#sometimes they call me (and everyone they’re close to) a bitch

[thesingingrevolution]

hm

[here2bbtstrash]

the shape of your body (explicit)

genre: fluffy slowburn smut

pairing: jimin x reader

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

word count: 24k 🙇‍♀️

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

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

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

read on AO3!

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just wish you knew him, too.

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

Well, you know a few things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the train stops moving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Definitely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you pay them for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You in grad school too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”

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

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

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

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

Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

“You just did,” Yoongi notes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

“Fucking asshole!”

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

“Yoongi?!”

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

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

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

“What about the coffee shop?”

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

“What about the bar?”

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

“What about the—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

“Is this about the penis?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gay together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess so.”

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

Another invitation, you realize dumbly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was fast.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

“When are you done with classes today?”

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“White and sparkling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s hear it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”

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

~*~

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Subway Boy, huh?”

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug. “I guess. It’s new to me.”

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

“I think so, yeah.”

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

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

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

“Is Joon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will,” you promise, and you do.

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Met?” he guesses, teasing.

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

“The Louvre?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hobi?”

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

“Jimin?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In a bit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jimin,” you breathe, “I l—”

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

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

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

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

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

[valsarchives]

my girl - t.c (part 2)

warning: google translate used french and spanish, sorry if it’s wrong!

part one

yourusername

liked by tchalamet, zayn, zendaya and 10,859,276 others

yourusername felt like a dream! thanks again for being there for me y’all!

view comments

zayn 🖤

yourusername 🖤

kissmeyn ok but when are you guys gonna release the song??? we’re still waiting 👀

hero_ft you were amazing

yourusername thank you!!

ynmybaby GUYS I WAS THERE AND SHE DID AMAZING!! IT WAS LITERALLY A DREAM COME TRUE SHE WAS SO SWEET!! SHE STAYED A LITTLE LONGER AFTER IT WAS OVER SO SHE CAN MEET HER FANS!!! 🥹🥹💖

ynsbabygirl she’s such an angel 🥺♥️

timmytimmy did Timothèe showed up???? 👀

ynmybaby tbh I was so focused on Y/n I didn’t even look around me from the moment she was on stage lol

timmytimmy i got you girl 😮‍💨

chalamtfan guys I don’t think he was there. I mean someone would see him but there’s no pictures of him so idk 🤷🏼‍♀️

ynfan2 breathtaking ❤️‍🔥

username49 Timmy liked again!

randomuser i wish timmy was there tho

yourusername ok so usually I don’t like talk about this stuff, but as you can see, it’s my account that you’re commenting on and i was having a good time with you guys but everytime i see comment like this i feel like that’s all I’m worthy of and it makes me uncomfortable. So please be more respectful about this stuff. Take care <3

randomuser you’re right i’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again

more comments

enews

5,594,279 likes

enews Timothèe Chalamet showed up at Coachella watching his ex girlfriend Y/n L/n’s performance. We are wondering what will “sources” say about this.

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timmytimmy I KNEW IT!!

chalamalabingbong OFC HE WAS THERE FOR HIS GIRL

ynfan2 he was so sweet to fan but he was hiding and he never took his eyes off of Y/n 🥺

username49384 well it explains everything right???

callmebyyourpeach i wonder if she knows he was there

ynmybaby E! News is on team Y/n&Timothèe everyone!!!!!

tchalafann i mean they’re not wrong 👀

timmychalamt Guys! I was there and I saw him. He watched her perform and sometimes he sang along with her. He took pictures of her everytime she got close to his side. And I’m not too sure about that but when she started singing “holding on” there was tears in his eyes.

ynmybaby it was their song 🥺

timotea0 this made me cry 🤧

sweettimmy wait really????? 😭

timtim24 I’m actually crying I feel so sad for him. He loses the girl he loves, everyone is making fun of him for something that isn’t even true and now deuxmoi claims that he was dating Taylor and he cheated on her with Kylie.

sweetteaa what?💀

timotheefan15 istg that girl is crazy . Leave him alone!!

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tchalametdaily

1,848,276 likes

tchalametdaily after all this, they’re still claiming that him and Kylie are officially dating?? Now that’s what I call crazy.

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yourfan8 I’m done 💀

timmyfan04 HE LITERALLY SAID HE WASNT DATING THAT GIRL OH GOD

randomuser93 i love & support them!

timmytim wtf

ynynyn9 they’re not even dating 🤡

timmytimmy leave him alone for god’s sake!

randomuser look, idk the details of this whole situation but didn’t he literally showed up at his ex’s performance? There is a video of him looking at her with tears in his eyes and they’re still talking about that plastic bitch? I wonder how much kris payed them.

ynmybaby Y/n claims that they ended their relationship on good terms but i think there is something else going on. She was asked about timmy this morning and she looked so uncomfortable. I really wonder what’s going on but I don’t want my girl to feel uncomfortable.

username953 what if he really cheated on her?

randomuser no way he would do that to her but i think the rumors are part of the reason they broke up.

randomuser97 “devil works hard, kris works harder.”

more comments

ynlndaily

3,593,275 likes

ynlndaily Timothée at Y/n’s performance last year vs now :/

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ynsbabygirl does it ever drive you crazy…

ynmybaby just how fast the night changes…

timmytimmy I still remember when he hyped his girl every chance he got and after she finished her song he said “that’s my girl” and the fans went crazy :((

sweettimmy BRING THEM BACK 😭

kissmeyn God pls let Timmy and Y/n get back together

username491 I don’t think they’ll get back together

chalametfann he was so excited for his girl (he was literally jumping the moment she got to the stage😭) and after the performance him and Y/n met with fans and had so much fun together I MISS THAT SO MUCH

more comments

enews

3,594,279 likes

enews Timothée Chalamet and Y/n L/n spotted together, seemingly arguing about something.

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kissmeyn wait wait

ynmylove I saw the other pics, they were not arguing!

timotheefan8 pls get back together pls plsss

ynmybaby no arguing my babies just hug each other and forget everything

ynsbabygirl I saw the other pictures. She was laughing in one pic. And his hands was on her waist on another 👀

timmytimmy omg is it really happening???

timotheefan15 yesyesyes

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timmyandynupdates

3,593,274 likes

timmyandynupdates GUYS ITS HAPPENING!!

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ynmybaby damn, they were arguing last week now here we are. I’m so happy tho!!

ynsbabygirl they can’t resist each other anymore

timmytimmy OMGOMGOMG

tchalafann I was waiting for this one!!!

timotheefan15 they look happy 🥺

randomuser isn’t that kylie’s new boy toy?

timotea0 no, that’s Y/n L/n’s boyfriend Timothèe Chalamet.

more comments

yourusername

liked by tchalamet, austinbutler, pauline.chalamet and 13,894,275 others

yourusername Tu me manques depuis le moment où tu m'as quitté, he said.

the comments are limited for this post

tchalamet Empecé a extrañarte tan pronto como nos despedimos, she said.

*liked by yourusername

ynsbabygirl SOMEONE TRANSLATE THIS PLS

ynmybaby OK OK!! The caption is “I’ve been missing you since the moment you left me” in French and Timmy’s comment says “I started to miss you as soon as we said goodbye.” in Spanish.

timmytimmy I love when they talk to each other with their first language 🥺

chalametfann SO THEY’RE BACK TOGETHER?? 😭

kissmeyn YESS!! They’ve been spotted kissing yesterday!!! 🥹🥹🥹

timmytim THANK GOD!

tchalamet’s story

@iloveneilperry @miawastakens

[unfinishedslurs]

RIP Mike Wheeler’s heterosexuality

“Is being gay contagious?”

Steve stares at his phone groggily before putting it back against his ear. “…Mike?”

“Is it?”

“It’s three in the fuckin’ morning is what it is.” He rubs his nose, Mike’s words finally catching up to his brain. “Seriously, Mike? No it’s not fucking contagious, you’re not gonna get the gay disease or whatever from me. I promise you’ll keep liking girls.”

He’s a little hurt, even though he knows the question is innocent. They’ve been asking a lot of questions, like the inquisitive little assholes they are, but none of them had seemed like they weren’t okay with it. Until now.

“…that’s not what I meant,” Mike says. Steve realizes that his voice sounds shaky, even over the phone.

“Then what—“ he cuts himself off, realizing halfway through his bitching that there was only one reason Mike would call about this. “Oh.”

“Can you pick me up?”

“It’s three in the morning,” he repeats, even as he starts wondering where he left his keys. “Your mom…”

“Steve,” Mike pleads. “Please?”

He sighs. “I’m on my way.”

Mike is sitting on his doorstep when he pulls up, head in his hands. Steve doesn’t have to get out of the car, he stalks to the passenger door with all the vitriol of a boy with too many emotions to hold in, and wrenches the door open hard enough that Steve worries he’s going to break it.

“Watch it, noodle arms,” he says, trying to pretend this is normal. Maybe if he acts like it’s not well past midnight, Mike will relax.

It doesn’t work. Mike slumps in his seat, not bothering with the seatbelt. “Can you just drive?”

Steve drives. Doesn’t really know where they’re going, but it doesn’t matter. Just away seems to suffice.

He eventually pulls into a side road

“I’m scared to even touch another guy now! Because apparently hugging is gay when you’re older, and so is sleeping in the same bed, and telling your friends you love them, and…and I’m fucking scared all the time, ‘cause what if they’re right? How do they know? How can they tell by just fucking looking at me? It’s bullshit!”

“Shit, kid,” Steve says, heartbroken. “Shit. C’mere.”

He pulls him close, and Mike turns his face into the crook of his neck, shaking. His shirt collar starts to get damp.

“I don’t know what to do,” he cries. “I thought it was normal, I thought everyone was just…so scared all the time, and we just didn’t talk about it. But then you said that thing about being afraid and pushing it down, and I didn’t— I tried to ignore it. I tried so hard not to think about it, Steve, I swear I tried.”

“I know you did,” he says quietly. It hits him that he might be the only one who really gets it. Eddie gave up denying it long ago, deciding to evolve into something else for them to focus on. Robin’s a girl. Which doesn’t mean jack shit in most cases, because being a lesbian fucking sucks in a town like Hawkins, but girls aren’t as obsessive about it. Sometimes when they compare notes, Robin will just stare at him.

Mike shakes his head. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” he mumbles tearfully into his shoulder.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Steve says with a surprising amount of vehemence. He grabs Mike by his scrawny little shoulders, pulls him away so he can look directly into his bloodshot eyes. “Not a damn thing, do you hear me? There is nothing wrong with you, and anyone who tells you otherwise deserves a swift kick in the balls. Got it?”

Mike responds by bursting into loud, messy sobs.

Steve just keeps holding him, running a hand through his hair and soothing him gently, like he wishes someone had done for him or Robin or Eddie when they were young. Finally Mike pulls away, embarrassment starting to set in.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Steve asks instead of a meaningless platitude he knows Mike wouldn’t accept.

Mike gives him a suspicious look. “I guess.”

“I’m scared too. All the time.”

“No you’re not,” Mike snorts. “You don’t need to make me feel better just because I’m a pussy.”

“I’m not joking,” he says. “Why do you think I dated girls? Why do you think I went through so many lengths to hide it? It’s fucking terrifying, man. But you know what makes it less scary?”

“Dating girls? Marrying a woman?”

“No.” He pokes Mike’s chest, right over his heart. “People. Friends who love and accept you. Friends who know what you’re going through, even.”

“Do you…” Mike chews his lip. “Do you think Nancy would be okay with it? With me?”

“Absolutely I do. She was okay with me, wasn’t she? And I was her boyfriend.”

“Yeah, but it’s different when it’s your family, right? Sometimes people don’t care if someone is… people don’t care until it affects them. Do you think Nancy is like that?”

He knows Nancy isn’t like that, but that's a talk they’re going to have to have themselves. “I really don’t,” he encourages. “I think she’d be really glad to know this part of you, actually. She loves you.”

“…I know,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t… we made this dumb no secrets pact the first time the Upside-Down happened, I don’t know why. It’s stupid. But…I don’t want to keep secrets from her anymore.”

[meatonfork]

platonic 141 w a gn reader who’s the youngest so they’re fiercely protective of them and they love all of them but w everyone else they spicy as all hell 😭

Feisty

————————————————————————————————————————

pairings: platonic 141 x gn!reader

warnings: none

summary: someone is only nice in the comfort of their boys

————————————————————————————————————————

you liked to think you were nice. definitely closed off, but nice all the same.

but, i guess that depends on who you asked.

if you asked any of the 141 force, they'd agree.

anyone else? absolutely not.

you were young, and because of that tf 141 took you under their wing. you were capable of holding your own, but they didn't want you to if it wasn't necessary. because of this, you grew fond of them rather quickly.

sometimes you even called price 'dad'. whether it be on purpose or not.

with them sheltering you to a point, you didn't have much contact with everyone else on base. you didn't really mind, though. they were your safe space.

one morning, you found yourself going to the cafeteria alone. unable to find any of the guys.

not thinking much of it, you wander through the halls and grab a tray of mush.

"hey. haven't really seen you around much." a voice called out in your direction. you ignored them, not realizing they were speaking to you.

"what the fuck. rude bitch. i was talking to you!" your head snapped, and a finger raised to point at yourself.

"me? i'm sorry! i didn't realize you were speaking to me. but, you're a dick, and i don't want to talk to you anymore." walking off, you sat at the table where you usually sat with the rest of the team. it was odd not hearing soap's obnoxious chewing next to you.

as the day went on, you found your temper wearing thin. you couldn't find any of your boys. people you didn't bother catching the names of kept coming up to you. and one point, you were worn so thin, you grabbed a recruit by the throat and forced them to the wall.

"leave me the fuck alone." you all but seethed.

"hey! kid, what the hell do you think you're doing? put them down." you froze. price rounded the corner with the rest of 141 on his heels. muttering a 'shit' under your breath, you let the recruit go.

"leave, please." price turned to look at them. they nodded and stalked off.

"aye, what was that?" soap was practically crying in laughter.

they hadn't seen you like that. it was amusing to see someone so small shove someone at least a foot taller than them against the wall.

"you guys left me alone all day! people kept bothering me. i'm over it" your arms crossed across your chest as your tone shifted in defense.

"kid, we had a meeting today and you never showed up. thought you slept in." ghost spoke above gaz.

your face dropped, "oh. uh, my bad." a blush dusted over your cheeks.

"yeah, your bad. let's go. we gotta train."

————————————————————————————————————————

a/n: i’m starting to catch up a little with requests haha <3

[incorrectcreepypastafam]

Creepypasta As Hazbin Hotel

Ben: so what do you think

Jeff: I’m sorry what the fuck was that

Helen: we’re not filming a porn as a commercial

Puppeteer: why not

Nina: I like being forced

Jeff: keep that to yourself, Nina

Nina: Puppeteer sir

Puppeteer: call me dickmaster

Nina: Puppeteer.

Nina: it’s a solution to our biggest problem

Jeff: oh yeah herpes that’s a bitch

Nina: no our other biggest problem

Jeff: oh uh ugly people?

Jeff: math?

Jane: face my wrath

Jeff: who are you

Jane: I attacked you literally last week

Jeff: ?

Jane: we’ve done battle like twenty times

Jeff: well you must’ve been really bad at this

Liu: oh god, here I go, Jeff. just another fucking day with Jeff. hey hey hey fuck my life

Liu: looks like you have everything under control here

Lyra: of course I do, fuck you, now shoo, go take care of the piss baby

Liu: so you should…?

Jeff: do nothing?

Liu: great idea!!

Toby: you still pissed he almost beat you that time?

Jeff: uh fuck you

Toby: just saying

Sally: *gasp* the bad boy is back

Sally: never leave me again

Brian: we’re about 80% sure she’s harmless

Jeff: this is stupid

Lyra: this is not stupid!

Lyra: it’s just the GAMEEEEE

Lyra: Liu did it well so please try to do the same!

Jeff: I’m too sober for this

Jeff: I’m looking forward to stabbing the other residents

Slenderman: WHAT WHY

Slenderman: people are being nice because they want you to feel welcome

Jeff: *middle finger*

Liu: *middle finger*

Toby: *laughs evilly*

Nina: I have my doubts

Tim: Puppeteer’s minions are all over the place and I need you to get rid of them

Jeff: oh well in that case I’d be delighted to

Tim: humanely

Jeff: well that’s a lot less fun

Jeff: this time everyone has to catch him, okay? Unless you want me to hurt you

Jeff: I love to suck-

Tim: I swear to fuck if you say dicks

Jeff: popsicles, you sicko! Get your mind outta the gutter

Jeff: but you know, dicks too

Sally: sometimes I kill mother bugs in front of their children as a warning to others

Jeff: NINA?!

Clockwork: uh my name’s Clocky

Jeff: no one gives a shit

Jeff: call me fake one more time, motherfucker

Jeff: i dare you

Toby: fake

Jeff: fucking asshole- *hits his head on roof*

Toby: you done?

Liu: Lyra, sweetie, you uh you good?

Lyra: nope no not really!

Sally: maybe it’s time

Lazari: no

Sally: to ask

Lazari: don’t say it

Sally: your dad

Lazari: UGHHHHHH

Lyra: wait that’s it

Jeff: kill everyone?

Lyra: noooooo

EJ: what’s the hold up?

EJ: you got daddy issues?

Lulu: no we’ve just never been close

Lulu: after Mom died he never really wanted to see me

Lulu: he calls sometimes but only if he’s bored or needs me to do something

EJ: daddy issues

Brian: this is the first time she’s called you in years

Brian: this has to be perfect

Brian, picking up the phone: HEYYYY BITCH

Jeff: you may have heard of me from my radio broadcast

Tim: hmmm NOPE I guess that’s why Toby called it the Hazbin Hotel hahaha

Jeff: hahaha it was actually my idea

Tim: hahaha well it’s not very clever

Jeff: haha fuck you

Toby: OKAY

Brian: you like girls! so do I! We have so much in common

Clockwork: how you been?

Jeff: good! Until five minutes ago

Sadie: hey Sally what you been up to, girlie?

Sally: fighting bugs

Sadie: and how’s that going for you

Sally: they’re winning

Sally: but not for long

Lulu: how come he can have faith in me but my own father can’t?

Jeff: oooooh drama *pulls out popcorn*

Slenderman: hi

Slenderman: Slenderman

Slenderman: that’s my wall that you just blew up

Jeff: don’t fucking shush me bitch

Sadie: I need a break but hug a koala for me

Nina: omg can you imagine an actual KOALA

Jeff: anyway you sure fucked up didn’t you

Jeff: oh Lyra, you look an absolute mess

Sadie: I won’t hurt anyone for you

Jeff: who’s asking?!

Ben: Jeff and Toby just left like they were running away from their responsibilities

Ben: should we be alarmed?

Helen: are you fucking high?

Lulu: oh I’m just kidding

Lulu: I know you’re an ace in the hole

Ann: a what now?

Sally: I named all the stains on the carpet

Sally: that one’s Fred

Liu: look I can’t resist a fight okay

Liu, about Jeff: especially when I get to tag team with this fuckhead

Lyra: live tonight however you want because-

Toby: we’re all gonna die!

Dina: alright let’s give it up for not dying!

Dina: love not dying!

Dina: … drinks?

Jeff: I mean personally I’m excited it’s been a long time since I stabbed someone and really meant it you know what I mean

Lazari: I dub thee king roach

EJ: oh to understand your twisted little mind

Jeff: anyway I guess

Jeff: please don’t die tomorrow

Jeff: okay bye

Lyra: rip Jane’s cunt mouth out her ass

Jeff: would you just- chill, Lyra, fuck

Zero: they appear to have some kind of shield sir

Puppeteer: oh really? I didn’t see this giant fucking shield in front of me YOU DUMB BITCH NO SHIT

Jeff: I’m about to end your fucking life

Puppeteer: fuck you, you red piece of- too much fucking red- fuck shut up

Ben: hahaha poetry

Jeff: what just happened? Ffffuck

Toby: these fucking angels won’t stop coming

Jeff: HA

Toby: okay I walked right into that one

Jane: Before I take your life I’m going to tear that other eye out of your face

Clockwork: try it bitch

Jeff, to Jane: live

Jeff: live knowing that you only do because I let you

Slenderman: see you messed with my daughter so now I am going to FUCK you

Zalgo: …

Clockwork & Lyra: …

Jeff: 😏

LJ: well this just got interesting

Sally: it’s fuck you up, Dad

Slenderman: wait what did I say?

Liu: how’s mercy taste, you little bitch

Slenderman: take your little friends and GO HOME

Slenderman: please

Puppeteer: I’m The Puppeteer

Helen: and I’m-

Puppeteer: nobody gives a shit who you are, Helen

Zero: anyway congrats to Slenderman and his crew for not being totally fucking useless for once

[st4rb3rr13s]

CEO!Eren head canons

Girl yesterday I had no motivation to write 😭😭 I still don’t so we just gonna do headcanons for now !!

CEO!Eren has NO hoes. I mean, yes many girls would try to get his number (for the money and the looks) but he’d always decline. He could always see right through them.

CEO!Eren’s day to day is very consistent. He first wakes up, gets ready before making coffee (straight up black coffee). He’ll go to work, go to the cafe near his practice for lunch before going back to work. When he gets off he orders Chinese food then watch’s a show before falling asleep.

CEO!Eren owns a hospital. It used to be owned by his father who retired shortly after Eren paid his student debts and got practice in the medical field.

CEO!Eren is very independent but forgets a lot of things. He has to have a planner and note books to write down all his information or he’ll forget it. He forgot a lunch with his mom once and got an ear full.

CEO!Eren never thought he’d fall in love with someone until he met you. (I already wrote how y’all met.(link))

CEO!Eren who doesn’t tell you his job at first and acts like he’s broke. He’ll sometimes even complain about how much money he spent that week just to play the act . (But some how pays for expensive dates and gifts for you?? Very sketchy.)

CEO!Eren who is scared when he tells you his job. He’s been used several times because of it, people being too nice and begged too much. He just doesn’t want to be used again.

CEO!Eren who invited you to his condo for it to come out. (You found out by his office, and it gave it away.) He was shocked when you never mentioned it and kept your same personality.

CEO!Eren who got into an argument with you over something little. He felt bad so he decided to send you dozens of roses so you could forgive him. (He also gave you dick but that’s for another time.)

CEO!Eren who praises you for the little things. You gifted him, his favorite drink?? He’s all over you. You made him a painting to put on his wall?? He can’t stop smiling at the painting. Anything you do for him, he’s obnoxious about. (He’d call Armin and tell him about it.)

CEO!Eren’s friend Armin who goes on double dates with you. His girlfriend is so sweet and loves talking to you. She gives you advice about how annoying people can be about the relationship and how to ignore it. (Armin owns an engineering company, owns a lot of buildings.)

CEO!Eren who takes you to parties, you two catch everyone’s eyes. (You two always look so classy)

CEO!Eren who’s world was changed when you showed him chai tea latte. He’d love how sweet it is and not so bitter. Honestly gives it a 10/10 and drinks only chai tea lattes.

CEO!Eren who loves sour foods. He’d love anything sour. Sour candy is his go to for long car rides. His favorite is sour skittles because they’re just so sour. If he doesn’t have to close his eyes because of how sour something is, it’s not for him.

CEO!Eren who loves watching shows with you. It’ll be you two’s show, and if you watch it without him, be prepared for “cheating” allegations. He’d say some stupid shi like “What round were y’all on, 9th, 10th?”

CEO!Eren who would make “cheating” allegations after not texting him back after 10 minutes. The first text message would be something like “Just got off of work, see you soon my love❤️” to “Hope you two are using protecting❤️” LIKE BITCH I WAS IN THE SHOWER??

CEO!Eren who would love to tease you about every little thing. You drop your phone? Ok clumsy. You trip? He’d be worried for a second before laughing his ass off. Nothing in this world makes him laugh harder than you.

CEO!Eren who is convinced on paying for everything. Especially when you move in. Everything is on him. Like yes, he wants you to keep your job, but he wouldn’t want you to spend your hard earned money. (Like nigga are you calling me broke??)

CEO!Eren who bought a house for his mom so she can be by herself once and a while. (Would not buy his dad a house because he doesn’t deserve it.)

CEO!Eren who can’t stop staring at you. He thinks your the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, how could he not stop staring at you?? You’re just gorgeous.

CEO!Eren who loves Cinnabon. He loves the lemonade from Cinnabon because it’s just so sour, and cinnamon buns would go so good with it. (Sometimes you wonder if he loves Cinnabon more than you(He always says Cinnabon is one, ur second))

CEO!Eren EATS. This nigga will eat so much and still be hungry. Eats off of your plate too if y’all are out. That “rich people don’t eat a lot” is bull shit to him. If he rich, he gonna eat. Point blank period.

CEO!Eren and his mom who works in a soup kitchen on Sundays. He likes giving back because his mother would tell him how hard she had to work for herself when she was younger, and ate out of a lot of soup kitchens.

CEO!Eren’s sister who teases the hell out of you two. You two are holding hands, and Mikasa sees. Mikasa, our girl? Oh nah y’all better stop doing that premarital shit.

CEO!Eren’s sister, Mikasa, who hates when someone makes a comment about you. You think Eren is mean?? His sister?? Oh lord. Don’t let someone talk bad about you in front of her, or she’s going off. And she does it in a classy way too, which makes it even worse. She’ll eat every time.

CEO!Eren who invests in stock so his children can be comfortable when they’re adults and when he’s long gone. (His stock worth is too high atp.)

CEO!Eren who goes on a shopping spree with you every month. He wants to do it more but is often busy. Anything you look at he’ll buy, even would buy a store at the mall to store your items if you asked.

I’m done. Hope y’all liked<3

[ficthots]

Almost

A/N: Jesús I’m so sorry this has taken as long as it has. Anywho, this one was a blast to write! Look at how great that picture is of the man of the hour! As always let me know what you guys think and enjoy! (Friends to lovers) *also I’m posting this on my phone so if the format is weird I’ll fix it later*

Word Count: 7.9k+

Everyone knows the story. The one where she’s the girl next door and she’s hopelessly in love with the boy next door. There can be some variations in the plot depending on the circumstance. For example, sometimes he doesn’t seem to notice her or give her the time of day. Other times they’re best friends and she’s been harboring this ridiculous crush on him since the first day they met. Eventually, the boy comes to his senses, realizes he doesn’t want the extremely popular cheerleader, but the girl who’s been right there his whole life.

Taylor Swift even has a song based on this tale. She’s not the only pop star or country star, whatever she is now, to take this classic and turn it into a massive hit. It’s incredibly corny and unbelievably predictable, but people eat it up each and every time. Were you a part of that group? Not necessarily. Honestly, it was your least favorite kind of love story.

Which is why it’s all the more embarrassing that you were embroiled in it anyways.

Did you enjoy being a stereotype? Nope. Did it mean you weren’t one? Nope. Hopelessly embarrassing was the fact that you ticked off every single marker point.

Girl next door? Check. Boy next door who she’s been in love with since day one? Check. Best friends their entire lives? Check. Boy comes to his senses and realizes that what he’s been searching for has been right in front of him this entire time? Not quite. Again, thank you pop stars everywhere for that infamous line.

You had been friends with Josh since your first day of first grade. Family having just relocated from some bordering state, the new neighborhood in Michigan was full of kids your age. The twins that accompanied their mom to your front door as she delivered fresh baked brownies as a welcome to the neighborhood were the first ones you got the chance to meet.

Hiding behind their moms legs, she encouraged them to say hello to you. When you invited them to play on the new jungle gym your parents had set up for you just a few days prior, the rest was history. Hardly ever apart from that day onward, you took to Josh exceptionally fast. He was much more outgoing than his counterpart, always having you in a fit of giggles.

The crush part? That happened almost immediately as well. Taken by how brave he was by jumping off the swings into the grass in front of him, you were in awe. Ever since that day, you knew you were positively smitten with Joshua Kiszka.

You recalled fond memories and times spent with the boy who had quickly become your best friend. Getting in a fight with some douche in middle school who had called Josh weird, more movie nights then you could count, Josh waiting with your mom after your driving test to see if you had passed.

It was utterly annoying how many of your memories he was in. Even more bothersome that you enjoyed having him in all of those memories. Even though it stung like a son of a bitch that he was.

It was those things which would always cause the feelings to bloom after being dormant for a long winter. Made you nauseous just thinking about it. Sure, most people develop crushes on close friends at one point or another, but in your case it was disgusting how infatuated you truly were with the boy. And did he feel the same back? Not to your knowledge or understanding.

Were there times where you were beginning to wonder if maybe your feelings were being reciprocated. Of course! You were only human for god's sake and not too shabby of a person in your personal opinion. Winter formal was a perfect example of one of those instances.

This was the dance in high school that officially morphed the teenager from an awkward, clunky child to that of a blossoming young adult. It was a big deal.

Nearly everyone had dates to the swanky sophomore event, including your best friend.

You on the other hand hadn’t been asked by anyone. As the dance loomed closer and closer, no prospective dates on the horizon for you, Josh did the unthinkable for a high school boy who understood the importance of this event in your eyes.

He called his date and canceled on her so that he could be your date. What was a heartbroken, insecure young lady now had the best guy of all to accompany her to the dance. Tear streaked face and all, he escorted you to the dance and you two had the best time. Even indulging you with a slow dance. By the end of the night, you thought Josh was looking at you…differently. In a way that you had only dreamed about over the years of friendship.

When he walked you to your front door, you thought this might be it. What better way for it to be happening? He had dropped his date to make sure you weren’t going alone, it had been an incredibly romantic and fun night, this had to be it! Your first kiss, with the boy you were head over heels for.

Instead, he smacked your arm, thanked you for a good night, and walked over to his own home right next door. The ol’ Pittsburgh goodbye they called it. Rooted to your spot dumbfounded and utterly disappointed, you felt so stupid for thinking that he was going to look at you as anything more than just a friend.

Your mom had thrown open the front door, ecstatic to hear about how the dance had gone, but you ran past her. Only muttering that you were fine when asked what was wrong, you bounded up the stairs past your father, too.

You went to your room and sobbed for the entire night. Swearing to yourself that no matter what, you would never get your hopes up like that again. You avoided Josh for as long as you could the following days, but when he arrived at your house wondering what the heck was going on with you, your defenses were down.

It was pure torture living like this. Seriously, straight up hellish. Not able to figure out why you could not get over the man that had held your heart in his hand without even knowing it for years. Danny was even at a loss.

During the course of Josh becoming the front man for Greta Van Fleet, you took to the black sheep brother. Completely by accident, but hey at least you had Danny now as well. It had been after a hang out at his apartment where he had cornered you in the kitchen.

Pestering you until you finally admitted your feelings for Josh. He truly did not understand why you had the emotions and feelings you did for the boy, but he supported you nonetheless. A little too much for your liking.

Over the span of the next several years, he was always whispering in your ear that if you just told Josh how you felt, he more than likely would reciprocate what you were feeling. It didn’t matter how many times you told Danny, he would never understand. Jeopardizing that friendship and bond with Josh just simply wasn’t worth it.

Danny swore up and down that no matter what you said to Josh, you would never lose him like how you swore you would. Agreeing with him, you told him it wasn’t Josh you would lose, but the opposite. Josh would lose you. There was no possibility that you would ever be able to face him or continue on with how things had previously been. It’s just how it was.

You accepted it and you just wanted Danny to as well. He swore he would never understand fully why you would want to put yourself through that time and time again, but you ultimately told him that this was how things were and he needed to be the one to reach that level of acceptance that you had.

Even as you got older, watching Josh turn into the celebrity he was always meant to be, performing night after night, your heart still seized up whenever in his presence. Josh had convinced you to relocate to Nashville, stating that there was no way he could live without his best friend not being as close as you had been for years.

He had only been moved for less than three months when he called you, literally begging and pleading with you that he would do whatever it took to get you there with him. That there was no way he would be able to do this without his guiding star. How he was wandering in the desert and without his fixated star to point him in the right direction, he was hopeless.

Josh always had a way with words.

In layman's terms, you picked up your entire life and moved it. For him. You were so in love with him that it even shocked Danny as he helped the move into the apartment. Only shooting him dirty looks as he stared at you in the befuddled way he was, you realized how ridiculous this all seemed.

But it didn’t matter because it was Josh.

He had kept it secret for years and you knew there was no chance of him saying anything to anyone. Sure, it was unbelievably painful to see the conquests Josh was engaging in as he waltzed around the world with his siblings, but Josh wasn’t the relationship type. Or that’s what you used to console yourself because he had never made an actual move with you.

It was also one of the rotated excuses you fed Danny as he would bring it up to you. Josh had said time and time again that domesticity actually frightened him. He was used to this rockstar lifestyle and just the thought of settling down with someone was enough to set his skin aflame.

This was one of the things you had known about him your entire life. He had sworn off serious partnerships ever since high school. It just wasn’t the life for him. It killed you, but it was his wish.

That’s why when he began dating her, you didn’t think twice about it. Just another fling that he would eventually tire of before moving on to the next, maybe to you. Chances of that were slim, but hope propelled you forward.

Josh brought her up to you on a grocery trip he promised to accompany you on. Grabbing a bag of rice, you hardly stopped when he spoke. “I went out on a date last night,” humming as you checked the item from your list, your eyes moved back up and scanned the racks. “She was great actually. I don’t know what I was expecting, but she was fun to be around.”

Snorting at his words, you gave him the look that screamed, be realistic Josh. “What? I’m serious! I really like this girl,” he laughed through his words, but you only rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Can you grab me that jar?” Pointing to the one you needed, he scowled at you.

“Thank you for listening and being of help,” his words were dripping in sarcasm, but they had you stop moving the cart as you walked together. “Joshua. Come on, I know you. Relationships aren’t your thing, which were your own words by the way. You see how hard it is on Jake and Sam with their relationships, it’s also why Danny is no longer in one. I just want you to do what’s best for you.”

His brow furrowed as he thought about your words. “So, I’m just supposed to be alone forever then?” Scoffing, you began pushing the cart again. “Not what I said. All I’m saying is just take a moment and really think about this.” He huffed, but followed along with you, grabbing a box of cereal he knew you loved.

“Asshole.” He mumbled under his breath, but you heard. In retaliation you shoved the cart in his direction causing him to topple into the shelving unit. Bursting into laughter, his face was beat red in embarrassment, but couldn’t contain the laughter seeping out as people eyed him.

“You’re gonna pay for that.” And that was practically the last you had heard of her. Josh hadn’t brought her up again. With another tour impending and an album wrapping up, you didn’t give it a second thought when Josh withdrew from you a bit.

This was typically what he did when he needed his attention to go elsewhere. Especially on something as important as an album and tour. Danny on the other hand was constantly bugging you to spend some time with him and when your schedules finally aligned, you trekked over to his house for dinner and a movie.

It was when there was mention of her for the first time from someone other than Josh. Catching you entirely off guard, you and Danny were sitting at his kitchen island, munching on the last remnants of dinner when he brought it up. “He’s still seeing her.” Your brows contorted in confusion, speaking through a small bite of food.

“What?” He set his fork down, eyeing you to see what your reaction was going to be. “Josh. He’s still seeing her. Been a few weeks now.” It felt like a punch to the gut, but you did your best to play it off. “Thanks for the update, I guess?” You laughed, but Danny didn’t match your faux enthusiasm. “I met her for the first time. We met her for the first time.” You only hummed in response, using the napkin to wipe at your mouth, meal now finished.

Thoughts ran rampant in your mind. Was she the reason he was constantly blowing you off? Was she the reason you hadn’t heard from him in a week? This was the longest he had ever spent in a fling. What the hell did that even mean? It didn’t mean anything because at the end of the day it was still Josh.

Knowing you only had another moment to respond to Danny before he noticed something was off, you placed your plate in his sink, acting occupied with this task. Back facing him so he couldn’t see your response that you knew would be plastered to your face you finally answered.

“Yeah. How was it?” You inquired, not because you were actually interested in knowing, in fact it was the exact opposite. You didn’t want to know. At all. He leaned on the kitchen island directly behind you. “He really likes her.” You snorted, finally turning around to see Danny’s apologetic face staring down at you.

Shaking your head, you pointed your finger at him. “Don’t.” His hands went up, a shrug following. “Don’t what? I’m not doing anything.” Your head cocked at him. “You’re giving me that look.” Brows furrowing in response, he feigned innocence.

“What look? I’m not giving you a look.” Your arms crossed soundly over your chest, irritation starting to bubble up. “Yes you are! It’s that look that you give me whenever you tell me about a new Josh interest. I’m telling you, it’s going to be just like the other ones.” The waver in your voice was something you prayed he didn’t notice. Trying to sell yourself that bogus excuse.

Was it bogus?

He shrugged again, arms crossing over his chest, tongue poking his cheek. “I don’t know, star. This one seems…different.” You shook the words off. “Josh would’ve said something to me by now if it was different.” Your fingers made air quotes around the final word.

With your back now to the drummer again, his words sat heavy on your shoulders as they left his mouth. “Would he?” That was a damn good question. Would he? Josh had never shied away from giving you details about various entanglements, but he hadn’t so much as peeped about this one.

Would he?

It was what was replaying over in your head as you sat on his sofa. The first time you two had hung out in almost two weeks. Why was it making you so upset? Because you knew the actual reason why he hadn’t seen you. Traces of her were all over his house despite his efforts to hide it from you. He was outright lying to you. It stabbed you in the chest when he tried to feed you the lie.

They had been adamantly working on getting the nitty gritty details about the tour nailed down. That was what Josh told you. Danny told you something different. He was lying to you. Josh never lied to you. Until now.

Not on purpose anyways.

Of course, small white lies here and there were normal, but given the details Danny was giving you, Josh was blatantly trying to hide her from you. You just didn’t know why. Did she not know about you? Did Josh not want her to know about you? Why?

Josh threw a piece of crumpled paper at your head, laughing when your attention snapped back to the present, pulling you from your thoughts. “Where have you been? You’ve been off in wonderland all night. What’s going on?” You only plastered a smile on your weary face, offering a small shrug.

“Just,” debating on actually talking to him about this or giving him the option to tell you in his own time, you spoke, “just super tired from work is all.” It was Josh. He would tell you. There was obviously a reason why he hadn’t yet. You just didn’t know it.

It turns out the reason why he didn’t inform you of their…entanglement was because of how he wanted to do it. “I want you to meet her.” He finally blurted out one night. This evening had been spent in your home, a proclaimed self care night by Josh. According to him, your shitty moods around him and your constant excuse of work killing you, meant it was up to him to fix it.

So, here you were, sprawled out on your couch with him. Both wearing face masks, nails drying from the new polish he had gotten you, eyes shut with ice packs over your sockets, it caught you off guard.

“Huh?” You questioned, trying not to move your face with the mask on it. “I want to take you out to dinner so you can meet her. Seriously star, you’ll love her. She’s great.” Being able to use the mask as an excuse not to respond, your stomach was doing somersaults at just the thought of sitting at a table with whoever this girl was.

Feeling his finger poke your cheek, you pulled the ice packs from your eyes and narrowed them at him. “I don’t know, Josh.” Giving you the best puppy dog look he could, pushing out his bottom lip. “Please, star? It would mean so much to me. You’re my best friend and I really think you should meet her. Please?”

You gave in. It’s why you were sitting at an incredibly high end restaurant, waiting for them to arrive. Checking your phone to see a message from Danny, asking why the hell you would agree to something like that, you flipped it back over to be face down when you spotted them coming towards the table.

Standing to greet them, Josh pulled you into a tight embrace, a fake smile plastered to your lips as you took her in for the first time. Offering your hand and name, you didn’t hear her response. She was breathtaking. In a ridiculous sort of way that made you question what kind of genes ran in her family. Or if this was class a work done by some surgeon in Florida or California.

Sitting back down, you nervously shifted in your seat. Alone on your side of the table, Josh’s arm draped over the back of hers. Both of them beaming with happiness and joy. Your energy did not match theirs. Josh finally broke the tension you were almost 100% positive only you were feeling.

“Sorry we were late, star. Traffic was a-uh, nightmare.” His small chuckle at the end and the blush tinting his cheeks informed you right then that they had not been delayed by traffic. Waving him off, you chugged an entire glass of wine. “It’s fine. Oh-excuse me sir! Another glass please,” you asked the waiter, tapping the rim to let him know it was urgent.

Your ring clinked against the glass loudly as you repeatedly hit it, nervously waiting for the server to come back with the bottle.

It was truly the only way to get through the night. Yet, you did somehow manage to get through it. It was excruciating, but you did it. Sure, you were a bit past buzzed, losing count after the fourth glass of wine, but it was enough to get you through it.

She was a captivating person, that you could admit. Having traveled so much of the world by such a young age, a college degree under her belt, possibly another in the near future, and working for a fashion app you had never heard of, but apparently was quite popular.

It made you hate her even more.

Not bothering to offer a large goodbye to the pairing, you hurried off in the opposite direction of where they stood, Josh confused by your behavior tonight. Hailing an Uber, you had him deliver you to the only place you could think to go.

When Danny opened the door and saw your mascara streaked face, his seldom gaze met yours. Falling into his open arms, you wailed into his chest. Smoothing down your hair, he patted your back with his free hand. “I know, star, I know.”

You crashed on Danny’s couch that night. Soundly snoring away on his sofa, he sighed, removing the heels from your feet, seeing your phone screen light up repeatedly. Josh asking if you had made it home safe and if you were alright.

He stepped out of the room, dialing Josh who picked up immediately. “Hey, I saw your messages to star and I wanted to let you know she came to my house.” An immediate breath of relief expelling from his lungs. “Thank god. She was a bit,” Danny cut him off.

“Drunk? Yeah, I know. She crashed on my couch.” Josh sighed, telling Danny to have to call him in the morning. It was the last thing you wanted to do. To discuss the events from the night before. Wanting to permanently erase the traces of it from your mind all together.

Not wanting to leave Danny’s a minute before you absolutely needed to, he pushed you out of his front door to see Josh’s car parked in the driveway waiting for you. Pouting at Danny, his stern gaze peered at you. “Go. I’ll be here if you need me.” Huffing you slowly made your way to the Jeep.

Immediately turning down the loud music blasting through the speakers, you groaned. “A bit hungover are we?” He laughed, handing you the sunglasses you always kept in his car. Grumbling in response, he started the drive to your apartment.

“We need to talk about last night, star.” Sighing, you rested your forehead on your palm, elbow on the windowsill. “Pass.” You said, but Josh put the car in park after having got your coffee for the day.

Sipping the cold liquid, you sighed with the caffeinated relief. “Why did you go to Danny’s?” His tone sounded hurt and unsure. “What?” You said with a small laugh. “You get drunk at a very important dinner for me, hardly utter a goodbye, then run off to Danny’s house. Is there something going on between you two?”

Your jaw hung slack, immediately shaking your head. “Oh my god, no. He’s just a good friend. It’s just that he,” trying to decide how to word this properly, you sat on your response for a beat. “It’s just that Danny and I are the two lonesome folk of the group so we hang out to keep each other company. That’s all,” you assured Josh.

There was no possibility of telling him the full truth, but that was pretty spot on for what you could give him. It wasn’t far from the full truth at all, really. You and Danny were the only singles of the group, therefore he could relate to what you were feeling. Kind of.

Josh bought it. Squeezing your hand over the center console, the familiar coldness shocking your system as he did. “I know. I’m sorry,” you offered a reassuring smile, relaxing into the seat and asking him to drive you home. He did and the entire way, he didn’t mention her once.

He never did. Following the disaster of a first meeting, Josh got a sense that you weren’t the biggest fan of his interest so in order to keep things calm, he simply didn’t bring her up. You were fine with that at first.

Until it felt like he was explicitly leaving out most of the details of his life and what was really happening to him. Conversations were growing shorter as he came up with little to talk about given he was around her so often, there were few stories that didn’t involve her. That was when you actually saw him anyway.

Those nights that had once been a comfort and familiarity to you were sparse now. Few and far between to happen. When you would text him asking if he was available, you typically weren’t getting responses for over twenty-four hours. Instead, you found yourself wandering over to Danny’s more often than ever.

He was a true comfort, no longer pestering you about the crush he didn’t understand, but enjoying your presence. Movies, food, even self care nights had seemingly transferred over from your best friend to Danny.

Sitting on his sofa, face masks adorned, a knock on his front door startled you both as you cackled at the movie playing on his tv. Danny hurried to the door and pulled it open to reveal a frizzy haired boy whom you hadn’t laid eyes on in weeks, nearing a month now that you thought back on it.

Josh leaned around the boy after seeing what was on his face and saw you settled on the couch. His brow furrowed and irritation bubbled up. “What are you guys doing? Danny I’ve been trying to get a hold of you,” Danny pulled his phone from his back pocket at those words and saw a few missed messages from the man in front of him.

“Okay, well you found me, what’s up?” Leaning against the front door, your head craned to see Josh. “We’re having a selfcare night!” You called out, watching as Josh’s jaw set. He only hummed in response, eyes never leaving your relaxed figure. A shirt of Danny’s on you as well.

“I-um, we need you to re-record a part of Sacred the Thread. Didn’t come out like we were hoping,” Danny’s brow muddled together. “Yeah, alright, I’ll come by tomorrow.” Josh blinked up at the younger drummer and nodded curtly.

Turning on his heel, he didn’t say anything else as he left. Danny shot you a wild look as you two burst out laughing. “The hell is his problem?” He spoke as he collapsed back down next to you. Shrugging, you hit play as the show started back up. “It’s Josh, you know how he gets.”

When the timer on your phone went off, you grabbed Danny’s wrist, dragging him to his bathroom. “C’mon, masks need to come off.” He followed you without any restraint.

You heard from Josh first thing the next morning. Showing up at your doorstep, he barged into your apartment without any warning. Startling you, you nearly dropped your glass of juice as you shot daggers at him. “What the fuck, Josh?”

His hands landed on his hips, eyes bloodshot and staring at you. “I’m only going to ask you one more time. What’s going on between you and Danny?” Rolling your eyes you leaned against your counter. “I’ve already answered that and I’m not going to again. By the way, this is the first time you’ve spoken to me in what, three or four weeks, and this is how you do it?” Scoffing, you sipped the orange juice.

Noticing that his hands had a small tremble that he was trying to mask, he shook his head fervently, regaining your attention. “Sorry.” It was curt and short, indicating he didn’t truly meet it. Sighing, your eyebrows only raised.

“Anything else?” You questioned, clearly annoyed by how your morning was starting. He released a deep breath that he had been holding in his sternum. “Can-can we hang out sometime next week? Please?”

Your mouth set, shrugging at his question. “You know where to find me.” Not expecting that type of response from you, he looked taken aback. He left your apartment that morning and it was another few weeks before you heard a peep from him again.

The hang out that Josh requested didn’t actually occur until two months later. It wasn’t as easy going and comfortable as you reminisced on how things used to be. He had a permanent look of guilt plastered to his face from the moment he took you in.

It was only an hour later when Josh cleared his throat as you two ate in almost complete silence. Eyes falling to him, you saw a grin appearing on his face. One that you hadn’t seen in your presence in far too long. “I have to tell you something.”

Placing your utensil down, you didn’t speak as he reached behind him and grabbed a small gift bag from the counter. Taking out what appeared to be a small box, he slid it across the table to you, the lid opened.

Anger immediately pummeled you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Josh?” Refusing to touch it, you eyed him and the item in pure disgust. He laughed at your appalled reaction, cheeks tinting pink. “Yeah, that’s what Jake said too.” Standing from your seat, you peered down at him. “No fucking shit! What the hell are you thinking?”

He rolled his eyes in retaliation. “I love her, star. I have never felt this for anyone else in my life. Ever. I never knew that something like this could even exist! She makes me so happy and I make her happy. If I know she’s the one, which she is, then why would I wait? She and I can start our forever now.”

Shaking your head at his explanation, you stared at him like he was out of his mind. “Do you realize how insane you sound? It’s been, what, six months? This is a huge mistake in the making, Josh. You need to slow down and really think about this.” His smile never diminished as he stood.

“I have and I’m going to ask her to marry me, star.” You couldn’t stand there and listen to this. Turning, you grabbed your purse from the couch and quickly walked to the front door. With Josh hot on your trail, he was calling out to you.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you seriously that upset? What did I do? Star!” He halted as he saw you get in your car, silent tears making streaks on your cheeks. “Star?” He asked once more, voice diminishing in volume as you pulled out of his driveway and went home.

Ignoring the texts and calls that he was bombaring your phone with, you couldn’t bring yourself to get up from your bed. It felt like your entire world had crumbled around you in the blink of an eye. The boy next door that you had been hopelessly in love with since you could remember had chosen someone else to spend his forever with.

Some people are destined to be your almost. Not everyone gets the fairytale ending of being with the person who they thought they were destined to be with. Just because that person might be meant for you, doesn’t mean you’re meant for them. There has to be people who don’t get the guy. That was your destiny with Josh.

Your almost.

A knock on your door woke you up from your partially sleepy mood. Opening the door, his face was fully covered by an enormous bouquet. Sighing, you leaned against your door as he pulled them down to reveal a small, unsure smile.

“I’m sorry. I’m an inconsiderate asshole. I’m stupid and insensitive.” Lips pursing ever so slightly, you chimed in. “Stupid sounds about right,” snatching the beautiful bundle of flowers, you left the door open behind you as you went to your kitchen and set the flowers in the sink.

Eyeing him, his familiar mauve tracksuit adorned you jabbed at him. “That tracksuit makes you look like a forty year old virgin, you know that?” He shrugged, bottom lip jutting out. “That’s a fair assumption to make.” You hummed.

Slowly approaching you, he gingerly pulled you into his embrace. “I really am sorry. I didn’t realize until you left how it must’ve sounded for you. You will find your person someday. I will make a more conscious effort to tamp speeches like that down from now on. You know how much I like to talk.”

You both chuckled, savoring the feeling of his familiar arms wrapped around your waist in a way you would never tire of. The words stung, but you knew he was being sincere. As sincere as he possibly could anyways. “Thanks Joshy.”

When he pulled back, his cold hands cupped your cheeks, a large smile adorning his face. That small tooth gap that you absolutely adored so visible from this close. “I love you.” You smiled back at him, hands holding onto his bony wrists. “Love you too.”

Josh remained at your house for the rest of the night.

He asked her only two weeks later. It was a big show he had put on for her. Their style you were assuming. If anyone ever asked you to marry them in that fashion you would’ve said no. It must’ve been perfect for her because to everyone's surprise she said yes.

Only six months together and they were engaged. Of course everyone was expecting a long engagement, but in some sick fluke Josh informed everyone at the same time that it was only going to be two months from their proposal date.

You were shocked to your core. According to Josh, they only wanted something small and intimate and because of that, it could be that quick of a turn around. One interaction. That’s all you had experienced with this person who was going to be marrying your best friend. In two months.

Sitting in Danny’s living room with the other siblings, you were all ranting about the pure absurdity of the situation. “This isn’t even like him! Since when has he wanted to settle down like this? And this fast? No, it’s not, Josh!” Jake’s voice was rising with every word he spoke.

Sitting on the couch, your arms were crossed over your chest, steam shooting from your ears. “Star, maybe you can get through to him! He listens to you.” You shrugged, making eye contact with the worried twin, Sam and Danny sitting there in contemplative silence. “I already tried. He is dead set on doing this, Jake. I don’t know what else to do, but this isn’t good.”

He harshly sat on the arm of the sofa, putting his face in his hands. “Fuck!” He yelled, throwing one of the items from Danny’s side table. “Hey!” He yelled at the action, Jake muttering an apology and retrieving the item to put it back in its spot.

You all sat there for hours discussing the situation at hand and what could possibly be done. The answer? Nothing. There was nothing any of you could do. Grin and bear it. The only way you were ever going to be able to do that was going to be to distance yourself from the entire event all together.

Easy enough. Until Josh approached you with a major question.

“Please, star!” You were eyeing him like you had no idea who the person was standing before you. “Josh, listen to what you’re asking me.” He nodded, somewhat understanding your predicament. “I know, but it would mean so much to me.” Sighing, you rubbed tiredly at your eyes.

“It’s weird, right? I hardly know her and-” he cut you off, slight irritation prickling his tone. “Exactly! You hardly know her and I’m about to marry her. She wants nothing more than to be your friend. Just go to the bachelorette weekend, I will pay for you, and just try to get to know her.”

His doe eyes stared widely at you, hope dancing in his dark irises. “Fine, fine. I’ll go.”

That’s how you got to where you currently are. Sitting in a dark hotel room, a bunch of drunk strangers passed out in the suite living room, contemplating your entire friendship with Josh and if this weekend had been worth it.

The door creaked open, startling you in the darkness, but when she appeared you slightly calmed down. The only person you somewhat recognized from the trip. “Hey, sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.” Putting a tight lipped smile on, you flicked the bedside lamp on.

“No worries. You okay?” She pointed at the edge of the bed, silently asking if she could sit there. Nodding, she sat giving you a genuine smile. “Thanks for being so cool this weekend, I know my friends can be kind of a lot.” You both laughed under your breath. “Ah, they’re not bad. Welcomed me right in.”

Her eyes lit up at that. “Good, good! I’m so glad. I wanted you to have fun this weekend and I really wanted to get to know you. You and Josh are so close and you know literally everything about him which I don’t, you know? You should hear how often he talks about you. Seriously, it’s so intimidating being around you. He has this phenomenal opinion about you and I just want us to be friends.” Your breath caught in your throat at her words, feeling it grow tighter with the praise you learned Josh constantly showers you in when you weren’t around.

“No, I’m none of that. Josh just likes to hear himself talk is all.” She bursted out in laughter, her next sentence making you halt your movements and truly question every decision he had made to get to this spot. “Does he really? I don’t know, he’s kind of quiet around me.”

You didn’t knock, the door was more than likely unlocked anyways. Bursting into his home, he was startled to see you in his house like that, but his mood immediately changed when he saw you there. “Star! How was it?”

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” His eyes blew wide, startled by your anger. “Excuse me?” Shaking your head quickly, you battled your thoughts. “How are you marrying this girl, Josh? You don’t know her! She doesn’t know you! At all! I mean for fucks sake you look fucking insane, Josh!”

He tried calming you down as he approached you. “Star, what happened? Did something happen on the trip?” You walked to him and grabbed his face. “Yes! I realized that I have no idea who you even are anymore. This is not you. This is not like you. You don’t do this shit. This is not Josh.” Your words evened out, but he only grew angry.

Pulling away from your grasp, he exploded. “I know what I’m doing. I’m so fucking sick and tired of hearing everyone bitch at me about this. It is my life! None of you, especially you, run it. I do! You are just the same sad and lonely girl that I’ve always known who tears down everyone's happiness, particularly mine when it has nothing to do with you. News flash, my world doesn’t revolve around you and I pray it never will! I’ve grown and maybe you need to too!”

Tears welled in your eyes, sniffling as your eyes fell downcast. His chest was heaving from yelling, but you couldn’t look at him.

“Okay. Well, then I will get out of the way of your happiness and entirely extract myself from your world then, right? Congratulations Josh. Have a great wedding.” He sighed, trying to backtrack on what he said. “Star, no hold on.” You didn’t stick around to hear anything else.

Nearly every single day Josh had hounded your phone trying to get in contact with you. Showing up at your door nearly every other day with a flower delivery for apologies. Each time he returned, the flowers remained on your doorstep.

Getting to the point where you were almost ready to block his number all together, you watched the days tick by, seeing his wedding date get closer and closer. An invitation having arrived in your mail weeks ago, but landed right in the garbage.

There was no way you were going to be able to actually attend the wedding. Of course you understood that his outburst had been in retaliation for the way you had spoken to him, but the burn of the words had yet to scab.

Danny stood in your kitchen, cutting up fruit as he shook his head in shock. “You have to go to his wedding, star. You can’t miss Josh’s wedding, are you crazy?” Rubbing the bridge of your nose, your eyes were pinned shut. “Drop it, Danny.”

Scoffing in response, he talked as he chewed on a strawberry. “No, I will not drop it. This is Josh we’re talking about. You are not going to miss his wedding. It would devastate him.” Grabbing a piece of pineapple, you took the moment of reprieve to craft your response.

You hadn’t uttered a word of the blowout that had occurred between you and Josh that night. Knowing it was an interaction of high stress and tension, you decided it was best to just let it lie. Sure, it complicated matters pertaining to you not attending the wedding, but it was a small price to pay.

Danny on the other hand knew something was wrong. There was no chance that you would actually miss Josh’s wedding simply because you had feelings for him and weren’t a huge fan of his partner of choice. That just wasn’t you.

Wanting to know the full story, if he pestered you enough he knew you would crack. And crack you did. In fact, it was a decade of turmoil and emotion slamming together in a horrific tsunami that would only leave deviation in its wake.

“God, Danny, why don’t you get it? I have been in love with that boy since I was a child! I pictured everything with him. This is tearing me up to witness this. I try to tell him how I feel and he throws in my face that I am sad and lonely and you know what? He’s right! I am sad and I am lonely. I spent so long holding out for someone that will never love me like I love them. I am tired and I just can’t do it!” Sobs wracked your body, face tight from the shed tears cascading down your swollen face, a shaking mess as you hiccuped.

Danny immediately dropped it, Offering comfort the only way he knew how to, he held you while you sobbed over the reality you faced. Your best friend was getting married in a week's time, you weren’t going to be there, you two had gotten into a knock out drag out fight, and to top it all off you were still alone and sad.

So, what did that leave you to do?

Sit on your couch for a week, self loathing and not offering anyone a definitive answer if you were actually going to attend the wedding or not. Instead, you wore an oversized t-shirt you had owned since middle school, hair an absolute mess, watching reruns of your favorite show that you had spent most of your childhood watching with Josh.

Shooting Danny a text that morning that your will not attend was set in stone, he didn’t tell anyone. Not until Josh approached him and asked if you had rode over with him. When Danny pulled him aside to break the news, you were happy you weren’t there to witness that.

It didn’t matter because he brought it to you.

Pounding on your door, a tuxedo-clad Josh stood on the other side of the threshold. You two stood in silence, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Taking him in before you, you finally spoke first.

“Aren't you supposed to be-” he cut you off before you could finish, “Yes.” You nodded, blinking rapidly as your eyes fell down. “Okay.” Foot bouncing, you finally moved to the side letting him step into your apartment.

Jaw setting, you couldn’t take your eyes off each other. “What are you do-” he cut you off again. “Are you in love with me?” Swallowing thickly, your head began to move in response, eyes welling with tears, cottonmouth setting in. “Because I’m in love with you.”

Lips parting in awe, your chin trembled, tears silently falling from your eyes. “Ho-how?” You choked out, but Josh spoke loudly and quickly over you. “I was in the room, getting ready to head out to get to the altar and I was staring at this ring,” he pulled it from his pocket as he continued.

“Danny had just told me you weren’t coming and I saw her. She’s there fully ready in her dress, getting some photos taken or something, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was you not being there and if I needed you there that badly then maybe,” it was a shaky breath, hand falling as he held the ring still, “then maybe that meant something.”

Crossing the room, he stood directly in front of you. “I love you, star. You are my light, my being, everything I could ever want or imagine in a partner. You are the person I have to spend the rest of my life with because it just doesn’t make sense any other way. This ring is yours. It was only ever meant for you. There is no one else in this universe who I would want to wear this ring. It’s you, star. It’s always been you.”

Your hand covered your mouth as you choked out a laugh, knowing that Josh was offering you his hand right then. You nodded, a teary yes escaping your throat as Josh crushed you to him in a meeting you wouldn’t forget for the rest of your life.

Some people are destined to be your almost. Because not everyone gets the fairytale ending of being with the person who they thought they were destined to be with. Just because that person might be meant for you, doesn’t mean you’re meant for them. There has to be people who don’t get the guy.

That was what you believed your destiny was to be with Josh. Sometimes things work out in ways you never understand. Instead of being your almost, he was always going to be your forever.

Maybe fairytales weren’t so stupid after all.

[fluffypotatey]

Hcs about shadowpeach reconnecting?

i like to think of it being very slow. to me, shadowpeach is the slowest of all slow burns both when they’re developing a relationship and trying to reconnect.

while i am a sucker for shadowpeach fluff and them being all clingy and cuddley, i still don’t think the two would even get that close for some time (and i mean some time).

lemme see if i can do a little rundown (i fucking lied) of my idea of a shadowpeach reconnection post-s4:

after the scroll and after their battle with the Brotherhood, both are in an agreement of a truce. as in, both acknowledged that neither of them wish to really fight or stay upset with the other because both understand that they never really could

so there’s a truce, a renewed exchange of peaches, that informs the other that while nothing will ever be like before….maybe that’s for the best, maybe they deserve something different and new between them

it doesn’t immediately take away from all their hurt feelings and pettiness. Wukong’s teasing will never hit the same and Macky’s guard is still at full defense

MK will still find them arguing up to the sky about something as trivial as which path leads to which waterfall and “shut up and just follow me, you idiot, this mountain has been my home for over a millennia”

but there are baby steps in the right direction (Pigsy would call it the “babiest of steps” but nobody asked him)

it takes them a year to come to terms that their petty arguing is just petty to be petty (tho they hold out a little longer because neither want to admit that to each other because it could meaning losing the game. what game? neither are exactly sure of what)

but it’s after both take the time to really refrain from that itch to bitch that both actually have a chance to talk with some substance (there may have been an external force that led to this conversation; a curse trapping them in a void space, being separated from the group so it’s just them two, the works)

but then that arguing loses its teeth and resembles something like banter. Wukong and Macky never truly did banter much in the past. not like this. it’s a little freeing. to be able to push and pull against each other without any reserve or need to

and this was their relationship for quite some time after. no physical hugs or touches like Wukong was privy to before or that Macky used to indulge in. you had the occasional glance here and there but not enough for the other to notice (everyone else, of course, noticed)

ironically, it’s Macky who initiates their first hug in ages.

Wukong, over the years, has slowly been building up to it with shoulder bumps, a light punch in the shoulder, and sometimes a bump to the hip.

when asked, Wukong would explain that he’s a physically affectionate guy but knows Mac has his limits and does his best to respect that as much as he can

on his own tho, Wukong personally feels like those touches are the most he will ever be granted to give. that is, until after a fierce battle, skirmish, whatever new daring thing that almost costs the Monkie Kid team, Macky actually pulls Wukong in for a hug

it’s nothing big or grand. well, nothing big for anymore normal since it’s a very short side hug, but it was something big for the both of them.

suffice to say, that was enough permission for Wukong to initiate more physical affection towards Macky

neither of them are really ready to put anything that they’re doing to name. makes it more definite and breakable

hell, they don’t even acknowledge that they’re past the point of tolerable acquaintances until a couple years later

but yeah, a shadowpeach reconnection, in my eyes, will takes years (centuries even) to truly rekindle their relationship. like i said, it’s a slow burn and one both want to tread carefully even if it’s agonizing to watch from the outside (see MK and friends)

[purlty23]

ooo, I'm curious to know what the biggest/most egregious mischaracterizations are, in your opinion?

Ohhhh this is a fun and dangerous ask to get, I love it. Disclaimer: so long as you’re having fun and not hurting anyone, do what you want! Characterization is something that can be super personal, especially in a fandom like Ghost where a lot of it is up in the air. Most of the ones that I can’t stand ARE because they’re harmful in some way (though I just dislike some of them)

I was juuuust talking about it with a beloved mutual and friend, but one of the ones that really irks me is when people cast Copia as shameful, or virginal. (Aside from virgin kink stuff, that’s a different ballgame) While we’ve seen that Copia is awkward as all Hell, he’s also theeee sluttiest little frontman we’ve ever had. He’s unabashed in saying he wants to fuck everyone in the crowd, with his fisting motions on stage, in the way he moves and touches his ghouls etc etc etc. He is SO overtly sexual, and I don’t think his other child-like or awkward traits make that go away. I think they co-exist in the weird little ratman I also HATTTTE the infantilization and twinkification of Dewdrop (and Rain tbh). I don’t think there’s a single reason to be acting like he’s a child. He’s cranky, easily frustrated, and quiet. He’s stoic. I don’t want to live in a world where he’s treated as anything less than a grown adult man with a full range of complicated thoughts, emotions, and motivations. I once saw a fic where someone called him a slut and he cried about it, I’ve never closed a fic faster There’s probably way too much to go into here, but I think I kind of hate most characterizations of Cumulus and Cirrus. Their characterization seems to fall into that usual metalhead misogyny of thinking: women are either sex objects or mothers. No inbetween, but sometimes both if you’re kinky. Which simply isn’t fair and is so fucking boring. There is more to women than that, they both deserve a fully fleshed out and complete character rather than just ‘ghoul pack mommy dom’. I also think that people cast Terzo into a lot more of a cunty role than he deserves. Yes, he’s the flamboyant one but it’s also been said that he is very private and more closed off. I like to think of him as very good at riling up a crowd or playing someone like a fiddle, yet very introspective and quiet when he’s not playing it up. Now PRIMO. Primo is number one cunt bitch to me

I also super dislike the idea of Ifrit being only aggressive. I’ve read a lot of things where he seems to only have one setting, and it’s aggro. Fire ghouls seem to fall into this a lot, which is fair. Fire usually is in most media, so I can see why. I just think there can be a lot more to it

[chicgeekgirl89]

Saturday Night’s All Right for Fighting

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: Carlos Reyes, T.K. Strand, Gabriel Reyes, Andrea Reyes

Rating: T

CW: Blood

Summary: When Carlos responds to a call involving a bar brawl, he's surprised to find his fiancé injured and in the middle of it. But that's not the only surprise waiting for him...

For the @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt: Lacerations

For @bluenet13​

Read on AO3

Carlos doesn’t want to be at yet another bar brawl. They’re messy and loud and chaotic and they take forever because everyone is drunk and angry and it’s impossible to get a straight story out of them. 

He’s been watching the minutes tick by ever since a call for assistance at The Driskill Bar came in. A couple other units had responded immediately, but if they need back up, he’s the next closest one. His shift is so close to over, he can practically taste freedom. If he can just make it a few more minutes he can head back to the station and clock out without having any part of tonight’s drunken revelry. 

Ten minutes.

Nine minutes.

Eight minutes.

“Three-six-three H-20 this is dispatch, please respond.”

He sighs and clicks on his radio. “Dispatch, three-six-three H-20.”

“Three-six-three H-20 please respond to a disturbance at 604 Brazos Street,” the dispatcher says.

Damn it. Carlos allows himself a half a second to let his head thunk back against the headrest in defeat. He was so close.

“Three-six-three H-20 responding,” he says, flipping on the lights and sirens as he hits the gas and speeds along through the rapidly darkening streets of Austin.

There are five other cruisers already at the Driskill when he pulls up and an ambulance is rolling in behind him. Shit. This is a big one. He double checks that everything is secure on his belt as he heads inside Drunk people are sometimes more crafty than they look, and he doesn’t want anybody grabbing something they shouldn’t.

The Driskill isn’t what he expected. It’s clearly not some dive bar where drunken locals go to drown their sorrows after a long day. The place is posh and polished, all gleaming wood paneling, leather booth seats, and the floor isn’t even the slightest bit sticky.

That being said, it’s is a disaster. Tables on their sides, drinks and food all over, and people everywhere in varying states of distress. A couple officers are still wrestling with unruly patrons while others are doing cursory checks of anybody who might be injured.

He goes to help a woman who is lying on the ground, her blonde hair all a mess. “Are you hurt?” Carlos asks as he pulls her to her feet.

“No, no I think I’m okay. Thank you,” she says, straightening out her dress. 

“I’m going to ask you to take a seat over there until an officer can talk to you,” he tells her, holding out a hand in the direction of a couple of booths that are untouched by tonight’s violence. “If you find you’re in any pain flag down an officer or a paramedic.”

She nods and carefully picks her way over to the seats as he turns and looks for another place to be useful. 

There’s an officer near him struggling to cuff a burly man who keeps yelling something about, “That little bitch!” so Carlos lends a hand.

“That little bitch! He’s gonna pay for this!” the man continues to yell as they get him to his feet.

“Sir!” Carlos says sternly. “You need to calm down!”

“I’m not gonna calm down! He nearly strangled me!”

Carlos looks at the man’s massive neck and finds that a little hard to believe. “Who?” he asks. “Can you identify your assailant?”

The guy glares at him. “Yeah. It was that little bitch right over there.”

Carlos follows the line of his gaze and feels his stomach drop as he takes in a familiar tousle of brown hair. “Oh…no,” he says slowly.

“What’s wrong?” the other officer asks.

“That’s my little bitch,” he says and then quickly corrects himself. “I mean, my fiancé.”

As if he can feel the weight of Carlos’ gaze, T.K.’s grey eyes snap up and lock on Carlos’, relief flickering through them. 

“You can go,” the officer tells him. “I got this.”

“Thanks.”

Carlos strides across the room, broken glass crunching under his shoes, heart beating rapidly in his chest. When he reaches T.K. he’s shocked by what he finds. 

His lip is bleeding, his left cheekbone red and swollen.“T.K. oh my god,” is all Carlos can manage as he gawps at the damage to his fiancé’s face. 

“Hey babe.” The words are tired and maybe a little embarrassed.

Carlos reaches out and gently cups T.K.’s chin, trying to get a closer look at his injuries. Despite his care, T.K. winces in pain and Carlos recoils immediately. “I’m sorry. T.K., I—are you okay?” 

He’s glad those are the words that come out because what he’s thinking is, “What the fuck is going on and why are you in the middle of it?”

“I’ve been better,” T.K. says wanly, shifting uncomfortably on the barstool he’s sitting on, and it’s then that Carlos realizes he’s cuffed. And also covered in blood. 

“Are you bleeding?” he asks, panic ripping through him, his hands going to T.K.’s shirt, searching for injuries.

“Just a little.” T.K. lifts his right shoulder a bit and Carlos walks behind his back to find deep lacerations slicing their way up his right arm. He swears and fumbles for the key on his belt, hands slipping as he tries to get it into the slot, a combination of nerves and the blood that is oozing from all the cuts.

“Are you allowed to do that?” T.K. asks.

“Shut up,” Carlos growls at him, too frantic to think about things like procedure. Right now he needs to figure out how bad this bleeding is and get it stopped.

He finally gets the cuffs off and tosses them to the floor. T.K. brings his hands around to his front, grimacing as he takes in the damage. “That actually looks worse than I thought it would,” he says, examining his arm. “I don’t think it hit an artery though. Bleeding’s too slow.”

“Who cuffed you like this?” Carlos asks, anger lacing his tone. Because whoever it is, he’s going to rip them a new one. There’s procedure and then there’s common sense. And cuffing a guy who is bleeding this badly is not common sense.

“Babe, it’s okay,” T.K. says as Carlos searches for something to staunch the bleeding. 

He finds a pile of rags behind the bar that appear clean and uses one to firmly apply pressure. T.K. makes a strangled noise of pain. “Sorry, sorry,” Carlos says. “Paramedics should be in here any minute.”

“Great. I was hoping everyone we know would find out about this in the next hour,” T.K. says, his joke about the rampant gossip mill in the AFD falling flat since Carlos is really concerned about the amount of blood he’s losing.

“T.K. what are you doing here?” Carlos asks. 

“Not what it looks like.”

“I am…trying to believe that,” Carlos says, even as images of the last time he saw T.K. looking like this in police issued handcuffs flashes through his mind. “I thought you were going to dinner at your dad’s?”

“Right,” T.K. says, looking cagey. “What I said was I was going to dinner with Dad. I just…didn’t specify whose.”

Carlos is beyond confused. “You only have one dad, T.K.”

“Son, I am telling you, that is not proper cuffing procedure.”

The voice, that combination of outrage and annoyance, that’s the voice that cheered at his baseball games, taught him how to fix a fence post, and bemoaned the Astro’s fate at the breakfast table. Carlos turns around, his already frayed nerves feeling like they’ve caught on fire. “Dad?!”

“Oh, Carlos, hello!” his dad calls from across the room. He’s sporting the beginnings of a black eye and looks like he’s trying to take shallow breaths. “Can you please tell this probie to stop cuffing me for half a second so I can show him how to do it the right way?”

The officer dealing with his father looks young and is clearly nervous. “It’s okay,” Carlos says, suddenly feeling weary. “I’ve got him.”

The officer bolts, probably to find someone who won’t give him an earful about doing his job correctly. Carlos grabs his dad by the arm and pulls him over to T.K. “Okay,” he says, officer persona sliding back into place as tries to get a grip on what he’s seeing. “What is going on here?”

Gabriel frowns at his son. “Aren’t you going to uncuff me?”

“Not until I get some answers.” His dad thinks he’s too soft? He’s about to find out just how not soft Carlos can be when he’s pissed.

T.K. and his dad exchange looks. “We were having a drink,” his dad starts.

“I was having a club soda,” T.K. says quickly.

“Yes, right,” Gabriel says with a nod. “And then that animal over there,” he nods toward the burly man Carlos had helped take down moments ago, “started making some…rather indelicate comments. So I politely suggested he stop.”

“Politely?” Carlos asks skeptically.

Gabriel looks offended. “Of course politely! Unfortunately he didn’t appreciate it.”

“So I, also politely, told him where he could go if he wanted to keep making comments like that,” T.K. says.

Carlos can feel his resolve slipping as he watches the two of them concoct their story. He’s not going to go soft though. No, he’s going to go ballistic.

“Well he didn’t appreciate that either,” Gabriel says with a chuckle. “So he threw a punch. And we punched back.”

“In self defense,” T.K. says quickly. “We didn’t start it. But then a few other people got involved too and then…you can figure out the rest.”

“How did this happen?” Carlos asks, indicating the deep wounds on T.K.’s arm.

T.K. grimaces. “Once things really started popping off, big boy got a little feisty. He smashed a bottle and came at me.”

“That was a close one,” Gabriel says, his face serious now. 

Carlos closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath so he won’t scream. “How did you get him off of you?”

T.K. immediately starts looking shifty again. “Um…your dad wasn’t the only one I was meeting tonight.”

He nods at something over Carlos’ shoulder and Carlos is afraid to turn around and look. When he finally does, he feels whatever shreds of police officer persona he was still holding onto evaporate. In fact, his cop swagger dries up so fast he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to get it back.

“Mama?” he says weakly.

She’s sitting with another officer, her hand on his knee, eyes intent on his face.

“She broke a pool cue over that guy’s head,” Gabriel says, his eyes shining with pride. “Saved T.K.’s life.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Carlos mutters. He turns and looks at the two of them. “Stay here. Do not move.” Then he walks across the room until he’s standing directly next to his mother. 

“You just have to tell her how you feel,” she’s telling the officer. “You can’t expect her to try and figure it out for herself.”

“But what if she doesn’t feel the same way?” the officer asks.

“Well then at least you’ll know.” She pats his knee gently. “And then you can move forward either way.”

This is too much. “Mom.”

She looks up, a smile blossoming on her face as she sees Carlos standing there. “Carlitos! What are you doing here?”

“My job Mom,” he says.

“This is your mom?” the officer asks, clearly confused.

“Yes,” Carlos says. “Apparently it was family night at the bar and no one invited me.”

“Okay, I’ll just…leave you to it then?” the office asks, clearly realizing he’s now in the middle of something.

“That would be great, thank you,” Carlos says. 

Andrea gets to her feet as the officer wanders away. “Is T.K. all right?” she asks. “They’ve kept us all separated.”

“He’s hurt, but he’s okay. Are you all right?” Carlos asks, visually searching her for injuries. Unlike his father and T.K., she doesn’t seem to have a scratch on her.

“Oh yes, I’m fine,” she says, waving him off. “Not my first bar fight.”

Her response spawns more questions than answers, but now isn’t the time.  That’s when she finally spots T.K. and her husband. “Oh there they are!”

She walks toward them, forcing Carlos to follow. “Ay Dios mío, you both look terrible,” she says when she reaches them.

“It would have been worse if not for you,” T.K. says, even though the blood seeping through the rag on his arm indicates it’s pretty bad. 

Carlos is reaching for another rag when the front doors open and paramedics finally start flooding in.

He waits, holding his tongue as the medics examine his father and wrap up T.K.’s arm with something better and more sanitary than threadbare bar rags. “We’ll be ready to transport in a little bit,” the paramedic says as he packs up his things and moves onto the next patient down the line.

“Okay,” Carlos says now that they have some space. “I need someone to explain to me what’s going on here.”

The three of them look at each other and Carlos crosses his arms over his chest. “Anytime now.”

“Your parents invited me to dinner,” T.K. finally says. “We had just gotten to the restaurant when the power went out.”

“We didn’t want to miss out on our time together, so we came here instead,” Andrea tells him.

“We made sure it was all right with T.K. first,” Gabriel says quickly. “We know about his recovery and we would never want to do anything to jeopardize it.”

“I still don’t understand why the three of you were together in the first place,” Carlos says. 

“Can’t your parents spend time with your future husband?” Andrea says a little too innocently. “He’s family. We’re allowed.”

It would be sweet if Carlos couldn’t see right through it. He spears all of them with a look. Surprisingly, it’s Gabriel who breaks first. “Just tell him Andrea. He’s not going to let it go. That’s the same look he had on his face every time he wanted ice cream after dinner.”

Carlos does not appreciate his childhood being dragged into whatever scheming these three are up to, but he ignores the comment for now.

Andrea sighs. “We were meeting to talk about your birthday.”

“Your mother wants to have a party,” Gabriel says. “We were having dinner to plan it together.”

When he’s in less of a state of shock he’s going to appreciate that his parents wanted his future husband’s input and took him to dinner to get it. But right now, all he feels is anxious and mad. “My birthday,” he says slowly, eyes going to T.K., searching for the truth.

“Your birthday,” T.K. confirms.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Andrea says. 

Carlos lets out a startled laugh. “Well I am surprised.” His mind is still struggling to put everything together. Half an hour ago he’d been mentally headed home. And now he’s stuck with this mess. “The three of you ended up in a bar brawl because of my birthday.”

“As previously stated, the bar brawl wasn’t intentional,” Gabriel says.

“Okay,” Carlos says, running a hand through his hair, then grimacing when his fingers catch awkwardly on the gelled down strands. “I’m going to go try and sort this out with the officer in charge. Don’t say anything. Don’t go anywhere.”

It takes a long conversation with the commander on the scene, a call to his boss, a call to his dad’s boss, and a chat with the owner of the bar who has shown up to survey the damage, for Carlos to get things straightened out. His dad’s good standing with the rangers and his own good standing with the APD work in his favor tonight, and he promises to have everyone come by the station in the morning to give their statements.

He’d thought that would be the biggest hurdle of the night. He was wrong.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Gabriel protests as the paramedics stand by, waiting to find out who’s riding in their ambulance and who’s not. “It’s just some bruised ribs and a black eye. I’ve had worse from playing with the grandkids.”

“Your ribs could be broken,” Carlos argues. “You need to see a doctor.”

“Boys stop arguing,” Andrea chastises. “You will go to the hospital and I will follow behind in the car.”

“You are also getting in the ambulance,” Carlos tells her.

“What? Me?” She laughs. “No, I don’t think so. The car is fine. Someone will need to drive it there anyway.”

“Okay, to be clear, I am the one in charge right now,” Carlos says, feeling like he’s about to snap. “If you don’t do what I’m asking you to do, I’m going to leave you here with all these other officers to fend for yourselves. Your options are to go sit in a cell for the night or to go to the hospital.”

“I think it’s a good idea if everyone gets checked out,” T.K. says softly.

Carlos can see pain in his eyes, the way his body is sagging a little on the barstool, and he feels a renewed urgency to get his fiancé taken care of as soon as humanly possible.

“Fine,” Andrea say shortly. “But I am not putting on one of those terrible hospital gowns.”

Carlos bundles them all into an ambulance and follows along behind in his cruiser. There are no lights and sirens necessary, and Carlos can’t decide if the silence is better or worse. It’s forcing him to sit in his anger and worry and exhaustion for far longer than he’d like, and he is not in a good mood by the time they get to the hospital.

His mom is completely fine, thank god. His dad does have a broken rib and a minor concussion, but no facial fractures. They’re both seen and cleared quickly and Carlos bids them a somewhat curt goodnight before going back to his fiancé, who is being sewn back together with thirty-four stitches. The wounds are deep and jagged and it takes a long time for the resident to get them all done. 

Carlos holds T.K.’s good hand and wonders for how long this fresh image of T.K. on a gurney is going to haunt his nightmares this time. They’ve been through enough hospital trauma for him to know sleep is going to be hard to come by for a while. He consoles himself with the fact that at least this time his fiancé is conscious. 

“I was going to tell you,” T.K. says as the last few stitches are finally going in, “about the surprise party. I knew you wouldn’t want it, so I was going to tell you and have you pretend to be surprised.”

“It’s crazy that the people that raised me still think surprising me is a good idea,” Carlos says ruefully.

“They’re just excited,” T.K. says. “And I think they’re trying a little extra hard to show that they’re supportive of the two of us. Of the engagement.”

“Well maybe next time they could show their support with a little less violence,” Carlos says, forcing a smile as he rubs his thumb soothingly over the back of T.K.’s free hand.

“Your mom probably saved my life tonight,” T.K. says. “At the very least she saved my face.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Which is the second best part of me.”

Carlos knows when he’s being goaded, he can see the sparkle in T.K.’s eyes. “I’m not going to ask you what the other one is. There are people around.”

T.K. bites his lip. “He’s a doctor. He knows things. It won’t bother him. Right doc?”

“I have learned not to get in the middle of this kind of conversation,” the doctor says diplomatically as he snips the last thread. “You’re all set T.K. I’m going to get a nurse to come in and go over the wound care instructions with you, all right?”

“Thank you,” T.K. says, turning his arm this way and that to examine the stitching. He waits until the curtain has closed behind the doctor before looking up at Carlos, eyes full of mischief. “The best part of me is my—“

Carlos quickly puts a finger over his lips. “I know what you think your best assets are,” he says, an amused smile on his face. “You don’t have to tell me.”

T.K. pulls back, uncowed. “Can I tell you yours then? It’s your d—“

“T.K. stop!” Carlos says, full on laughing now even as he nervously looks around to make sure nobody is in earshot.

“There you are,” T.K. says. “You’ve looked so stressed all night I thought maybe you’d forgotten how to laugh.”

“This was…not how I thought my evening would go,” Carlos says, reaching over and brushing T.K.’s hair away from his forehead. “And you know I’m not good at changing plans on the fly.”

“Well if it’s any consolation, it’s not how I saw my night going either,” T.K. says. He looks at Carlos intently. “Are you mad at me?”

Carlos does an emotional inspection of himself. “No,” he sighs. “No I don’t think so. Concerned about how many punches you have on your hospital rewards card. But not mad.”

It’s hard to be mad at T.K. He’s so sweet and soft and he looks at you with those Bambi eyes…and it’s extra hard to be mad at him when he’s hurt.

“Are you mad at your parents?”

That’s a more complicated question. “Maybe a little? They’re my parents. I expect better from them.”

“But not from me?” The sparkle is back.

“From you I expect chaos,” Carlos says, throwing T.K. a knowing look. “From them I expect…decorum.”

T.K. snorts. “Yeah I think decorum went out the window when your dad threw his beer across the bar and jumped on top of a six foot dude with skull tattoos.”

Carlos groans. “I’m going to be hearing about this night for the rest of my life.”

“Your mom is actually a lot more like Francesca than I would have thought,” T.K. says, referencing Carlos’ wild child sister.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Carlos says.

“Hey.” T.K.’s face softens. “Don’t be mad at them for too long, okay?”

The rest of his words remain unspoken, but Carlos can read them in his eyes anyway. You never know how long you have with them. His heart twinges painfully with the few memories that he has of Gwyn and T.K. together. He nods. “I won’t.”

The nurse arrives and Carlos listens intently to all her instructions since T.K.’s eyes are starting to droop a little, the adrenaline of the last few hours finally wearing off.

As they’re passing through the waiting room on the way out Carlos is surprised to see his parents sitting there. “I thought you were going home,” he says.

“We wanted to make sure T.K. was all right,” Andrea says as they both get to their feet. She turns her eyes to him. “How are you doing mijo?”

“All stitched up,” T.K. says. “A couple weeks and I’ll be back to normal.”

“I also wanted to…apologize.” Gabriel seems to struggle at getting the word past his lips. “For my part in what happened tonight. You’d think after all this time I’d learn to keep my mouth shut.”

T.K. shakes his head. “No one should have to deal with that kind of language. If you hadn’t started it, I would have.”

Something about the exchange flares warm in Carlos’ chest. The way his parents are caring for T.K., it’s the same way they’ve always cared for him and his sisters. It’s not perfect, but it’s full of love. 

“Are you heading home now?” his mother asks.

“I have to take the cruiser back to the station first,” Carlos says. “We’ll pick up the Camaro there and then head back.”

“Oh that’s going to take too long!” Andrea says, worry furrowing her brow. “T.K. is practically dead on his feet. No, no. We can drive him back to your place.”

“Your car is at the bar,” Carlos points out.

“I had that nice young officer I was talking to drive it here,” Andrea says, as if this is completely normal. “You go take care of things at work and we’ll make sure T.K. gets home safely.”

Carlos looks at T.K. who seems to be waiting for his cue. “It would get you home faster,” he says. 

“I don’t mind if they take me,” T.K. replies. 

Carlos fixes his parents with a stern look. “No stopping anywhere along the way. Straight home.”

Andrea rolls her eyes. “You give the man a badge and he thinks he can boss his parents around.”

“Ma!”

“We’ll get him home safe and sound,” Gabriel assures him. “Scout’s honor.”

Carlos blows out a breath and turns so that he’s facing T.K. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I know,” T.K. says, closing his eyes as Carlos kisses his forehead. 

“We’ll take good care of him,” Andrea says, gently putting an arm around T.K.’s shoulders and guiding him toward the door. “Tell me T.K., what kind of soup do you like? I will whip up a batch and bring it to you when we all meet at the station in the morning.”

How is it possible to feel like his parents are the most annoying people in the world right now, and also that T.K. is the safest he could possibly be with them by his side?

His father stops next to him. “He defended me tonight. He’s a good man.” He pats Carlos’ shoulder. “You made a good choice.”

T.K. has never felt like a choice. He’s fate. Destiny. All the dreams Carlos was too afraid to have, made incarnate. Slightly more of a chaos demon than Carlos would have imagined, but a dream come true nonetheless.

But that’s not something he can explain to his father. “He chose me too,” he says instead. “He chose you and mom, our family.” He looks up and meets his father’s gaze. “Thank you for choosing him back.”

His dad wordlessly squeezes his shoulder and follows the other two out the doors.

Carlos watches them go, three of the most important people in his world together and something inside of him cracks. Another little piece of the wall he built up so long ago, the one made of words like broken, unlovable, inadequate…the one he’d created to keep himself safe, falls away.

He’s making a family. And it’s good. 

[nicobicobee]

You asked, I appeared with another request! I am in fact going to become a menace.

Lucifer x reader (gn or masc) who’s sometimes hard of hearing? Like, they can hear broadly but smaller noises are harder to hear? Thank you and I now return to my little hole in the wall until you request me to request more lmao

Ty for the request! (Context: I went to the obey me discord to ask for requests cause I wanted to write but I was fresh outta ideas)

Lucifer x GN! Reader

Content: HOH (Hard of hearing) reader, some fluff, ANGST. Hurt comfort, panic attack, use of sign language

A/N: RAAAAAA HOH BITCHES UNITE!!!! FR though thanks sm for the request, I’m not the best at writing Lucifer but we do what we can!! Hope you enjoy <3

“MC,” Lucifer’s voice broke you from your thoughts, sounding slightly irritated.

You looked up from the book you were studying out of, “Yeah what’s up? Need somethin’?”

“I called for you five times, dinner’s ready. Come down and eat.” Lucifer walked out of your bedroom after that, leaving you exasperated.

You had meant to tell him that you had trouble hearing things, but so many anxieties prevented you from just doing it.

What if it disqualified you for the exchange program and they sent you home? What if they treated you differently?

The what-if’s and hypotheticals kept you from saying anything about it, instead feigning ignorance. It was starting to irritate Lucifer, and you were starting to crack.

“What were you doin’ up there?” Mammon asked around a mouthful of food. You stared at him for a moment, trying to process the words he just said.

“Mammon, don’t talk with your mouth full. That’s disgusting,” Satan scolded, “MC’s business is not your business.”

Satan was the only one who knew. He picked up that there was more to your “ignorance,” and you had no choice but to tell him. He now came to your rescue any time you needed him, and it was greatly appreciated. He was particularly hostile towards Lucifer, of course.

“I was wondering the same thing,” Lucifer idly spoke, the condescending tone lighting every one of your nerves on fire with embarrassment. “How you manage to so conveniently never hear me.”

You merely glanced down at your hands in your lap, food untouched. Standing, you pushed your plate towards Beel and murmured an “Excuse me,” before rushing out of the room.

They’re not going to accept you. Your self deprecating thoughts chided as you closed your door, twisting the lock in a futile attempt to keep everyone out. You knew they could just magic the door open but part of you hoped they might respect your wishes.

It’s going to be just like it was in the human world. You’re going to talk too loud. You’re going to annoy everyone. It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault.

You didn’t even notice the tears streaming down your face until they dripped onto your clenched hands. Your entire body shook with sobs and you clenched your pillow.

Someone’s voice came from the door, but you couldn’t tell who it was. Your ears were ringing too loud to make any accurate observations.

“Go away!” You shouted, rolling onto your side and curling around your pillow.

It was quiet for a moment, and then the door swung open.

You elected to ignore the presence, instead burying yourself further into the pillow and willing the demon to go away.

Lucifer’s voice came from behind you and the bed dipped under his weight. His hand rested on your back and you tensed up, clenching your jaw. He was speaking too softly for you to hear.

“I can’t hear you.” You croaked, throat raw from sobbing. “I can’t hear anything you say half the damn time.”

“Why is that?” Lucifer questioned, seeming sincere. His voice was slightly raised, but held no anger in his tone.

Finally, you slowly sat up, staring at your hands. “I’m… I can’t hear anything very well…” you murmured, chewing on your lip. “I had… hearing aids in the human realm, but I wasn’t wearing them when you… y’know.” You sighed, “I’m sorry. I was worried that if you knew, you would send me back to the human realm. I love being here a lot and I just… I didn’t want to lose that.”

Suddenly, you were being enveloped within Lucifer’s arms. “I’m sorry that I made you feel that we wouldn’t accept you. This program is to learn more about humans, and yet I have not attempted to learn about you. I apologize, MC.”

As though they had never stopped, tears started flowing from your eyes again. You wrapped your arms around Lucifer, burying your face against his chest. He was warm, and comforting.

Gently, Lucifer’s hand rubbed circles on your back, a comforting motion that almost lulled you to sleep.

You closed your eyes, and you swore you felt Lucifer’s lips press against the top of your head.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Fifteen (Part 2)

“I can’t stay long.” I remind him as we settle into a bench facing the pond where normally a hundred ducks and swans strut and swim about but today is frozen and still like glass. The frost on the bench instantly melts and soaks into the seat of my jeans, sending a shiver through me. 

“I get it.” He says. “I just feel like I need to explain myself, like, what was going on with me on Saturday.”

“I’m all ears.” 

“It’s complicated. Stuff is just a mess at the moment I…”

“Family stuff, like?”

“Yeah. It’s been a bit all over the place with my dad’s… estate, I suppose, if you can even call it that.” He takes a steadying breath. “It’s like, not even a huge deal it’s just, like…”

I feel a mini surge of sympathy for him, it really must be so difficult to lose a parent, even if he wasn’t close with his father, it must be a lot to have to handle. “What’s all over the place?” I ask him. “Money stuff?”

“Well like, he didn’t have any actual money. I think he had probably a hundred and ten euros in his account, so split three ways between his kids we’re getting a cool thirty seven euros off of him.”

“Oh.”

“Everyone is just going mental, fighting over his stuff, not that he had much of that either but his car is worth something, his TV, and like, the things that don’t matter to me but matter to my sister, like photos… ”

“You can’t have any photos?”

“No. He was living with our aunt when he died, and she’s completely nuts. She won’t let us have anything. She won’t even let us come into the house to look through his things, as if it’s worth shit to her. She called the guards on my brother Darren for going over to try and talk to her about it, says my dad would have wanted nothing to do with us, which I suppose is fair enough on Darren’s part, he’s been a bit unpredictable over the years, but my sister Millie was only two when he left us. She never did nothing to him, she just wants something of his to have.”

“It sounds really messy.”

He shoves his hand into the front of his hair and pulls it, revealing more of that dark brown regrowth at the roots. “So it’s just this, and my ma is crying down the phone to me all the time because when Darren gets into trouble she just loses the plot, and when she starts crying so does Millie, and I never have time to do anything ‘cause I just deal with them and work and go to college and then try and do all my assignments and it’s way too much.”

I put my hand on his shoulder, sensing that he’s about to spiral. “It’s alright.” I say. “You’re just doing what you can.”

“And the only way I can get through my shift is to do a bump of coke, otherwise I feel like I’d collapse” He barrels on. “And then I kind of lose control of that sometimes too, and on Saturday, like, me and one of the other lads got ketamine…”

“It’s alright.” I interject. I don’t really want to know the details of exactly what he did, preferring for that particular part of his life to remain a mystery to me.

“I shouldn’t have come to your birthday when I was like that, I’m ashamed of myself. I shouldn’t even be doing things like that to myself so that I can run away from my life.”

“It’s fine, Dean.”

“It’s not really fine. I can’t deal with the feeling like I’ve messed something up here.” He points to me and then himself. ‘Like you’re not gonna want to hang out with me anymore.”

I sigh. “It’s not… It’s not only you, Dean, and the way that you were, I think it’s all of it. I’ve been having realisations in this last week, like, that I feel unhappy about myself lately, and that I don’t like who I am when I hang around with Marnie and Fiona. It’s been so nice to be home with just Claire and remember what it’s like to have an actual friend who… enjoys having me around.”

“Marnie and Fiona are rotten, I don’t like hanging out with them either, they’re just posh girls who don’t get anything about what it’s like to have to work for things.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe, but I’m tired of all of the bitching, of them talking behind each other’s backs all the time. I don’t want to be a person like that anymore, it makes me feel hollow.”

“Yeah but you aren’t like them. You’re different.”

“Lately I don’t feel like I am.”

“You’re a nice person, Evie, anyone can see that. You put up with a lot of bullshit. You can stop hanging out with them, in fact, I’d actually love it if you stopped, because that way I wouldn’t have to hang out with them either.”

I eye him distrustfully. “Why did you start coming out with us in the first place?”

The corner of his mouth twitches up. “To get to you, obviously.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah seriously.”

“You put up with people you didn’t like just to be around me?”

“Of course.”

I watch his face for any signs of dishonesty but if there are any I don’t spot them, and that’s when I feel my defences start to fall away. The tension in my spine softens and I lean back into the bench. “So you like me.”

“Yeah.”

“You still like me?”

“I do.”

I look at him, and he looks at me, and I begin to realise that I have no idea what to do. Never in my life have I experienced a situation where someone has openly admitted to liking me, to my face, and I haven’t wanted to run away and hide from them. 

“So…” I venture. “Where do we go from here?”

He lifts his ankle to rest on his knee and gazes out over the frozen pond contemplatively. “We can just keep doing what we’re doing, I’m not really in the headspace to take on anybody else’s baggage right now. No offence.”

“Okay.” I say with hesitation, but he guides me through the murkiness with him, because I am flailing. “We can hang out, but like, I don’t think I want to be your boyfriend or anything like that, if that’s alright with you.”

“I get it.” I feel a slight thrill at the suggestion of being involved in something casual. I am never casual, I don’t simply go with the flow, everything always must be agonised over, but how exciting will this venture be for me? Evie Kilbride: in a casual relationship. “What does that mean though, exactly?” I find myself asking, because despite my best intentions I can’t quite let go. 

“What do you mean? We’ll be casual.” He says it like it’s somehow obvious, and I shake my head. “Like, no, what are the terms?”

He laughs awkwardly, clearly not thrilled about having to explain something so rudimentary to me. “We can hang out and hook up, but I am not your boyfriend.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “What do you think it means?”

“Will you be seeing other people?”

“Do you think I’ll have the time to?”

I smile.  “Okay so what now, should we shake on it?” I hope he’ll pick up on the humour in my tone, even though he never does seem to be able to tell when I’m trying to be funny. 

“Why would we shake on it?”

“Never mind.”

We kiss instead.

An hour later when I arrive back at the apartment Claire and Shane are right where I left them, sprawled out on the couch watching a film. They look cosy together, curled up with their arms linked and her head resting on his shoulder. She looks around and smiles sleepily when I come in the door. “Hey babe, how was your walk?”

“Good! I did a long loop of the town, so now I’m pretty tired.” I quickly hide the Mulan book behind a backpack by the coat rack.

“Come watch this movie, we’re just starting it.”

“What is it?”

“Miss Congeniality.”

“Claire’s choice.” Shane hastens to explain as I come over to perch on the floor in front of them. Claire’s hand reaches down almost instinctively and starts massaging my scalp with her fingers. The gesture is so comforting and sends lovely shivers down through me and I instantly unwind and let all my muscles soften. I peel off my socks and hold my cold feet, hoping to bring some warmth back into them after being sunk into the snow for hours.

“You’ll never guess who came by earlier.” She tells me. 

“Hm?”

“Dean.”

“Oh no, really?” I murmur. “What did you do?”

“We told him you weren’t home and then we got him to leave. I’m so glad you weren’t here.”

“Me too.”

“Hopefully he won’t show up here again, it was just so weird.”

“Mm” I say. “Well I’m glad you got rid of him eventually.”

Prev // Next

[seventfics]

I’m late but happy birthday!! If you’re still taking malarklina prompts perhaps I could request Alina and Mal as the criminal couple and Aleksander as the detective trying everything to catch them. Aleksander has always had a spotless record in taking down the criminal but then THESE two show up and somehow always manage to slip from his grasp. Everyone knows that those two are his targets, if they show up on the radar, he’s the first one to call. He can’t help but admire them for their amazing abilities and the flawless heists they pull off. Not to mention they way they fit so well with each other, must be nice to be them, the thrill is quite fun as well…no he doesn’t have time for love, his job is his life. He ESPECIALLY can’t have love if they’re his enemies.

At first Mal and Alina are just like “this bitch” as he somehow always finds them. But it kinda turns to admiration, his persistence to hunt them down gives them a thrill. He’s super fun to rile up. He certainly is more skillful than the other detectives that they made quit their job. “He’d make a good thief” Alina tells Mal one day. It starts becoming so fun that there are times where they wait for him to show, just for the chase. It is fun but they still find him a dick because he makes their job a lot harder sometimes.

Maybe one day they decide to fuck with him a bit. One gets up close and personal while the other watches in rapt interest. “Are you sure you want this to end? You don’t enjoy it, even a little? Do you constantly chase us only to throw us behind bars, or is it for another reason?” But they see how it works too well. How he leaned in to the hand caressing his face almost instantly, squeezing his eyes shut as if hating that he did. How he seemed to yearn to be kissed right then and there, his eyes closed and he’s already leaning forward. How the handcuffs fell from his hands like nothing. If the sirens hadn’t alarmed them, they might’ve granted him his request.

“Until next time.” The other says smirking, before both pull away and it’s like a spell was broken. He shouts out to them reaching for his gun but they somehow managed to steal it from him in all that. He comes back pissed but won’t tell anyone what happened and then goes home to scream into a pillow because what the fuck just happened. Meanwhile Mal and Alina at their hideout and are still processing that and are just like “well that was interesting…”

the rest of their interactions after that is Aleksander going “you two should be addicted to shutting the fuck up” and Alina and Mal going “you want us to fuck you so bad it makes you look stupid” while also trying to convince him to quit his job and join them.

Honestly your prompt is a full written piece right there, but I'll give it a little scene ;) just based off of that first half:

"He'd make a good thief."

Mal takes his eyes off of his stealth binoculars to stare at her. "We're still talking about the same guy, aren't we? The detective with the suave hair and sad eyes?"

"So you have been paying attention to him," Alina admires.

"It's hard not to. He's always one step from catching us. The heist at Prague was our closest call yet, and even then, we only managed to slip away because you distracted him."

"I didn't distract him," Alina says, slipping her arms over his shoulders to swipe the binoculars from him. Instead of chiding her for the delay to his field mapping, Mal smiles. She loves an excuse to get close during busywork.

"So you didn't split away from our original exit route to give us both time to flee the scene?"

"Oh, I did, originally. But he anticipated my feint run, and turned our escape into a real challenge. I almost didn't make it to our rendezvous point. He's been watching us for a long time, if he knew what to expect from me."

"Really," Mal drawls, faking disinterest. She doesn't usually talk about their past jobs, unless there's a mistake in their planning that needs fixing. That was before he saw their ghost-chase detective's car roll down the street ten minutes ago.

"Are you sure you still want to hit this place?" Mal asks, because one of them needs to. "You say he anticipated your moves. That he's been studying us. It's a risk. We could get caught."

"Starting to have doubt in me, heart?"

"In you? Never," he swears. Impossible, wherever she goes, he follows. "In him, on the other hand..."

Her smile is wide and all teeth. "Wouldn't it be exciting, though? He got so close, last time. And then I put my switchblade against his throat, and he conceited. I wonder, if he doesn't find these ghost-chases and close calls exciting, too."

While she's turning over the memory in her mind, Mal takes his binoculars back. He looks through them, zooming on the figure on the far block. Back turned, suave black hair. A good thief? More like a good model.

"Let's make this one especially interesting for him, then. Can't have Mr. Morozov getting bored of us."

[goldenboygate]

Everyone of you Carlando delulus are pathetic but you’re one of the worst cause you actually seem to have a following on here (can’t understand why because you’re a whiny, pathetic bitch) so you have a responsibility to not behave the way you do regarding Carlos and Lando. Stop acting like they’re anything but friends (if they even are that at this point) and start doing something more productive with your time. You’re an adult. Behave like one.

oh wow we’ve got a live one here!

listen, i don’t really know what your endgame is or why you spend your time a) on my blog if i’m such a whiny, pathetic bitch or b) why in the hell you’re keeping up with carlando blogs if you seem to dislike them so much.

none of what we do on here is something we are doing in space that either of them can see. we do not go on their social media and @ them about “uwu carlando” and we don’t talk about rpf in their replies or tag them to tell them about our delusions as you call them.

this is mainly an escape, at least for me. yes i am an adult which means i have responsibilities and dreams and sometimes they all become too overwhelming and so i seek comfort from their friendship. do i sometimes use them as characters in the stories i write? most definitely. but that’s not different to any other f1 rpf person on here. are you acting this way in everyone’s inbox or am i just special because i have a “following”? (i don’t btw, i barely have mutuals and i almost never get anons just to talk - literally no one gives a shit about me and that’s fine. don’t paint me as some sort of a morality guard for carlando).

and also, your little “they’re probably not even friends” dig is very pathetic. it’s clear you’re either a lando or a carlos hater who is desperate for them to be closer to other people than they are to each other (and they are close, best believe and accept that so that your little pitiful life can stop revolving around hating either one).

i assume you’re an adult as well, or at least want to be seen as one if you’re parading around hatefully online. i suggest you start acting like one.

[ieroween1031]

My Thoughts in Real Time as I Watched Episode 10 of Love in the Air That Absolutely Nobody Asked For (Spoiler Alert!):

Oh my god, Pai just called Sky his boyfriend, I’m gonna snap my computer in half.

Pai’s face when Sky is crying and begging for him not to let go, I’m already emotionally weak

What does Prapai even do for work? Like, what kind of business does his family run?

“Do you know how hard it was to hold back?” You mean how hard it was to not assault a half-conscious person when they’re sick? I love you, but come on, Pai.

Peat’s an amazing actor. Sky, not so much.

I’m not proud of the noise I made at the close-up shot of them holding hands in bed. I literally squealed.

I literally will never get over how fucking gorgeous Fort is. Like he’s seriously so pretty, it makes me sick.

Sky’s clothes are changing but Pai’s aren’t, and I feel like that’s kinda gross. How long have you been wearing those clothes, my guy?

I JUST FUCKING SQUEALED AGAIN AT SKY TOUCHING PAI’S HAIR

GODDAMN IT, SKY, JUST LET HIM LOVE YOU AND LET YOURSELF LOVE HIM!

I don’t know why, but I’m obsessed with the difference in their skin tones.

You tell him, Pai. Let’s get some decent communication going, please!

PRAPAI’S FACE WHEN SKY KISSES HIS CHEEK IS THE CUTEST FUCKING THING I’VE EVER SEEN.

Fort in these racing jackets should be one of the modern wonders of the world

GOD MOTHERFUCKING DAMN IT YOU SON OF A BITCH I’M SO FUCKING ANGRY RIGHT NOW WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING HERE JUST SEEING HIM MAKES ME LIVID YOU TRASH EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING

Tag yourself: I’m one of the three people all chastising Sky at the same time

I am completely here for everyone telling Sky how important he is as how much they appreciate his hard work. My baby deserves all the love he can get.

THAT STUPID CHICKEN SONG IS STUCK IN MY HEAD FUCK YOU

More communication, we stan.

Okay, I’m not mad about seeing that shitbird Gun anymore, because I’ve been waiting for this scene with Prapai and Payu helping with the freshmen

DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY DADDY

I’m older than both of them, but I would still call Boss and Fort ‘Daddy’ and not feel the least bit guilty about it.

OH MY GOD NATSU I’M SQUEALING AGAIN

Joy, you fucking gossip.

That x-acto knife, I’m fucking cackling. 😂😂😂

“Did I sleep with a psycho?” Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first time, sweetheart.

Was that too soon? I feel like that was too soon.

This is all entirely too happy. How are they planning to rip my heart out in the last ten minutes? Because I have a feeling something is coming that’s gonna make me want to cry.

Yes, please introduce Sky to your family. They’ll absolutely love him and I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; my sweet baby just deserves all the love he can get.

KISS HIM KISS HIM KISS HIM KISS HIM

GODDAMN IT FUCK!!!

I’d like to apologize for my outburst earlier; this is the the best episode so far. We got the Phis helping the Nongs with the freshman, the writing on the hands, and now I get the scene with Prapai on the floor and sweet, precious little Sky just a-grinning away on the bed. My heart hurts.

Prapai googling how to take care of a sick person is a mood

He called his mom? My sweet child is a clueless idiot and I would kill or die for him.

Is he keeping a log of all the things he’s learning about Pai? I can’t breathe, that’s too fucking adorable.

Huh. I was wrong about something devastating happening in the last ten minutes. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong before.

The preview for the next episode has me flailing. I can’t tell you how excited I am for Sky for finally admit that he’s completely gone for Pai, because fucking same, bro.

Are we getting another NC scene next episode? Probably not, because Me Mind Y are teases, but I don’t care. just that was enough to drive me insane.

My heart literally hurts knowing that this is all gonna come crumbling down around us sometime in the next three episodes.

WE’VE ONLY GOT THREE EPISODES LEFT I’M GONNA THROW UP