you’re suddenly not just close but touching, all the way down, an unbroken line from shoulder to hip to knee.

When you look over in surprise, Jimin is already looking back at you. You swear you can feel warmth radiating out from him at every point where your bodies press together.

After another dazed moment, you come to your senses enough to scoot over, breaking the contact with an embarrassed laugh as you feel your face grow hot.

Your gaze drifts back down to the floor, only to snap up again at another brush of contact, this one not initiated by you or by the motion of the train. Instead, you realize Jimin has spread his legs an inch wider to purposefully touch his knee to yours again and leave it there. You blink softly as you look over at him, but he’s staring firmly out the window of the subway car now, smiling with just his eyes.

For the rest of the ride, you think of little else but Jimin’s knee pressed against yours and the pretty pink flush in his cheeks.

You stay in comfortable silence, music floating in your ears as you exit the train at Astor Place together, until you reach the studio, where you finally return the borrowed earbud. He smiles as he tucks them both back into the case, then pushes open the door and gestures for you to enter first.

Jimin shoots you a final look before your paths diverge, and you sink into your seat with a small, dreamy sigh. Your bliss is short-lived when you hear Taehyung’s voice over your shoulder.

“That was fast.”

You whip around to shoot him a look. “What was fast?”

He makes a face, like it’s obvious. “You’re already banging the model and it’s been, what, two weeks?”

Taehyung’s just close enough that you can lean forward and smack him on the arm, and he hisses in a way that has to be an exaggeration. Thankfully he seems to take the hint, and manages to actually keep his mouth shut as the professor commands everyone’s attention at the center of the room.

When Jimin emerges in the usual black satin, you try to keep your composure, but you can’t ignore the chill that dots up your spine when he lets the fabric fall to the floor.

Nevertheless, you sink into the routine of class, the thrill of Jimin’s naked body now equal parts familiar and exhilarating. The only difference is that today, when you’re dismissed, you make no effort to quickly pack up. You instead purposefully take your time, adding a few extra details to your last sketch before you finally start putting things away. Your gaze flickers up distractedly to see Jimin pulling his dressing gown back over his body as he moves to close the distance between you.

“Hi,” he says simply when he reaches your easel, and you smile.

“Hi.”

“Sorry, is, uh— is it okay that I talk to you, when I’m—” He gestures vaguely to his lower half with one hand, using the other to keep himself covered.

You swallow hard at the thin layer of fabric and everything you know lies beneath it. “Yeah, it’s okay,” you say, hating how breathless you sound.

“When are you done with classes today?”

It takes an extra second for you to remember your own schedule. “Uh, six.”

Jimin fidgets with the satin material in his hands, clearly a little uncomfortable. Or maybe nervous. “Would you… want to get dinner after? With me?”

Your stomach flutters as you nod. “Yeah, yes. I’d like that.”

~*~

When you emerge from your last class, you find Jimin waiting for you on Astor Place, and you’re not expecting it when he greets you with a single question: “Do you like sushi?” You answer affirmatively, and he nods over his shoulder. “Then let’s walk this way.”

You end up tucked into two seats at a place you’ve never been to before, where rolls and other plates of food zip past you on a steadily moving conveyor belt. Jimin shows you how to pop the plates out from their protective domes, and you gather a small feast of options on the table between you to share.

“So,” you start with a nervous smile, chopsticks hovering in midair. “Can I ask the obvious question?”

He quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“What made you decide to nude model?” The words alone send fresh waves of heat and nerves through you, sparkling in your chest. “Or have you done it before?”

“I haven’t,” Jimin confirms with a shake of his head, then he pops a piece of sushi in his mouth as if to buy himself time. He chews, bringing a hand up as he speaks with his mouth still half-full. “Do you want the real answer?”

You nod, and his adam’s apple jerks as he swallows. There’s a look on his face like he isn’t quite sure what to say, and then he exhales a weighty sigh. “I’ve struggled with my body for a really long time. Especially in undergrad.”

Your eyes widen slightly— you weren’t expecting such a serious response.

“Dance doesn’t typically have the best culture for that to begin with,” he continues, “and I’d spend literally all day staring at myself in a mirror, so I would just… pick myself apart. Always convinced I wasn’t good enough, that I needed to lose more weight, always.”

The thought of it makes your heart ache, but you let him talk.

“I’m through the worst of it now, so please don’t feel like you need to be worried. But I have some friends who’ve done this kind of thing before and it seemed like, I don’t know, a good challenge?” His brow creases, contemplative. “I really love art, so I thought maybe if I did it, I might be able to see my body in a new way, through the eyes of other people. Of artists.” He pauses, then nods, like he’s said his piece.

It takes you a second to respond. “That’s… beautiful, Jimin.”

He looks down, clearly a little uncomfortable. “Sorry if that was too heavy.”

“I can take it,” you say softly, and it’s enough to make him glance back up in surprise. “Thank you for telling me.”

A faint color floods his face. “Thanks for listening.”

You eat in a silence that’s oddly comfortable, and when you both reach for the same piece of sushi and end up knocking chopsticks together, he lets you have it, picking up the thread of conversation again as he smiles. “What got you into art?”

You make a face, chased by an unsure shrug. “Is it bad if I say it’s the only thing I feel like I’m good at?”

Jimin laughs a little. “I don’t know that I believe you.”

“I mean,” you lean back in your seat. “Maybe not the only thing, but I’ve just never been able to see myself doing anything else. I’m not cut out for the corporate life, as much as my parents wish I was. Art’s always been the thing that I go to in my free time. When I’m feeling so much that it’s overwhelming, or so numb that it’s like I can’t feel anything, the act of creating something just… brings me back to center again.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’s an outlet, I guess.”

“Well, if it helps, you’re very good at it.”

“Thanks,” you say with a small smile. “But it’s not even about being good, at least not to me. Maybe it sounds weird, but I don’t really have any interest in being the best. It’s art, so it’s all subjective anyway. I just wanna make stuff.”

Jimin smirks as he adds another empty plate to the growing stack in front of you, tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek before he speaks. “I could stand to be more like you.”

“Your turn,” you shoot back. “Why dance?”

At this, he actually brings a hand up to cover his face, and his voice is muffled under his palm when he responds. “I can tell you exactly why, but it’s embarrassing.”

You shift a little in your chair to get a better look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed! It’s not like I—” you cut yourself off before you can very obviously finish the sentence with ‘haven’t seen your dick’, and you shove a piece of sushi in your mouth to shut yourself up, so fast you nearly choke.

Jimin laughs loudly into his hands, and then you’re laughing too, dropping your head down on the table to try and chew your food without asphyxiating.

“Okay, okay,” he gasps when he can finally manage to take a breath in. “I’ll tell you.”

He sets his chopsticks down, overly serious. “When I was little, I was obsessed with Titanic. Specifically the scene where they dance together, and Rose rises up on her toes in front of everyone.” There are practically stars in his eyes as he recounts the moment, and you can’t bear to cut him off. “I just thought she was so beautiful, and I wanted to be like that. Almost broke my toes trying to go en pointe barefoot like an idiot.”

You’re silent for a moment, and there’s a flicker of panic in Jimin’s face, like he’s worried he overshared. “I have to be honest,” you say softly. “I’ve never seen Titanic.”

His eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What?!”

Already expecting the reaction, you grimace and nod. “I know, I know. Everyone gets mad at me for it. Go ahead.”

Jimin’s eyes flit from your face to the remaining piece of sushi on the plate between you, then back again. “I mean, we can go solve this problem right now, if you want.” He pauses, then admits with a giggle, “I have it on DVD.”

You shrug, trying to act casual despite the way your pulse has started to quicken. “They canceled my morning seminar for tomorrow, so I’m down.”

He leans forward to steal the last piece of sushi with a smug smile. “Then let’s get out of here.”

It’s a short train ride back to Jimin’s place, and you make it in the front door just in time to see Hoseok slipping out of what looks to be his bedroom. You barely process him as the same person— tonight his dark hair is swept off his forehead, and he’s in nice dress pants and a white button-down, unbuttoned just enough to display the delicate spread of his collarbone.

“Hi kids!” he calls in greeting, and you wave back as you kick your shoes off.

Hoseok crosses to grab a mirrored pair of aviators and his keys off the table by the front door. “Daddy’s going out. You two have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s waiting for a joke to land, then cracks a grin. “By which I obviously mean do whatever the fuck you want.”

As Hoseok pulls the door shut behind him, you follow Jimin into the living room, where you perch nervously on the edge of the couch while he disappears into the kitchen. “Do you like prosecco?” he asks, raising his voice slightly to be heard.

“Uh, I think so,” you say unsurely. “I don’t think I ever developed enough of a palette to have wine preferences.”

“White and sparkling?”

“Sounds good,” you respond, and then you hear the distinct noise of a cork popping before he returns with a bottle and two glasses in hand. He sets everything on the coffee table as he takes a seat next to you, then leans forward to fill both glasses nearly to the brim.

Jimin’s face flushes when you giggle softly at the pour. “Sorry— I like to drink. You don’t have to finish it all.” You shrug and take a healthy pull from your glass. It’s crisp and light, with little bubbles that fizz and pop all the way down. 

“Hoseok calls me a lush,” he admits with a shy laugh as he picks up his own drink and turns to face you, sitting back against the arm of the couch. You shift to mirror him, curling your socked feet up under you. He takes a sip, then seems to think better of it, leaning forward to set his glass down on the table again. “I did want to tell you something. A couple of things, I guess.”

The sentence makes your stomach twist, and you try your best to ignore it. “What’s up?”

Jimin’s lips press together for a moment, as if he’s trying to figure out how to word whatever he’s about to say. “I’m not, like, trying to be presumptuous by telling you this but I just— I don’t want it to go unsaid and then come up later and be a whole big thing, so. I just want you to know that Hoseok is my ex.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but certainly not that.

“We dated freshman year of undergrad, for… maybe three months? It was the kind of thing where I knew I was bi in high school but was too scared to act on it, so when I moved to New York I just, like, dated the first gay person I met? Which was probably a little shitty of me. We quickly realized we work much better as friends, and it was a very mutual thing. No hard feelings.”

You nod slowly, trying to keep up. “And you’ve lived together since then?”

“No, no,” Jimin replies quickly, and he nearly grimaces as he continues. “At the end of last semester, I, uh… I got out of a pretty bad long-term relationship.” The way he says it makes your heart sink a little. “And she and I lived together, so Hoseok was extremely gracious and offered to take me in.”

He reaches for his glass of wine again, then pauses with it halfway to his mouth. “Ideally the number of exes I’d be living with would be zero, but. You know. This is definitely the better option, at least until I can figure out what comes next.”

A pause settles between you while he takes a long drink and you try to process all this new information. “I’m sorry about the breakup,” you say softly, and he shakes his head as he swallows.

“Don’t be. It was a very good thing. Long overdue.”

“Well,” you correct yourself, the corners of your mouth pulling up. “Then I’m sorry that it took so long.”

At this, he smiles back. “Me fuckin’ too.”

After one more sip, Jimin sets his wine back down on the coffee table, then rolls off the couch— surprisingly graceful— to retrieve Titanic from the small collection of movies lined up on the shelf beneath the TV.

“Ready?”

“This better have a happy ending,” you murmur over the edge of your wine glass. Jimin laughs so hard he nearly tips over.

He settles next to you again as the movie starts, painted pretty in the blue glow of the TV, and you try your best to watch the movie, but it’s hard to keep your eyes off him. Partway through you notice him grab a pillow off the back of the couch and hug both of his arms around it, curling up small.

Cute, you can’t help but think to yourself, and you can feel heat settle in your face as you try to refocus on the story.

When you reach the dancing scene Jimin sits up a little, lips parting slightly, that same starry look in his eyes as when he explained it initially. The mental image of a younger version of him equally enraptured by the moment nearly makes your chest cave in.

The movie goes on, and you’re draining the last of your second glass of wine when out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin’s eyes go wide. Jack and Rose are closely examining a rare diamond necklace, and you don’t understand what he could be reacting to until Kate Winslet delivers her next line.

“Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.”

Your eyes go just as wide as Jimin’s, and you let out a laugh of disbelief that’s nearly a scream. “Oh my fucking god, Park Jimin! You did this on purpose!”

“I swear, I didn’t! I didn’t even think about that part until right now!” He shakes his head desperately as he gasps for air, and he doubles over with his own laughter, rolling right off the couch, arms still clutched tightly around his pillow.

“I literally cannot believe this.” You dissolve into giggles as you sink to your knees on the floor beside him, close to tears.

It takes time for you both to recover, but Jimin eventually manages to pull himself back up to sitting, shoulders still shaking slightly with laughter. He lets the pillow drop to the floor and presses both of his palms down into it as he leans towards you. “But hey, maybe that’s why I like you.”

He’s so magnetic, so beautiful, you can’t help but lean in, too. “You like me?”

There’s a warm glow of color in his cheeks, and you’re not sure if you can blame it entirely on the wine. “I do.”

Your lingering smile slowly starts to soften, and now your heart feels like it might pound out of your chest. “So what, you’re Rose and I’m Jack?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper as he murmurs, “Uh-huh”. Imaginary violins swell in your head as you surge forward to close the distance and press your lips to his.

Jimin’s lips are soft and warm, and your head spins as you sit up on your knees and lean into the kiss. While his mouth moves gently against yours, his palms press to the small of your back, and the heat of his hands radiates through the thin fabric of your shirt. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, partially for balance and partially in an attempt to pull him closer to you.

He tilts his head, and you whimper against him when you feel his tongue trace delicately over your bottom lip. He returns a breathy noise back as he licks slowly into your mouth, like he’s taking his time, like he’s not in any rush.

Even though you can feel your arousal starting to build, heavy in your gut and slick between your thighs, you realize: you want him to take his time with you.

You’re surprised at the loss when he suddenly leans back, just enough to break the kiss, still keeping you held close. “Is it, um—” he clears his throat, then tries again. “I don’t… want to go any further. Than this. At least not tonight. Is that okay?”

Your eyes search his, and you’re a little breathless when you manage to get the words out. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m good with that. With whatever you want.”

“Okay.” You exhale a laugh when he reaches over to find the remote on the coffee table and pause the movie. “I want to keep kissing you, if that’s alright.”

“Yes, please,” you murmur against his lips.

Jimin shifts a little, and you follow his lead, letting him tip you backwards onto the floor, your arms still looped around his neck, one hand now tangling in his honey blonde hair. He drops a forearm down to the carpet beside you, his other hand coming to rest at the curve of your waist, knees bracketing your hips as he covers your body with his.

He alternates between sucking on your lower lip and gentle passes of his tongue into your mouth, the hand on your waist tracing a lazy path down to your hip and back up again. Something pulled tight inside you starts to slowly unwind, blooming open as you sink into the rhythm, into him.

It’s been such a long time since you’ve just kissed someone like this, without it feeling like part of a race to get naked. And you’ve never been kissed like this in your life— so soft, so attentive. It’s enough to make you dizzy, even with your back pressed flat to the floor.

You lose track of how much time passes as you trade open-mouthed kisses on Jimin’s living room carpet, until he finally pulls away again. Still in a daze, you shift the hand in his hair to gently cup his face, not quite able to believe that he’s really real.

“God,” Jimin breathes, laughing quietly to himself. “I really like you.”

You smile as you blink up at him. “I like you too, Jimin.” 

Rolling over, he drops down onto the floor next to you with a blissed-out sigh. He stretches his arms overhead, spine arching like a cat, then lifts up again to glance back at you. “Do you want more wine? ‘Cause we’re only like halfway done. This movie is stupid long.”

“I could go for more,” you answer with a shrug, still smiling.

In one swift move, Jimin flips his legs over his head and effortlessly somersaults up to standing, and your eyes go wide. “How do you fucking do that?!”

“I’m a trained professional!” he calls over his shoulder as he sashays into the kitchen. You giggle a little. “I would break every bone in my body.”

He’s humming prettily to himself, and you hear the sound of the fridge opening and closing, followed by the pop of another bottle being uncorked. You pull yourself back onto the couch as he rejoins you and pours fresh wine into both glasses, and a sudden curiosity urges you to ask a question. “Is Titanic your favorite movie?”

Jimin shakes his head, but says nothing, and the strange hesitant expression that flashes over his face just makes you that much more intrigued.

“Let’s hear it.”

His eyes flit over to you, then back to the wine glasses. “You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t!” you exclaim, lifting a hand when he scrunches up his nose, doubtful. “Promise.”

With a reluctant sigh, Jimin sets the bottle back down on the table, staring straight ahead as he admits, “It’s The Notebook.”

You press your lips together, trying desperately to keep your mouth in a straight line. At least you manage not to laugh. “I— wow. Really?”

He nods like the reaction is expected, picking up his wine glass and settling back against the couch cushions. “I don’t know, there’s just something about it. It’s comforting, to me.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you murmur, gently nudging his thigh with your foot until you coax a smile out of him.

“You know what?” Jimin’s voice is thoughtful now, more self-assured. “I am.” He takes a sip of his drink before he continues. “For a long time I didn’t want to be. Or thought that I couldn’t be. I used to always try to be so. I don’t know. Masculine, I guess. I think some of it had to do with denying my sexuality, but even once I got around to accepting that, there was still this part of me that would just never allow myself to be… soft.”

His gaze drops down to the wine in his glass, and you sit up, tucking your legs underneath you to scoot closer to him until you’re side by side. “I like you soft,” you say simply, and he looks over at you, still smiling.

“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”

“That’s okay.” You lean into him to seek a kiss, made sweet from the wine. He hums a little against your lips before you pull back. “Same time next week?”

~*~

Just like that, you fall into a regular routine with Jimin: sharing his headphones on the morning train, sketching out the shape of his body in studio, then picking up takeout and wine to bring back to his place and split over a movie. As predicted, The Notebook does make him cry, and when you show him Kimi no Na wa the week after, hot tears stream down your face at the final scene, the way they always do.

He takes your head in his hands as the credits roll, his thumbs swiping at errant tears on your cheeks. You chase a sniffle with an embarrassed laugh. “Okay. We’re even now.”

On your fourth movie night, partway into Moulin Rouge, something emboldens you when you see Jimin reach for his usual couch pillow. You lean over and gently pry it out of his grip, then shift to tuck yourself into his side and curl your legs up in his lap instead.

“Better?”

“Mm-hmm”, he murmurs as he ducks down to nuzzle against your cheek. “You’re warm.”

These nights end the same way each time: you ride the train home with a wine-soaked buzz in your brain and flushed, kiss-bitten lips, your fingertips brushing over your own mouth at the memory of his.

Once a week quickly turns into more. The two of you coordinate laundromat afternoons where you listen to music together as you wait for your clothes. You usually end up drawing to pass the time, and sometimes Jimin dozes off, head tipping over onto your shoulder so gently that you can’t help but smile down at your sketchbook.

At his request, you help him dye his hair pink in his tiny apartment bathroom, and it somehow suits him just as well as honey blonde. You both get dizzy from laughter and cleaning product fumes as you desperately try to scrub the bubblegum stains out of the tile before Hoseok comes home.

When you finally introduce Jimin to your roommates, the four of you crammed all-too formally around the kitchen table over Yoongi’s cooking, the interaction feels like a cross between a job interview and a prom date meeting your parents. You choke on a piece of chicken that you nearly inhale when Namjoon offhandedly refers to Jimin as Subway Boy, and Yoongi smiles wide enough to show his gums as he gladly recounts your months-long crush in great detail while you bury your burning face in your arms.

But Jimin takes it in stride, laughs into your mouth as he kisses you over the sink while the two of you wash the dishes.

“Subway Boy, huh?”

“I will drown you,” you murmur as you pull away, brandishing the spray hose like a threat.

It’s easy and slow. This blossoming something, a nameless but undeniable spark, the calm comfort of Jimin’s arms wrapped around your waist, his fingers intertwined with yours, his head dropped down on your shoulder.

~*~

You dig your phone out of your pocket as you shoulder open the door to the dance building, pulling up the text from Jimin to double-check his practice room number. A train delay made you slightly later than your agreed-upon time, but you know the takeout bag of Indian food dangling over your wrist will easily earn you his forgiveness.

It doesn’t surprise you that he’s the only one left in the room when you find it, nor that he’s still reviewing the choreography with an expression of severe focus. You hover in the doorway, waiting for him to look up, but he’s entirely concentrated on his own reflection in the mirror.

His movements alternate between delicate and powerful, explosive and restrained, and you have to hold in an outright gasp when he launches his body into an aerial and lands it effortlessly. But then his feet falter in a split second of hesitation, and you can see his expression tighten, clearly frustrated.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself as he rubs a hand over his face, and he doesn’t even try to keep going with the rest of the dance. You take the opportunity to step a few more paces into the room, and his eyes jump to you in the mirror.

“Hi,” you say softly, suddenly a little nervous to be intruding on the moment. The corner of Jimin’s mouth turns up, but his eyes seem far away, and you can tell he’s still raging at himself in his mind.

“Hi, sorry,” he sighs. “I just— can’t get this. It’s like my body isn’t doing what I tell it to.”

“You need food.” You try to say it gently as you cross the room, holding up the smiley-face adorned plastic takeout bag. “And perhaps the enigmatic charm of Rachel McAdams.”

This seems to shake him out of his thoughts, at least a little. “I do like her.” He steps close enough to slip his arms around your waist and pull your body flush against his. Sweat glistens on his collarbone in the dim practice room lighting. “But I like you more.”

You roll your eyes as you playfully smack a hand against his solid chest. “Stop lying.”

“‘M not,” he insists as he presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Rachel McAdams has never once brought me masala dosa.” You giggle despite yourself, and when his lips drop down to your neck, it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

A spark ignites in your chest that doesn’t go out, not on the subway ride back to your apartment, not through dinner and a movie, and certainly not once you’re most of the way through the second bottle of wine. As the credits start to roll, you waste no time, turning in Jimin’s lap so you can properly straddle him and take his face in your hands.

You trade decadent, easy kisses, and Jimin’s hands settle at the small of your back, his thumbs massaging gentle circles into your hips. A shiver rolls up your spine when he shifts a little and you realize you can feel a growing bulge through the fabric of his joggers, pressed firm against your thigh. He breathes a soft sound into your mouth as his tongue slides over yours, and you’re so overwhelmed, you barely register the sound of keys in the lock or the front door opening.

It’s Jimin who reacts first, turning his head to break the kiss as his cheeks flood with color, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see Yoongi storm past, heading for his room. He lifts a hand up to his face to shield you from view as he goes.

“Don’t stop on my account!” Yoongi’s voice is dripping with derision. “By all means, continue fucking on our shared furniture!”

“We’re fully clothed, asshole!” you snap in response as Yoongi slams the bedroom door behind him, hard enough that it rattles in the frame.

When you look back down at Jimin, his face is twisted in an expression you take to be embarrassment. You drop your head down on his shoulder with a frustrated groan, the moment successfully killed.

“Do you…” you pause, turning your head to the side but continuing to ask your question into the fabric of his shirt. “We could go to my room, for more privacy, if you want?”

He hums his agreement, and when you peel yourself off the couch and head for your room, he follows. You spin back around to face him in the doorway, so fast he nearly knocks into you.

You brace your hands on the doorframe as you survey him. “We really don’t have to… do anything, if you don’t want to. We can just talk.”

Jimin nods, and you step aside to let him enter first, pulling the door closed behind you as you follow. He takes a few tentative steps into the room, and you walk past him to drop down onto the floor next to your bed, then pat the carpet to encourage him to join. There’s a flash of something over his face, and then he sinks down beside you. It’s only now that you realize how quiet he’s gotten.

“What is it?” you ask, suddenly a little nervous.

He stares down at the soles of his feet, pressed into each other, his knees tipped open like butterfly wings. “Does it make you feel bad? That we’re not—”

“No,” you answer immediately, and the honesty of it resonates in your chest.

“I know we’ve been hanging out for a while,” he continues, voice low. “And I do want to, you know. Hook up.”

“Jimin,” you lean forward to place both of your hands over one of his, settled atop his knee. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. When you want to, I want to. But I like everything we’ve been doing, too. It’s not like we’re not… intimate.”

His gaze flits up from the floor to meet yours. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you.”

You close your fingers around his hand, pulling it off his leg and up to your face so you can brush your lips over his palm.

“I don’t think that at all,” you murmur against his skin. “Promise.”

There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes when you look back up at him. “Okay. Sorry, I know it’s stupid. Like why do I need reassurance from you when I’m the one being difficult?”

You press your cheek into the warmth of his hand, toying lazily with the rings on his fingers. “Why are you so convinced that you’re difficult?”

Jimin huffs a small sigh. “This conversation has not gone this well in the past.” His eyes drop to the floor again, and after a moment’s pause, he keeps talking.

“My ex and I struggled a lot with…” he shakes his head, as if he’s trying not to say ‘everything’. “Sex. With me wanting it, with us having enough of it. I think it gave me a complex. I could be physically, you know, ready, but then as soon as she’d touch me I’d get in my head about everything and freak out and immediately want to stop.” He pauses, worrying at his bottom lip.

You pull his hand into your lap, your fingers delicately tracing over his in an attempt to provide some comfort. He shrugs when he starts to speak again. “And then, I don’t know, I guess she was just trying to share her side, but... she would make me feel so bad about it sometimes. Because I was genuinely trying so hard but it was like I was never good enough.” Another pause, and this time he sniffs a little. When his eyes roll up to stare at the ceiling, you can see he’s holding back tears. “It felt like she didn’t want me anymore, not if there wasn’t sex. So I left.”

“Jimin,” you breathe, and he flashes you a small grimace, clearly embarrassed by his own dramatics. With a grunt of effort, he turns sideways and flops backwards onto the floor of your room, and you scoot closer to him, your hand still playing with his.

His gaze roams over the ceiling as he sighs. “I don’t want you to think I was this perfect person and she was some awful bitch. She loved me a lot, and I’m sure she was struggling with not feeling wanted either, in her own way.”

Your voice is soft when you interject. “Two people can just be… incompatible. It doesn’t mean either of them is a bad person, or that it’s anyone’s fault. Sometimes things just don’t work, no matter how hard you try.”

Jimin’s mouth pulls up on one side as he shakes his head, eyes squinting. “How did you get to be so smart?”

You can’t help but laugh a little, lacing your fingers together with his in your lap. “Years of making terrible decisions.” You give his hand a gentle squeeze before you ask a question. “Did you struggle with this before, or just with her?”

His mouth twists slightly, unsure. “Yes and no? Both? My desire has always… fluctuated, I guess. Been a little shy.” A smile spreads over his face, and he hums a note. “Like, you know how people say love at first sight isn’t a thing? That it’s just lust?” You nod, prompting him to continue. “I think, at least for me, it’s the opposite. I can fall for somebody, and fall hard, like that.” He snaps loudly with his free hand. “But lust… I don’t know, it takes longer. It’s like a slow burn thing.”

You nod again, processing his words for a moment before you respond. “Well, I’m in no rush.”

Jimin sits up, voice thoughtful as he untangles his hand from yours, and it’s clear he’s getting more comfortable opening up to you. “Right after the breakup, I did a lot of research. I found this term, demisexual, that felt pretty accurate.” He shrugs. “But I don’t know. I mostly just think that... I am who I am. And the people who get it will get it. Like you.”

Before you can even speak, he sweeps an arm under your calves to drag you into his lap in one swift move, and you squeak a little in surprise as your world tilts.

“Demisexual. I like it,” you giggle as he guides your legs to wrap around his middle. His hands slide up your thighs, grabbing at your hips to tug you closer so he can trail kisses along your neck.

“Biromantic demisexual, technically,” he murmurs, head tipping up to find your mouth again.

You drape your arms over his shoulders and hum against his lips as he kisses you. “It suits you.”

Another soft noise escapes you when Jimin manages to maneuver to standing with you still in his arms. You tighten your grip on his shoulders and your legs around his waist, and his hands shift down to your ass to firmly hold you up. You squeeze your eyes shut automatically in fear of being dropped, then flutter them open again when you feel your back press into the soft cushion of your bedspread.

Jimin is hovering over you, forearms dropped down to the bed on either side of you. His eyes search yours for a moment, and then he leans in to kiss you again, so fiercely this time that it leaves you breathless. You can’t help but whimper as his tongue slips into your mouth.

When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to your collarbone with a groan. “It’s late,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over your neck. “I should go.”

You nod responsibly, despite how desperately you want him to stay.

You walk him out, and his sweet parting kiss leaves your heart hammering in your chest, enough that you slump against the frame with a sigh once you shut the door, your knees suddenly weak.

Light on your feet, you follow the faint noise of the TV to find Yoongi in the living room with Planet Earth on at a barely audible volume. He glances at you, his mouth a flat line, then reaches for the remote to turn the sound up a few notches. You drop down on the couch next to him, and it’s silent for a moment, save for the calm narration and the crinkling plastic of him tearing open a bag of Turtle Chips.

“How’d it go?” he finally asks, voice monotone.

“It’s good,” you answer softly. “We’re good.” You fold your legs up under yourself and sneak a look at Yoongi out of the corner of your eye. You’re still a little pissed, but you also want advice. Damn him for knowing everything.

“Have you heard the term ‘demisexual’ before?”

Yoongi nods, still chewing as he replies. “Yeah. Like asexual spectrum, right?”

You shrug. “I guess. It’s new to me.”

He shoves a few more chips in his mouth before he continues. “Is that what your Subway Boy is?”

“I think so, yeah.”

There’s a long pause while you watch penguins march across the screen, and you think that might be the end of it. Then Yoongi clears his throat. “You know, I’m somewhere in there too. Not completely asexual, but definitely not… not.”

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

Yoongi snorts. “Don’t act so shocked. These walls aren’t that thick.”

“Is Joon?”

He smirks, like you’ve just told a joke. “Decidedly not.”

“Oh.” You blink, trying to process. “How do you deal with it?”

Yoongi makes a face, like he’s never thought about it before. “We just communicate, I guess. Be respectful even when we don’t necessarily understand. And, like, Namjoon watches porn, and surprisingly reads quite a bit of erotica—”

“Okay, okay,” you cut him off. “I don’t need all the details.”

He huffs a dry laugh at your discomfort. “It’s not always easy, sometimes it’s frustrating for both of us. But we make it work. We love each other.”

You chew a little at the inside of your cheek, and then you can’t hold in the question any longer. “Is it weird that the idea doesn’t bother me? Jimin said it was a huge issue with his ex. Like, does that make me on the… spectrum?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I mean, you might be? But not necessarily? I don’t know, sex matters different amounts to everyone. Some people don’t mind not having it that often. You don’t have to put a label on it unless you want to, you know?”

“Yeah, makes sense.” You nod slowly as you digest the idea. “Thanks, Yoongi. I appreciate the education.”

His only answer at first is a noncommittal hum, and then he points a finger at the few inches of wine in the bottle you left sitting on the coffee table. “Gonna finish that?”

“It’s all yours,” you say. “Consider it atonement for going to first base on the couch.”

Yoongi grabs the bottle by the neck and immediately drains it. “Apology accepted,” he grunts as he sets it back down. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He extends his bag of chips in your direction and you happily reach in for the biggest handful you can manage.

~*~

During your next movie night, Jimin can’t keep his hands to himself.

They pet up your thighs, your legs draped over his, then slide up to your hips, fingertips tracing patterns over the waistband of your leggings and toying at the hem of your shirt.

His mouth has a similar problem: he leans in to press kisses along the line of your jaw, then down the slope of your neck, sucking delicately at the spot that makes your nipples tighten and sends a shiver through you.

“You’re missing the movie,” you remark, raking a hand through his peachy-pink hair, shadowed at the roots where his natural color has started to grow in. He’s typically good about keeping himself restrained until the credits roll, but you’re barely halfway through Pride & Prejudice, haven’t even cracked a second bottle yet.

“Fuck the movie,” he growls against your skin, and you bite back a whimper when his teeth scrape over your neck. You can’t ignore the way your core is starting to ache from his insistent mouth.

His lips find yours again, and you giggle softly into him. “You’re in a mood.”

“Just been thinking about you,” he murmurs between kisses. It surprises you a little when he suddenly pulls back so he can look you in the eyes. “Should we— do you want to go to my room?”

The air hangs still and heavy between you, and you worry at your bottom lip for a moment. “Are you sure?” When he nods, dark brown eyes blinking up at you, your mouth turns up at the corner. “I’d rather we not traumatize any more roommates if we can help it.”

You lean over to pause the movie before sliding off his lap and getting to your feet, and then you reach your hands out for his and pull him up next to you. “Come on.”

Jimin’s bedroom is so perfectly him that it relaxes you, feather-soft comfort every time you step inside. His bed isn’t made, because it never is, the thick white duvet pushed down on one side where he stumbled out from beneath it this morning. He keeps it dark, blackout curtains drawn to support his night owl lifestyle, and the room is bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights he’s strung up along the ceiling. A myriad of posters and art prints and polaroids are taped to the walls, some beautiful, others sentimental— he even managed to coax you into tearing a few of his favorites out of your sketchbook. You still don’t think they’re anything special, but nevertheless, it makes your heart squeeze in your chest to see them on display with everything else. Like they belong here in this room, like you do too.

The door clicks as it shuts behind him, and then his mouth is on yours again, kissing you dizzy while he backs you up until your knees hit the edge of the bed. He guides you to lay down, and his hand slips beneath you to drag you up the bed with him as he crawls over you.

His hands come up to tug at your shirt. “Can I take this off?” he breathes.

You nod, staring up at him and not quite able to believe any of this is real. “You can do anything you want to me.” With a smile, he lifts the hem of your shirt, and you sit up a little so he can pull it the rest of the way off.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Jimin murmurs against your skin as he kisses down your neck, over your collarbones, then down between the valley of your breasts. His hands slip down to palm at your tits, squeezing gently, and he mouths at the stiff peaks of your nipples over the thin fabric of your bralette. You untangle briefly, only for as long as it takes to get the lacy thing off of you entirely and tossed over the edge of the bed.

You shiver a little as the air hits your bare skin, and then the warmth of his body covers you again, and he ducks down to close his mouth over your nipple and suck. The plush softness of his lips and the firm suction combined are enough to make your eyes roll back, and your spine arches up beneath him when he drags his tongue in a circle over the sensitive bud.

“Shit,” you groan. Your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, and it feels like your only tether to reality.

It’s easy to believe it’s the waiting, the anticipation of this moment, that makes every little touch light you up like a live wire now. But something tells you it will always feel like this.

While his lips shift to your other breast, one hand slides down to cup your clothed pussy, rubbing gentle friction into your center. You circle your hips to press yourself against the flat of his palm, sighing at the brush of indirect contact and the heat that thrums through you from the pressure on your clit.

You feel Jimin’s weight shift on the mattress as he kneels next to you, and his lips find yours again at the same time his hand slips into your leggings, two fingers tracing the seam of your panties to make you whine softly. If he couldn’t tell before, he must be able to now: how wet you are, enough to drench the lacy fabric so it clings to your cunt, dripping arousal to show how badly you want him.

He’s surprisingly forceful when he tugs the damp fabric to the side, but so gentle again as he slips one finger and then a second into your tight heat. Your mouth drops open as he curls them up to rub at your g-spot, stroking into you over and over while your cunt squeezes tight around him.

Your head drops back on the pillow and you groan. “Oh, fuck, Jimin.”

You can hear how soaked your pussy is as he pumps into you, and the wet squelch of his fingers working inside you would make you shy if it didn’t feel so overwhelmingly perfect. The pleasure edges your breathing with soft sounds, and Jimin swallows them when he kisses you again.

He shifts slightly for a better angle and then you feel the heel of his palm grind down against your clit. It’s enough to make your hips buck up under him with every press of his hand, his insistent touch shooting sparks of arousal through you.

It’s been so long since anyone has touched you, and you’ve wanted this with him so badly for so long, but even still, it surprises you how quickly he can bring you to the edge.

“Jimin,” you break the kiss to gasp against his mouth, unable to believe how close you already are. Close enough that all you can do is cling, to any part of him you can reach: his hair, his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt. “Jimin, Jimin, fuck.”

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” he groans, and he says the next part softer, like it’s just for him. “My girl looks so pretty on my fingers.”

The pace of his movements doesn’t falter, nor does the heavy weight of his palm as he ducks down to capture your nipple in his mouth again. Your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in to the last knuckle with each thrust of his hand, and your nails dig desperately into his forearm as you feel your orgasm crest.

His teeth graze lightly over the tight bud of your breast, and it’s enough. With a final whine, the arousal that’s been coiling inside you snaps, and your back arches up off the bed as you come hard on his fingers.

Jimin’s fingers keep stroking you through it, the flat of his palm rubbing rough circles against your clit again and again and again and it feels like you might never stop coming. You moan as it rolls over you, wave after wave, until his touch is so overwhelming that you have to pull your trembling thighs together, and he finally relents.

Spent, your body sinks heavy into the bed, and you can’t help the dazed giggle that flutters out as afterglow starts to bloom behind your ribs.

Jimin hovers over you, dropped down onto his forearms, full lips pressing indiscriminately to your flushed skin, all over. You snake a hand through his hair to pull his mouth up to yours, and he kisses you slow and deep.

When you break apart, you tip your forehead to his. “Can I touch you?” you ask, still a little breathless.

“Please,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours again before he pulls away with a small, embarrassed smile. “My pants hurt.”

You sit up on your knees and he does too, and you bite down on your lip as you reach for the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it over his head, and then there he is, beautiful as ever. Familiar, yet somehow all new.

Jimin shivers and whines when your hands run across the bare skin of his chest, teasing over his soft brown nipples before starting to trace a path down to his stomach. You lean in to kiss him, and he outright groans into your mouth when your fingertips tease along the band of his boxers that peeks out over his jeans. You gently bring your palms to his hips to guide him, and he’s pliant for you, shifting backwards at your suggestion until he’s seated, leaned back against the headboard.

Your hands shake slightly as you unbutton and push down his jeans, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh of relief. He’s so hard, you can understand why the tight denim must have been painful: his dick is still straining even now, a thick outline pressed into the fabric of his underwear, and there’s a dark patch that clings to his tip where he’s started to leak precum.

You tug his boxers down with enough force that his length smacks heavy against his stomach, and he makes a strangled noise in response, eyes squeezing shut. His hips jerk violently beneath you, and your jaw goes slack as you watch his cock twitch, and keep twitching, until a steady pool of milky gloss has leaked out over his stomach.

“Shit,” Jimin hisses as he comes practically untouched, and he gasps for air to try to speak. “Fuck fuck fuck— ‘msorry, thought I could—”

You can see him starting to spiral, can feel the panic starting to heat up inside his body, so you take his face in both of your hands. “Jimin.”

“This has never happened before— fuck, I don’t— this is so—”

“Jimin.” When you say his name again, firmer this time, he goes quiet, his eyes still shut tight. “Look at me,” you murmur, and he does, lashes slow-blinking open. “It’s okay. Okay?” Your gaze searches his, trying to convince him. “I like everything about you. Everything you do. You’re perfect.”

Clearly trying to steady his breathing, his chest shudders with effort, and you gently circle your thumb at the hinge of his jaw. He makes a soft noise as his eyelids drop shut again, his cheek pressing into your hand, letting you carry a little bit more of his weight.

It’s quiet for a moment, and his voice is unsure when he speaks. “There’s tissues… in the—”

“Can I take care of it?” you interrupt to ask, your voice low. His eyes blink open again to look at you, and a dark glint flickers there as the unsaid meaning of your question washes over him.

“Y-yeah.”

You take your time moving down the bed to settle between Jimin’s thighs, and you stare up at him, waiting for any indication that he wants you to stop or doesn’t feel comfortable. But he just swallows hard, his adam’s apple jerking in his throat, and nods.

Leaning down, you drag your tongue in steady, long strokes over the flat plane of his stomach to lick the mess up.

As you get the last of it, you’re surprised to feel his hand cup the back of your head. You don’t resist when he pulls you up for a kiss, then licks into your mouth to taste himself, the salt and slick of his cum sliding between your tongues.

When you break apart to swallow, Jimin’s voice is a whisper. “That okay?”

You nod, unable to bite back your smile. “You’re… really fucking hot.”

He smirks as he finds your lips again. “So are you.” The next kiss is sweeter, and then he pulls back. “If you want, we can keep— or I can go down— I don’t want—” He can’t finish any of his half-started thoughts, and you smile, lovingly running your palms over his thighs, back and forth. 

You want him so badly, more than anything, but you try to breathe through it. You can see the wheels spinning in his head, that self-critical flash in his eyes, the same furrow in his brow that creases when he gets frustrated with himself.

“I’m not saying no because I don’t want you,” you preface. “But I just don’t want you to feel stressed or get in your head about it. I want it to feel good, and I’m in no rush. Next time, okay?” 

His lips are still a little pouted, but he nods, and you lean in to sling your arms around his neck. “C’mere.”

You tug him down to the mattress, and your half-naked bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, hands tracing gentle patterns over bare skin as you kiss.

When you eventually end up with your cheek pressed to his chest, you listen to the sound of his heartbeat settling, his breathing evening out. You speak softly in the quiet of his room. “My roommate’s doing an exhibition on Friday. Will you come with me? I’ve been promised there will be free booze.”

Jimin tightens his grip on your waist, his voice slurring like he’s half-asleep. “Mmm, my favorite person and my favorite thing.” There’s a pause, and he sighs. “That sounded bad. Promise I'm not an alcoholic.”

“I know,” you laugh, dragging your lips over his collarbone, then grunting a little noise of frustration as reality starts to set in. “I have class early tomorrow. I should go before I fall asleep here.”

He whines his disapproval, but when you glance up you can see the fight going out of him, his eyelids starting to flutter closed. You lean up for one, two, three more kisses before you force yourself out of bed to find your bra and your shirt. “I’ll see you Friday?”

“Mmkay.” He inhales deep, like he’s coming up for air. “Text me when you make it home safe?”

“I will,” you promise, and you do.

~*~

Namjoon’s exhibition is laughably fancy for what really just ends up being a room full of gay, overdressed art students. The ridiculous finger foods disappear in minutes— all the broke grad school kids came hungry— but you and Jimin gladly hover around the table of champagne flutes instead, giggles sparkling between you like the bubbles that fizz in your glasses.

You’ve been trying to drag him away to actually take in the art, but he keeps necking his drinks. “You’re supposed to sip it, you demon!” you chide with a laugh as he does it again, picking up a fresh glass and throwing all of it back in one gulp.

He smirks slightly as he shakes his head. “It’s more fun this way. Try it.”

You roll your eyes, hiding the grin that threatens to stretch over your face in the rim of your drink before following suit. He’s not wrong: a rush of warmth creeps up your neck as you swallow, the world softening around you, and it’s made sweeter by the kiss Jimin leans in for. When he pulls back you can see his face is flushing, too.

“Come on, Mr. Park,” you murmur, your free hand intertwining with his as you set the empty glass down and retrieve another. “Take me on a tour.”

Jimin grabs another flute too and then you’re off, and he actually manages to drink this one slowly as you weave through the gallery, the click of your footsteps underscoring the gentle classical music that floats through the speakers. You lean into Jimin in comfortable silence as you take in each art piece, sipping delicately at your champagne, occasionally hooking your chin over his shoulder just for the thrill of being close to him.

“These are all beautiful,” he hums appreciatively as you stand in front of a wide, impressionist landscape, swirls of color that shift into shapes when you step far enough away, but dissolve into unidentifiable blobs of thick-textured paint up close. “Namjoon did a really good job curating.”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod, but your eyes are on Jimin and everything else pales in comparison. He’s dressed up for the occasion, tight black jeans and a white button-down with a leather jacket thrown on over top. His hair is styled, pretty pink strands pushed back off his forehead, and his asymmetrical silver earrings glimmer in the low lighting. The result is so stunning you’ve had a hard time focusing on anything but him tonight.

A thought that’s been running through your mind all evening resurfaces again as you swallow the last of your glass of champagne.

“They should put you in a gallery.” You didn’t necessarily plan to say the thought out loud, but say it you do. Jimin quirks an eyebrow and you decide to double down. “But not here. Somewhere better.”

“The Met?” he guesses, teasing.

“The Louvre,” you counter, and he outright laughs, his head tipping back.

“The Louvre?!”

“You heard me,” you giggle, your body pressed against his side. “You’re art.”

Releasing your hand, he wraps his free arm around you to pull you into his chest, the smile still lingering over his face. “And you,” he murmurs, “are drunk.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” Your voice is muffled slightly as you speak into his collarbone.

You tilt your head up for a kiss, and it seems to surprise both of you how quickly the atmosphere changes. It might be the more-than-several glasses of champagne to blame, or the fact that you’ve found yourselves in a corner, hidden away from the rest of the exhibition’s patrons, but the soft spark that ignites between you quickly grows into a licking flame at the touch of your lips. It’s heat-blush passion as your mouths move against each other, and you’re trying to keep quiet despite the weight of it, heavy in your core, this shared, unspoken need.

“Jimin,” you breathe into him, overwhelmed by all that he is.

He shifts, nosing at your jawline as he speaks into your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

The suggestion makes you a little unsteady on your feet, your high heels threatening to topple over, and he catches you with a hand to your waist when you falter. “Like, somewhere here?”

“Too far to go all the way home,” he purrs, the hand on your body squeezing gently. “And you look too good.”

Your head swims as he kisses you again, and he pries the empty glass out of your hand, setting it down on the nearest table with his. A hand returns to the small of your back, then slips lower, cupping your ass through the fabric of your black dress. His mouth paints a smile over yours, and you grab his wrist. “Follow me.”

Stumbling your way through the gallery, trading laughs under your breath like confidants and kisses when no one is looking, you lead him back to the coat check closet at the front, thankfully left vacant by whichever freshman had been roped in to the thankless job. With a final glance over your shoulder to make sure you’re unseen, you push the door open and tug Jimin inside after you.

As soon as the coat check door closes again, he has you pressed against it, his tongue slipping hungrily into your mouth. His hands skirt up the curve of your hips as he slots a thigh between your legs, firmly pushing up the hem of your dress to grind into your clothed center.

You both freeze where you are at the sound of a moan, one that very distinctly does not come from either of you.

Jimin tries and fails to suppress a nervous laugh. Unable to make out anything in the dark, you reach your hand out, smacking aimlessly at the wall next to you until you find a lightswitch and flip it on.

“What the fu—” The man who made the noise in question flings a hand over his face at the sudden intrusive wash of fluorescents, but you’d know him from his voice alone. Kim Taehyung still has one hand gripped tight to the metal bar of a coat rack, back arched and legs spread for whoever his latest victim is, with his pants and boxers shoved down to his ankles.

Before your alcohol-soaked brain can put together a smug comment about how Taehyung needs to get his ass eaten at home like a normal human, Jimin’s voice surprises you.

“Hobi?”

You clap a hand over your mouth as you realize the man on his knees, pulling his tongue off Taehyung’s rim with a look of utter confusion, is none other than Jung Hoseok. His eyes are wide as dinner plates as his head snaps up to take the two of you in.

“Jimin?!”

“Oh my god.” You start to laugh so hard your knees buckle, and Jimin has to wrap his arms around you to keep you upright. “How the fuck did you two even meet?!”

“Do we really need to have this discussion now?!” Taehyung growls, and it only makes you laugh harder.

“Come on, come on—” Jimin is collapsing into giggles himself as he fumbles for the handle behind you. He simultaneously attempts to pull you off the door so he can swing it open. “Let’s leave them to it.”

You smack the lights off again as you make your escape, Jimin’s grip still hugging tight around your waist as you laugh until your lungs nearly give out. The lobby is thankfully empty, all the attendees pressed deeper into the gallery, so you loop your arms over his shoulders as you recover and pull his mouth back down to yours, unable to stop yourself.

“Let me take you home,” you manage to say in the space between kisses. Your tongue feels heavy when you speak; his is champagne-sweet. “Joon and Yoongi will be here for a while.”

Jimin’s agreement hums, buzzing on your lips. “Wanna take the train?”

You’re grateful the subway car you stumble into is empty, because the pull of Jimin’s mouth is too magnetic to be ignored. You don’t think you could stop kissing him if you tried.

It’s practically a race back to your apartment once you emerge from the station, partially to get out of the cold night air, though you hardly feel it with Jimin’s jacket slung over your shoulders and your body flushed hot from alcohol and desire. As you climb the four flights to your walk-up, both of you giggling and gripping tight to the banister, the spiral of the stairs sends your world spinning. You feel dizzy-drunk on wine and laughter and lust alike, and maybe something more. Something you don’t have words for yet.

It takes you three tries to get your keys in the door, and when you finally manage to get it open, you kick your shoes off and make a beeline for your bedroom, dragging Jimin along after you, hand-in-hand. Thankfully he has the foresight to remember to shut the door behind you, because all you can think about is him: the rich musk of his cologne, the taste of his tongue, the warm blush of his skin under your palms.

The leather jacket hits the floor and you step over it, walking backwards as he licks into your open mouth, shameless.

You nearly fall over when you bump up against the bed and almost lose your balance, and then you reach for the buttons of his shirt at the same time he goes for your dress. The two of you laugh your frustrations against each other as your arms tangle and get in the way.

“You first!” you insist, and he relents, lets you unbutton the starched white fabric of his button-down so he can shrug out of it. Your fingers move to undo his belt and then he takes over, impressively coordinated enough to be able to kiss you while kicking his jeans the rest of the way off, stripped down now to his black boxer-briefs. He pulls your dress up over your head, and then your barely-clothed bodies press together all the way down, the ache in your core now an undeniable throb.

Jimin takes your face in his hands and kisses you again, and you slip one hand between your hips and his to palm at him, earning an appreciative hiss. You rub at him over the front of his briefs, teasing, then dip your touch beneath his waistband.

His cock hangs heavy between his legs, but he’s not quite hard yet, maybe from the cold, so you take him in your hand and start to pump. For fear of too much dry friction you try to go slow, and he groans into your mouth as you twist your wrist a little to circle your thumb over his frenulum.

He buries his face in your neck, and you can feel the heat of his embarrassment bloom against your skin. “Sorry— gimme a second.”

Tilting your head, you press a kiss to his temple. “Don’t apologize. D’you wanna try laying down?”

When he nods, you release your grip on him so he can sink down onto the bed, crawling backwards up to the pillows. Knelt down on the mattress, you settle in the space he makes for you, thighs spread and knees tipped open, and you push his briefs down enough to free all of him.

You hook your thumb and index finger under the head of his dick to pull it flush against his stomach, allowing you better access to drag your tongue in little kitten licks up his shaft. Your other hand moves to massage gently at his balls as you take his tip into your mouth and let it bulge against your cheek, let him slip against the soft wall there to make saliva pool on your tongue, sloppy on purpose.

It’s still not working, not really, and when your gaze flits up to him again, Jimin’s face is pulled into a grimace. Heat rushes up your neck, and you pull your mouth off him and immediately right yourself. You shift backwards a little on your knees as your pulse starts to race. Does he not want this? Did you misread some sign, or push him too far?

Jimin must be able to read the look in your eyes, because he groans as he presses his face into his hands. “It’s not you. Think I drank too much, I don’t— i-it feels good, I—it just—”

You’re not exactly sober yourself. The receding white noise of panic makes it hard to think, hard to know what to say. “I-it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I just—” he tries again. “I really want to do this, I don’t know why— it’s fucking embarrassing.” The blankets muffle the sound as his palms smack flat against the bed on either side of him in clear frustration. You move out from between his legs, still trying to catch up, and a muscle in his jaw jumps as he pulls his boxer-briefs back over himself.

“Jimin,” you murmur. The bed creaks when you shift to lay next to him, to tuck into his side, and you reach up to run a hand through his hair, a little sticky with the product holding it in place. An anxious, thrumming quiet settles over both of you as his eyes flutter closed.

The words finally come to you in the silence; you can only hope they’ll reach him. “I had so much fun with you tonight. That doesn’t go away.” The crease between his brows softens a little, so you keep talking. “It’s not your only chance, okay? I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here.” Your free hand slips into his on the bed next to you. “And I want you with me.”

He sniffs a little, so quiet you nearly miss it, then turns in towards you. Your noses bump together and your mouth turns up at the corners as you continue. “It’s late, and I… can’t promise there isn’t more ass-eating waiting for you at home. Do you want to sleep here?”

Jimin’s eyes blink open, glassy, and then he nods.

“Come on,” you say softly, sitting up and tugging on your still-joined hands. “How about we shower?”

In the bathroom, you run the water scalding hot, and when you both step in you nudge Jimin forward to stand under it first, then press against him from behind. Your hands wrap around his waist to slide over his stomach as you tilt up to reach his ear when you speak. “This okay?”

He nods, hums a little, and you move your hands up over the whole of his body. Hard lines and soft curves, a work of art you know so well, you can see it when you close your eyes as you map his skin with your fingertips. You nuzzle into the place where his neck and shoulder meet, then press a kiss there. “I’m right here,” you say again, not even sure if he hears you.

But his head turns, and you feel one of his hands slide over yours on his chest. “Will you wash my hair?” he asks softly, and you tip forward to bring your mouth to his, convinced you’d do anything he asked of you.

It’s intimate, the way you take your time running shampoo and then conditioner through his silky pink strands, dragging your nails over his scalp and applying gentle pressure that makes him sigh prettily in response. Jimin steps further under the showerhead both times to rinse the product out, and if a few tears slip down his cheeks, they’re lost to the spray of the water where you can’t tell the difference.

But he does manage the ghost of a smile when you reach to grab your washcloth and he gets there first. “Your turn.”

Once your body and then his are scrubbed and rinsed clean, you shut the water off and grab thick, fluffy towels that you dry off and wrap up in. In the dim light of your room, you pull on an oversized t-shirt and boyshorts, then dig out a pair of sweatpants from your dresser. They’re fairly baggy on you, but they fit Jimin perfectly, and the image of him in something of yours makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest.

You run two glasses under the kitchen tap that you set out to ward off any potential hangovers, and you even manage to find a spare toothbrush for him to use. When he emerges from the bathroom again, still absentmindedly toweling his damp hair, you’re sitting on the bed with your feet tucked under you.

“Do you want to watch something?” you offer gently.

He shakes his head as he stifles a yawn. “‘Mtired. Think I just wanna sleep.”

You pat the bedspread next to you, an invitation. “Then let’s sleep.”

Under the covers, you curl up together, soft and warm from the shower, scented lavender and mint from your body wash and toothpaste. Jimin’s legs tangle with yours, an arm wrapping over your waist, and you press your cheek against the hard plane of his chest with a small sigh.

You listen as his breathing slows, each inhale a little further apart from the last, to the point where you think he’s fallen asleep. You feel yourself start to follow after him, and the last thing you hear before you’re dragged all the way down is Jimin inhaling deep, then mumbling softly into your hair. “Thank you. For everything.”

~*~

Light streams in between the cracks of the window blinds, painting warm shapes over your eyelids that gently wake you. You sigh and stretch as you slowly come all the way up from dreaming, your eyes still heavy-lidded. When you roll over with a soft grunt, you find Jimin fast asleep there, his face smushed into the pillow, one arm slung lazily over you.

The corner of your mouth pulls up, and you have to fight the urge to dot kisses all over his face, deciding to let him sleep instead. It takes some maneuvering, but you manage to roll out from under his arm without waking him and slip quietly out of bed, easing the bedroom door closed behind you.

It’s early, and the apartment is still, washed in morning gleam and the gentle hum of New York City traffic on the streets outside.

You stumble into the kitchen with a stifled yawn, swinging open the fridge and leaning down to retrieve a pack of bacon and the half-empty carton of eggs. Humming quietly to yourself, you dig a pan out and set it on the stove to heat.

Arms slide around your waist, making you jump a little before you melt back as Jimin nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You can feel his body through your t-shirt, still warm from sleep and bedsheets he must’ve only just crawled out from under.

Not quite graceful, you turn in his arms and loop yours around his neck to seek a kiss. “Good morning,” you murmur, your voice hoarse on your first spoken words of the day. “How are you feeling?”

Jimin’s mouth is still slurred from waking up when he answers. “‘Mgood. You look good.” His gaze roams down your body and back up, as if to take in your oversized shirt, your bare legs, your hair still messy from sleep. “So cute like this.”

You scrunch your nose slightly as you smile up at him. “Want breakfast?”

A heat starts to pool between your legs as his hands slide further down your back. He pushes your shirt up so he can grip your ass, the thin fabric of your underwear the only thing separating his skin from yours.

“In a bit.”

You can’t help but squeak when, in one swift move, he bends his knees and lifts you off the ground. Impulsively, your legs spread to wrap over his hips, thighs squeezing tight to hold on, and your arms cling around his neck as laughter flutters in your chest. Before you can act on the urge to bury your face in his shoulder, his mouth finds yours again, and the way he kisses you, hungry and deep, makes nothing else in the world matter.

He carries you back to bed, nudging open the door he didn’t quite close all the way with his shoulder, then using a foot to push it shut again. Your muscles unclench when he sits down with you in his lap, and you unwrap your legs from around him, your knees sinking soft into the bed.

You can’t quite shake the thoughts of the night before. “Jimin,” you start, “we don’t have to do this if you don’t—”

“Want to,” his voice is low, ragged edges from sleep. “Doing it ‘cause I want to. I want you. Do you want me?”

You nod, leaning back to look at him, your arms still twined over his neck. “More than anything.”

There’s no rush this time as he shifts backwards up the bed and you crawl over him to settle into his lap again. No tension that’s been building all night, no alcohol buzzing in your systems, no urgency. Just your bodies, half-dressed in sleep clothes, intertwining like they were made to fit together.

Your kisses are sweet and unhurried as Jimin’s hands slip beneath your oversized t-shirt, delicate fingers tracing up your waist. He cups your breasts in his palms, squeezing gently as he licks into your mouth. When he rolls a nipple between his fingers, your breath hitches, sparks of arousal shooting all the way down to your toes. A weight blossoms in your core as you reach for the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, and you shiver a little in the morning air.

“Beautiful,” Jimin says quietly, reverently, and you take his face in your hands.

“You are too,” you murmur, your eyes searching his. “So beautiful.” Your hands slip down his body as he kisses you again, your fingertips outlining the contours of his chest, gently brushing over his nipples to make him groan into your mouth.

Jimin’s hands come to rest at the curve of your hips as your mouths move together, where he teases his touch under the band of your boyshorts. He pulls back just far enough to ask, “Can I take these off?” and you nod.

You shimmy the thin fabric down your thighs, dropping onto your ass with a laugh so he can tug them the rest of the way off, one ankle at a time. As you sit up on your knees again, his hands come to grip your thighs, and he shifts lower on the bed until he’s laying flat on his back next to you.

“Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs softly.

“Yeah?” You bite down on a small smile.

He hums. “Can I— will you please, uh… sit on my face?”

You can’t help but giggle. No one has ever asked so politely. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s slow, languid, the way his full lips close delicately around your clit when you settle over him, how he alternates with lazy passes of his tongue, not unlike the way he kisses you. The pleasure pulls your spine arched and your head tips back, palms pressing flat to the bed beneath you.

“Jimin,” you gasp, “baby, feels so fucking good.”

His tongue is heavy as it drags down your folds, thick when he sinks it into your cunt to taste the slick arousal that pours out of you and drips down his chin. Your hips rock into his mouth, his nose inadvertently bumping against your clit as he licks you like he doesn’t want to waste a drop. Your walls cling tight, crammed up full of him.

With a slurp and a gasp for breath, he withdraws, his tongue made hot from being buried inside of you, trailing wet warmth as he licks back up your pussy to lap at your clit again. Your arms threaten to give out when he sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, lips pulsing an insistent rhythm that makes you moan and writhe above him.

“Jimin, Jimin.” The pleasure is decadent, thick, wine and honey, made sweeter by the beautiful boy pressed between your thighs. Emotion bubbles up inside of you to twist with your pleasure, and you tighten a hand in his rose-blush hair as you moan again, nearly a sob this time, a dam breaking.

Jimin hums against you, fingertips digging into the soft skin of your thighs, like he can tell you’re at the edge without you having to say a word, and it’s enough to send you tumbling over it.

“Oh fuck baby, yes, fuck.” Your toes curl tight over the bedsheets as your pussy flutters, throbs, gushes. Your vision whites out as you come hard enough to make your thighs shake, hard enough that your stomach muscles tremble with the effort of holding you up. Jimin’s mouth works you through it, tongue stroking flat and slow to coax pulse after pulse out of you, until everything melts into shaky aftershocks and your thighs clench around him, over-sensitive.

He pulls back when you start to squirm, lips smacking wetly on a final kiss to your pussy, and heat flushes your face at the sound of it. Your limbs feel heavy as lead as you slip off from on top of him and collapse down onto the mattress with a floaty sigh, your pulse still thudding brightly in your ears.

You’re only distantly aware of the way the bed shifts as Jimin slides down next to you. You follow his touch on instinct, turning into him when he pulls you close and presses a kiss to your hairline. Heartbeat still slamming in your chest, mind hazy with morning orgasm glow, you hum contentedly as your eyes flutter open to find him palming at a thick bulge tenting his– well, your sweatpants.

“Looks like it’s cooperating today.” Jimin’s voice is equal parts relieved and embarrassed.

With a lazy smile, you hook a finger in his waistband, tugging playfully. “What do you want to do about it?”

He laughs hoarsely. “I would love to finally fuck you, if you’ll have me.”

“I don’t want anybody else.” The thought spills out before you can worry if it’s too soon to say it, but he just smiles and leans in to kiss you.

At Jimin’s guidance, you lay back against the pillows, a couple of which he grabs to slot under your hips. “There’s condoms in the nightstand,” you say softly, and anticipation thrums in your chest, twinning with your still-racing pulse as you watch him retrieve one, then step out of his sweatpants to roll it on.

He climbs back onto the bed to hover over you, and your breaths come shallow into each other’s mouths. You kiss quietly at the precipice of this moment, like you’re afraid it might not be real, a dream you could wake up from at any second.

“Thank you.” Jimin’s low voice sends a ripple through you. “For waiting for me.”

You press a hand to his cheek, your eyes trying to take all of him in at once. “It wasn’t waiting, Jimin. Really. I’ve loved every second with you. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing.”

“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmurs.

The head of his cock teases your entrance, and you spread your thighs wider, pulling your legs up towards your chest. Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you can’t bite back the moan that spills out of you as he sinks into your tight heat with a cock thick enough to split you open. “Fuck, Jimin.”

There’s a pause when he’s pressed all the way in, his body covering yours, your hands clutching at the broad sweep of his back. He exhales a soft, disbelieving laugh as he looks down to see himself buried in you to the hilt. “God, you’re so tight. Does it hurt?”

You shake your head— you’re so soaked from his tongue and your arousal that it all just feels like melting, a pulsating heat between your legs. When he presses another kiss to your lips, he circles his hips, and you both groan at the feeling.

Jimin’s hands grip your thighs as he shifts and starts to move, starts fucking into you with long, slow strokes that make your pussy flutter, as if to urge him in deeper.

“It’s good?” he checks in again, voice tight, clearly holding himself back.

“So good, baby,” you breathe, “please fuck me.” A smirk flashes over his mouth at your manners, so polite when you ask to take it, and then he snaps his hips into you and you keen. “Fuck, please, just like that.”

He does it again and again, hands pressing down on your thighs to keep you folded up under him as he fucks you. The angle is just right for the thick head of his cock to pound into your g-spot with every stroke, and your back arches as your walls grip tight to him.

Jimin echoes your gasps with his own, swearing under his breath as you squeeze around him. He’s thrusting deep-deep now, and your hips shove up towards him for all of it, your thighs trembling as you take every inch. You’re dripping down his length every time he pulls back, wet enough to soak the sheets beneath you.

The pleasure, the pressure as he fills you up is so overwhelming that your hands reach, clinging to anything they can find. A pillow, the bedsheets, the flexing muscles in his forearms. Your moans come unabashedly now, underscored by the slap of skin on skin, the thud of the bedframe knocking into the wall. “Jimin, Jimin, baby.”

“Yeah,” he pants, choked up like he’s close. “Love it when you say my name.”

You sit up a little, folded legs shifting to wrap over his hips, and your hands come to his face to pull his mouth down to yours. His movements stutter as you kiss him breathlessly, and the brush of your tongue over his must be just enough to make him come undone. With a grunt of effort, he thrusts hard into you one final time, and his shoulders shake as he fills up the condom.

You kiss him again and again, your lips pulled into a smile against his as you tangle a hand in his hair, made messy from sleep and sex. Jimin’s body weighs heavy on top of yours as he drops his head to your shoulder, breath coming in short heat-bursts over your collarbone.

“Fuck. Been a minute.” He presses a kiss there, another to your neck, a third to your jaw. “Do you want to keep going?”

Your eyes widen at the question. “I— can you?”

A soft flush paints color in his cheeks, and he’s suddenly a little shy. “Yeah, I can. If you want. Or we can stop.”

You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your noses bumping. “I kinda felt like I was getting close again.”

He smiles. “Then let me finish what I started.” There’s a bit of shuffling as he moves to the edge of the bed to remove and tie up the used condom, then reaches for the box to retrieve another.

As he tears open the foil and rolls it on, you watch and consider all of him. This body that you know from every angle, that you’ve studied like a textbook, that holds the boy who stepped onto the subway and changed your life and made it better. This body, made to be adored, to be respected and cherished and filled up with love. This body, chosen to be shared with you, to be held by you, to be near you.

That’s all you want, you realize as he rolls over, brown eyes blinking sweetly at you. This body, and all that it holds: the darkness and the light, the pain and the beauty, the soul that so perfectly fits with yours.

“Turn over for me?” he asks softly. “I want to spoon.”

This round is easier, slower, your bodies molding together, shaky from effort and sensitivity. You twist over your shoulder, tipping your head up for a kiss that turns into a shared gasp as he presses into you again. Your walls are swollen enough to be tender, and the stretch of him, the way he fills you up entirely, makes your eyes roll back.

As he starts to grind his hips into you, his hand snakes down between your thighs before you even have to ask. You hook a leg over his to allow him better access and gasp when his cock slides even deeper into you from the new angle.

“So good,” you manage as two of his fingers work circles into your clit, matching the same slow-stroke pace. His tongue slips into your mouth, and with his cock rubbing insistently against your front wall, it doesn’t take much. Pleasure overwhelms you in a hot rush as he so easily pulls you apart again.

“Jimin.” Your voice is nearly a whisper, your walls starting to pulse. Your head tips back against his shoulder as he fucks and rubs you through it, his hums of encouragement buzzing through your body, your hips shuddering. “Baby, oh god.”

Jimin’s strokes start to falter, and then he goes still, your cunt aftershock-fluttering around him as he comes again, groaning your name.

A brush of daylight through the blinds makes your eyes heavy, and they drop closed as you lean into him and breathe through the comedown. You don’t know how long you lay there like that until his kisses pull you back earthside, dotting over your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw. You tilt your head up and he finally finds your lips again.

With a deep grunt of post-sex effort, he rolls over, leaning off the edge of the bed to deal with the second condom. A shiver dots up your spine at the loss of his body next to yours, and you tuck into his side when he lays down again, throwing an arm over his chest to better nuzzle into the crook of his neck. The heat of his palm makes you sigh as his hand rubs gentle circles against your back.

Something cracks open inside of you, warm like his touch, like the sunlight bleeding through the window. You can feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat under your hand, and it’s everything, all of him, that makes the words rise up in your throat, undeniable.

“Jimin,” you breathe, “I l—”

A loud bang on your bedroom door makes you flinch, and you roll over with a grimace as Yoongi shouts from the other side. “If you’re finished, just so you know, you left a fucking pan on the stove. Could’ve burnt the house down while you were in there deflowering each other.”

Your jaw drops open and Jimin’s eyes go wide, and you collapse against each other in a silent rush of laughter. You’re surprised when Yoongi’s voice comes back, a little softer this time. “Also I brought some bagels back from work. If you want any, better hurry before Namjoonie eats them all.”

The charged moment has passed, and the words sink back down inside of you. Making a promise to tell him soon, you wrap yourself tighter around Jimin’s side with a smile. “What do you think?”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’ll never say no to a bagel.”

“Come on then,” you murmur, tilting up for a final hit of affection. The kiss he leaves on your lips makes your heartbeat flutter, like the shudder of a subway car.

[radiant-reid]

pov: your instagram but you're married to Spencer Reid

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y/n.reid: this man 🥵

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aarhotch: active case? -> d.morgan: agreed, y'all need to chill -> y/n.reid: damn, i can't thirst over my husband on government time? -> aarhotch: no, you literally cannot

Liked by badass_em, mommyjareau and 398 others

y/n.reid: you're so goddamn cute @/doctorreid

view all 35 comments

doctorreid: stopppp -> y/n.reid: nooooo -> babygirlpg: don't stop because you're both so cute and you can never, ever get a divorce

Liked by aarhotch, d.morgan and 425 others

y/n.reid: chipmunk 🥰🥰🥰

view all 37 comments

doctorreid: more close-ups? really? -> y/n.reid: yes really, sorry not sorry, you knew this when we got married. it's actually your fault for having a perfect nose, eyes, and bone structure

d.morgan: imagine how creepy y/n must have looked taking this photo -> doctorreid: very creepy

mommyjareau: this is what Henry looks like when I ask him if he's seen the chocolate i told him not to touch

Liked by greenaway.elle, aarhotch and 411 others

y/n.reid: 'hello, police, yeah, can you cook dinner? i can't because i might burn the house down'

view all 41 comments

doctorreid: i burn pasta one time trying to make you a surprise dinner and this is what i get -> y/n.reid: YOU DIDNT PUT WATER IN THE POT!!! -> badass_em: i think this calls for cooking lessons @/davidrossiofficial -> davidrossiofficial: sure, to ensure spencer doesn't end up with as many divorces as i have

Liked by a.blake, mommyjareau, and 357 others

y/n.reid: easily the hottest man alive

view all 46 comments

doctorreid: you're easily the most gorgeous woman alive

babygirlpg: get this man on SuitTok

Liked by ablake, d.morgan and 434 others

y/n.reid: just spencer looking adorable in his little green puffer jacket

view all 31 comments

d.morgan: cold when it's 60, weak -> mommyjareau: they breed them too soft in Vegas -> d.morgan: our Chicago and Pennsylvania blood >> -> doctorreid: now i'm getting bullied @ y/n.reid -> y/n.reid: they just don't recognize your adorableness

Liked by ablake, aarhotch and 346 others

y/n.reid: *insert fun facts about halloween*

view all 37 comments

doctorreid: sorry for annoying you :( -> y/n.reid: never once have you done that, precious boy <3 our Salem trip was the best one yet

davidrossiofficial: a great way to get to sleep @/d.morgan

Liked by babygirlpg, aarhotch and 349 others

y/n.reid: my sun-safe husband

view all 43 comments

mommyjareau: Mary Poppins? -> doctorreid: i'll babysit henry any time

d.morgan: cold in 60 but wearing a suit in 100 -> y/n.reid: and cute to every degree

Liked by thecallahanclan, davidrossiofficial, and 451 others

y/n.reid: dinner and drinks are on spencer next time

view all 37 comments

mommyjareau: how did you not get thrown out? -> doctorreid: we did when our disguises came off, i still managed to wipe the floor with the house

davidrossiofficial: hoping I'm still invited if I won't be there to pay -> y/n.reid: it's milestone event when your kids treat you for the first time

Liked by teelewis, lukeyluke, and 507 others

y/n.reid: pretty boy at the theatre

view all 40 comments

doctorreid: date night is always my favorite night with you -> y/n.reid: cheesy words to match your cheesy smile

[brokeaesthetic]

Important message about Aaron taylor johnson and his wife

Guys we gotta start being real. I just saw a post about someone being sad that aaron was still with his wife. Guys, I know this is gonna hurt to hear. It hurt for me to realize it, but you guys need to grow the tf up. This has been happening since he got with the woman.

If you honestly think he's gonna divorce the woman who gave birth to his kids ur delusional, it's not gonna happen y'all. I'm as much of an aaron fan girl as the rest of you guys, but i'm also realistic. Let's not forget that the man has children with the woman. He obviously loves her even though.....you know. It doesn't matter. That's his marriage at the end of the day y'all. And when he was first spotted without his ring. I thought the first couple of posts about it was funny, but after about five, it got really unfunny and really weird, really quick. These videos could be affecting his mental health. And all the people on the internet being weird could also affect his mental health.

You have to remember you don't know this man AT ALLLL. Like this was a realization, I came to about a month ago. You have to grow up eventually and realize He's just a random celebrity. Yes, he's attractive, but that's about the only thing yall really know about him. I have my thoughts about the marriage. The same way we all do, but at the end of the day, that's his marriage he chooses to stay in, and his decision. Remember this yall he got his WIFE'S name tattooed across his chest, not his children's. That was on purpose to SEND A MESSAGE.

Yes, this hurts me to say, but honestly, it needs to be said. Y'all are starting to sound like kpop fans a little, control yourself, please. And please remember he could be seeing these posts or if that doesn't do it for you. His kids could be seeing it. I'm not completely innocent, I've made some jokes too. But most of them, almost all, were on my private story, so he will never see that. Unlike some of you guys post. Like you can joke about it all you want, but don't get weird.

Like I didn't have an Aaron taylor johnson fan page, but I had a page where I would always fangirl about him. And looking back, i'm a little embarrassed. And that's just from a couple months ago, so I don't understand how some of you aren't embarrassed about some of the things you do now. He's not going to want to fuck someone who made threats on the mother of his childrens life. Again, this isn't me showing any support for this large age gap or anything, of the sort. I actually don't support large age gaps, it's just really weird to me. And seems like a huge power play.

But those are my thoughts and my opinions. I'm not gonna flood his comment section with that buffoonery. I chose not to follow him on Instagram. Because I didn't want to see his wife I protected my peace bro yall got to do the same. AND REMINDER THIS IS A GROWN ASS MAN IN HIS THIRTIES. He's not eighteen anymore. HE'S CONSCIOUSLY making the DECISION to STAY WITH HER. I get it. I truly do. Watch his movies and thirst over him, but don't harass his family. Sorry for any grammar mistakes.

I added more to the rant

[squoxle]

NO BECAUSE WTF IS ACTUALLY GOING AWNN??? So many people writing smut for riki when he literally JUST turned 18? it has been just 6 months since that? like? These 'people' were DEFINITELY SEXUALISING MY BOY even when he was a minor. Imagine having whole ass 6 members to thirst over yet you still pick the one that is barely an adult? How do they even imagine him for these horrified works!? I can't see him in any other genre other than crack/fluff/angst. Thats it. BFFR are they NOT DISGUSTED by themselves.

I agree with what you're saying. But I've come to the point where I just agree to disagree with them. Because I'm not gonna change my standpoint and neither are they.

If they wanna read, write, like, share, and subscribe to Niki smut that's they're choice.

And if i want to block, share, and report Niki smut writers and their content then that's my choice.

sorry for clouding up the tags everyone...

@jakecallsmehisgoodgirl @cassmyz I'm sure you two are having fun in my comment section, but please argue privately. There are other users who have reblogged that post and they receive every notifications from it.

[that-angry-noldo]

war of wrath tumblr dashboard simulator lets go

🦚nosheepherd Follow

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE WEST HAS SENT THEIR AID

🐈meowcat Follow

screaming op we've literally been involved in a full scale war for 10 years already?? do you live under a rock or 😭

🦚nosheepherd Follow

bestie if you think i have left my hiding in the last 20 years for longer than 15 minutes you vastly overestimate my courage 😭 #at least they have food?? #also yes im alive lol sorry for not posting for. checks notes. last 30 years? #i LITERALLY live under a rock #hello beloved mutuals i missed you

(239 notes)

🥔thatonesinda Mutuals

does anyone have any cooking tips for when you have literally zero food in the house lol? we've been managing well but our home was raided a few days ago (we're all well thankfully) and well. everything edible is gone #kinda panicking over here 😬😬 #we'll probably last for a while but im afraid we'll have to leave soon #ive heard some of our armies are going nearby i think the best decision will be to stick to them #sigh. all of this would be so much easier if parents were around #lara talks #mutuals does anyone have a couch me and my siblings can crash at lol

(5 notes)

🏹herothevaliant Mutuals

she jumped on my sword til i

🏹herothevaliant

fuck

🏹herothevaliant

guys this is so embarassing my commander was literally staying behind me while i was typing. i was on duty im so fucked

🏹herothevaliant

STOP REBLOGGING THIS MY CAPTAIN IS ON THIS WEBSITE IF THEY SEE THIS I SWEAR TO ERU

🌌forestbranch Follow

hey 🙂

🏹herothevaliant

FUCK #WHY THE FUCK ARE ELVES SO QUIET #AAAAAH #please don't fire me

(11.2k notes)

For you!

🏺coolshitifound

🖼️ [image]

[Image ID: Lord Eönwë during the battle. He is pictured mid-swing, surrounded by numerous foes, all with varying levels of terror upon their faces. Lord Eönwë is covered in blood with a scowl on his face. He is swinging his greatsword at the nearest enemy, who wears a terrified expression. End Image ID]

🧉starspraylatte Follow

i think i hauve black death #🥵🥵🥵 #not very religious but y'know what #i would get on my knees for him

(58 notes)

🌠wanderingstranger Following

. #fucking hell #i'm so fucking sick #attended a mutual's funeral today #and a close irl friend is gone without trace #and i'm not sure whether it's a comfort that i didn't feel her die #fuck #this is so unfair #im so fucking sick of this war #and each day it's harder to believe this will ever be over #im not sure for how much longer i can go on #i have a bow #maybe i should join someone on the battlefield #at least death will find me not by my own hand #vent #to delete

(4 notes)

Because you follow #lord eönwë

🌺wistfuldaydreamer Follow

With You, Forever

Pairings: Lord Eönwë x Reader

Warnings: RPF, discussion of death, sadness, heartbreak

Summary: After narrowly evading death on the battlefield, you face your lover.

A/N: sorry for not updating! my family was on a run from goblin raiders, didn't have much time for writing lmao 🥲 i hope you enjoy!

Keep Reading

#lord eönwë #lord eönwë x reader #host of the west x reader #rpf #lord eönwë fanfiction #lord eönwë imagine

(138 notes)

🦀crabinthetree Mutuals

can't believe y'all are thirsting over those amanyar losers while our lord and saviour king ereinion gil-galad and our god and father lord círdan the shipwright are LITERALLY RIGHT THERE #fucking disappointed in y'all #1k #5k #10k #keep reblogging this don't be cowards

(12.4k notes)

⚫rosemary-in-the-wild-deactivated-0134563

no but why are king finarfin and manwë's herald kinda 😳😳😳 like am i the only one sensing some er strong male friendship going on orrrrrrr

🪵treecutter Follow

NO WAY THEY GOT DEACTIVATED TWO HOURS AFTER MAKING THIS POST

🌿olive-in-the-wild Following

they hated me because i was telling the truth 😔

🍆guyhaver Follow

people having "orcs dni" in their bio is so insensitive. like not only there are orcs who activelly suffer under lord melkor's rule but there are also those who fight on the side of the free people like wtf.

🍠friedtentacles Follow

i agree op but also why is it always orcs lol. like no one is putting werewolves ghouls vampires and other creatures of night on their lists lmao

🪭birdinbirch Follow

updating my dni list brb 🙂

🍆guyhaver Follow

@Staff why the FUCK is behavior like this allowed on this site. i swear to almighty #blocked and reported #istg one day i will quit this website #mutuals hold my hands we'll get through it together

(34 notes)

[tdlb]

hey y'all

so episode 8...

i'm writing this as i'm watching it. tbh, i would also walk out of any room scott's in. cable, i get it.

logan!! what the hell?! just sarcastically calling scott "daddy"!? i choked. logan, sir, don't be like this (no actually, be like this).

roberto's mother watching fox news while calling the x-men terrorists omg, dude. jubes saying to him "you have a trust fund and i have good taste" iconic.

i hope rogue's okay, i hope kurt's okay... and once again, jean is jeaning.

i do love kurt though. do we have any theories on rogue? is she just out because she got blown up and the grief?

okay, how many of y'all are thirsting over magneto in his speedos? because they put in that shot on purpose!

always remember cable is a softy built like a brick wall.

doom! you better not be not trying to double cross these idiots for latveria, come on doomsy! you can do better than this!

talking of doomsy, what is up with people putting robots in people? (if you don't know, doom did this in the last year or so but for better reasons)

of course jeeves is a sentinel!

"oh my stars and garters!" indeed, hank.

love how logan was just watching tv when this went down, also keep him quipping.

oh, they dropped pirate swords in front of kurt - let's gooo

jubes getting attacked by sentinels in a mall... again! and lampshading it!

oh, our house is burning.

ewww the senrinals staring at rogue.

kurt is the certified bamf.

x-men is legit terrifying right now.

but hey, the summers clan are in fast and furious!

i hope magneto gets clothes.

aaaand back to terrifying

magneto was right!

oh hi petey, whatya doin'?

logan really out on the battleground titties out, huh? remy would approve.

okay, as always- thoughts and theories welcome! i don't think we have to worry about morph too much... yet. and i'm sorry this was such a random stream of consciousness, my head ain't in the best place today. surprised i could even watch the episode.

stay safe, guys and love each other okay?

i'm here if you wanna talk x-men or just say hi, feel free.

[leonenjoyer69]

Both your OCs occupy space in my mind lol I love both Harry and Elias. Would you mind giving some more rambles please and thank you? About either one. I just love learning more about them.

VJEKBKDKF TYSM, I'M GLAD YOU LIKE THEM :D it makes me very happy to know that people enjoy my ramblings and art of my lil fellas :3 (also, all you sweet anons are gonna be the death of me with your mysterious identities!)

(SUB NOTE: if anyone ever has any ideas at all or art requests or something for either of my sillies PLEASE don't hesitate to bring them up I would literally love hearing any suggestion or answering any question ever)

Anyways!!! I've actually been waiting to drop a bunch of stuff on these fellas that I've been talking about with some folks on Discord (which y'all can also ask for if you wanna talk to me on there I LOVE TALKING TO YOU GUYS), so thank you for granting me the perfect opportunity >:3 so, without further ado, I shall begin:

First of all, i just wanted to drop my height HCs bc,,,, why not lmao

I can't exactly visualize heights very well in my mind so these may be a wee bit too tall, idk, but yeah! I think giving Hyde an extra half inch would be funny bc you KNOW that mf would just round up lmao. Elias is a bit taller than Hyde, which Hyde kinda hates sometimes, itty bitty fella.

Anyways!! Harry is first up for rambling bc I have less for him rn lmao. I don't remember if ive mentioned it much before on here, but I know I included it in the fic i did for him, and that's his Scottish accent :3 we as a fandom don't write Jekyll's accent enough so I like projecting it onto injured Hyde and now Harry 😌 MORE SCOTTISH JEKYLL PLEASE-

Harry didn't really have to worry about keeping face in the mindscape (except for when around Mind Lanyon, who would pester tf out of him over it) so he fell back to at LEAST having an accent. He partially fell back on it because 1, it made him feel a wee more comfortable, and 2, because of how often he revisited memories from university (specifically during his and Lanyon relationship ofc), so he's used to hearing himself speaking with at least a drawl.

But yeah, that accent kinda sticks with him when he gains control and he has quite a hard time shaking it, which makes for some fun interactions, like when Lanyon's trying to break down his office door :3333

I believe I've mentioned this, but Harry is very very sensitive to most physical sensations (touch, pain, etc.) and has some light and sound sensitivities for a decent bit after gaining control. Because of how long he spent in the mindscape with numbed senses, It really messed with him to suddenly have control again. Eventually he starts getting used to it again, but for the first few days he's practically on the edge of a mental breakdown at every moment. He's also super jumpy from it (and from the ungodly paranoia he got from the mindscape lmao) and is quite firmly "no touch" for about a week (except for when he initiates stuff with Lanyon). Once he gets used to it tho his touch starved ass is a lot more affectionate and such.

One last thing for him! He's also far more sensitive to hunger and thirst sensations/pain, so he tends to take far better care of their body while in control. It took him a short while to get used to eating and drinking again, but he's more than happy to do it, not realizing how much he had missed it. Plus, he's seen how horrible Jekyll and Hyde would take care of themselves, so he certainly doesn't want their neglect to be his downfall. He's also a bit more sensitive to being tired, but can't sleep very well (especially without Lanyon) because of paranoia and nightmares.

OKAY, NOW, onto Elias!! Most all this stuff is from a discord convo that I didn't feel like rewording, so... Sorry if the formatings weird 💀 (questions are indented and italicized, as well as abbreviated)

OKAY SO, For how Henry (or whoever) convinces Elias to switch back:

Elias usually throws some sort of fit when he's initially order to switch back (except for the very rare instances where he's actively wanting to switch back, like when everyone's busy and he starts getting lonely anyways), though most the time he'll simmer down when Henry starts sorta begging or when either Henry or Lanyon (or very occasionally Hyde) lowkey bribe him. Usually Henry (or Hyde) will bribe him with physical touch/affection (hugs, cuddling, kisses, stuff like that), or bonding time, like going out and doing things together and such (or just doing stuff together at the society, like watching Henry do science or doing paperwork 💀). (Also, sometimes Jekyll will just get somewhat impatient and start asking more desperately and the guilt kinda gets to Elias, Henry usually feels bad about it tho) otherwise, Lanyon will bribe him (quite grudgingly, might I add) with more time out, going to the park with Elias in shadow form and talking, or letting him get a gift for Jekyll or Hyde. But yeah, Elias is lowkey like a little affectionate, overactive puppy :3

[...] I misread "letting him get a gift for Jekyll or Hyde" as "letting him get a gift FROM Jekyll or Hyde" and swore for a moment that sometimes Jekyll/Hyde sent gifts to Elias but Lanyon stole them [... ]

LANYON WOULD TOTALLY STEAL ELIAS'S STUFF TO USE AS BARGAINING LEVERAGE 💀 but yes, bribery is the go to, this guy does NOT like being locked away, so when he does it's either out of guilt or he's getting something out of it, hehe

[...] Imagine that since Lanyon is probably taller than elias, he just hides some lf his stuff on higher places so that he cannot reach them, I feel like Elias would annoy the hell out of him so that he stops doing it though (Lanyon puts them back where they where, and when Elias isn't there, he just hides them again) also, I just imagined Jekyll like guilt tripping or manipulating him so that he drinks the potion

Oh he absolutely would, Lanyon would have a whole "confiscated" shelf for it too, and Elias would definitely whine about it with sooo much persistence. AND JFKGKKF YEAH JEKYLL WOULD 😭😭 both out of selfishness and not, since he still hasn't tested how the formula behaves when an alter ego is out for prolonged amounts of time, and sometimes he just wants Robert back.

Jekyll likes Elias, he just has more of a preference for Lanyon. Jekylls probably also got a bit less patience for Elias's whining after dealing with Hyde's for so long lmao, he always feels kinda bad about being mean or anything to Elias tho, since it's kinda his fault that Lanyon split.

Would Lanyon ever like bother Elias with the fact that Jekyll likes him better?? Like maybe, at one point he just gets too tired of him wanting to hang out with Jekyll and says to him that Jekyll just deals with him out of pity, and like Elias then just feeling kinda bad about it and wondering if Jekyll actually likes him??

If Lanyon's feeling especially spiteful and annoyed, probably, but also Elias worries about that enough on his own and bothers Lanyon with all his self deprecating thoughts anyways 💀

How does Hyde feel about Elias?

He's generally guilt free about the whole "splitting Lanyon" thing and /gen likes Elias way more than he likes Lanyon lmao. He still gets that sorta bitter anger and resentment when he looks at Lanyon, but he doesn't get that with Elias. Hyde kinda thinks that Elias is all the best parts of Lanyon (Except for Elias's emotional sensitivity sometimes, but Hyde deals. He feels surprisingly bad when he upsets Elias..) But yeah, Elias is most of the reason why Hyde is complacent enough to actually kinda lay low after messing up Blackfog and stuff, so Jekyll certainly likes Elias for keeping Hyde somewhat in check lmao

And that's everything I have for this!!! Thank you so much for the ask :D

[cynicalrosebud]

Rumor Has It (5)

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

CW: Canon-typical violence

I'm so sorry y'all, I know I just rushed through like two full games in the next two chapters but I really want to just move on with Rumor and his thirst/emotional bonding with the 141. I deeply apologize and hope you will continue to enjoy my work

Rumor stepped out of the armored vehicle, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the dusty streets of Las Almas. His gear, provided by Price and carefully adjusted to meet the demands of the mission, glinted under the harsh light. The M4A1 slung across his back was an extension of him—well-maintained and ready for action. The Glock 19, holstered securely at his hip, was a trusted sidearm he carried with the same confidence he exuded in every step.

His tactical vest was equipped with pouches and compartments for magazines, grenades, and other essentials. Each piece of gear was meticulously arranged for quick access and maximum efficiency. The armor plating, robust yet flexible, offered protection without sacrificing mobility.

Across his right arm, prominently displayed, was a Welsh flag patch—its vibrant red dragon a stark contrast to the muted tones of his uniform. The patch, a nod to his heritage, was a testament to the camaraderie and respect he had earned from the 141, echoing the Scottish flag patch worn by Soap. It was a small detail, but one that carried significant meaning for Rumor, a symbol of his integration into the team and the shared commitment to their mission.

MISSION: CARTEL PROTECTION

LAS ALMAS, MEXICO

30 OCT 2022, 1000 HOURS

The sun was high in the sky as the Mexican Special Forces jeeps rolled to a halt at the outskirts of a seemingly abandoned village. Los Vaqueros, accompanied by Soap, Rumor, and Ghost, dismounted from their vehicles with practiced efficiency. The weight of their mission was evident in the determined set of their jaws and the tense readiness of their stances.

Alejandro, the seasoned leader, gathered his team. “Team leaders, circle up on me…”

Rodolfo responded promptly, his voice steady. “Copiado, Coronel.”

“Weapons hot, Vaqueros,” Alejandro commanded, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Victor 2-1, one of the Vaqueros, signaled for the team to move. “Let’s move.”

As Alejandro, Rodolfo, Soap, Rumor, and Ghost gathered, the air was thick with anticipation. Soap, ever the one to seek clarity, turned to Alejandro with a direct question. “Where are they holding Hassan?”

“White two-story building. Back of town,” Alejandro replied, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

Alejandro and Rodolfo shared a quick fist-bump, a silent gesture of camaraderie and readiness, their own personal ritual. The team, now fully prepared, approached their target. Soap, Ghost, and Alejandro stacked up at the door of the building, each ready to execute their role in the breach.

Alejandro called out with authority. “¡Todos Victors, estén listo... tres, dos, uno...entran, entran!”

With a decisive push, Ghost opened the door, and the team surged through, moving quickly through the village.

“Clear. Move,” Alejandro instructed as they advanced.

Soap glanced around, checking for any signs of civilian presence. “Civilians?”

Alejandro shook his head, his voice grim. “Gone. Cartel took over. It's a hideout now.”

“A good place to keep Hassan,” Soap muttered, the frustration clear in his voice.

The team reached another gate, and as they approached, Spanish voices shouted from the other side. Ghost, ever alert, opened the door.

“Move,” Alejandro commanded, his voice sharp.

The team encountered armed cartel members, their presence marked by the unmistakable tension of a prepared fight.

One of the cartel members yelled, “¡Chicos, aquí vienen! ¡Vamos a chingarlos!”

Alejandro’s response was immediate. “Contacto- todos Victors avancen.”

Rodolfo echoed the command, “¡Dos está moviendo!”

“¡Hijos de puta!” one of the cartel members shouted, the anger in his voice clear even in translation.

The team engaged swiftly, their coordinated efforts taking down the cartel members with lethal efficiency. Alejandro kept the pressure on, “They’re down. Push up.”

From his vantage point, Rumor remained focused and precise, his Welsh accent tinged with concentration as he communicated with the team. “On your six, Ghost,” he called out, ensuring that everyone remained covered as they advanced.

“Preparados,” one of the remaining cartel members called out, their tone betraying their readiness for the fight.

“¡Vamos a chingarlos!” another cartel member shouted, his voice a mixture of defiance and rage.

Soap pushed through the alleyway outside a house, clearing it methodically as he encountered and dispatched any cartel members he came across. “Clear,” he reported, his tone reflecting the intensity of their mission.

Alejandro nodded, acknowledging Soap’s report. “Secure this house, then we go for Hassan.”

Ghost, ever the pragmatist, added, “Cartel will move ‘im fast.”

Alejandro’s response was decisive. “Then we move faster.”

The mission hadn’t gone as planned. Though they’d hunted Hassan across Las Almas, the cartel had slipped through their fingers. Political red tape bound their hands, forcing the 141 and Los Vaqueros to step back just as they were closing in. Hassan had become untouchable, protected by layers of bureaucratic bullshit that neither Price nor Laswell could punch through.

Rumor, Ghost, Soap, and Alejandro sat in the safehouse they’d been using as a temporary base. Each man wore the same expression—a mixture of exhaustion and frustration. No one spoke much about the failed mission, but the weight of it hung in the air.

But there was no time to dwell. A new mission had been set in motion: Capture El Sin Nombre.

MISSION: EL SIN NOMBRE LAS ALMAS, MEXICO 1 NOV 2022, 2300 HOURS

The rooftop was bathed in the warm glow of the Las Almas skyline. It might’ve been beautiful if it wasn’t for the fact that they were staring down into cartel territory, planning to walk right into the mouth of the beast. The mansion spread out below them, a sprawling symbol of wealth and corruption, swarming with armed guards. Graves stood a few feet away, arms crossed, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Soap, Ghost, Alejandro, Rumor, and Graves had gathered to finalize the next stage of their operation.

Rumor’s eyes flicked to Graves, his jaw tightening. There was something about the man that rubbed him the wrong way—the arrogance, the way he seemed too confident, too smug. Graves hadn’t earned his trust, and the way he strutted around like he owned the place grated on his nerves.

“We need someone on the inside,” Graves announced, pacing slowly. “Someone who can blend in, gather intel, and make contact with El Sin Nombre without raising suspicion.”

“I’ll go.” Soap’s voice cut through the air, confident and direct. He stepped forward without hesitation, his gaze locked on Alejandro and Graves.

Rumor’s eyes darted to Soap, and he immediately felt a surge of unease. “You sure about that?” he muttered, shifting closer to Soap, his tone low.

Soap shot him a lopsided grin. “Aye, I’m sure. Got the look, don’t I?”

Rumor scoffed, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. “It’s not about the look, MacTavish. It’s about walkin’ into that place alone with a target on your back. Cartel finds out, you’re dead.”

Ghost, standing silently beside them, chimed in with his usual bluntness. “Soap’s the best man for the job.”

Alejandro nodded, clearly respecting the decision. “We’ve got the intel. Soap goes in, blends with the guests. We’ll be watching.”

Graves clapped his hands together, a grin plastered across his face. “That’s the spirit, Soap. You’ll fit right in. Play it cool, ask the right questions, and we’ll have Hassan’s location in no time.”

Rumor’s fists clenched behind his back. Graves’ overly casual attitude wasn’t helping. “And what happens if things go sideways, Graves?” Rumor snapped, his Welsh accent cutting through the air like a blade. “You just gonna sit up here and watch? Or are you planning to actually do something if it all goes to hell?”

Graves raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “What’s with the hostility, Rumor? I’ve got this under control. My Shadows are everywhere, and Soap can handle himself.”

Rumor took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Just don’t forget who you’re working with, cowboy. One slip-up from your boys, and Soap’s on his own in there.”

Ghost’s hand landed firmly on Rumor’s shoulder, pulling him back slightly. “Enough. We’ve got a mission.”

Rumor exhaled sharply, glancing away from Graves and toward the mansion below. He trusted Soap with his life, but trusting Graves? That was a whole different story. Regardless of the man saving their rears earlier, his personality was atrocious.

Soap, sensing the tension between Rumor and Graves, offered a quick, reassuring smile to Rumor. “I’ll be fine, mate. You just keep your eyes on me from up here, yeah?”

Rumor gave a small nod, but the tightness in his chest didn’t ease. He watched as Soap readied himself to descend into the mansion, knowing full well that once Soap was inside, there would be little they could do if things went wrong.

Alejandro stepped forward, breaking the momentary silence. “Remember, once inside, stick to the plan. You find El Sin Nombre, you get us what we need.”

“Copy that,” Soap said, adjusting his gear. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

As Soap moved toward the edge of the rooftop, preparing to descend, Rumor crossed his arms, his eyes fixed on the Scotsman. “You better,” he muttered, though his voice was tinged with worry more than sarcasm.

Graves, clearly enjoying the tension, gave Soap a pat on the back before stepping away. “Break a leg, MacTavish. You’ve got the charm to pull this off.”

Rumor bit his tongue, watching as Soap disappeared into the night, ready to face whatever lay inside the cartel’s den. His gut churned with unease. Graves had too much swagger, too much confidence for his liking, and that didn’t sit right with Rumor.

“Eyes on Soap,” Alejandro said, breaking the silence again. “He’s our best shot at getting close to El Sin Nombre.”

Ghost remained silent, his presence solid and unmoving beside Rumor. The tension in the air was palpable, and despite the mission’s importance, Rumor couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to get messy—and fast.

With Soap now on his own, the team could only watch and wait, tension simmering beneath the surface. Rumor stayed close to the edge, scanning the streets below as the night unfolded, his irritation with Graves simmering beneath his composed exterior.

It had been Valeria, of fucking course.

The container creaked the soldiers hauled Valeria Garza inside. The tension in the air was palpable, the weight of their recent capture of El Sin Nombre—Valeria—pressing down on everyone in the room. Rumor shot a quick glance at Valeria, his expression a mix of contempt and caution. She sat in the chair Graves had pointed to, exuding confidence despite her restrained position.

Graves didn’t waste time. “Have a seat.”

Valeria complied, her sharp eyes scanning the room, taking in every movement. Graves circled her, arms crossed, waiting for the interrogation to begin.

“How do you two know each other?” Graves asked, his southern drawl laced with curiosity, nodding toward Alejandro.

Alejandro’s lips curled with disdain. “Know is a strong word.”

Valeria smirked, her voice dripping with condescension. “Las palabras fuertes son importantes. ¿Nuestra palabra es nuestra valor, no?” (Strong words are important. Our word is our worth, right?)

Alejandro’s temper flared instantly, his fists clenching as he took a step toward her. “A la verga, hija de puta, que te voy a matar.” (Go to hell, you fucking son of a bitch—I'm going to kill you.)

Soap and Rodolfo rushed to Alejandro, holding him back before he could get any closer.

“Alejandro—” Soap warned, his hand firm on the man’s chest.

Rodolfo, calm but tense, added, “Calmado, Comandante.” (Calm down, Commander.)

Alejandro’s eyes blazed with fury, but he took a shaky breath, stepping back reluctantly. “Yeah!? Yeah!?” His frustration was evident, but he held himself in check for now.

“Vamos.” (Go on.) He gestured for Valeria to continue, his voice low and dangerous.

Valeria leaned back, clearly enjoying the moment. “I don’t take orders anymore. Even the dogs in Las Almas know not to bark at me.”

“Mira este—" (Look at this—) Alejandro’s voice was venomous. “She’s ex-military. We served together.”

Valeria smiled, toying with him. “Different squads, same unit. You were the wild ones, huh… los vaqueros.”

Alejandro grit his teeth, visibly holding back from reacting further.

“My squad was clean-cut,” Valeria continued, voice silky, “señores y señoras…” (gentlemen and ladies...)

Alejandro’s patience finally cracked. “Until the raid on the son of La Araña. Te recuerdas?” (Do you remember?)

Valeria’s face didn’t flinch. “Me recuerdo perfecto.” (I remember perfectly.)

Alejandro leaned forward, eyes locked on hers. “Her team was told to cordon off the city to keep out La Araña's enforcers and prevent the bloodshed.”

Valeria’s smile sharpened. “That’s exactly what we did.”

Alejandro’s jaw clenched. “Well, you kept out his enforcers, because you were his enforcers, huh?”

Valeria didn’t bother denying it. “He was escorted to the mountains without incident. Also to prevent bloodshed.”

Rodolfo cut in. “He was supposed to go to prison.”

Graves, who had been watching with narrowed eyes, stepped forward. “So, you killed him and you took over.”

Valeria leaned back in her chair, confident as ever. “I created a power vacuum... and I filled it. Las Almas needs me.”

Alejandro’s voice trembled with rage. “Las Almas needs soldiers, not sicarios... Y usted… usted... You disgrace the army. ¿Y tus hermanos, no?” (And your brothers, no?)

Graves, ever the opportunist, asked, “Why’re you doing this?”

Valeria’s eyes flicked to him, calculating. “You tell me… you're the contractor, no? What you don't do, your competitors will.”

Ghost’s gravelly voice cut through the tension. “You’re a narco, harboring a terrorist.”

Valeria shrugged, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Terrorism is good for business. It's insurance.”

Alejandro stepped forward again, seething. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Valeria rolled her eyes, dismissive. “Puedes tocar la puta cabeza del tu culo por un segundo? Puta mal, Alejandro.” (Can you get your fucking head out of your ass for a second? For fuck's sake, Alejandro.)

Graves, sensing things getting out of hand, gestured for her to calm down.

But Valeria wasn’t done. “As long as there is a war on terror, there will be no real war on drugs. To find your so-called terrorist, and your missiles, you need me. To prevent bloodshed.”

Alejandro had had enough. He picked up his weapon, ready to walk out. “No. I'm not doing this…”

Soap stepped forward to stop him. “Doesn't change anything.”

Alejandro whirled around, fury in his eyes. “It changes everything! FUCK!” He glared at the rest of the team. “Don’t make a deal with her… It won’t end well.”

Alejandro stormed out of the container, leaving the others in tense silence. Soap turned back to Valeria, standing tall.

“Looks like it's your turn to tell the truth.”

Graves moved in closer behind her, looming. “I want the missiles, I want the target, and I want Hassan. And you’ve got ten seconds, or I’m gonna show you the difference between the military and me.”

Valeria sighed, feigning boredom. “I don’t know the targets. I’m a courier. I move things. I can tell you where to find the missiles. When you return, I’ll tell you where Hassan is. In exchange, you will let me go. Se me largan ya…” (Now leave…)

As Soap exchanged looks with Ghost and Rodolfo, Valeria's eyes flickered to Rumor. She flashed a flirtatious smile, her voice dropping into a playful tone. "You know, cariño... if you weren’t so tied up with these boys, maybe you and I could work something out. I do like a man with a bit of mystery."

Rumor didn’t even blink. “Sorry, I don’t swing that way… serpiente.”

Valeria’s smile faltered for a moment before she laughed softly, clearly amused by his rejection. “Pity.”

Graves grinned, unaffected by the exchange. “Deal,” he said, sealing the agreement. “Until then… you’re stayin’ right here.”

As they left Valeria bound in the container, Rumor couldn’t help but throw one last glance over his shoulder at her. The way she always thought she could manipulate and control people left a bitter taste in his mouth.

But not him. Never him.

[that-wildwolf]

how does fanon get Shakarian wrong? 👀👀

*inhales*

I'm gonna start off by saying that I'm a turianfucker too and turians are hot and I get the thirst I get y'all

BUT

too many people are attracted to turians and want a turian romance so badly that they ignore Garrus's entire character for the sake of getting a turian romance and just basically strip him down to nothing but his species. People who are into turians and have a primal kink or something, which like. I also get I'm a monsterfucker too that's fun. are also projecting too much of that kink onto turians and Garrus specifically because Garrus is just unlucky enough to be the romance option. People write a generic alien/human relationship while ignoring most of what the Shakarian dynamic looks like in canon because. Well I actually don't know why. But the amount of turian/human fics, and yes, Shakarian too, that include some kind of "turians are a bit feral or actually aggressive/possessive" take is terrifying. Have we played the same games? Turians are literally described over and over as uptight having a stick in their ass sticklers for the rules. Garrus is an awkward nerd who doesn't know how to flirt with his girlfriend. Even when he he does the evil he does it in the most rule-obedient way possible. He's a mess and he relies on Shepard a bit too much especially in the first two games. This man is NOT the growly dominant alien character insert you want him to be I'm sorry. Turians have 15,000 more years of civilisation than humans. They are not going to be feral creatures just because they have sharper teeth. The human would be the primitive uncivilised alien in a turian/human relationship if you need someone to fill that role (also, why would you?).

Not to mention Shepard being treated as a self-insert which is. well it is a lot more forgivable in my eyes, but even as an RPG PC, Shepard still has a lot of distinct character. I think this is the first time since playing The Walking Dead that I've seen a player character with such a strong personality despite the genre forcing her to be different things.

To be fair I think a lot of the problems with fanon characterization of not only Shakarian but pretty much everyone who gets commonly mischaracterized (look at the woobification of Tali) could be fixed by regularly checking back in with the source material instead of, which I understand and can also be guilty of sometimes, immersing yourself in more and more layers of fanfic until you can't tell apart the fanon Shakarian from the canon Shakarian.

Dishonourable mentions (things that aren't common bad fandom practice but bother me personally): sub Shepard and actually worse yet dom Garrus, any AU where Garrus is a human (like??? lmao. his entire personality and conflict is driven by him being a turian, that is so central to his character that I can't imagine why you would take that away and think that's the same person), Shakarian retiring to the beach (Garrus said tropical. He didn't say beach. He hates swimming he would drown save him)

Also obviously this should go without saying, but there are TONS of great fanfics about Shakarian out there. This is just a list of what people get wrong that I wrote in like ten minutes on my phone sitting on the floor in my kitchen. It's not some magic truth scroll of fandom transgressions. Also obviously everyone is free to interpret fictional characters however they want even if it's different from the source material. Sometimes ignoring canon is better, trust me. Do whatever you want and don't let me spoil your fandom experience for you.

But yeah

TL;DR: I think that Shakarian and Garrus in particular suffers a lot from Garrus being the only turian romance in the games.

[moreofem]

I haven’t watched The Bear yet so I could be very wrong but Carmy seems like the type to like it when you talk back to him just a bit like it would grate his nerves but when you push he can push back until idk he ends up bending you over like “if you wanted me so bad you could have just said so” and I….I’m blaming you for making me thirst but goddamn I’m real excited to see the hype for real! 😌

OH YEAH

Naauurrr because I will inflict the Carmy thirst on everyone idgaf 🤪🤪

There's a lot of pushing and screaming until the breaking point in this show, and Carmy definitely participates in that looolll. And since he's the 1st chef and he gives out orders, he's always pushing to see how long someone will defy his authority. And you being a stubborn little shit, you just like riling him up

It all started in the morning, with you refusing to do the vegetable prep because you were too busy doing sauce prep. Carmy had already annoyed you beforehand, waking you up at 2 am because of his insomnia, so now you wanted to make him pay

"Ok then Chef, do a double prep!"

"Carmen you can clearly see that I can't do double prep right now!"

"Oh my god, just say Yes Chef, chef.?"

"Chef. I'm sorry, but I can't fucking double prep, Chef."

"Chef; stop giving me an attitude. We all have fucking work to do. Tina is doing a double prep too so I don't know why the fuck you can't do double prep!"

"Carmen just shut the fuck up and let me do my thing! Damm!"

Both of you go at it, all while cooking and prepping, until Sydney comes in to calm the whole situation down.

"I told y'all it wasn't a good idea to have an almost married couple in the kitchen, but of course, no one is gonna listen to good old Richie uh?"

You and your boyfriend groaned and said in unison: "fuck off Richie"

Later in the day, Carmen calls you in his office for a meeting, clearly annoyed with your antics. When you come in, you're greeted with the delicious sight of Carmy spread out on the chair, his fingers running across his thighs and through his hair.

"Babe. You know I'm busy, what's u-"

"Really, y/n, for the sake of all of us, stop trying to question everything I ask you to do. It completely breaks the dynamic of the day! You're here, giving me-"

"Oh fuck off Carmen! You knew damn well I couldn't double prep this morning! Those sauces take forever and I need to watch the temperature the whole time!Because the thing is, if I double prep, then I can't properly focus on the sauce, and if I dont then I ruin the sauce, and then, you're fucking rude to me cause *Oh my god chef, start over.*; like it wasn't the thing I was about to fucking do!"

Your voice pitched high, and your chest was heaving, and if he was being completely honest, Carmy's brain stopped working and he was thinking with his dick, which was straining against his jeans at the most inconvenient of times.

“Baby…”

“No no no Carmy, don’t baby me. You and your huge ego can go fuck each other because you don’t follow the rules of *no screaming* at me in the kitchen! You don’t! You just prance around cause you’re the owner of the place and you don’t have any consideration for anyone else than you and your dick and you seriously need to back off cause you’re embarr-“

He slowly got up, stalking you down and back you against the table.

“What else baby? Tell me more…”

You scoffed

“Oh you fucker. You’re getting one outta this huh? You dirty fuck! I’m trying to have a serious-

“More or so rambling, not very serious”

“A SERIOUS conversation with you, and you just wanna get your dick sucked!”

“Bae. Baby. Love of my life. I know that if I put my hands down your pants, you’d be fucking wet too. I know you get a ride outta this too, so don’t try me.”

His tattooed hand grabbed your neck, and a devilish grin formed on his face.

“Carmy… baby, we don’t have time for th-“

“Shhh, lemme make you feel good, ‘kay?”

You nodded sheepishly, biting your lip. He turned you around, so that your ass was against his hips.

“Fuck.. you drive me crazy Carmy…”

He kissed your neck, pulled your pants down, and took his dick out. He swiped the tip against your pussy, grinning when your juices were already glistening.

“Huh. You’re so wet, just like I thought. If you wanted me so bad you could’ve just said so… now try to be quiet baby cause I’m about to rock your shit…”

—

EHEHEEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEH😈😈😈

[arts-and-drafts]

Come Morning Light (Part 4)

(Sorry it's been a bit!! I moved recently so it's been hard finding time to write. This chapter was really hard to work on and I feel like it's OOC, so I'm not super happy with it, but I hope y'all enjoy nonetheless)

CW: Mild depiction of injury, death mention

-

There was a reason Stress was called monster.

There was a reason she kept her life as free as she could from conflict and anxiety. There was a reason that she stayed out of the play-fights around the server after Season 6. There was a reason she was never targeted for pranks of any kind that concerned scaring or angering her.

She had it under incredible control, and the hermits knew that. They did not fear her. Stress was their friend, and they all trusted that she would never harm them, even if she lived up to her name.

After seeing her closest friend of all be sliced nearly in two, right in front of her, she instantly proved why titles should not be taken lightly.

It took the efforts of every other hermit that tried to help Tommy escape to calm her from her blinding rage, and even then, the only reason she didn't immediately chase down the intruder into the Nether hub was because of Etho's severe injury.

Stress instead accompanied Etho to Monster's Brew, aided by Tango to help him walk while Jevin alerted the server to the recent events. The faerie's teeth were still so sharp that they cut against her tongue, but she pushed her fury as far down as it would go at the present moment. Etho needed her right now. She had to stay calm.

Stress haphazardly rummaged through her various chests and supplies, not caring that several potions and empty bottles shattered on the wooden floor in her fevered searching. Eventually, she found what would hold Etho over for the time being; she didn't have any ready-made instant healing in her stock, but regen would do until the brewer was done.

She stalked over to Etho, taking care to show gentleness as she handed him the potion. He met her eyes with his own mismatched gaze that let on the fact that he knew exactly what turmoil Stress was going through, but he just nodded in thanks and kept quiet.

There was tense silence only broken by the brewing stand quietly gurgling in the background, the other hermits respectfully looking away as Etho pulled down his mask to drink the regen.

"He got away." Stress growled, unable to keep the anger to herself. She knew if she let it dissipate, the rage would devolve into sadness and then she'd be useless against this overpowered individual that managed to break through Xisuma's magic.

"Not for long." Jevin answered, laying a gooey hand on Stress' shoulder. "We'll get him, Stress, don't worry. Iskall's probably already respawned by now, too."

Stress clenched her jaw. "That was too much damage."

A heavy silence. Everyone in the room knew what Stress meant. If one's killing blow is severe enough, it lasts even through respawning. Nearly everyone on the server had the scars from nasty deaths in the past to prove it.

"Iskall's strong." Etho commented, his mask returned and voice stronger than before thanks to the temporary healing. "He can handle it. This isn't the worst that's happened to him, anyway."

Stress dug her claws into her arm. How could Etho say that? He saw the viciousness with which the intruder had flung himself at Iskall; he was the only thing that stopped Etho's head from rolling entirely. This adversary was incredibly dangerous, no matter how prepared the hermits were in terms of netherite and resources.

"Stress." Tango spoke up, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. The faerie looked up to see the imp's eyes alight with the same quiet fury that bubbled below her skin, the same thirst for vengeance that made his hair smoke dangerously.

"We're gonna get that son of a bitch, okay?" Tango said, his tone harsh but not against her. He turned away to gather the completed healing potion from the brewing stand, smoothly handing it over to Etho to gulp down. "I know he was low when he escaped. We won't let it happen again."

"He can't hide for long." Etho agreed, his voice tight with pain as the potion's magic stitched his leg back together. "But more important than that is Tommy. He wants that kid, and we all know what would happen if he got his hands on him."

Etho's piercing gaze swept to the others in the room, leaving the memory of Tommy's state when he first came into their lives in the silence. Everyone stilled, and Stress knew they all felt the same dread pool in their gut at the sudden realization of who this intruder really was. "You don't...you don't mean--"

"Yeah." Etho shakily rose to his feet to test his leg, Jevin quick to his side to balance him. "That bastard is Dream."

Stress felt panic freeze in her throat, her anger being pushed back more and more by increasing fear for Tommy's safety. "How--how do you know it's really him?"

Etho paused, his eyes narrowing at a memory only he could see. "I've been around for a long time, Stress." he answered lowly. His tone indicated to drop the subject any further than that, and Stress obliged.

"Even if Etho's wrong, we can't take any risks to Tommy's safety." Jevin added. "I already told everybody what's going on. Dream's not in our personal communications, so he doesn't know everyone's on red alert, at least."

"They're on the way to Xisuma's, no doubt. We have the advantage over him of knowing where that is, but we can't underestimate this guy." Etho tentatively let go of Jevin's shoulder to stand on his own, experimentally putting pressure on his repaired leg.

"So what's the plan?" Tango asked shortly, flexing his claws. "We go after him? We meet up with Bdubs? Why are we just standing here?!"

"Don't let your rage cloud your judgment." Etho uttered. He didn't change the volume of his words, but the sheer finality in which he said them left silence ringing like a gong.

"Dream is one of the most skilled players I've ever seen." The ninja continued, taking his turn now that everyone in the room was locked on to his words. "He's cheated death more times than I have in half the years. The best hunters known in the worlds haven't been able to catch him."

Stress clung to every word, her furious resolve all but fizzling out with every sentence Etho spoke. Sure, the hermits were decently powerful in their own right, but at the end of the day they were pacifists. How could a bunch of builders and mechanics stand against such a threat?

"But," Etho said, pulling her out of her sinking thoughts. She looked up to see his gaze locked on to hers, as if he could read her very mind. "We have numbers, and that's something he doesn't. We have each other, and all of us together are stronger than he will ever be."

The sheer conviction in Etho's voice eased Stress' doubt, and she knew the ninja spoke truth in his every word. Tommy was no longer easy pickings for this bastard that haunted him. He would have all the other hermits standing between him and Dream, and they weren't going down without taking him with them.

"We need to find them." Tango said, the heat behind his words having dissipated into cold calculation. Stress stood straighter and nodded.

"Jev, send out another mass message. Tell everyone to get to Xisuma's as fast as they can." Etho ordered, equipping his frosted elytra with practiced ease.

"Dream's gonna have a hell of a welcoming party waiting for him if he steps foot near our kid."

[ichigoromi]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 | 𝐌𝐞𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐨 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 | 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

Meian, damn, he is so freaking HOT. MSBY is a team full of hot guys. Sorry for thirsting over them.

AH, this is my first Meian Shugo Headcanon, and he is 12 years older than me👉🏻👈🏻.

DAYUM, okay, don't worry, the y/n is just a few years younger than him, not much of an age gap that will be controversial.

Hope y'all will enjoy this!

Pairing: Meian Shugo x fem reader (she/her)

Genre: Romance, fluff

Enjoy!

Meian Shugo

You and Meian met in college when he was in his junior year, and you were in your freshman year.

He hit you with a volleyball by accident. You suffered a concussion that landed you in the hospital for a few days.

After you got discharged, Meian was at the entrance and offered to take you home.

But you don't even remember who gave you a concussion, and this giant is trying to take you home; who knows what might happen.

So, you ran away, as fast as you can. You got into university with an athletic scholarship on track and field. Running is your expertise.

He was shocked and confused.

Every time you see him and he tries to approach you, you start running.

He tried to approach you for weeks, but you desperately ran away until you got tired and decided to confront him one day.

He explained that he was the one that gave you a concussion and wanted to bring you out for a meal as an apology and won't take no for an answer.

And look where that lead you two now, engaged and bought a house together.

After a day off from work to visit the hospital for a check-up, you decided to head to his workplace and surprise him.

You decided to order a bunch of healthy snacks and drinks for the team and staff team.

When you pull into the parking lot, your phone was bombarded with tons of messages from his teammates sending their thanks, and multiple missed calls from your worried fiance.

You were sick for weeks, and finally, you decided to take a day off to see the doctor.

He was so worried that he almost took the day off, too, but you assured him that it was just some stomach flu.

Jokes on you, it isn't some stomach flu but a freaking growing baby inside you.

Meian still doesn't know that you are here at his workplace and just send some food like you do quite often.

The manager slips you into the gymnasium, where you took your seat beside him.

"Shugo-!" You yelped and pushed the ball away in reflex. He looked horrified and immediately rushed to your side and checked if there are any signs of concussion. You let out a laugh and assure him that you are fine.

It was like Deja Vu.

"Oh my god! I didn't mean to hit the ball in your direction! You sure you're not suffering from a concussion?" He checks your forehead, and you shook your head.

"I am perfectly fine; I've learned to block an incoming ball from a certain someone. " You playfully poke his stomach. He frowned and motioned the team to take a quick break.

The other guys took a quick drink break, and he remembers about your doctor's appointment and asked you about it.

Seeing his worried face, you took his hand and placed it on your tummy.

"Wait? Did you have stomach flu? Are you still having cramps?" Oh my, how innocent could this man get?

"No, babe. I'm pregnant." You tip-toed and whispered in his ears.

Pregnant? He gasped and pulls you into his arms.

"This is not a joke, right? You have a baby growing in you? This is good news!" Now, everyone has heard most of the conversation. His teammates were all coming up to congratulate you two.

It seems like wedding plans have to be set aside for some nursery planning first...

Hehehe, I know it's a short one but yay! I don't know why but Meian, hits differently. I like older guys but not too much of an age gap. For meian, I can make an exception😂😂😂Thank you for reading!

Stay safe and healthy!

With love,

Rosalie🍓

[hiccanna-tidbits]

Skinny Jack is attractive Jack and this is one and only truth

NO BUT FR THO

(If anyone is confused, this post is in reference to a post I read about weird traits and characterizations of Jack Frost in fanworks!)

Like Jack Frost legit played a huge part in high school me realizing I vastly preferred fun-loving, sassy twinks to buff, macho dudes who like...get off on their own "manliness" and seem to think being aggressive and mean is somehow hot -_____- So when people make Jack ripped or super jocky in fanworks it confuses the fuck outta me because like...the fact that he's a fun, kindhearted twig is what makes him so attractive??? Like a more "unconventional" type of male attractiveness, yes, and a blatant rebellion against the type of body girls are "supposed" to want, but still extremely cute!!! It baffles me how some people are apparently SO married to this idea that the only way for a man to be handsome/desirable is if he's super muscular and athletic and hypermasculine that they feel the need to make any male character they like fit this stereotype to be "worthy" of a ship or love interest. Like my dudes, we ain't living in Neolithic times anymore, there are things to fall in love with in guys besides their ability to bring down a mammoth to feed you for winter XD

Honestly I say either take Jack (and his body) as he is, or don't take him at all, because my homeboy doesn't need you projecting your toxic-ass and severely outdated male beauty standards onto him lmao. I mean like a) he's a cartoon, why are you projecting your thirst for beefy men onto a super skinny CGI character of all things lmao and b) he's lovely as he is, and he deserves all types of love--platonic, romantic, familial, what have you--without having to beef up!!! For what it's worth, same goes for all IRL skinny guys--y'all are beautiful, and I'm sorry if anyone has ever made you feel like you're not a catch because you're a little gangly. It's just so annoying that people feel the need to take this character who's attractive in kind of a non-traditional way and just...make him some conventionally buff jock and have him just rebuild all the stereotypes he originally defied so nicely :/ Like if y'all really wanna thirst over a buff CGI cartoon, go lose your minds over like...Kristoff or something lol. But leave my boy Jack out of it!!! Let him stay skinny, for god's sake--the world has gone to shit enough in 2021 without people body-shaming a fictional frost boy for literally no reason (indirectly body-shaming, but a kind of body-shaming nonetheless--people wouldn't feel the need to change his appearance so drastically otherwise). Good grief, just make an OC if you're THAT invested in the idea of a white-haired blue-eyed dude who's also super ripped.

I know it might seem like kind of a petty thing to be irked by, but guys really don't get enough body positivity, and I feel like giving skinny male characters "buff makeovers" can kinda teach dudes with a thinner build to hate their bodies the same way women are taught to hate their bodies. Is it that deep??? Nah, probably not. Jack Frost is a cartoon, and ultimately this boils down to me preferring the general public not give my beautiful twig son beefy arms XD However, I can and will rant about and overanalyze most anything, so...even if it isn't that deep, I can MAKE it that deep XD

[softcallofdutyimagines]

Not teeeechnically a “request”, but it’s a prompt I’ve been wanting to do for a while, so here we go. Just as @direwolfspostsrandomshit described, but the setting is your guy comes home to see you showing off the new outfit. Also, this includes Weaver and Naga as bonuses bc I love them 😌😌

Adler

You wouldn't know to look at him, especially behind those dark sunglasses, but his heart starts hammering immediately

"Uh, what's all this for?", He chuckles nervously

You tell him you were just trying it on, but you're not sure if you like it

"Why not? It looks stunning on you"

Oh really?

"Well you sure stunned me", he smiles and pulls you in by the waist

Adler kisses you and runs his hands up and down your bare skin

He loves how much there is to feel

With one more kiss, he slips the tip of his thumbs under the little hem of your shirt

Hudson

"I uh, don't suppose you know how to take this off...?"

Maybe you can show him ;)

I'm sorry, but I KNOW y'all cannot look me in the eye and tell me that good old clean cut Hudson doesn't secretly have some SERIOUS kinks and fantasies

One of those kinks is definitely a huge thirst for curvy women lmao

You have him on his knees panting as it is, but to come home to you in that?

WOOF WOOF BARK BARK AWOOOOO

However, like Adler, Hudson is the master of the poker face

Too bad his blushing cheeks betray him

Now that is a rare sight indeed

You feel a bit more confident in your outfit, just by seeing how excited it's made Hudson

"Where'd you get that?", he tries to hide the blush by swiping at his face a little

You decide to have a little fun and saunter up to him, looking absolutely stunning

You tell him it's thrifted, but that's not of any importance right now

His skin feels hot to the touch as you cup his cheek and give him a kiss

At last he can't keep his hands to himself any longer, exploring every inch of exposed skin and gorgeous curves as he does so

You're going to be there for a while ;)

Lazar

Ok, first off, Lazar knows you struggle with body image issues and he does his best to support you!

So to see you working it in a cute little number like that is 👀👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻

Besides, obviously he thinks your body is lovely!!

"Wow, you look amazing!"

You whip around, looking quite surprised to see him

Lazar continues on his way over, your outfit is even better from the front

You ask him if he really thinks so

You're more then nervous in this get up, but you've come to really trust his opinion and ego boosts

"Fuck yeah I do!", he picks you up easily and gives you a spin

He kisses your nose and then your lips before gently returning you to the ground

Lazar takes one look at you and your crop top and then one at his torso

"Say, you think they have any of those in my size?", the big guy laughs

You laugh too, but you're not entirely sure if he's joking

Mason

He's absolutely stunned!

Alex thinks you absolutely own in every outfit you wear, but he's never seen you in something so revealing before 👀

You ask him if he likes it, but all he can do is stumble over his words

He can't take his eyes off that cute crop top

You're starting to think maybe he doesn't like it, since he can't seem to find anything to say

But finally he manages to tell you it looks great on you

It's not much, but you're starting to pick up that he may be a little shy in your presence while wearing such a cute outfit

He smiles and walks up to you, "Um, it looks really great, actually heh"

His hand caresses your hip and and nuzzles your check

"Do you think you could wear it more often?"

You know what?

You just might :)

Naga

He fucking DIES

Seriously, like I headcannon that Naga love a thicc Queen™ soooo hard, like I think he'd short circuit lol

For the sake of some sort of civilized manners, he asks some throw away question like where you got the outfit or something as he walks right up to you

He pulls you in for an embrace to greet you while you moodily answer his question

He's not listening however

Instead, he runs his hand from your hip up to the curve of your bust

The silk of the fabric is cool against his fingers, and they shake a little in excitement

You don't even get to finish your sentence

With a scoff and a roll of the eye, you shoo his hand away and scold him, trying but failing to conceal your laughter

He begs and promises you whatever you want if you let him take you to the bedroom in that little get up

Tsk, naughty boy

Sims

His mouth falls open the second he sees you

He whistles and howls, making you jump a little when you turn around

"Damn baby, that looks amazing on you!"

You tell him thanks, but you're not a big fan of the low rise pants. They show off you tummy to much, you think

He makes a face like he's upset anyone could think that about you, even yourself

Sims brings you in for a hug and he kisses your forehead, arms gently locked around your waist

"Naw, you look gorgeous", he kisses you again, "in fact, come on, lets go show that little number off! Make some people jealous", he laughs

You're not sure, buuuuuut...

He seems so confident in you that you can almost feel confident in yourself

At last you agree and run off for your shoes

Woods

You definitely earn yourself a collection of admirers that night

Weaver

Hoooooo boy

Weaver is about to combust

Unfortunately, Weaver is also Weaver so he doesn't know how to express it

He can't even speak he's so overwhelmed!!

You give him the usual hey, how was work stuff

He tries, but still no coherent words

Thankfully for him, this isn't a total disaster

You know him well enough by now to know he only gets like this when he's surprised

You gesture to your outfit and ask if he likes it

He nods fervently, unable to take his eyes off that little crop top

You roll your eyes and give a little laugh as you walk over to kiss him

"Thanks", you say

He feels inordinately warm under your touch

He gulps, hands a little shaky as he reaches up to touch your waist

"Y-yeah", is all he can manage

Just give him a minute :p

A very similar initial reaction to Sims tbh

"Oooo hooo... Fuck yeah! Where you going sexy?"

You blush and respond that you were actually about to go change out of this, you're just not sure it suits you

Woods has put up his coat by now, but he hasn't taken his eyes off of you once

"What? Why? You look amazing!"

He comes over and cops a little feel of your sequined booty

You jump and laugh a little, while he nuzzles your neck

You're still not 100% sold on it, but you tell him maybe it's alright just for the house...

"Heh, sounds good to me", he waggles his eyebrows at you

He'll encourage you to wear it out if you want to, but he's the jealous kind and he knows for sure you'll be drawing quite the fanclub in a stunning look like that

But it's alright, you can wear what you want where you want ofc

He knows how to fight :)