#kim can rightfully call him a creep

[sunflowerdigs]

I see so many people saying this is Eddie's own doing and it's wrong and how could he and I agree with all of that in a sense. But also.

I don't want to see Buck yell and scream at him. Like, what's he going to say "fuck you for letting your trauma over your dead wife get this bad?" Buck is the last person in a position to judge Eddie over infidelity. I know that, in a sense, it's good sign for Buddie if Buck feels personally wounded but I don't care. I want Buck to be so understanding of Eddie because absolutely no one else will be (and that's completely fair). I want him to see the worst parts of Eddie as a person and tell him he loves him anyway. Buck is in a relatively good place right now, unlike Eddie in S3 (and don't say you weren't thinking it, you were), so he should be able to offer more compassion than Eddie was at the time. It's Eddie's mess, sure - he's made the whole bed, every fold and every wrinkle. But I want Buck to let him know he'll lie in it with him until Eddie feels better. I want Buck to be one of the first people who believes in what Eddie could be rather than telling him what he should be.

It would also be very interesting if everything falls apart for Eddie in the same episode where Tommy inevitably clocks Buck's involvement in Eddie's life and tells him "I don't think I'm the one you want." Because then Buck isn't so innocent. He's coming into the situation with his own guilt and his own shame and his own sense of disorientation. And so, when Eddie inevitably cries, Buck can just hold him and let him know that it's ok. That he screwed up but they'll get through it together. As the best friends they are and always will be.

[yeojaa]

( SWEET MAGNOLIAS. )

He was your unlikely muse;  you were the weird girl in the park.  Could you make it any more obvious?

pairing.  myg x named f!reader.  s2l.

genre + rating.   college!au.  fluff, angst, smut.  explicit. 

tags / warnings.  light cussing, yoongi being rightfully weirded out, a whole lotta softness, sadness if you squint at the right times, body painting, and then, of course, the most tender, dumbest lovemaking (unprotected but don’t be silly like them!).  there’s also a really bad callback to the titanic.  i’m not sorry.  lol.

wc.  8.2k

You try not to stare for too long, sweeping your gaze in wide circles so as to be as inconspicuous as possible.  You try not to let your eyes linger, follow the contours of his cheeks - soft, pronounced when he smiles - or the shape of his mouth - delicate, petal pink.  You try not to make it weird - but it’s decidedly, very weird.

You just can’t help yourself.

He’s always here around this time, laid out on a worn red blanket.  Sometimes, he reads.  Books like The Alchemist and the Stranger and once, Dante’s Inferno.  Other times, he pops a pair of headphones on - oversized, intimidatingly large over his ears - and closes his eyes.  Most rare of all, is when he’s not alone, joined at the hip by at least one other boy and on occasion, an entire group of six.  

They’re all interesting in their own ways.  

There’s one with shoulders the size of boulders, a mountain range situated beneath his shirts.  He has a weird laugh that sounds like windshield wipers and your mother’s spring cleaning routine.  He yells a lot and even across the lawn, you can sometimes make out his voice.

There’s the tallest one, with kind eyes and dimples so deep you question if there’s treasure buried in them.  He reads a lot, too.  You’ve seen him in the library more times than you can count, always dutifully tucked away in a back corner surrounded by scattered looseleaf.  Despite the course load he seems to have taken on, you’ve never seen him lose his cool.  You have seen him lose his phone, though, and pencils and textbooks and AirPods. 

There’s Hoseok, whose name you only know because he held your hair once at a fall sorority party.  You hadn’t been drinking but somehow, somehow, your roommate had convinced you to apple bob with her.  He’d been gracious enough to help you out, fisting your hair in a gentle grip.  It’s what spurred you to now always have an elastic on your wrist.

There’s the dancer.  He’s slight and even in stillness, far more graceful than you’ll ever be.  He’s got pillowy lips and hair that gleams like silk.  You’ve sketched him too, once or twice, but never more.  It just didn’t feel right - as if you’d never be able to translate that sort of beauty onto paper.  

There’s the one from your Art 340 Drawing II class.  You’ve wondered, on more than one occasion, how come he isn’t the model.  He’s got perfect proportions - defined jaw, strong nose, cheekbones carved from marble.  It’s almost off-putting seeing him in person;  it feels far more fitting for him to be displayed in a museum, with a plaque that reads Perfection, Mixed Media.

There’s the youngest one, Jungkook.  They call him maknae despite the fact that he dwarfs nearly all of them.  Maybe it’s just the clothes he wears:  boots that look like they’d break your neck and everything in slightly darker shades of black.  You run into him at least four times a week - trading greetings at the campus coffee shop and at the library.  You’re practically best pals by college standards. 

And then, of course, there’s him.  Your muse.  The one you can’t help but stare at - even when you’re trying your hardest not to.  The one who wears glasses though you’re almost certain he doesn’t need them.  The one whose smile is more gums than teeth, who looks unassuming and yet often breaks out into the strangest, most inspired dance moves you’ve ever seen.  The one who plays recreational basketball on Tuesday nights and who drinks more coffee than you think should be humanly possible. 

Min Yoongi.  

You sketch him like you’ll never see him again, dragging charcoal strokes across paper until your hand is muddied and the curve of his ear is looking worse for wear.  You repeat lines over and over, turning the mop of his hair into ringlets and waves, weaving dimension through the india ink that spills over his eyes.  You sometimes add his glasses;  you’re quite fond of the look on him.

You paint him sometimes, too, imagining how he’d look with periwinkle blue hair, or maybe dressed in shades of maroon.  You swath him in textured fabrics and lovely watercolours, turning him into a fantasy that’ll never see the light of day.  Pretty little daydreams with him fixed at the centre.

You fill your pages with his figure, the way he smiles when Hoseok does something silly or how he joins in when Jungkook laughs.  You study every bit and piece, learning him in every admiring way you can - despite the fact that you don’t really know him at all. 

It’s a staggering lesson in futility but one you take almost daily, armed with pencil and paper and not a single ounce of common sense. 

That is, until you’ve done the stupidest thing imaginable.  

No, not getting caught.  Not in the traditional sense, at least.  He hasn’t realised you sit on your bench - yes, your bench, with the sticky metal arm rest and illegible initials scratched into the back - and watch him almost every day.  You thank your lucky stars for that.

What you’ve done is much worse - punishable by death by embarrassment. 

You have no fucking clue where your sketchbook is. 

You could’ve sworn you had it in your bag when you’d returned to your room last night.  You can’t imagine you would’ve left it anywhere in the open, orphaning it on a campus full of idiots.  You were always so careful.  You don’t just lose things.

“I think it’s gone, girl.”  You’ve never wanted to yell at your roommate more - not even when you’d caught her and her boyfriend banging in your bed after you’d come home early on the long weekend or when she’d eaten all of your Cherry Garcia ice cream.  The desire bubbles about in your chest, fizzing angrily like an agitated soda bottle.  

“It’s here somewhere.”  The words grit between your teeth, insistent as can be.

“You’ve been looking for like, twenty minutes.”  

“It’s here.”

“I really don’t think it is…”  Jisoo doesn’t quite deserve how you explode, rounding on her with hands flying and eyes wild.  “You’re also going to be late for your class.”

Your words falter with the verbalisation of hers. 

Lucky for her;  unlucky for you. 

The hands of the clock above your desk wave at you mockingly.  You are, indeed, going to be late for your class.

“Shit!  Shit!”  Everything you’d torn out gets shoved back into your tote bag.  Band-Aids, mints, too many wayward pencils and pens.  You almost forget your phone, attention only drawn to it when Jisoo catches the strap of your backpack and yanks you back.  

“Don’t forget,”  she hums, far more kindly than your harebrained self deserves.

You forget all the reasons you’re upset with her.  “Thanks, Ji.”  You force a kiss on her cheek before you’re darting out of your room and sprinting across campus to Art 340.

“Nice of you to join us, Miru.”  It’s your professor greeting you as you run in fifteen minutes late, weaving through other students to find your seat near the far wall.  Laughter follows you, coiling around your ankles and over your shoulders as you settle into your seat, fully hidden behind the oversized easel.  

You can’t help the scarlet that paints your cheeks, creeping high across your temples.  You know no one cares - that Professor Kinsella is probably the most laidback professor you’ve had in your four semesters - but it can’t be stopped.  You’re already flustered from temporarily misplacing your sketchbook that everything else just feels like shit icing on your garbage cake.

“Sorry!”  It squeaks out - a mouse, eaten up wholly by cat-ate-the-canary laughter that sounds over your shoulder and not very quietly.

“Having a bad day?”

You’ve heard the voice a handful of times so it shouldn’t shock you the way it does, nearly knocking the graphite from your hand.  

“What?”

Kim Taehyung’s on the edge of his chair, one long leg stretched toward you, the other balanced across his knee.  You’re not sure how that’s meant to be comfortable but he makes it look effortless.  Then again, looking like him, living probably was effortlessly.  You can’t deny you’re a little envious. 

“Your face is all red.  You’re out of breath.  Feels like a bad day to me.”

You try not to dwell on the fact that, apparently, you look like an absolute mess.  “No, I’m good.”  It sounds fake even to your ears, tinny and wrought with anxiety.  

“You sure?”  He’s not really paying attention to you as he speaks, tracing the contours of the model across his canvas.  He begins where you’d never think to, framing the main masses with a languid twist of his wrist.  Unlike you, he doesn’t get caught up in the detail;  he sees the bigger picture for all it is, building from the outside in.   

You’re watching him for longer than you realise, whipping back around once it dawns on you.  “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“Who knows.”  There’s a playfulness in his tone that sets you on edge.  You’ve never heard it before, all rounded vowels and molasses laughter.  You mean to work as you listen, waiting for some indication of whatever lies just beneath the surface.

It’s a mistake.  Your stick of charcoal snaps in half when he continues, low and slow as if he’s dragging it out.

“—maybe you lost a sketchbook?” 

“Did you say…”  You can’t finish the sentence.  You feel like you’re about to be sick.  

The amount of mischief in his expression should be illegal.  It’s dancing in his eyes, curling wide and unabashed over his lips.  It’s practically radiating off of him.

“So, bad day?”  

He waits for you to pack up, hands tucked into the endless pockets of his black slacks.  At any other time, in any other universe, you’d be giddy.  Girls on campus would kill for even a second of Taehyung’s attention.  

(It’s true - you’d heard a group of them talking about it one time.)  

Here and now, you want to sink six feet under.

“They’re really good, you know.”  As if the compliment will dull the mortification that threatens to cleave you in half.  “You’re really good at capturing his boredom.  That’s not easy.”

“Thanks.”  You should make conversation;  it’s the polite thing to do.  

After all, he was kind enough to find and return your sketchbook.  Better him than someone else, right?  Better him than Yoongi himself?  That’s what you tell yourself, at least.  

Yoongi doesn’t know and therefore, it’s okay.  Semi okay.  Distantly related to the idea of okay.

As if he can read your mind, Taehyung speaks gently, with a hand that burns through the linen of your blouse.  You know he means well but it sears white hot, eviscerating your nerve endings.  “You have nothing to worry about.  I didn’t tell him.”

You don’t answer him.  There’s nothing to say - not really.  You’re far too lost in your own thoughts to acknowledge the effort he’s making.  Maybe this was life’s way of telling you to back off - to find another person to paint.  

Or maybe it’s brought you two together, says the silly, naive angel on your shoulder.

You’re ready to flick her off - launch her like some kind of poor Tinkerbell - when your name catches your attention.  It’s announced so dramatically that you double take, making sure you haven’t completely run through a picnic or accidentally slammed into someone. 

“This is Miru.” 

Cognisance comes slow and unhurried, even as your stare swivels wildly in search of context clues. 

Laid out before you, right under that familiar magnolia tree, is one blanket, three bodies, and enough takeout to last you an entire week.  

“Ohf, phey!”  With cheeks stuffed full, it’s hard to make out the two syllables.  They crowd against each other, offered in a garbled mess that has you regarding Jungkook with a mixture of concern and confusion.  He’s swallowing thickly before he rises far too quickly;  you watch a forgotten piece of kimbap go flying, lost to the dirt and bugs.  “Sorry.  Hi.”  

“Do you want to join us?”  It’s the angelic one, fitted with cherubic cheeks and a rounded Cupid’s bow.  “I’m Jimin, by the way.”  He pats the empty space beside him, eyes waning into crescents with the force of his friendliness.

Taehyung had asked if you wanted to grab dinner but you’d never imagined he meant this. 

You’ve never been subtle but you try your damnedest to peek at him from your periphery.  Unfortunately for you, he’s already sat down, fully made himself comfortable beside the last member of the group.

The one who, for all intents and purposes, appears as if he’d rather be anywhere but here.  If looks could kill, you think.  

“Don’t worry about him,”  Jimin says, so sweetly, with a small bento lid held towards you.  It’s already stacked with goodies - a selection of banchan and homemade-looking meatballs sitting alongside a poorly-shaped mound of rice.  “Sometimes, he gets like this.”  

You want to believe it.  Really, you do, but by the way Yoongi’s mouth curls in distaste, all signs point to it being a matter of you rather than a mood.

“Maybe if she respected peoples’ privacy, I wouldn’t have an issue.”

It’s a single sentence quietly spoken and yet it feels like an open-palm slap to the face.  Heat radiates over every visible inch, starkly coloured in contrast to the white of your top.  It burns as it licks over your cheeks and past your temples, tipping your ears. 

“I’m so sorry.”  It isn’t clear who you’re apologizing to, the words tumbling wet off your tongue like a waterfall.  

You’re gone before anyone can ask.

“That was a dick move.”  Jungkook is the first to break the silence, levelling his friend with a disapproving stare.  He’s not used to this side of him - the one that can tear a person apart with just a few words.  It’s not the Yoongi he knows.  It’s not really Yoongi at all.

“Yeah, hyung.”  It’s thinner, but just as reproachful.  “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”

Yoongi’s laugh is dismissive but he won’t meet anyone’s stare - a tell-tale sign that he’s just a little affected by their words - choosing instead to shovel bites of soondae into his mouth.  “Mean what?  Invading my privacy?”

“She’s an artist.”  Taehyung doesn’t mean it as an excuse but by how Yoongi bristles, he’s certain the senior takes it as such.  Before the argument can begin, he continues, all while wrapping a piece of samgyupsal in lettuce.  “I doubt she meant any harm, so just cut her some slack.”  Fringe is flicked away from his eyes, something sparkling in the pretty brown of his irises.  “I’d actually be flattered, if I were you.”

“Then you be her model.”

You haven’t drawn in four days.  Well, not really.  

You’ve completed what you need for classes, filling your books with mandatory figures and notes on colour theory.  You’ve diligently mapped out proportions and brought to life sunsets and sceneries.  You’ve done everything you should be doing but nothing that you want to be.

It just doesn’t feel right.  Not anymore.

“I hear he’s a really nice guy.”  You can’t count how many times Jisoo has tried to cheer you up.  From picking up your favourite ice cream (the one she tends to devour anyway) to ordering in fried chicken, she’s been the picture perfect roommate.  It only makes you feel that much worse.

You were moping over something that was your fault.  And she had to pick up the pieces!  It seemed wildly unfair but when you’d told her to stop - insisted upon it with a wail into your pillow - she’d simply shook her head and wrapped you in her arms.  

For all of your stupid, silly little rows, Kang Jisoo was the best roommate you’d had in your entire university career.

“Just go outside.”  She’s perched on the edge of her bed, painting her toes a brilliant shade of neon green.  She’d offered to do yours too, but you’ve more or less refused to leave the comfort of your burrito blanket for anything beyond classes or food.  “You can’t avoid him forever.”  

“I can try,”  you mumble, words lost to the cotton of your sheets.  

Try - and fail, it seemed.  You’d already run into him twice.  Twice!  Even after you’d started taking absurdly long roundabout routes to your classes, the universe had conspired against you.  

The first time he’d been walking out of the gym, shoulder to shoulder with another upperclassmen you didn’t recognize.  You’d seen him coming from a mile away thanks to his obnoxiously bright Lakers jersey and you’d booked it back the way you’d come, nearly mowing down a couple making kissy faces at each other in front of the lecture hall.  

The second time was yesterday afternoon.  You’d thought he’d be in his usual spot - so close to your usual spot - that you’d gone to the coffee shop for a midday pick-me-up.  Even embarrassed, you weren’t about to suffer a caffeine deficiency.  You’d rounded the corner in the same instance he had and you’d sworn he’d seen you, recognition flickering across his face.  Fortunately, there’d been a door directly to your right and you’d all but thrown yourself inside.

It was the first and hopefully last time you’d be in a men’s washroom.

“I thought you were tougher than this,”  Jisoo hums, equal parts disapproval and kindness.  She levels you with a stare - you can feel it burning into your fortress of blankets - and sighs.  It’s a bit dramatic, you think.  

“Tell me you wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing!”

Then again, she’d probably never be stupid enough to lose something so important nor would she fixate so heavily on one person.  Your point still stands.

“Seriously, girl.”  

Her nail polish bottle bounces off your bed, tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump.  You look up in time to see her staring at you imploringly, so wide-eyed and innocent you can’t help but be a little suspicious.  “What?”

“I wanted to have Andy over.” 

It all falls into place then.  Her boyfriend’s in a frat and your (poor) dorm room is the only place they have any sort of privacy.  It makes you want to gag but you can’t blame her.  You’ve always had an unspoken agreement;  you’d just tossed it out the window the past few days. 

Guilt prompts you to extract yourself from your duvet, though you don’t stop the chorus of gross, gross, gross! as you begin gathering your things.  You almost leave your sketchbook, only opting to tuck it under your arm at the last minute.  

“Please, please, don’t use my bed this time.”

“We love you!”  She sing-songs as you tug your sneakers on and slip into the hallway.

You’re at a different bench across campus when you hear the voice.  It comes from behind you and to your left, accusatory and sharp.  You nearly jump out of your own skin, toppling over your water bottle and plastic paint palette. Orange watercolour soaks into the material on your thigh.  Dammit. 

“Are you following me?”

Min Yoongi stands not three feet from you, arms folded over his chest.  

Your heart stutters at the sight of him.  It’s hard to speak when it feels like it’s leapt into your throat.  

“What?”  You hate how you sound - a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.  You have nothing to be ashamed of.  At least, not right now.  You’d come all the way here, as far from the magnolia tree and red blanket as you could.  

“I said—”  His words are glacial and biting.  It’s suddenly winter, far chillier than spring should be.  You wish you’d brought a sweater or maybe, that the ground would open up and swallow you whole.  You can’t be cold when you’re dead.  “—are you following me?”

“Of course not!”  

There’s nothing but disbelief in his expression.  It paints itself in broad strokes, prominent in the shadows beneath his eyes and the curl of his mouth.  He says nothing.  

“Really.  I’m not.”  You’re insistent, apologetic.  Every nerve ending is shot, going haywire beneath your skin and lighting you up in shades of red.  The tips of your fingers are tingling.  “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”  You wonder if he’s baiting you now.  

“For…”   Words are cherry-picked and perfect, chosen with a shaking head and the utmost care.  “I shouldn’t have drawn you without asking.”

“No shit,”  he returns, completely deadpan.  He’s really not making this any easier.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,”  you continue, a little hopeful and a lot bashful.  “I just— I don’t get inspiration like this that often.  So I couldn’t let it go.”  You don’t need to add what you do, but you do so anyway, because you’ve never been great at making good choices.  “Your face is really unique and when you’re happy, it’s just so expressive and your smile is—”

There’s a siren blaring in your ears.  A red alert going off so loudly you almost miss the way he laughs.

It’s not the same one he offers to his best friends - far more reserved, exceedingly softer - but it’s there and it’s real and you don’t think you’ll ever forget this moment. 

“You’re laughing.”

He stops immediately.  Fair.

“I’m sorry.”  Again.  More.  Draped in apology and optimism that peeks out between your teeth and shines in the dark of your stare.  “Even though I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I did, and for that I’m sorry.  Really, really sorry.  Please don’t hate me.”

It’s hard to read him, even after you’ve spent hours studying his face.  There’s a distinct difference between seeing someone and knowing them, you realize.  You might be able to map out every wrinkle of his eyes - replicate every dot and freckle - but you have no idea what it all means or how it comes together to create something more. 

Silence fits between the two of you for what feels like a long time.  It’s not uncomfortable, though, so you allow it to settle.  You figure it’s better than his anger, in any case.  

“You could’ve just asked me.”

You can’t wipe the disbelief from your face.  “Would you have said yes?”

Yoongi shrugs, a small roll of his shoulders beneath the oversized sweater that dwarfs his frame.  “Don’t know, but I would’ve appreciated it.”  

Because that’s really what it came down to - the thought, not the action.  He’s not entirely sure you understand that yet but he’s willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.  Blame his softening on the steady repetitions Taehyung and Jungkook have made the past few days.  You were lucky to have them in your corner - even if that meant they’d been a thorn in his side.   

“Then… can I sketch you?”  You’re probably (read: definitely) pushing it.  You can’t help it. 

He doesn’t know whether to laugh or scoff at your audacity.  He decides on the former, with a shake of his head that swings his bangs across his forehead and a small, private smile.  “Maybe next time.” 

“Next time?”  You imagine he can’t hear you as he’s backing away and disappearing the way he came.

“See you tomorrow.”

True to his word, Yoongi lets you draw him the next time you see him (and the next time and the time after that). 

It’s different - working off someone who knows they’re being studied.  He holds himself a little more stiffly, a little more carefully.  His laughter isn’t quite as loud, his smiles more forced.  He apologises, even though he doesn’t need to.  

Even his untrained eye can see how you struggle to bring life to a robot. 

Over time, though, it comes - comfort. 

Like the quietly burning coals that melt him down from the inside out, he begins to warm up to you.  It comes slowly but it comes nonetheless, as steady as the sun.  You appreciate his effort - his patience - more than you can ever say.  

You know he gets it, though.  He always does.  It’s a Yoongi thing. 

“You can relax.” 

It’s just the two of you, swathed in sweat and waning light that casts shadows across his cheeks.  The days are longer than they’ve ever been and the both of you tend to lose track of time, spending hours under that magnolia tree. 

“I am relaxed,”  he returns, sinking further onto his back, elbows hardly acting to prop him up.  He’d been engrossed in a novel for the first half of the afternoon.  Another book you’d never bothered to read outside of high school English class.  You never really understood it - you much preferred to watch than read - but you loved when he’d recite the words to you, clear and bright and better than any melody.

“You’re trying to stay awake.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“No.  You’re just as good of a model when you’re sleeping.” 

The smile is lazy, hazy like Sunday morning.  It reveals his gums and ticks higher on the left side.  It makes your heart skip a beat.  

“Go ahead then,”  he continues.  The entirety of his body sags, drops onto the bag he likes to use as a makeshift pillow.  You don’t imagine it’s all that comfortable but he never complains.

“If you’re tired, we can just head in, you know.”  

You always offer.  He never says yes. 

A part of you thinks he likes the attention.  It’s different from what he receives from anyone else - thoughtful and careful.  You think he might like the quiet, too.  The benefit of quality time without any of the effort.  

So you push on, charcoal edge meeting paper once more.   “Just another twenty minutes.”

“Why me?”  

The enquiry comes one day, completely out of the blue.  It skips your heart and breaks the pastel in your fingers, dust chalking them a lovely shade of lilac.  

“What?”  You’re not ready for how close Yoongi is - much closer than he ever is - and you shift back, away from the face you’ve spent months filling your sketchbooks with.  “Why you what?”

He’s completely nonchalant as he moves even closer.  

You can smell his cologne - a distinctly masculine fragrance that’s musk and cedar - and the coffee he’s been nursing for the last hour.  It fills your senses, recentring all of your focus so intensely that you don’t immediately recognise he’s continued speaking.

“Why’d you choose to draw me?  Why not someone else?”  He seems genuinely curious, even though it feels dangerous - a dangling string that’s meant to unravel you.

The answer doesn’t come easily, despite the fact it’s something you’ve asked yourself.

Why him?  Why Min Yoongi?

“I don’t know,”  you answer, perhaps too honestly.  “I saw you and it sort of… just clicked.”  How it sounds doesn’t escape you - like something plucked out of a bad romance novel.  “I didn’t expect it to be you.  I thought I’d draw you once - okay, twice - and then I’d move onto another subject.  But I just… couldn’t?”  

“So, what you’re telling me is it was love at first sight?”  It’s glaringly obvious he’s teasing you.  He’s got that grin of his, sly and feline as it creeps across his mouth.  

You don’t bristle, instead painted bright red like the sunset that streaks across the sky.

“I— I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, you didn’t say otherwise.”

It’s an uncomfortable line of questioning.  You’re not used to it and certainly not from him.  You hesitate to speak, turning words over and over on your tongue in an effort to make yourself clear.  

You’re not weird.  You don’t want this to be weird.  But you can’t deny - it’s, decidedly, still very weird.

He tries again - a different tactic this time.  One that surprises you, despite the unique friendship you’ve forged over the past few months.  “What if I told you I was glad?” 

“Glad?”  It feels like an echo chamber.  Repetition.  As if you’re going in circles, chasing a tail that remains just out of reach.  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“What if I told you I’m happy we met?”  

Your blink is owlish, fully caught off-guard.  “I’d say the same thing.  I’m happy we’re friends.”

Amusement rolls off him in waves, evidenced by the laugh that curls into the afternoon.  He shimmies closer and closer until there’s barely three inches between you.  His knee knocks against yours, bony and denim-clad.  You try to ignore the way it burns through your own jeans, sparking heat all the way up to the tips of your ears and down into the soles of your feet.

“What if I told you I don’t want to be just friends anymore?”  

It’s not a surprise, really.  It’s something that’s been on your mind the past few weeks, sown by offhand comments and little gestures you haven’t been able to ignore.  Jungkook had even practically shouted it at you just the other night.

“I’d say…”  You trail off, lost somewhere among the constellations in his eyes.

“You’d say?”  The words are parroted back at you, threaded together by gossamer thin hope. 

“I’d say you’re welcome.  For choosing you.”  The confidence isn’t your own.  It comes from him, crafted by the support he offers easily, hands out like keys.  Keys to his heart, you realise belatedly, with a sudden bashfulness.  Of course.

He can’t wipe the smile from his face.  It eats up every inch, dominating even the playfulness that shines through, turning it the prettiest shade.  It stands bright against his cheeks, staining the pale apples red.  “That’s it?”  

“What do you want me to say?”

You’re suddenly very determined - because you want to give this to him.  Just as he’s given you everything you wanted, you want to do the same.  In this little cut-out piece of paradise, there’s nothing quite as important. 

The one word isn’t much but it feels like a turning point.  “Yes.”

“You want me to say ‘yes’?”

He nods, just once.  There’s so much certainty you can’t doubt him.

“Then yes—”  

It doesn’t matter what you’ve just said yes to.  It doesn’t even matter that it could be something awful or really, anything under the sun.  All that matters is the feeling of his lips, soft and warm and dry on yours.  It’s better than any painting you’ve ever seen, any song you’ve ever heard.  It fills you wholly, stuttering your heart and bubbling giddiness in the pit of your stomach.

You probably sound a little silly, surprisingly breathless from such a little thing.  “Wow.”

“Good things happen when you ask,”  he states, solemnly.  You’d take him more seriously if he weren’t so dopey, grinning at you like he never has before.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Nope.”

Luckily, you don’t mind.  Not if it gets you another kiss.  

You tell him as much and he happily obliges, stealing your breath and replacing it with sugar-coated stardust.  You ponder whether you might be able to create with those same particles, turning them into colourful streaks to paint his cheeks.  You’d like to find out.  

You want a lot of things with Min Yoongi, you decide. 

You don’t know how you ended up here.  

Actually, that’s a lie.  You do.  All because of a dumb joke, uttered in passing by Taehyung and now ingrained so deeply in your psyche that you haven’t gone a single day without thinking about it.

“Get out of there,”  he whispers right against your temple, lips following to soothe whatever’s got you preoccupied.  

“Where?”

“Right there, idiot.”  Fingers tap twice, a quick one-two against the side of your head.  

You can’t help but grimace, a wrinkling of your nose that your boyfriend chuckles at, pressing kisses across the bridge and over your cheeks.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry - just come back to me.”  To this moment, he means.

This strange little scene, with his fingers dressed in non-toxic paint and you stripped down to nothing but a flimsy cotton bra and thong.  

Have him paint you like one of his French girls, Taehyung had said.  It’ll be fun, he’d said.

You think it might be - if you weren’t bouncing with nerves, all five feet three inches of you fizzling with anticipation.  Yoongi was only painting you.  This was a bonding exercise.  Something to bring you closer, to breach the gap between lovestruck artist and inspired musician.  Nothing more.

“You’re beautiful, you know.”  It’s not meant to be a reassurance but simply a passing comment, like looking at the sky or seeing it snow.  So straightforward it makes you laugh, the sound bubbling about in your throat. 

“Thanks, Yoongi.”

“No, seriously.”  He levels you with a look.  You know the one - a touch stern but ultimately playful.  “I wanted to make something beautiful but…”  Digits wiggle, Atlantic blue sweeping over the tips and up his knuckles like the sea.  “I can’t really improve on something that’s already perfect.”

Your cheeks light on fire, as brilliantly coloured as the red in his - your - palette.  

He thinks it looks pretty against his hands.  The same ones that cradle your cheek, so precisely you want to remind him you’re a canvas and not clay.  

“You’re silly.”  

“ You’re silly,”  he returns, as if that’ll somehow win him this battle of wits.

 The roll of your eyes is undeniable.  “Good one.”

“You know, I’ve got a ton of paint, right?  Not your best choice, making fun of me.”  He punctuates each word with passes of his fingers.  Colour appears wherever he travels, dragged over your skin with dreamy twists of his wrist.  A line here, a circle there.  Goosebumps follow in their wake despite the fact that his touch is like candle wax - soothing and deliberate.

You wonder, idly, whether he can feel you burning up beneath him.

“So beautiful,”  he murmurs again, almost to himself as he dips his fingers into another dot of paint.  Pink this time - in the same shade as the magnolias outside.  He spreads the colour over your chest, right where your heart beats an erratic rhythm.  

He takes his time in admiring his handiwork, swirling the two shades together until it’s the most flattering shade of purple.

You try - and fail - to ignore the way it stirs something behind your ribs.  A need that flickers to life without any sort of warning and has you pressing your thighs together.  

“Can I take this off?”  It comes abruptly, with eyes that snap up to yours.  There’s already a hand tucked beneath the small of your back, right under your shoulders.  He already knows your answer - can see it in the blown out pupils that reflect his entire world back at him.  He still wants to hear it.

You’re unable to find your voice.  It’s gone, stolen by the way he ghosts his fingers up and down the sensitive notches of your spine.  You could get lost in this feeling, if he let you.  You almost do, only nodding when he moves no further, flat of his palm a solid weight right against the clasp of your bra.

You don’t mind that the band is coloured pink and blue when he tosses it aside.  You don’t have it in you to focus on anything but how he studies you now.  Openly admires you, like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.

“What?”  Mellifluous and adoring.  Music to his ears.

“I think I’m getting distracted.”

“I think so, too.”

“Is that okay?”  He speaks more to your boobs than you, single stained hand coming to rest across your ribs.  The pad of his thumb swipes over a single bud, perked and already far too sensitive.  He’d put his mouth on it, if not for the fact it’s now covered in paint.  

Fortunately, there’s still so much of you - places he hasn’t explored but suddenly, desperately needs to.  

From the column of your throat and all the way down to the valley of your breasts, he offers sweet kisses.  Open-mouthed adoration that leaves you needy and breathless and writing.  He catches your untouched nipple between his teeth, gently working it into the same state as its tinted twin. 

You shift beneath him, unable to stop the bolt of electricity that rips through you like a thousand volts.  It cracks your composure like lightning and sends your pulse racing like thunder.  “Of course.”

He hums, content, and nearly falls, dropping his cheek fully against your chest.  You’re so soft beneath him, velvet and pliant under his tongue.  

“I think I love you.”  It’s his voice but your words, spoken so faintly you almost miss it against the roaring in your ears.  

“I think I love you, too.” 

Yoongi stares up at you then, so full of wonder that you can’t help but look away.  It’s an incredibly intimate moment - so much emotion carried in one simple look that you’re not quite sure how to process it.  He’d been your inspiration and now you were his.  The realisation is almost too much, filling you until you feel like you might float away.

His hands act as an anchor, keeping you here with him.  

“You don’t have to say it back.”  It’s careful, loaded with his heart and every key to open it.  

“I know - I want to.”

He grins so breathlessly handsome that you can’t help but return it, rubied cheeks crystallised with delight.  Those same paint-stained hands of his find their newly discovered favourite home of your chest and he sounds like sin when he speaks.  “I want you.”

“You can have me.”

It’s all he needs before he’s ducking down and smothering every uncovered inch of you in sweetness.  His mouth burns hot but he’s unbearably gentle, searing the shape of his mouth over your breasts and across your collarbone.  He licks and sucks as he goes, soothing any ache left behind by the edge of his teeth.

You’re not quite sure where the bites end and the paint begins.  It’s all so pretty you don’t mind either way.  

But it’s not enough.  It’ll never be enough, you think, even as you whine airily, words stuttering out in a half-formed breath.  “Please touch me.”

“Where?”  He’s hardly given you room to answer, crowded so closely against you that you can feel his heartbeat all the way through to your own.  He’s so warm - so solid - upon you that you almost want to tell him that here, just as he is, is perfect. 

A momentary lapse in lust before rational judgment is clouded yet again. 

Instead - and with more demand than you mean - you grind purposefully against him.  A benefit to having him sitting how he is, knees hooked on either side of your hips.  He can’t pretend like he doesn’t feel it, cock twitching beneath the constraints of his boxer-briefs. 

Your eyes meet and he chuckles, nuzzling his head back into that spot between your neck and shoulder that has you whimpering.  The sound alone drives him crazy.

“You’ll be the death of me.”  Yoongi knows this like he knows the sky is blue or your smile is his favourite sight.

You’re teasing him when you catch his face, palms cradling the shape of his jaw.  “Then it’ll be a good death.” 

He doesn’t disagree - especially when he slips his clean hand along the length of your body.  He tweaks your nipple on its descent, tickles the underside of your ribs, and then finds the band of your underwear, all in one fell swoop.  A digit dips below the elastic, neatly clipped nail grazing the jut of your hip before shifting and dropping further.  

You keen when the pad of his finger grazes your clit. 

“Do that again.”  He doesn’t need to tell you twice.  When he repeats the motion, the sound spills off your tongue without restraint.  

He slips further down, pressing his hand to gently part your folds.  Digits glide easily, coated in slick that drips between your legs and sorely tests his patience.  Yoongi’s not sure what he’d expected but this is so much better it’s making his head spin - and he hasn’t even felt you yet.

“You’re so wet, love.”  Shame would swallow you whole if not for the way he speaks with reverence.  “How badly do you want this?”

“Don’t tease,”  you huff, rutting uselessly against the fingers that tease your centre, barely slipping in before resuming a lazy, leisurely path back up to the bundle of nerves that throbs at the contact.  He’s hardly touched you and you’re already at a six, entire body alight with need that thrums heavy in your veins. 

“Just tell me.”

“I want this.  I need this.”  You hope he believes you.  You’re not sure what you’ll do if he doesn’t.  “I need to feel you - please.”

His entire world is spinning, kicked on its axis by the way your tone pitches, demands and begs in the same lilting voice he so adores but has never quite heard like this.  He loves it.  “I need to stretch you out.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

You whine so prettily he almost cracks.  It’s enough to have him choking on his own words, not that he’s saying anything.  He’s too focused on how he sinks into you - a single digit but so tightly it feels like there’s no way he’ll survive his cock buried inside.  

You’re a dream come true.  He never wants to wake up.

“More.  Please.”  You’re so polite, he almost laughs.  You’d really taken his words to heart - always asking for what you wanted now.  He can’t deny how proud he is.  It blossoms in his chest, juxtaposed greatly against the salaciousness that drives him to do exactly as you ask.

His index finger slips in alongside the other.  You make that noise he loves, grinding your core against the flat of his palm as he curls his knuckles and seeks out that spot.  He knows he’s struck gold when he taps it experimentally, pressure turning light but unrelenting when a choked cry ricochets off your tongue and onto his sweat-slicked shoulder.

“Right there?”  

Your nod is enough of an answer. 

He redoubles his efforts, fucking you with measured glides of his fingers and precise presses against your g-spot.  In no time at all, you’re barely coherent, mumbling his name in a slew of breaths that has him grinning.  You’re a sight to behold, moaning so obscenely you’d be ashamed you weren’t so preoccupied by the fact that every part of you feels as if it’s about to splinter.

“Miru— Princess—”  Your clit aches and you nearly shriek when he applies pressure against it with the pad of his thumb, swiping your cum over it in slow circles.  He wants you so badly - just as bad as you want him- but he’s torn halfway between watching you unravel by his hand and wanting that same euphoria when he’s buried home in your dripping pussy. 

“Please, please, please.”  There are tears in your eyes.  You’re so close you can practically taste it, entire body shaking with the effort of keeping the coil from snapping.  “Yoongi, please.”

He’s a fucking goner then, filling you with a third finger and grinding his palm against your clit as you come apart beneath him.  

It starts in your toes, stealing feeling all the way up your calves and over your thighs.  You’re only aware you’re trembling because it vibrates through Yoongi’s body, looped back to yours when he mouths across your shoulders, sucking memories into your heated, sweat-sweet skin.  The stimulation is what keeps you from floating off on a cloud of bliss, the warmth in the pit of your stomach liquifying your bones. 

“Are you tired?”  Because you certainly look tired - too fucked out to properly meet his stare as he looms over you, both hands adjusted to rest comfortably over your hips. 

You are, but it doesn't matter.  You haven’t gotten what you wanted - not really - and you aren’t about to let it go without asking.

He’d taught you that.

You smile up at him, doe-eyed and alluring.  A hand reaches for his, curls around the fingers still glossy with your slick, and squeezes.  “I still need you.”

They’re words he’ll never tire of - also words that have him kicking out of his briefs and rolling your thong down your legs, all too eager.  He’s painfully hard, leaking pre-cum and purple at the tip, but he fists himself in slow, measured pumps regardless.  It’s a show for you, more than anything.

“ Please.”  So pretty, so ready.  He can’t resist.  

Yoongi sinks against you, the head of his cock brushing through your folds as he slots himself into place with his paint-free hand.  The other, still coloured garishly bright, brushes the curve of your lip, the delicate skin beneath your eye.  It’s so tender you can’t help but blink, caught off-guard.  

“I love you,”  you say, though you’re sure he’s meant to, too.  You can read it in his eyes - brilliant and bright like a beacon in the night.

He speaks with a roguish grin and a fluid press of his hips.  “I know.”  

You fit like two puzzle pieces, the stretch perfect as he sinks deeper, a low groan sounding from somewhere deep in his chest.  You’re so tight around him but he glides in easily, coaxed to fill you by your wetness and the soft, whiny noises you make.  

“Holy shit,”  he manages once he’s buried as deep as he can go, head spinning with the way you clench around him, nearly stealing the words off his tongue.  “Am I dreaming?”

Laughter is a salve - a catch-all remedy for anything that ails him.  It pulls him to the here and now, drawing his attention from the overwhelming bliss that creeps up his spine and recentring it on you, beautiful and bashful beneath him.

“No, you’re not.”  It’s a caricature of your voice but he doesn’t mind.  He loves that he can bring you to this.

“Thank God.”

Except it’s not God you’re thanking when Yoongi begins to move against you, dragging his cock through your walls with such slow, measured strokes you think you might combust.  It’s his name when he pulls almost fully out of you, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock, before snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt.  It’s his name that rolls off your tongue like a mantra, hoping and praying and begging for more as he consumes you wholly, in no half measures.  

It’s him - Min Yoongi, your muse, your love - that has you crying out, pleasure coursing through your veins as he adjusts and fills you at a completely new angle, brushing against your g-spot with every thrust of his hips.  

“Yoongi - please.”  You’re chanting the two words again, turning them into a song he’ll never get out of his head, when you spasm around him.  His eyes nearly roll back into his head, the sensation turning his rhythm sloppy as he chases the same high.  The hand that had previously been propping him up falls, thumb seeking out your clit as he charges toward the precipice. 

“One more, love.  Once more for me, okay?  I want you to come with me.”

He asks so nicely you can’t deny him - even as the overstimulation takes over.  You’re shaking so badly you’re not sure how he keeps you in place;  it’s a tremor that won’t stop, traipsing over every limb until you’re sobbing.  

“I love you,”  he chokes out as he tumbles over the edge, falling headlong into climax with you in tow.  It’s so strong it feels like it blinds you, spotting your vision with white as he fills you with his cum and continues to fuck you through it, milking every last moment just like you were his slowly softening cock.

You don’t have it in you to answer, far too exhausted by the last orgasm that has your limbs turned to jelly.  Yoongi doesn’t mind though;  he likes the just-fucked afterglow and how you sink into his arms when he slips out of you and onto his side.  

He eyes the cum that spills onto your thighs, pearlescent and going to waste.  He has half a mind to push it back where it belongs.

He only doesn’t because of the words you speak next, hardly above a whisper but loud enough that he groans, burying his face into your hair.  “So, thanks, Taehyung?”  

“Can you not?”  It’s a playful response, with teeth bared against the sweat-slicked nape of your neck.  

“Sorry.”  A beat.  He wonders if you’ve fallen asleep suddenly.  “I meant thanks, Titanic.”

author note.  this was a drabble prompt i got from the lovely @hecticwonderer​ and i kind of just...  ran with it.  oops. 

[dakotacrisis]

Cherry Blossoms (2)

Kagami comes to a horrifying realization

Read on AO3

---

One thing Kagami did dislike about spring time was all the pollen in the air. Allergies had hit her hard these past coming weeks. Her eyes were watery, she couldn’t stop sneezing, and there was a persistent tickle in her throat that would not go away. Medicine helped but it didn’t block out everything which was a shame. Especially when Kagami was at home and trying to be quiet around her mother and she had to clear her throat every ten minutes.

She could not afford to be dogged down by allergies today though. In the days that had passed since Kagami had met Marinette, the girl that made Kagami’s world pink, they had gotten closer. Adrien was not joking about how easy it was to want to be Marinette’s friend. She was like a large blooming flower and everyone around her were buzzing bees or fluttering butterflies.

While the stand out feature about Marinette was her overwhelming kindness and positivity Kagami was noticing that there was a lot more to her. Marinette could be a bit of a dork. She made bad jokes just like Adrien and got excited about really mundane stuff. She was also incredibly smart. Not just booksmart, the girl was legitimately very clever. Coming up with new solutions to problems that work spectacularly well. She was a leader but treated everyone as equals when they worked together. She never talked down to someone, even when their ideas were stupid.

Kagami was starting to wonder if Marinette had any faults. She seemed too perfect to be real.

Then came the day that they went out to the pool. While the weather had gotten warmer everyone was impatient to get to warmer weather and summer time. So to chase away the hay fever blues Kagami and her friends had decided to go to the swimming pool at the local gym.

Kagami came out in a conservative red one piece bathing suit that was more practical than pretty. The others came out in full in their own swimming attire. Then Marinette walked into the room and all eyes turned. Kagami breathed out in relief when she saw the large yellow cover up Marinette was wearing. Maybe Marinette was one of those people that just liked to sit at the edge with her feet in the water. That would be the safest option. No need for anyone to have a sudden nose bleed at seeing her in a swimsuit.

Just as Kagami had predicted Marinette sat on the sidelines talking with her friends with her feet in the water. Kagami swam up to her.

“This was a nice idea,” Kagami said, “Getting everyone together to go swimming. Everyone seems to be having a lot of fun.”

“Some more than others,” Marinette giggled and pointed across the pool where Kim was trying to get his girlfriend Ondine on his shoulders for a chicken fight. “They do know that the lifeguard is going to yell at them for that, right?”

“The lifeguard is too busy eyeing up Juleka to notice,” Kagami said.

“Oh geez,” Marinette cupped her hands around her mouth, “She has a girlfriend! Stop ogling! She’s way too young for you anyway!”

Kagami stifled a snort. “Wow, didn’t know you were just gonna yell at him like that. I didn’t think it was possible for you to get mad anyone.”

“Oh my sweet Kagami,” Marinette said, “You don’t know how fired up I can really get. That was tame in comparison.”

“Really?” she smirked, “Didn’t peg you as the hotheaded type. What does it take to get you of all people angry?”

“Having a lack of human decency for one--gimme a second--” she shouted at the lifeguard again, “She’s sixteen, gay, and in the three foot end of the pool! How about you pay attention to the idiots on each other’s shoulders over this way!”

The lifeguard sneered but blew his whistle to get the others to stop.

“Marinette!” Alix whined from atop Ivan’s shoulders, “I was just about to win!”

“Boo!” Kim called, “Marinette’s a rat!”

“Don’t get upset at me because you were being irresponsible.” Marinette called back.

The four teenagers shared a look and as one pulled themselves out of the pool and started making their way towards where Marinette and Kagami were. What were they planning? Marinette seemed to sense what was about to happen and scrambled to her feet.

“Oh no you don’t!” Kim grabbed before she could escape, “Ivan, get her feet!”

Ivan scooped up Marinette’s flailing feet.

“Don’t you dare!” Marinette screeched but there was a playful smile on her face, “Kim, I swear if you throw me in the pool you will live to regret it.”

“I think I can live with that,” he smiled back, “On three. One...two...three!” the boys tossed Marinette into the deep end of the pool in a mass of flailing noodle limbs.

She surfaced again sputtering and coughing as she cleared the water from her nose. Everyone was laughing and having a good time.

“You okay?” Kagami swam over to her.

“I’m fine, they’re just a bunch of jokesters who are going to get their comeuppance one day. You hear me, Kim!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, girly!” Kim cackled and took off with the others once more.

Marinette pulled herself back out of the water and stripped off her now soaked cover up. Kagami almost had a stroke. Underneath her modesty saving cover up was a black two piece that complimented her petite figure perfectly. Kagami turned away so she couldn’t see her blushing face.

Stop it! Stop getting so flustered! She’s just one girl!

Kagami glanced up and noticed that the pervy life guard that had been ogling Juleka was now looking their way. Was he mad that they called him out on being a creep? No...that wasn’t the face of someone who was angry. She looked back at Marinette who was ringing out her coverup and settling it over a chair to dry.

Not today captain pervert! Kagami climbed out of the pool and threw her towel over Marinette. She looked up at Kagami confused. “Hi there, why did you--”

“That lifeguard needs to get reported or something. His eyes were practically glued to your butt, the pig.” Kagami sneered.

“Gross!” Marinette pulled Kagami’s towel closer, shielding herself from any unwanted attention. “I was thinking about getting in the pool but I really don’t want to now.”

“There’s a hot tub in that room over there that no one is using and the lifeguard can’t see into. Did you wanna go in there for a bit?” Kagami suggested.

“Perfect,” the girls adjourned to the hot tub, all the while glaring daggers at the perverted lifeguard. Kagami was going to report him before they left today. Now safely away from the prying eyes the girls sunk into the steaming, bubbling water with sighs of relief.

“Swimming is well and good but I think there’s something very nice about just being able to lounge like this.” Marinette sunk down in her seat so the water lapped at her chin.

“It is rather nice to be able to unwind after a long day, maybe I should try to talk my mother into getting one of these at home. It’d be a god send to have it for after fencing practice.” Kagami hummed in agreement. “Hopefully the steam can also help with my allergies. They have been a nightmare recently.”

“That sucks. Medicine doesn’t help?”

“Not as well as it should.” as if to prove her point Kagami’s throat began to scratch and tickle again. “Ugh,” she coughed, “I think the steam is trying to dislodge the mucus so that’s a plus at least.”

Oh god she just talked about mucus in front of Marinette.

“Poor Kagami,” Marinette wrapped her thin arms around her. She rested her head on Kagami’s shoulder. “It’s such a shame you have to suffer during one of the most beautiful times of the year.”

“Yeah…” Kagami stifled another cough, “Really stinks…”

Marinette let go but didn’t move back to her spot on the other side of the hot tub. Instead opting to sit right next to Kagami to talk. Kagami was thankful for the heat since it hid the hot red blush in her cheeks. How could Marinette be this comfortable when Kagami was fighting to keep herself together?

A few minutes later everyone had to leave. Apparently the pervy lifeguard from before hadn’t learned his lesson and turned his gaze on Alya. Nino rightfully got pissed that this creep was eyeing his girlfriend and they got into a fight. Not the best way to end what was supposed to be a fun outing but at least the lifeguard had gotten what was coming to him.

“We should do this again when someone less creepy isn’t on lifeguard duty.” Marinette sat on the edge of the hot tub, reluctant to leave the sweet warmth just yet.

Kagami nodded in agreement. She had already gotten out and was toweling off. She was trying her best not to stare at Marinette. The last thing she needed was to get caught admiring the way the ends of her hair curled when they dried or the sprinkling of freckles along her shoulders. Or how her face was extra rosy and dewy looking from being in the steam. Or how jealous she was of the droplets of water that ran down her arms and back like a sweet caress--

Oh for the love of teenage hormones! Stop it!

“Since we had to cut this short what do you think about grabbing some juice?” Marinette swung her legs out and slipped.

“Marinette!” Kagami caught her just before she could fall and righted her back on the edge of the hot tub. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks for catching me,” Marinette had settled her arms on Kagami’s shoulders for stability. It was at this moment Kagami realized that she had grabbed hold of Marinette’s waist and was now standing between her spread legs. Marinette smiled down at her like none of this bothered her in the least. It probably didn’t. Of course it wouldn’t. Why should it? She was Marinette and Kagami was just the nice friend that kept her from slipping off the edge of the hot tub. Nothing more to think of. Certainly nothing that would make one combust from raging hormones.

“Of course,” Kagami let go but stayed close enough to help if Marinette fell. She didn’t. Good. For numerous reasons.

“Now I have to insist on getting juice,” Marinette said as she started drying off, “A thank you for saving me.”

“It was really nothing. Don’t feel like you have to award me for being a decent person.” Kagami told her.

“Nonsense, besides, it’s just juice.”

“Alright then,” Kagami couldn’t say no to her, “Juice sounds wonderful.”

“Great! I’ll ask the others if they wanna come too!” Marinette bounced happily out of the room to talk to the others.

Once Kagami was sure she was alone she balled up her towel and screamed into it. This cannot be happening! She cannot be catching feelings for Marinette! Why did god have to put such a beautiful and perfect specimen of a girl in front of her and expect her not to fall? She was like the first warm breeze of spring that cut through the wintry cold. What was Kagami next to her but a chipmunk in hibernation waiting for her to return and be awoken? There were probably a million people that felt that exact same way and yet none of them probably thought of her as anything more than a friend while Kagami had to suffer with her pitched emotions. Every day since she met her those feelings bubbled closer and closer to the service and Kagami wasn’t sure how long she would be able to keep them in.

Most of the class went to get juice after they finished changing. At least in a crowd Kagami could put some distance between her and Marinette. She seated herself at the other end of the table next to Adrien and sucked down her drink to avoid talking.

“You okay?” Adrien asked, “You’ve barely said a word since we left the pool. Did the lifeguard put you off? I can understand if he did.”

“It’s not that,” Kagami sighed, her gaze flicking over to Marinette for the briefest moment, “I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Anything you want to talk about? I’m always here if you need someone.”

“Thanks, Adrien, but I don’t know how you can help in a situation like this. It’s nothing really. Just stupid teenage crap that I am terrible at handling because I have never had to deal with something like it before.”

“You unable to handle something? That’s a first. What could have the great and fearless Kagami Tsurugi so thoroughly flummoxed?”

More like who. Kagami thought sadly. This time when she glanced at Marinette she saw her and waved. Kagami swallowed back another gulp of juice before waving back.

“You know,” Adrien said, “If you don’t feel comfortable talking to me about it maybe you can ask Marinette. She loves helping her friends and she’s seen and dealt with all of our teen drama. There’s nothing the girl can’t handle.”

“I’m sure but it really is nothing. Certainly nothing to bother Marinette about.” How would that conversation even go? Hello, Marinette, I believe I like you and may even be falling in love with you the more I get to know you and I don’t know how to handle that while still remaining your friend. Thoughts? She may as well tear out her heart and offer it up on a silver platter for her to eat while she’s at it. It would certainly be less painful and a lot quicker.

The group adjourned for the day and Kagami said a quick goodbye but not before Marinette grabbed hold of her and pulled her into a hug. “Have a nice evening, Kagami. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Bye!”

“Goodbye,” Kagami whispered the word but Marinette was already huffing it away from the cafe.

“Hey! How come I didn’t get a goodbye hug?” Adrien pouted, “Lucky you, I knew you two would get along great.”

“Yep.” Kagami coughed, “Lucky me.”

She locked herself in her room when she returned home. Her cough had come back with a vengeance and no allergy or cold medicine would relieve it. Her thoughts would not still either. Every time she closed her eyes visions of Marinette from today assaulted her. It felt like she was back in the hot tub choking on the heat and steam. Marinette’s head on her shoulder, Kagami’s hands on her waist, that dazzling smile beaming down at her with gratitude.

So pure. So kind. Like a bundle of pink cotton candy that melted into decadent sugary sweetness on her tongue. Goodness, this girl was turning her into a poet if nothing else. Just saying that she was beautiful and kind and fantastic wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

Another raucous round of coughing wracked her body and tears sprung to her eyes with the intensity of it. When it finally ended she rubbed the tears from her eyes and gazed down at the three little pink cherry blossom petals in her lap. She picked one up and inspected the delicate flower in the waning light of the setting sun. Where on earth did these…

A hand flew to her throat.

Oh...

Oh no.

For the second time that day she grabbed for something to smother the intensity of her screams.

---

(Previous) (Next)

[firetextskpop]

hi dear! can i maybe request a poly smut with seungkwan and mingyu? 👉🏼👈🏼 thank you 💕

“Why haven’t you been picking up?” Seungkwan asks you rightfully annoyed. “I-I just needed some alone time.” You said kinda upset. It felt like everything in your life was crumbling and you just needed 5 minutes alone. He could see the pain and hurt in your face. “Come on sweetheart. Let’s get back home and I’ll ask Mingyu to start you up a good meal and I’ll run some bathwater. How’s that sound?” You sighed and nodded. Before you could even attempt to get up yourself, Your boyfriend picked you up. “Kwannie, I can walk.” you complain and try wiggling out of his grip. “We’ve been together for 2 years. I think I know this,” He says and puts you in the passenger seat of his car. Before driving, he called Mingyu and asked him to cook your favorite food. Mingyu gladly agreed to do so and immediately began, hanging up the phone. Once you got to your shared house, Seungkwan brought you in and sat you on the couch as he began your bath water. “Y/N, everything okay?” Mingyu asks. You shrug not really sure how to answer. Gyu sighed and said “It’s okay love. We’ll have you way more relaxed before the night is over.” Just then, Seungkwan came back to the living room and escorted you to the bathroom. “I got it hot but not too hot for you. Very soapy and you just relax. I’m hopping right in behind you so don’t get too comfy.” He jokes a bit and winks at you. A chuckle leaves your lips and you undress and get into the water. As promised, Seungkwan follows and slides in right behind you. The water felt great against your skin. All worries left your conscience as Seungkwan washed you up and talked to you. “Then Jun suggested that we do this move he came up with and well, Soonyoung scared him.” He chuckles near the end of the sentence. You chuckle with him. “Oh Jagi, let me give you a massage.” Seungkwan suggests and begins massaging your waist and hip area. A small moan slips from you and a smirk creeps against Seungkwans face. Slowly, he massages his way around your thighs and to your core. Your breath hitched as his fingers lightly grazed your sensitive area. The feeling of his breath against your neck made the sensations a bit more intense. “Don’t you ever run off and not tell us where you are again. Do you hear me?” He purred in your ear. You nodded compliantly. The moment Seungkwan’s hand cupped your core, Mingyu banged on the door. “You guys better eat this food while it’s warm. Stop messing around without me.” He mumbled the last bit but made sure you both still heard. “Yes sir” You yelled back jokingly. To quicken the process of getting out to eat, you helped Seungkwan wash up then got dressed. Quickly the two of you rushed out to meet your older boyfriend at the dinner table. “Surely when you asked me to make food, it wasn’t for me to be a chef for your date night was it?” The sadness in Mingyu’s voice very evident. “Awe we’re sorry Mingyu. I was telling Y/N about practice.” Mingyu snickered a bit at the mention. “When Soonyoung,-” Seungkwan nodded laughing with him. You all ate and talked about their practice a bit more. Mingyu tried asking you what made you upset but you shook it off yet again. Once dinner was finished, Seungkwan took the dishes to the sink and washed them. The older male ran his hand up your arm and gestured towards the bedroom. Quickly, you made your way to your shared bed. “Don’t think too much about us tonight love.” Mingyu says rubbing his thumb against your cheek. You nodded knowing what the night was to consist of. Immediately he started kissing your neck. Quiet moans fell from your lips, getting Gyu a bit more riled up. He began sliding your pajama pants down and wasted no time, beginning to lick and suck on you. You were nearly screaming as he worked his magic on you. Right before you could reach your climax, Seungkwan came into the room. “Kim Mingyu, you’ve got some audacity.” He says joking about Mingyu’s earlier statements. “I couldn’t wait Kwan. Look at Y/N.” The both of you made eye contact. You looked so nice fucked out for Mingyu. “I see.” Seungkwan says and sits next to you. He leans down to kiss you and you tangle your fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss. Mingyu kissed and sucked on your thighs, leaving little love bites. Your other hand grips onto his hair as well. He sits up and Seungkwan breaks the kiss. Instinctively, you flip around on your stomach. Mingyu’s thick fingers massage your hole and eventually, he slips one into you.  “Do you want Mingyu first?” Seungkwan asks watching the taller male prepare himself and you. You nod and wiggle your hips just a bit. A second later you felt his tip rest against your entrance. “Ready?” The older asks eagerly. You nod and slowly, Mingyu enters you. The grip you had on the sheets were tight. Although you’ve taken Mingyu plenty of times, you’re never really prepared for his size. He knows this and takes it slow with you everytime. “You’re doing so well Y/N.” Seungkwan says lightly dragging his hand down your back and sending more sensations to your core. You could hear your boyfriends kiss and turned a bit to see them. Seungkwans hand was now on Mingyu’s jaw making it evident that he redirected Mingyu’s attention. A bit impatient, you move back a little so he can move. While still kissing Seungkwan, the grip on your hips tighten, and he begins thrusting into you. Your jaw fell open and body started becoming limp. Mingyu was sure to hold you up as he thrusts into you.”Fuck, Mingyu~” You groaned out. He directed his attention back to you, breaking the kiss with Seungkwan. “Harder please.” You beg a bit. “Anything for you my love.” He says and begins pounding into you harder. “How are you so tight all the time y/n?” Mingyu asks throwing his head back. A blush crept onto your face. Seungkwan now sat before you again running his left hand up and down his shaft. “They say when you take good things, they stay good forever.” The younger answers the question. “C-Can I take care of you Kwan?” You ask a little airy, close to your orgasm. “Of course sweetie. My body is yours.” He says and comes a bit closer. Your right hand n ow took over for his left. “Look at how precious. Y/n is using their last bit of energy to please you. You ready to cum love?” Mingyu asks now in your ear. “Please.” You whisper. “Go ahead baby.” As if your boy was controlled by him, you came in that moment. The spasms of your walls around him led his orgasm to follow. Seungkwan moaned loud as your grip on him tightened. “I’m s-sorry K-kwannie.” With no words and one finger, he motioned for you to come to him. You did as requested and now you were straddling him. He held you up now and slid you onto him. Still sensitive from the previous orgasm, your body shakes a bit. “You can take it Y/N. I know you can.” He mumbles into your ear. You nod and Seungkwan begins thrusting into you at near light-speed. Uncontrollably, you start screaming and moaning from the pleasure. Mingyu sat at the end of the bed impressed with 1.) Seungkwan’s speed and how loud you were. “I-I-I’M CLOSE!” You screamed. “Hold it for me baby.” He said and gripped your face to make you look into his eyes so you know he’s serious. “Okay~” He brings a hand down to your core to please you a bit more. At this point you were just holding onto him for dear life. “Shit, okay. Let go love.” The muscles in your body tightened and then relaxed and you both came together. Loud pants were heard throughout the room and Seungkwan kisses you in between pants. A whine was heard from the end of the bed and you both turned to look at Mingyu. He had came untouched. “Look at our baby Y/N, he enjoyed us so much, he came without us.” Kwan tsk’d. “Punish him.” you mumbled against his shoulder. “I may just have to.” Seungkwan said watching Mingyu and rubbing his hands on your hips.

[giasonesdream]

Grateful, Thankful, Blessed- Whatever

Genderbent BTS Starring: Fem! Jungkook x Fem! Jimin, ft. Fem! Taehyung x Yoongi (mentioned) and Yoongi x Hoseok (mentioned) | AO3 LINK

Genre: Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers

Warning: Fingering, Cunnilingus, mentions of Polyamoury

Summary: “You’re always so soft, Ggukie.” Jimin’s words come out hushed, a whisper, only for the younger to hear. “So warm,” she continues. 

Her hand is so light when it moves to Jeongguk’s neck. A hitched breath comes out automatically along with the goosebumps along the skin under Jimin’s featherlight fingertips

.“Always wanna touch you. Feel so good. Do you like when I touch you?"

Jeongguk doesn’t want to talk about it, the brace on her right wrist. It’s black and bulky, but she wants to not think about it, not talk about why she has it on to begin with. 

Instinctively, however, she reaches for the door with her right hand, pauses when she remembers what her doctor had said: Do not put any pressure on it for the time being.

With a heavy sigh, she drops her hand, going in again for the door with her left hand.

“I got it,” a familiar voice calls from behind. It’s Namjoon, the guy she mildly had a crush on when she first met him. Her feelings have since then dissipated, but she would be lying if her heart didn’t flutter when he reached from behind her, long fingers clutching the brass handle and yanking the door open.

What neither of them expect, however, is that she’s standing too close to the door. Consequently, Namjoon’s act of kindness becomes that of terror when the wooden plank knocks into her face.

The pain is immediate, and Jeongguk goes to rub at her forehead, but she uses her right hand and-

“Fucking hell,” she hisses, not sure if the pain in her wrist is more potent than that of her throbbing head. She doesn’t even realize that Namjoon has taken to pulling her away from the entrance, cradling her face to assess the damage.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” Namjoon’s voice sounds panicked, urgent. It’s wispy and deep, soothing. 

Jeongguk opens her eyes, sees that Namjoon has bent to meet her height. If she still liked this guy, she would probably have a nice blush creeping up her cheeks.

Now, though, she simply rolls her eyes, pushing him out of her space. “I’m fine, Joon. Don’t worry. I won’t sue.”

He huffs out a sigh of relief, as if he’d actually been worried about that possible outcome. “Cool. So, what happened to your wrist?”

She snaps her head up, sending a glare in his direction. But her expression quickly changes when she sees the innocence in his own face. There’s no need to snap at him when he just wants to know.

“I...my wrist got stiff from playing video games. Doc said it’s some slight carpal tunnel; nothing some stretches and this brace won’t help.” Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. Jeongguk’s doctor had said that her video game activities were for sure a factor in what lead her to needing the splint in the first place.

That seems to humour Namjoon, who tries again at opening the door. They’re safe to enter this time around, and they make their way to their lecture hall. “No kidding. You can get carpal tunnel from playing video games?”

Jeongguk raises her eyebrows. You have no idea. “You can get carpal tunnel from some of the wildest shit, man.” If only he knew the real reason why she had gone to the doctor in the first place.

“How will you get through your dance classes?”

Thankfully she only had one of those this semester. She was more worried about getting through her other classes, the ones that she made a habit of taking notes in. “I’ll be fine. I only have to keep this on for two weeks. But now that you mention it,” she pauses to grin sweetly, sliding so that she’s flush against Namjoon’s side. “It would be super nice if I had a friend take notes for me in class?”

The older chuckles. “Like you don’t already copy my notes in our class regardless.”

“So, you’ll help me?”

She doesn’t need to hear the answer, trusting that she’ll have her friends to help her get through this ridiculous period in her life. 

They finally make it to their lecture hall, students filtering in. They take their seats in the general vicinity near the front of the class. If Namjoon hadn’t been in this class, Jeongguk would have situated herself near the back. Math was never her strong suit, let alone theoretical math like Statistics. But it was a requirement for her while it was merely and General Education class for her senior, Namjoon.

Truthfully, Jeongguk does normally end up copying Namjoon’s notes, as it seems the professor normally goes too fast for her liking. 

A student that normally sits close to the front also asks her about her wrist. And so it begins. She really rather not talk about it.

“Do I need to feed you, too?” Taehyung asks sarcastically. Her head is lowered as she examines a paper in her hand. It looks like a test she got back from her professor. All Jeongguk can see from her best friend’s furious scanning and flipping is that Taehyung seemed to have done really well on it, the feedback scrawled on the sheets saying things like “Excellent point!” or “You truly have an understanding of Carravagio”. 

Jeongguk scoffs, leaning against the stone wall. “I think I can manage eating my burgers and ramyeon, Tae. But can you put my hair up for me?”

Taehyung accepts quietly, folding the test and putting it between her lips before grabbing the ponytail holder in Jeongguk’s fingers. 

Jeongguk spots their spritely blonde friend heading towards them, and she waves as the shorter girl comes closer. 

“Sorry you guys had to wait,” Jimin apologizes. Her eyes are already trained on Taehyung as she continues to explain. “Yoongi was late coming to meet up for our project today.”

Her eyes are accusatory, clearly assuming that Taehyung has something to do with that. The taller shrugs, taking the paper from her mouth. “I wasn’t with him today. My dick appointment is after lunch.”

“Which means no pizza for you?” Jeongguk guesses correctly, smiling when Taehyung hums in agreement. They all know that Taehyung has a sensitivity to lactose; hell, even Yoongi knows it. He’s stated time and time again that he doesn’t care, but Taehyung keeps her statement of, “I rather not have Bubbly Tummy while riding your dick”.

“So, then, why was he late?” Jimin pouts as she tries to contemplate the reason. Cute, Jeongguk thinks in her head. It’s not really a secret how whipped she is for slightly older friend. They first spoke to each other when they had a Beginner’s Modern Dance class. Park Jimin, having graduated from Busan’s most decorated performing arts school, definitely looked the part of a professional dancer. In some ways she stood out, chubby cheeks and lean features. Her curves were somehow pronounced yet soft, and Jeongguk couldn’t take her eyes off of her from the mirror reflection while their instructor introduced them to the class.

But when Jeongguk had gathered enough courage to introduce herself to the other, she was met with about as much shyness that Jeongguk had been feeling on the inside.

They became easy friends afterwards, especially since Taehyung - Jimin’s friend from high school - was Jeongguk’s roommate.

Has Jeongguk ever mentioned how lucky she is? Blessed? Whatever.

“Look, if I’m not on his dick, then he’s on Hoseok’s.” Taehyung states this matter-of-factly. Hoseok had been a new factor to the duo’s open relationship.

Rightfully so, then, that Jimin hadn’t put those two things together. “Right, Hoseok.” Then she scrunches her nose, following Taehyung as she begins to walk towards Student Center where the cafeteria is. 

“Jesus, does the guy ever get to sleep? You and Hobi must be handfuls.”

Jeongguk watches as Taehyung looks down at her own chest, using her free hand to cup at one of her breasts. Just as that happens, Jeongguk feels Jimin’s arms wrap around her own. She pretends the shiver that sneaks up her spine is from the chill of the late autumn air, or that her own snicker is able to mask her tremors. 

“I can’t confirm what Hoseok’s packin’, but thanks!” She turns back to flash a smile at Jimin before turning back to walk with a purpose. Right, now they’re on a time crunch, lest Taehyung be late for her rendezvous with Min Yoongi.

Jeongguk is forced to walk just a bit slower, given that Jimin clings to her arm, and she has shorter legs. Jimin has always been super touchy. So is Taehyung. Jeongguk remembers when the three of them hung out for the first time together last year, the youngest had assumed the friend duo were dating. Granted, it’s much more acceptable for girls to be touchy with each other, but they just seemed to take it to the next level, where people would stare too long at them.

But, not soon later, Taehyung came to their dorm room late into the night, sighing heavily with fresh hickies on her neck because she “met the most amazing guy”. That was when she discovered that Kim Taehyung was strictly dickly. She and Jimin were not dating; they just were super comfortable with each other and loved each other.

Jeongguk doesn’t remember when she became apart of that equation, became a person that Jimin and Taehyung considered close enough to become physically affectionate. It just felt natural when Jimin would sit on the youngest’s lap, cuddle into her side, hold her hand whenever they sat next to each other. 

Now, as they walk to the student center, Jeongguk is hyper aware of the eyes that linger on them, the guys that do double takes, the ladies that stare at where they’re connected and give a curious look. People think they’re a couple. And Jeongguk isn’t ashamed of that fact.

If anything, she’s just sad that it’s not a reality.

“You gonna tell me how you messed up your wrist?” Jimin’s voice is soft, gentle. By this point, Jeongguk has gotten variations of the same question. On one hand she understands the curiosity, but she’s tired of having to lie every time. She wasn’t made for lying. She’s made for hiding. But she can’t hide the brace. It’s big and bulky.

Taehyung, seemingly not too far ahead to hear Jimin’s question, erupts in a fit of giggles, turning on her heels to walk backwards.

“Oh my god, dude, you will not believe it. Ggukie got carpal tunnel from mastur-”

“Mastering your ass at Overwatch!” Jeongguk shouts, interrupting her roommate and trying very hard to express with her stare to shut up just shut the fuck up!

Taehyung, bless her soul, has always been good at picking up on hints. Whether or not she chooses to actually play along is executively up to her, which is why it’s a relief when said sandy brown haired girl scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

“You’re not that good, you know. I don’t even take the game as seriously as you do.” When she bumps into a student, she bows quickly before deciding to walk properly. “Besides,” she calls from over her shoulder. “You should be grateful that I accompanied you at the hospital.”

Jimin coos, seeming to not think too hard about the strange interaction. “Ah, carpal tunnel? I should’ve known. Seokjinnie has been complaining about his wrist, too.” Kim Seokjin was the graduate student in Jimin’s Bakery Club. And Namjoon’s boyfriend (see why that crush was short-lived...aside from clearly being into Jimin- what, who said that?). “And we need him for our next fundraiser. He doesn’t have time to be out of commission.”

Jeongguk looks down at the girl clung to her, a teasing smile on her features when Jimin blinks up. “Some friend you are.” That grants her a quick slap to her backside while Jimin quickly defends her love for her senior. Again, Jeongguk is very aware of the students that pass them, eyes lingering on them. 

The atmosphere of the college is fairly accepting. Being in Itaewon is like another world, one where there’s so many minds that there really isn’t a way to live here unless you can tolerate and accept others. Even still, it’s not the most common thing to see; Jeongguk understands that. She’s just thankful that she can be in an area that lets her be herself. Even if herself is fawning over her clingy friend.

She’s super grateful.

Jeongguk slams the door shut, heaving her body against it as she throws her book bag to the floor and kicks off her sneakers. 

“I. Am. Over it!” Exclaims the frustrated student, each word being yelled out with more shrill. She’s met with silence and the cool surface of her door as she sinks in. In just a week of wearing the splint, she has become so much more conscientious of both the amount of people she sees and how many of those people she normally talks to on a daily basis. She couldn’t seem to catch a brea-

“Over what?”

Jeongguk jumps in her spot clinging to the door at the unexpected voice that seemed to almost meld in with the quiet of the living room.

Taehyung is sat calmly on their shared sofa, laptop perched in her lap. The room is illuminated by a table side lamp, warm yellow light in a dim space as the sun sets outside. From where Jeongguk is standing, she can see the tangles in her roommate’s hair, her glasses reflecting the light from her laptop. 

“Oh, you scared me!” Jeongguk responds, clenching her chest where she can feel her heart pounding. 

Taehyung shrugs, looking back at her laptop screen. “I didn’t burst through the door yelling.” Jeongguk doesn’t acknowledge her words, coming into the room to turn on an actual light and heading straight for the bathroom down the hall. 

“So, what are you over?” Taehyung calls out, barely to be heard over the sound of Jeongguk rummaging for makeup wipes and her facial wash.

“This stupid brace,” she groans, ripping at the velcro that keeps it closed around her wrist. She’s allowed to take it off when washing up, thank fuck. “Seriosuly, it’s not like I broke a fucking leg or something. Why are people so fascinated?”

“We’re an ableist nation, sweetheart. You either don’t exist or you’re a spectacle.”

Jeongguk grunts. Yeah, yeah, whatever. She’s still over it. She starts taking off the little makeup she had worn for the day: her mascara, eyebrows, blush, lip gloss. She has to be even more gentle with her wrist, and that’s fucking annoying. She wouldn’t ask Taehyung to come in and help her, but it’s a tight feeling, rubbing at the product on her lashes. 

She has to deal with it for another week before she can start doing her stretches. What’s worse is that she hasn’t been able to play her video games for as long as she normally would because her wrists starts to seize up. Some would probably see that as a good thing since she spends an ungodly amount of time playing them (she remembers when Namjoon outwardly expressed his inability to understand how she was even passing her classes). 

And it’s the weekend. Aside from doing her homework, what else is she supposed to do? Go out and socialize? Hard pass.

Jeongguk feels betrayed, amongst everything else; betrayed by her body, betrayed by her own desires, and betrayed by that lesbian porn site she was one. Like, they had so many great videos, how was she supposed to just stop? 

It just makes no sense. She had gone through the entirety of her life trying out strenuous activities. From soccer in her early childhood to biking around the neighborhood with the kids on her block, to going cliff diving with her older brother when their parents took them to Cancun when he graduated from university- she dances four days out of the week and her flicking her own goddamn bean is what threw her body over the edge?

Seriously? How fucking weak.

The sun has completely receded into the night when Jeongguk finally emerges from the bathroom. She’s quick to peel her clothes from the day off and tug on some loose sweatpants and a camisole. If she could live her life in these clothes alone, maybe she wouldn’t get so uptight.

At least, that’s Taehyung’s philosophy. Jeongguk remembers the first time she went bra shopping with Taehyung. The older never had much desire to wear such undergarments, but she liked making Yoongi weak. And from what Taehyung has told Jeongguk, who insists she never asked, Yoongi has no control when Taehyung is strapped very prettily. The lacier the better.

But, anyways.

“Jimin’s coming over soon. She was supposed to go to a get-together with her Criminal Justice class, but she rather be with us tonight. Isn’t she precious?”

“Or broke,” Jeongguk mutters when she comes out to the living room. 

Taehyung makes a noise of agreement. “Either or, I’m up for a girl’s night in. But I gotta finish this assignment first. Professor Lee is such a stickler for these architecture papers. He gave me a B on the last one.”

Jeongguk would remind her friend that she has the entire weekend to perfect it, but knows it’s moot. Much unlike Jeongguk, Taehyung likes to make sure every assignment she turns in is perfect. 

“It’s ‘cause I didn’t have Namjoon look over it. That’s why.” She mumbles this mainly to herself. “I can’t let that happen again.”

The younger chuckles. Between Namjoon helping Jeongguk in her classes and proofreading Taehyung’s papers, she wonders. “Is Namjoon getting paid for his services?”

“As far as I know, he’s not into the things I could pay him with.” Of course she went to sex. “Lemme know when Jimin gets here. I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate out here while you’re cooking.”

Eyebrows raised, Jeongguk shoots a questioning glance at Taehyung, who is busy collecting all of her supplies to take into her bedroom. “Oh, I’m cooking dinner?”

“Duh. You’re the best out of the three of us. I want something sorta sweet.” She kisses the air in Jeongguk’s direction as she fades down the hallway.

“What about my wrist?”

“Ableist nation, what did I tell ya?” Then there’s the sound of her bedroom door closing, leaving Jeongguk in the living area alone.

Taehyung’s lucky Jeongguk doesn’t mind cooking. Or else both of them would be up shit’s creek because Taehyung’s culinary skills don’t graduate past basic Shin Ramyeon and boiled eggs. 

Thirty minutes in and the kitchen is hot. 

Jeongguk has three of the burners on the stove going and the oven finishing up roasting some vegetables. Her music is blasting from the miniature portable stereo Taehyung had gotten her as a Christmas present last year. 

This is why Jeongguk never minds cooking. She gets to be left alone, doing her own thing, no one bothering her. And she wasn’t the best cook, she knows this. It became even more clear after meeting the culinary genius currently doing his graduate program for Business Management, Seokjin. She fondly thinks about the first time their group had dinner together. Namjoon had called it “Friendsgiving”, apparently a tradition in the states amongst young adults. Seokjin had been the master chef in the kitchen, Jeongguk playing the role of the sous-chef. Her senior had praised her for being a top notch assistant, which inherently lightened the blow to Jeongguk’s pride at the realization that there was something she wasn’t the best at. 

She’s excited to be in the kitchen with him again, regardless. 

Despite the cacophony of sounds surrounding Jeongguk, she hears the beep of their front door unlocking. Jimin greets the open area loudly, announcing her presence. Jeongguk expects Jimin to make a beeline for Taehyung’s room at the discovery that said friend is not out in the open space. 

What happens, instead, is that Jeongguk feels Jimin’s arms slither around her waist from behind. Jimin is a couple of inches shorter than the youngest, which is apparent in the way that she has to stand on her toes to leave a peck on Jeongguk’s shoulder.

“Ggukie, you look so good in the kitchen.” Her words come out low, practically whispering into the younger’s ear, in her skin. “Look so in your element.”

Jeongguk tries to ignore how the butterflies flurry in her stomach, how her hand clenched tight around the wooden spoon stirring the noodles in the pot. 

“Is it ‘cause I’m a woman? Jimin, it’s almost 2020.” She feigns disappointment, breaking into a laugh when she hears the dramatic gasp come from the girl behind her.

Jimin releases her hold when Jeongguk turns around. She goes over to the kitchen counter where the speaker is, turning the music down so she’ll be able to talk to Jimin at a normal tone. Her hair is pulled into a half-updo, done with enough precision just to get the hair out of her face. And given from her casual athleisure apparel of a light blue crew neck and leggings, she must have came from the dance studio. That and her bare, slightly flushed face give it away.

“I brought wine,” Jimin says, nodding over to where she left the bottle of pink on the other counter space.

“Oh, so you didn’t flake out on your CJ class ‘cause you’re broke. Taehyung’s right. You are precious.”

The older scoffs, looking offended at Jeongguk’s words. “You think I only crave your food when I don’t have money for my own? And here I thought I would be baking us some cookies.”

Jeongguk turns the knob on the burner for the noodles just as the oven goes off. After checking on the vegetables, she turns off the oven, keeping them in the warm confines of the oven.

“Blush wine pairs much better with cake, Minnie. You know this.” 

She doesn’t get a response, but it’s fine. Jeongguk busies herself checking on her food, the meat she has in the pan on the back burner. She thinks if she gives everything another five minutes or so, it will all be ready.

“Hey, Gguk, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

She can feel the tension build in the silence before Jimin finally musters up the courage to ask her question. “Um...why didn’t you want me to know the real reason you hurt your hand?”

Jeongguk stops her stirring, turning to see the sullen look on the older’s face. She isn’t sure which emotion is most prevalent in the moment, so she stutters and gapes as Jimin looks to her patiently.

“It’s not...I mean...I was just embarrassed at- I mean, if Tae hadn’t been the one to take me to the hospital, I probably wouldn’t have told her the truth either.” It’s a sad excuse of an answer. She hadn’t realized that Jimin noticed anything.

“We’re close, aren’t we?” She pushes away from the counter, stepping to the side as if to give Jeongguk room to be closer to her. Like a test, almost. “Aren’t you comfortable with me?”

Jeongguk twists all the knobs, deciding the food can cook with whatever residual heat comes from the pots and pans. She proceeds to take however many steps it takes to the adjacent counter leaning back. Their arms brush against each other, extra measure for Jimin to know the answer before Jeongguk actually says it.

“Of course I’m comfortable with you, Minnie. You’re one of my best friends. Aside from Taehyung, I’m literally closer to no other human. I’m not even this affectionate with my parents. My mom’s not much of a hugger.”

Jimin seems to mull over her words. With all the stoves off, the only sound in the kitchen is the speaker, softly playing some trap mixes that Jeongguk discovered. 

She decides to continue, moving her face closer to Jimin’s. “No other person I let sit in my lap. If any other person came up behind me and kissed my neck, they’d get an elbow in their face.”

“But that’s physical. People can be physically comfortable with each other without being emotionally comfortable. Like Tae and Yoongi.”

Well, Jeongguk would argue that Taehyung and Yoongi are so emotionally comfortable that Taehyung understands Yoongi’s desire to get fucked by another guy. She understands Jimin’s sentiment, though, so she leaves her thoughts in her head. 

“So you’re worried that I’m not comfortable enough with you to tell you my most embarrassing secrets?” 

Jimin pouts, poking out her bottom lip. She looks like a petulant child, but Jeongguk still finds it unbelievably cute. “I told you about that time when I laughed so hard I peed when I was 12 years old.”

Some of the tension has eased, and Jeongguk smirks out a laugh. She remembers when Jimin told her the story, how Jeongguk herself laughed so hard.

“Yeah, you told me about that.” The truth is that Jeongguk’s biggest secrets revolve around her friend. How she thinks about how cute Jimin is, how she wants to kiss her at those random times when the elder is glued to her; how she wants to snake her hands around Jimin’s body, grip at her waist, her ass. Her biggest secrets revolve around how she sometimes watches porn, fantasizing that it’s the two of them, Jimin bent over on the bed while Jeongguk tongues at her clit. 

But who is Jeongguk to tell someone she cherishes such things? She values their friendship, loves that she has those people that she can be unabashedly affectionate to. She always feels so loved when she’s around Taehyung and Jimin. She would hate to lose that by expressing how fucking gay she is for her.

“Wanna know how I hurt my wrist?”

They’re already right up against each other, but Jimin still turns, giving her full attention to the younger. “I sort of put two and two together, but I want to hear you say it.” She holds her nose high, stubborn and in command. It makes Jeongguk smile at her fondly.

“I was...I was masturbating. I had been going at it for a few hours cause I couldn’t satisfy myself and then my wrist started cramping. The next day, Tae went with me to the clinic. I didn’t even want to tell the doctor, but she was super chill. Turns out non-stop hours of gaming then finger fucking is a recipe for disaster.”

Again, Jimin seems to take in every word, think it over. In the quiet air, there is only the heavy bass of another beat. 

“Was that difficult for you? To admit, I mean.”

Surprisingly, the answer is no. Jeongguk doesn’t feel any different having told Jimin the truth. She doesn’t fear she’ll be judged. The most Jimin can do is laugh, just as Taehyung had, which hadn’t bothered Jeongguk in the slightest. It wouldn’t now. If anything, she would probably enjoy Jimin laughing at her plight, to feel the shorter throw herself into Jeongguk’s space, grip at her arm like a support because her knees sometimes went weak when she laughed too hard.

“No, actually. I’m still a bit irritated that I have to go through this, but I can’t lie,” when she glances to Jimin, the giggles begin to bubble up. “It’s kinda funny.” Slowly, a smile starts to spread on Jimin’s lips, and that only makes Jeongguk’s laughter more pronounced, more shameless. “I guess I kept that from you for nothing.”

“Seriously, I could have been coddling you way sooner.”

“Coddle?” Her laughter has since died a bit, genuine confusion taking over.

Jimin makes a cooing noise, something she seems to do often with the younger. She lifts a hand, patting softly at the side of Jeongguk’s face. “Poor baby had trouble getting off.”

“Excuse you,” Jeongguk scoffs. “I could get off; it’s just that none of them felt all that good.”

“Maybe you weren’t doing it right then,” Jimin suggests casually. Her hand slides down Jeongguk’s arm, squeezing at where her elbow rests on the counter top. 

With a roll of her eyes, Jeongguk replies. “I know how to get myself off, Min. Don’t worry.”

Jimin still argues. “But maybe you need someone to help you feel good?” She ends the statement on a lilt, like she’s asking rather than saying.

It’s with Jimin so close that Jeongguk always becomes super aware of things. For instance, right now she’s very aware of Jimin’s fingers on her arm constantly moving, suddenly realizes how small the kitchen is, how they’re pressed against each other. Jimin’s leg moves upward, sliding against Jeongguk’s, one socked foot sliding under the opening of her sweat pants.

And Jeongguk is suddenly very conscious of the fact that Jimin is chewing at her bottom lip, and the younger can’t seem to look away. 

She looks up just as Jimin does, having been watching her lips as well. She raises one eyebrow in question, one that Jeongguk is supposed to answer.

“Um…” is all Jeongguk can say.

The blonde continues petting at her arm while the other hand lifts up Jeongguk’s hand. She had put the splint back on after washing up in the bathroom. Jimin seems to only mind it for a second before she starts caressing Jeongguk’s fingers.

“You’re always so soft, Ggukie.” Jimin’s words come out hushed, a whisper, only for the younger to hear. “So warm,” she continues. Her hand is so light when it moves to Jeongguk’s neck. A hitched breath comes out automatically along with the goosebumps along the skin under Jimin’s featherlight fingertips.

“Always wanna touch you. Feel so good.” Her hand slides up to Jeongguk’s jaw, pulling her face closer. No later they’re practically sharing the same breath. When Jimin looks into her eyes again, Jeongguk thinks she could fall into a crumpled mess right there. This girl has such a strong effect on her. It’s almost too much when not being enough. “Do you like when I touch you?”

Jeongguk can’t even begin to think, still trying to wrap her brain around the way Jimin is touching her, pulling her in. Just how Jeongguk can’t remember when Jimin started openly being affectionate with her, the younger can barely remember when she realized she liked the blonde. It just sort of happened. Like, one day came, Jimin was attached to her side, and Jeongguk felt the urge to reciprocate, to pull Jimin in like how the older is doing in this moment. And Jeongguk has known she likes girls for some time, since her Sophomore year of high school, helping one of her friends practice for a play she was in. The lead, one that had a kiss near the finale of the play. Her friend hadn’t thought much of it, but Jeongguk thought about it for days, nights, weeks, months. She thought about it until a girl on her softball team kissed her in the locker room.

She’d been comfortable in her sexuality, but never outwardly expressive of it. She never came out to her parents nor her brother. But one day, Jeongguk brought her girlfriend home to meet her parents; announced her as her girlfriend. And four months after they broke up, Jeongguk met a boy at the convenient store her mom always told her to go to when they needed something quick. The guy worked there, was smitten with how Jeongguk shyly put her tampons on the counter along with the medicine shots. Not much later after that, Jeongguk would tell her parents whenever she was going on a date with her boyfriend. 

Neither of those relationships lasted over six months, not that Jeongguk cared. She wasn’t regretful of the time she spent with either of them. They made her feel good in the moment, allowed her to learn what she liked and did not like.

And she really liked Jimin.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk finally answers, breathy and shaky with her exhale. She’s still uncertain of how real everything is, but in the spirit of what they just spoke about, Jeongguk finds herself admitting to more. “Really like it when you touch me.”

“Why don’t you ever touch me back?” There is the slightest pout again. Jimin is good at that. In the year Jeongguk has gotten to know Park Jimin, she knows that the older is a bit of a brat, used to getting her way to some extent. Must come with being an only child.

“Didn’t wanna scare you away.” Jeongguk never hid her sexuality, and her friends found out about her sexual attraction to girls about as anticlimactically as her parents had. The trio had gone to a party hosted by Jimin and Jeongguk’s dance class. It was at their senior’s, Hoseok, apartment. It was at that party that Jeongguk had ended up dancing with some girl from a ballet class, and not long after, Jeongguk had said girl pinned to the wall, the two of them slightly intoxicated but making out nonetheless.

And when Jeongguk had found Taehyung and Jimin later that night, they only screamed at Jeongguk for not telling them sooner. 

And since Jimin knew Jeongguk was sexually attracted to girls, the latter didn’t want Jimin to become worried that Jeongguk was coming onto her. Sure, she liked the blonde but, again, she values their relationship.

Which is way the younger is freaking out because Jimin keeps moving her eyes between her lips and her eyes. That’s the only reason, of course.

“Do you want to touch me, Ggukie?” She wants an answer. Jeongguk can hear it in her tone. But she’s back to pulling at Jeongguk’s jaw. Their lips are just a breath away at this point.

Jeongguk thinks she nods, or maybe makes some type of noise in acknowledgement, but before she can think about it, Jimin has their lips pressed together.

It’s hesitant, at first. And the younger is frozen in her place when Jimin pulls away. She’s still unsure if this is happening. Maybe she fell asleep on her bed after she got home.

A dream would mean she could do whatever she wanted. But a dream would also mean her wrist wouldn’t still be fucked.

She’s not sure if it’s confidence or trust, but Jeongguk surges forward, hand grabbing blindly for Jimin’s waist to pull her close. And she kisses back desperately.

Jimin’s hand finally leaves her arm, moving to wrap around the back of Jeongguk’s neck. With her hand there and the other still cradling her jaw, Jeongguk would have a hard time pulling away if she wanted to.

She doesn’t. 

The hand at her jaw starts to move lower, pausing at her neck as she pulls away from the kiss. Jeongguk chases after her lips, not wanting it to stop so soon, but Jimin’s eyes are glued to where her hand creeps down the younger’s chest.

“Always so soft,” Jimin whispers. “No matter where I touch you.” And suddenly, she’s pulling Jeongguk in for another kiss.

The younger can barely breathe, unable to catch her breath as Jimin’s hand goes further down, falling down the valley of her breast just to come back up and cup her in her small hand. It eggs Jeongguk on more, makes her desires push to the surface. She moans when her own hand goes to grab at the olders ass, squeezing as much as she can, pulling her impossibly closer. Thank fuck for leggings.

The fire in her belly flares when Jimin starts to kiss at her neck, biting at the skin at her collarbone. The older keeps going, following the path her hand took until she got to her chest. She pulls at the top of the black camisole, pulling the stretchy fabric until her chest is exposed. 

The kitchen is still warm, but the fire prickles under Jeongguk’s skin, and she moans wistfully when Jimin starts licking at one of her nipples, circling her tongue until it’s a hard peak. The younger can only card her fingers through the blonde tresses. She works on moving Jimin in front of her, grabbing at her thigh until their legs are slotted in between each other’s. 

When Jimin bites down harshly, Jeongguk’s hips thrust forward. “Minnie.”

“This okay?” she asks as she brings her lips back to Jeongguk’s open mouth. She takes the opportunity, slipping her tongue and sucking at Jeongguk’s swollen bottom lip. 

“So okay, yeah,” Jeongguk gets in between kisses. It’s so hungry, their movements, while somehow being gentle...soft, as Jimin has been saying.

“Think I could get you off? Make you feel good?” Just as she says these words, her hand trails lower, quick to slip under the band of her sweatpants. She goes to cup the younger’s core over her panties, and Jeongguk feels too close already.

She could make the excuse of it being a while, that she had never been able to satiate herself since getting her wrist checked out. But the truth of the matter is that this is Jimin, and she has a feeling that anything Jimin does could make her feel good.

Jeongguk’s hips move as Jimin presses her fingers at the folds, still covered by her underwear. It feels so good, Jeongguk moans into their kisses, letting Jimin swallow up the sounds. 

“Ggukie,” Jimin moans into her ear. “You’re already so wet. Fuck, wanna feel you.”

It all happens too fast, Jimin sneaking her hands under her panties, her mouth going back to suck at Jeongguk’s other breast. She’s always been sensitive in her nipples, a fact that her sexual partners have taken advantage of before. Her knees grow weak suddenly, she’s forced to drop Jimin’s leg so she can use her good hand to keep herself stable.

“Fuck, fuck, Jimin fuck!” Jimin’s using Jeongguk’s own fluids to help make her fingers wet while she massages at her clit. It feels like too much, but Jeongguk doesn’t want any of it to stop. When she thinks she has her bearings she pulls at Jimin’s face, dragging her lips up to kiss her. It grounds her a bit, to be able to focus on the older’s lips. Already, just by the way she moves her tongue in Jeongguk’s mouth, she’s probably amazing at eating out. And really, she shouldn't be thinking about that because Jimin’s rubbing at her folds with two fingers, threatening to push them in while her thumb rubs at her bundle of nerves.

The moans are endless, so close she can almost taste it. “I...Jimin, I’m gonna-”

When Jeongguk looks down, the sight of Jimin’s hand down her pants is the final straw. Her jaw goes slack as her eyes close, any scream that wants to come out gets stuck in her throat, and suddenly he’s cumming, her orgasm feeling like it’s being pulled out of her from depths she hadn’t known existed.

Her breaths are shaky and high when she comes down enough to feel Jimin’s fingers still rubbing at her pussy. She’s going slow, but Jeongguk can already feel the fire whirring again. She smashes her face into Jimin’s hair, softly moaning her name while she tries to get a handle on her breathing.

“Did I do good?” The innocense on the older’s face is almost torture, the smugness behind it captivating. 

That was another thing about Jimin. Jeongguk knew the girl loved to be praised, to be told when she was doing well. It always came out during their dance classes, whenever they would go out and Jimin took the longest to get ready. She had to be jaw-dropping, heart-stopping, breath-taking at all times. And she needed people to tell her that.

Jeongguk has no qualms with praising her.

“Jimin you were so good. Fuck,” she stops herself, pressing her lips to the blond. She’s still rubbing at core, her fingers coming past her oversensitive clit. As much as Jeongguk wants to ask for more, she wants to do what she’s been longing to do for so long.

Touch her.

“Get on the counter,” Jeongguk commands in a rush, pushing at Jimin’s hand, trying to maneuver her quickly. She wishes she could undress, take her time with her, bite and suck at her thighs. But she needs to return the favour, wants to get her mouth on her, eat her up.

Jeongguk acts fast, ignoring the pain in her wrist and grabbing onto the backs of Jimin’s thighs so she can deposit her onto the counter top. 

“Fuck, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Jeongguk groans out, biting at the soft skin of Jimin’s neck. She feels the shorter jerk forward, needing back the friction she had gotten used to.

“Do what, Ggukie?”

She can hear it in Jimin’s voice, hears that she knows what Jeongguk is talking about. But if Jimin wants her to spell it out, who is she to say no?

“Touch you, taste you.” She presses her lips to Jimin’s ear while she tugs at the waistband of Jimin’s leggings. This close, Jeongguk can smell the faintest bit of soap. It makes sense. Jimin hates the feel of being sweaty. She probably showered at the rec center where the dance studio is. “Wanted to keep you in bed and eat you for hours.” She gets a whimper in response, and fuck the noises the older makes are so tantalizing. “Love watching you in class. Think about bending you over the ballet bar.” A moan from her own throat interrupts her. The thoughts she’s had for months coming back to her as she says them. “God, Jimin. Just wanna make you scream.”

“So do it, then.” Jimin has lifted up enough to help Jeongguk get her pants down. Now Jeongguk is kissing down her body, haphazardly pushing up her shirt and finding a cursed sports doing its job and holding Jimin’s boobs in. The nerve.

“Can’t. Taehyung’s in her room.”

For someone that had been so arrogant, so dirty and predatorial not even 2 minutes before, her eyes bug out, the shock and fear in her face very amusing to the younger who smirks as she gets on her knees.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Gguk?”

Jeongguk shrugs, yanking the offending fabrics down and past one of her ankles. Now that she’s freed from the confines of her leggings, Jeongguk’s hands roam, gripping at her thighs. Shit, is she salivating? Right, she asked a question.

“Was too preoccupied. Sorta forgot.” It seems like a good enough answer for her. She pulls Jimin closer to the edge of the counter, running her lips up the insides of Jimin’s thigh. She feels like silk, but the way her thigh jerks at the movement makes the muscles underneath more prominent. It just turns Jeongguk on more, to know that someone can be so soft but this strong. She wants to go at her in every way possible, listen to her squeal and beg for more while her body tells her it’s time to stop.

The prize is right there, wet, pink and groomed. To tease Jimin more would be torture on Jeongguk as well at this point. But she wants this to be good, wants to feel Jimin cum on her tongue, feel her thighs tremble around her head.

There’s a hand in her hair, tugging to move Jeongguk’s head in the right direction. “Jeongguk,” she moans. The younger thinks it’s a warning for her to get to the good part, but suddenly she hears, “You taste so good.” And Jeongguk finally pulls back to look up.

Jimin has her fingers in her mouth, the hand she used to get Jeongguk off. If Jeongguk wasn’t already on her knees…

She sticks her tongue out, laving a broad lick against Jimin’s folds. She was already wet, and Jeongguk is only making it messier. She spends a while just licking, always making sure to flick her tongue up once she gets to her clit. Jimin has one foot propped on the counter, giving Jeongguk more room to work with. She falls into the sounds around her, the melody of Jimin's airy moans and grunts. Sometimes the younger will switch to just sucking on the bundle, and she revels at how Jimin seems to shy away from the sensation, just to drag Jeongguk’s face along with her.

Jeongguk takes her grip on Jimin’s other thigh, tugging at it so she can be in the right angle as she starts fucking her tongue inside, her chin getting slick from her folds. 

“Ggukie,” the blonde whines, struggling to keep herself upright. Her breathing is uneven, thighs trembling. When she looks down, the younger is looking up at her, and it’s so fucking hot she can’t handle it. 

When her hips start to move too wildly, searching for any and all pleasure, Jeongguk throws her arm around her waist, keeping her in place as she doubles down with her tongue. Hearing the splitting shriek does as much to her as feeling Jimin’s walls clamp around tongue. She can’t help but groan, wanting to snake a hand down to rub at herself. 

That’s what she does, using her left hand to rub messily at her already wet core, her panties already ruined and drenched. She starts to hear Jimin beg, the fingers in her hair pulling harshly.

“Please, Gguk- please please please I’m so close,” she ends on a sob, her head falling back.

Jeongguk fucks her with her tongue, moving her head as her nose rubs against Jimin’s abused clit. She can feel the elder clenching, drawing tight around her.

Jimin releases with a steady curse, wispy and dazed as muscles contract. Seeing her blissed out expression, neck and cheeks red, is what helps bring Jeongguk over again. She presses her forehead to the wet inside of Jimin’s thigh, riding out the wave. The air seems to cool around her, listening to Jimin catch her breath. 

“You taste good, too.” Jeongguk chuckles, finally standing up. With Jimin sitting there, they’re at eye level with each other, which makes it easier to lean in and kiss her. She swallows down the moan Jimin emits when she tastes herself on Jeongguk’s tongue. “Feel fucking phenomonal, too.”

Jimin giggles lightly as Jeongguk drags her nails into her hips, trailing down to her thighs, keeping them close together. 

They share the silence save for the low music. It seems so natural and comforting to be entwined like this, feeling Jimin’s chest move against her own. She can’t stop caressing her skin, can’t stop moving her hands. 

“Did you know?” Jeongguk pulls back and meets Jimin’s eyes. “Did you know that I liked you?” Jeongguk isn’t sure how she would feel if she found out Jimin knew about her feelings all this time. Whether that would make her fragile pride crumble or not.

Jimin rests her arms on Jeongguk’s shoulders. “I knew I was special to some extent. I noticed how you acted around others. Even with Jin and Yoongi, you don’t always accept any affection they give to you. Not that Yoongi is big on touching in the first place but- No. I didn’t really know you saw me as anything other than your best friend.”

Jeongguk feels like she has a million questions: what does this mean, then? Does Jimin want to date her? Or does she just want to fuck? Was she even into girls?

“So...you’re not straight?” Given from the confused expression Jimin gives, Jeongguk didn’t really word that correctly. “I just mean...do you know you’re not straight or are you trying to figure it out?”

“Ah, okay.” She smiles gently. “Yeah, so, when Tae and I were, like, seventeen, I told her that I thought I might be into girls. And it may be hard for you to believe, but I didn’t used to be such a touchy person. I always appreciated physical touch, but I used to never openly display it like I do now.

“But when I became friends with Tae, I became so comfortable with her that I would cling to her. It didn’t dawn on me until one of our other friends asked if we were dating that it even looked like we were more than friends. And I seriously wondered if I was sexually attracted to her or if I just felt comfortable enough. So when I told her I thought I might be into girls, she allowed me to experiment with her.”

Jeongguk can picture it, the friend duo at that age, awkward and trying to figure things out. It’s endearing and enthralling. “And, what was the result?” She asks, as if she isn’t already aware of Taehyung being completely hetero.

“She wasn’t into it, but I was. I wasn’t hurt when she told me she felt nothing, and she was so comforting and kind when I broke down crying because I was the one that was different. From the moment I met Taehyung, she always wanted to make me feel like any other person, and that carried over into discovering I was sexually attracted to girls.” She pauses, eyes a little glassy as she seems to remember the scenario. She huffs out a laugh. “It’s actually super funny because I started bawling in her tiny full-sized bed. Like, dude, my tits were out and so were hers. I just cried into her chest and she let me.

“And what was even more magical was that the next day, she still came to my house to pick me up so we could walk to school. She held her arm out so I could grab onto it like I normally did. She still let me pet her hands and she still wrapped herself around me. Guys should really take notes because that’s what being comfortable with your sexuality looks like.”

Jeongguk admires Jimin, entranced in seeing the emotions change on her face. She always enjoys hearing Jimin talk, even if she doesn’t feel like responding, even if it’s about nonsense. 

So now she knew that Park Jimin was a lesbian- or, at least sexually attracted to girls. So that brings up another query. “So, why did you never tell me after you found out I also like girls?”

Jeongguk can catch it, the hint of regret. It fades quickly. “At that point I had already started cuddling up to you. Guess it’s kinda like how you worried you would scare me off if I knew you were gay and you were so affectionate with me. I worried that if I had told you then, you would assume I was only acting that way towards you because I liked you or was only interested in sleeping with you.”

“And you didn’t like me?”

“Gimme a second, my butt is sticking to the counter.” Jeongguk giggles as she helps Jimin down onto her feet. Jimin pulls her leggings back on, adjusting her shirt so she looks half-way decent. It’s still evident in the redness of her swollen lips and her mussed hair, though.

“I hadn’t been sure of my feelings, and I liked having you as my friend. Just in case you didn’t like me back, I wanted to make sure I could keep our friendship regardless.”

It makes sense to Jeongguk. That’s where her earlier trust came from. It was the feeling and understanding that their friendship was strong enough by that point that they could bounce back, work through the awkward stages if it wasn’t what the other person wanted.

But Jeongguk wanted this, still wants this. And it seems that Jimin does, as well.

“I really like you, Jimin,” Jeongguk announces. “I have for some time now. I don’t even know when it started, but I just know that I have.” It felt like something that needed to be said, just in case there were any lingering doubts or misunderstandings.

“I like you, too, Ggukie. I’ve known for some time now, too.” She rises on her toes, intending to only leave a peck against the younger’s lips. But Jeongguk brings her closer, making the kiss slow and full. She thinks she could get used to kissing Jimin, but she still can’t believe this is real.

When they part, it’s calm and serene. Jeongguk is glad she can be comfortable around Jimin, likes the connection they seem to have.

“Glad you guys are finally done.”

Both Jimin and Jeongguk jump, the older letting out a surprised shriek. When they follow the voice, Taehyung is standing at the kitchen entrance, leaning against the doorway. Unlike how Jeongguk had found her earlier when she got home, Taehyung’s hair is brushed out, her glasses gone and tattered sweats traded in for nicer sweatpants and a sweater.

Her face is expressionless as it was before as she blinks. There’s some satisfaction in having gotten a reaction out of the girls in the kitchen.

“What the fuck, Tae?” Jimin exclaims. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Oh, I haven’t been standing here long, but good lord, you guys don’t know how to be quiet even if it could save your goddamn lives.” She smiles, studying the couple. “Glad you both finally came around to each other, though. Neither of you may have noticed your crush on the other but the rest of us did.”

“And all of you just watched?”Jeongguk wouldn’t put it past them, she guesses.

Taehyung hums. “What are we, twelve? You’re both grown ass women. You can figure it out for yourselves. This isn’t some cheesy rom-com. But I guess it is some low level lesbian porn.”

Jimin seems to take offense. “Tch, low level my ass.”

“Oh, speaking of your ass, I think it’s very obvious why I will not be joining you guys for dinner. And please be so kind as to clean up after yourselves.”

With that Taehyung leaves the kitchen, heading for the door. “Where are you going, then?”

“I had texted Yoongi awhile ago. I need to relieve some stress in order to focus on this paper. Just waiting for you guys to finish so I wouldn’t interrupt you.”

How sweet. “Thanks, Tae,” Jeongguk replies, sarcasm thick in her tone.

“As you should be thankful you have a friend like me. Both of you. Later!” They hear the door close behind her, leaving Jimin and Jeongguk to stand in the middle of the kitchen.

“I might need to heat the food up again, but I’m super fucking hungry.”

Jimin groans, moving to stand next to Jeongguk by the stove while she checks on the various foods. She decides to turn the burner on for the meet. “Same, I’m so hungry. Still wanna bake a cake.”

“Perfect, then I could lick the icing off of you.”

“Oh,” Jimin sings low. “Kinky already. Woman after my heart. Guess we found one good thing to come out of you getting that brace put on.”

“Huh, yeah, guess so. Guess it also makes sense that I needed to get it because I was trying to fuck myself. So I should be paid back.”

Jimin has already started grabbing bowls and plates. It feels so easy, like nothing has changed.

She’s not sure how long they stay silent until Jimin’s voice finally filters though.

“So, like, were you just fucking yourself too hard or-”

“Minnie, what the fuck?”

“No, but like, what were you watching? Was it the good shit? Do you know what the good shit is?” She gasps as a thought comes to mind. “Were you, perhaps, thinking of me?”

Jeongguk only rolls her eyes. “We can discuss it later.”

That seems to work for Jimin, who only grins widely. “Aren’t glad you have someone to help you get off now?”

Jeongguk looks down at the brace, relenting and letting out a soft laugh. 

“Super grateful.”

[clubofinfo]

Expert: So in the Libyan fable, it is told, That once an eagle, stricken with a dart, Said, when he saw the fashion of the shaft, “With our own feathers, not by others’ hands, Are we now smitten.”1 Sometimes it’s quite breathtaking to see just how far to the right British political opinion has been led. We really are just inches away from becoming a totalitarian fascist state – a situation that millions of our parents and grandparents fought and died trying to prevent in World War Two. And here we are, on the brink of sleepwalking into it. A recent report revealed that senior figures in both the police and army are pressing to have internment camps built in Britain where thousands of people could be locked-up indefinitely without charge or trial. In addition to losing their freedom indefinitely, inmates “would be made to go through a deradicalisation programme”. We already have the most draconian secrecy, censorship and libel laws in Europe, where so-called “D notices” can prevent the media reporting anything the state wants to keep secret. We already have secret courts, where people can be tried behind closed doors, and where they and their lawyers can be refused access to information about the alleged crimes they allegedly committed. Even Winston Churchill, who no one could rightfully accuse of harbouring left-wing sympathies, wrote that: The power of the executive to cast a man into prison, without formulating any charge known to the law, and particularly to deny him the judgement of his peers, is in the highest degree odious, and the foundation of all totalitarian government.2 Mass internment camps would just about complete the creeping conversion into totalitarian government. The given reason for this institutionalised paranoia is, of course, “national security”, an excuse the 99% are far too quick to buy. Like the now routine destruction of distant countries, supposedly to save those countries, we are now supposed to meekly relinquish our right to liberty – habeas corpus – so that we may be free. It’s very easy to cite appalling terrorist incidents as justification for whittling away yet more of the freedoms that our forefathers and foremothers shed blood trying to win. But those appalling incidents are sometimes not what they appear to be, because all too often in the past the terrorists concerned have been agents for the state. I used to wonder why the IRA would often claim responsibility for carrying out some particular act of terror. I mean, why would anyone freely admit to being a terrorist? I still don’t know the answer to that, but I wonder if it’s because the IRA knew that Britain’s so-called “special forces” were sometimes causing the terrorist acts the IRA were accused of perpetrating. So if you quickly claim responsibility for the crimes you do commit, does it leave open the question of liability for the ones you don’t admit to? For example, the bombing of two pubs in Birmingham in 1974 was, at the time, the worst terrorist outrage on British soil since the war. Although the IRA was widely accused of the crime, and six innocent men were later imprisoned for it, the Provisional IRA never officially claimed any responsibility. The time gap between some terrorist outrages in the past, and the passage of new draconian laws – laws whose passage through parliament might otherwise be strongly resisted – is often amazingly short. The far-reaching Prevention of Terrorism Act, for example, was passed a mere six days after the Birmingham bombings, on 27th November 1974. Bloch and Fitzgerald, in their excellent study British intelligence and Covert Action also record that: Despite public embarrassment of their security authorities, the British government achieved its main objective: the passage of strong anti-terrorist legislation through the Dail. Two conveniently timed car bombs, which exploded in Dublin the night before the vote, produced an overnight switch of policy in the opposition Fine Gael and labour Parties, whose votes in favour carried the measures through the Dail.3 And the gruesome “Patriot Act” raced into US law a mere 6 weeks following the destruction of the World Trade Centre – an event whose full details are still deeply opaque. Now Prime Minister May has said, as part of her election campaign and in response to the recent terror events in Britain, “she will change human rights law” which would “restrict the freedom and movements” of those that present a threat. The fact that such laws already exist, where people can be imprisoned in their own homes, suggests that she thinks the concentration camps proposed by police and army chiefs are a great idea. Plausible deniability Evidence of cynical evil being carried out by our own trusted rulers, experts in the principle of “plausible deniability”, is obviously difficult to come by. But every now and then a brief flash of light is shone into this dark and murky world – when heroic whistle-blowers such as Manning, Snowden, and Assange, for example, provide the 99% with irrefutable proof – only to be rewarded not with honours, praise and glory, but with persecution, exile, imprisonment and death threats. Not only have previous British governments already used concentration camps – in South Africa, and Northern Ireland – the Brits have also specialised in false flag operations for centuries. The very expression comes from the days when the Royal Navy’s battleships would sometimes sail under the national flags of other countries in order to trick unsuspecting foreign vessels to allow the Brits to get close enough to attack them and capture them as “prizes”, or sink them: legitimised piracy, in other words. Today the expression “false flag” is used for incidents where terrorist outrages are carried out by one group of terrorists pretending to be another group of terrorists. In the 1970s, when Irish terrorism was at its peak, a unit of Britain’s so-called “special forces” was assembled under the name of the Military Reconnaissance Force. Their purpose was to pretend to be IRA terrorists and cruise the streets of Belfast murdering people. Such gems of proof of the cynicism of the British state are obviously rare, but because the proof is rare does not mean the practices are similarly uncommon. Far from it. Bloch and Fitzgerald, for example, recall the words of Kim Philby, the MI6 spy, who revealed the existence of: A ‘Special Political Action’ section set up in the mid-fifties with the various tasks of organising coups, secret radio stations and propaganda campaigns, wrecking international conferences and influencing elections.4 And Stephen Dorril, in his superb history of Britain’s MI6, writes about: The ‘false flag’ ploy, a favourite of MI6.5 Anyone who has ever had first-hand experience of the work of “special forces”, anywhere in the world, knows about false flag operations. For these people they’re almost routine. Yet for the 99% the concept is too far-fetched, and horrifying, to believe, and conveniently dismissed as “conspiracy theory”. But those who serve in the so-called “special forces” know the truth – as the rare Panorama programme about the MRF showed. There seems to be a slowly-growing awareness that our very own governments, no matter their apparent political ideology – Labour or Tory, Republican or Democrat – are directly linked to the massive rise in global terrorism. Jeremy Corbyn, leader of Britain’s Labour Party, has been outspoken in his demand for radical reform of Britain’s foreign policy. He knows, as many of us do, that there is a direct link between Islamic terrorism and British support for illegal wars in the Islamic world. The connection is obvious to anyone with a properly functioning brain: if you deliberately hurt innocent people for no good reason or, even worse, to somehow profit from doing so, you will create a lot of anger, anger which, in the absence of justice, will demand revenge instead. British foreign policy has for many years been hurting innocent people for no good reason other than generating corporate profits. British governments have been warned many times about the likelihood that their foreign policy decisions would invite retribution, and warned by people who should know what they’re talking about. Eliza Manningham-Buller, for example, ex-chief of MI5, said that Blair’s illegal war in Iraq “increased the terrorist threat”; and Stella Rimmington, another ex-chief of MI5, talking about suicide bombers generally, said “to ignore the effect of the war in Iraq is misleading.” But misleading is what our trusted leaders do exceptionally well. Reaction to Jeremy Corbyn’s perfectly rational call for major changes to British foreign policy was met with a storm of self-righteous indignation from both the Tories, in the shape of Foreign Secretary Amber Rudd and leader of the LibDems Tim Farron, both of whom affected to be “outraged” that Corbyn could suggest such a thing. This appearance of shocked, wounded innocence to voices-in-the-wilderness such as Corbyn’s pointing out the blindingly obvious is, of course, the standard response of nearly all of those in positions of power, from government ministers to bemedalled generals and admirals to arguably the most cynical power-brokers of them all, the mainstream media. It doesn’t have to be like this Public opinion, which is real political power, is shaped by two main forces. Firstly, the education system, which is primarily responsible for training us how and what to think. Secondly, the mainstream media, which supplies endless information to the 99% about how our world appears to be working. These two powerful forces, increasingly controlled by the corporate business world, carefully shape and maintain public opinion so that it never strays too far from acceptable norms. A tiny fringe of outspoken criticism is tolerated, indeed even sometimes encouraged, to create the illusion of impartiality, free expression and “balance”; but such voices are rare and quickly and crushingly dismissed by the far more powerful faces of established respectability. The truly infuriating thing to understand is not only that none of the mayhem that’s unleashed around the world is necessary, but also that it could be easily remedied. The ceaseless and deliberate destruction of millions of lives, together with the catastrophic ruin of our life-sustaining planet – which right now is enduring the biggest mass extinction of species since the meteor strike at Chicxulub – is not only wholly unnecessary.  It could all be so easily stopped, and good, responsible administration of our planet quickly arranged – for the first time in history. That could be so easy to do. The biggest obstacle is now, and always has been, the people we mistakenly allow to lead us. Perfectly symbolised by the Occupy Movement as the 1%, they comprise a tiny fragment of society who wield almost absolute control over 99% of the rest of us. Edward Dowling once observed that, The two greatest obstacles to democracy in the United States are, first, the widespread delusion among the poor that we have a democracy, and second, the chronic terror among the rich, lest we get it. This chronic terror among the 1% is ever-present, and grows as their greed grows and increases the oppression of the 99%. The report that outriders of British power, senior police and army officials, want to build concentration camps is consistent with this fear. Such camps have never increased the safety and security of the general population, and they never will. They do, however, help to consolidate the grip of the super-rich over societies that they are systematically looting. The role of the education system and the mainstream media in maintaining this situation needs to be recognised and clearly understood. A better world is not only possible, it could be created with astonishing ease and rapidity – given that 99% of us would love to live in a better world. The problem lies not in visualising alternative and better models of society, it lies in breaking free from the vice-like grip the 1% have around the throats of the 99%. For the 1% the world could not be much better than it already is. For the 99% it couldn’t be much worse, and the desire of our trusted leaders to lock us up in concentration camps is dazzling confirmation of those facts. The fact that Theresa May can suggest, as a vote-winning campaigning proposal, law changes that could lead to building concentration camps in Britain shows the extent of the brainwashing of the 99%. With Muslims being murdered in their own homes in industrial quantities by Zionists, the US and Britain, Islamic rage is easy to understand; why British people continue to vote for the perpetrators of western terror is not. Muslims don’t need re-programming nearly as much as Tory voters do. * Aeschylus Frag. 135 * Essential Chomsky, Anthony Arnove, p. 89 * British Intelligence and Covert Action, Johnathan Bloch and Patrick Fitzgerald, p. 222. * British Intelligence and Covert Action, Johnathan Bloch and Patrick Fitzgerald, p. 39 * MI6, Stephen Dorril, p. 281 http://clubof.info/