#there's no shame on dreaming of yourself living a fantastic life

[simandy]

I also love that they tried to make me look bad by saying Mandy is my self insert. No b, QUEEN LION is my self insert. Get your lore right damn 🙄

[ofmdrecaps]

08/16 - 17/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Taika Waititi's Birthday!; David Jenkins; GalaxyCon San Jose: Vico, Con, Nathan, Kristian; David Fane; Samba Schutte; Madeleine Sami; Nat Torres; Erroll Shand; Cohen Holloway; Love Notes;

== Taika Waititi ==

Okay so I'm drastically late because yet again my life has become nutzoid, but Happy VERY belated birthday to the main man Taika Waititi! His birthday was August 16th, and he spent it with lots of friends and loved ones <3

Lots of videos! I couldn't include them all here, so you can see them all in one place on the Repo.

Sources: VasJMorgan's / Rita Ora's Instagram

== David Jenkins ==

David shared a tattoo that one of our crewmates shared his way!

Source: David Jenkins Instagram Stories

== GalaxyCon San Jose: Vico, Con, Kristian, and Nathan ==

Since there was so much footage, I'm going to try and break this up into two parts so I can fit in some other news!

Our friends over at @adoptourcrew were kind enough to live tweet the panel, here's those tweets below:

As you can see there was some clowning going on as well! Next up is fan shots shared on GalaxyCon San Jose or the cast member's instagrams! I'll try to get the original photo links in but if not I apologize! Let me know if I need to update them!

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A post shared by Visit San Jose (@visitsanjose)

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by GalaxyCon (@galaxyconlive)

And Nathan was out with Con on his birthday!

Source: Galaxy Con San Jose's Instagram / Nathan/Con/Kristian/Vico's Instagrams

== David Fane ==

It's been a busy week for David! So glad to see him smiling!

Source: David Fane's Instagram

== Samba Schutte ==

Samba met up with his first drama teacher and sent a lovely message!

My very first drama teacher, the man who gave me the confidence to give my dream a shot, who helped me believe that I have something to offer as an artist. I owe him a lot, the ground that helped my seeds grow into a garden, and an amazing human and humanitarian to boot. So lovely to see you again, my dear Eugene van Erven. Check out his books! 23 years and going❤️✨🙏🏾

Source: Samba Schutte's Instagram

== Erroll Shand ==

Erroll is on Episode 5 of The Clearing, playing Henrik! You can check it out on DisneyPlus in Australia-- I tried looking for it on Disney Plus US but no luck. If you know of a better way to watch please let me know!

Source: Erroll Shand's Instagram

== Nat Torres ==

One of our fantastic writers, Nat Torres posted some quick pics for the end of summer. I had to get their dogs in there because of reasons.

Source: Natalie Torres' Instagram

== Madeleine Sami ==

Mads and her Co-star of Double Parked, Antonia Prebble talking life <3

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A post shared by The Breeze Auckland (@thebreezeauckland)

Source: TheBreezeAuckland Instagram

== Cohen Holloway ==

Pop Pop pops up so irregularly, so I had to share him being mentioned in this post by Costume Designer: Lissy Turner, tagged for a BTS picture of the film Lowdown Dirty Criminals.

Source: Cohen Holloway's Instagram

== Love Notes ==

Okay Lovelies, apologies, gonna need to have the fan spotlights in the next post because there was just so much going on with the Cast and Crew these past few days! There's still more to show, and I'll work on getting tonight's recap up as well here in a little bit. I truly hope you're being kind to yourself this weekend lovelies. It's been so busy lately, and I know sometimes life like to pop up and kick us in the tush and make things harder -- so remember that you're doing the best you can with what you have. There's enough shame in this world, try to remember not to add to it for yourself, because you deserve grace, especially when things continue to be tough. Sending so much love crew.

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A post shared by REALEST® (@realestintentions)

[whatbigotspost]

On being real mean and then less mean

Long post incoming........I've been chipping away at writing this for like a month now and (unlike my usual self) I've stalled out a few times unsure of what all I want to say. But I think I've got it squared up the way I would like to. Unfortunately, I need a long context laying preamble. Sorry this will feel like an online recipe experience 😅

As the 5 of you who usually read my blocks of text will know well, I grew up in a very toxic, abusive, high-control environment. If you wanted to intentionally produce kids who would have anxiety, shame, self-loathing, aggression, be overly-competitive, angry, and equipped with little-to-no social skills, you should be parented like I was. In my nuclear family, we couldn't have had worse life lessons or role modeling when it comes to building healthy relationships, strong friendships, and harmonious existence with others. Violence was often normalized. Manipulation was encouraged. Specific conditions and rules were put on receiving love and/or affection. We weren't seen as independent humans who had their own lives and thoughts and ambitions--we were seen as extensions of my father, brought into the world to be his unquestioning cheerleaders and adoring team, to do our best to become his clones, to live out his unrealized dreams, and to combat his grievances w/ the world.

In short, it sucked.

Above all, I was taught in a very deep and real way to hate myself, not that this was explicitly acknowledged mind you, but it was the implication of everything. This self loathing was an extension of my father's own insecurities and full inability to grow the fuck up and build a life for himself that was emotionally mature, resilience, and self-caring. This mentality, if truly internalized, creates ugliness from the inside that radiates outward. I can see that so clearly now, but back then, I didn't understand it at all.

I was implicitly taught a thought process like, "the best way to 'own' someone is to shit talk them into crying" or "you can make yourself look stronger and distract from your own shortcomings by staying 1 step ahead of everyone through making THEM feel like shit about their shortcomings."

But you weren't just mean to someone to stay ahead of them, you were also mean as a way to ingratiate others to you. "Telling it like it is" even if what you said was unnecessarily cruel, was a virtue. Like, "what? I'm just saying what we're all thinking!" kind of stuff. I was taught that "teasing" is a way you show someone you love them, where "teasing" means saying all kinds of awful things that are quite hurtful. I was taught that being funny was one of the most important qualities and it didn't matter if those laughs came at the expense of others' feelings and if, over time, your comments began to destroy those around you.

It's "just teasing." It's "just joking." It was a lot of "oh come, on grow a thicker skin" over "maybe saying cruel shit for fun is bad?" It was "God, I can dish it and I can take it, why can't you?" over "maybe I want friends who support one another instead of digging at our insecurities."

Some recent nostalgia I've been wallowing in this summer reminded me of my grossest self who lived by these rules.

Those worst moments, where I was a bully and an asshole, all occurred for me at school, when I was probably around 11/12 and older. School was a very interesting place for me. When I try to paint an efficient picture of what my childhood home was like for others, I often say, my family existed in a weird liminal someplace between mainstream, mid western white suburban society and a survivalist/separatist/cult/fringe culture (like Tara Westover describes in Educated or as seen in Captain Fantastic if you're familiar w/ either of those.) We were a cult of 4 and there were many things We Did Not Do, all my dad's rules. (My grandparent's house was a safe harbor unlike my home, but that's a tangent for another time.) That said, accessing education was something my father DID trust the local government to do (as long as he could emphasize over and over how we can't trust everything they say, we could trust their lessons of math, music, English, etc.) He strategically chose a place to live where I could get the best "free" education possible in Central Indiana. My social life existed fully in a traditional school setting, where it took me all of 2 seconds to clock that other kids' lives weren't like mine, and that was compelling to me. I became a lifelong student of interpersonal relationship dynamics far before I realized I had become a lifelong student of relationships. I remember when I was in elementary school journaling about and thinking about and talking about all the friend groups and dynamics, etc. Writing stories about friend groups. Creating Barbie universes and dramas with 2 neighborhood friends. Trying to spend more and more time w/ peers instead of family.

Beyond that, I loved school because I would receive praise and love at home for A's and praise and love from my teachers for being "so good" (aka offering 100% deference to adult authority as I been told to do, even if I could question them inside.) This all means when I was very young, I did SO WELL at figuring out school...how to make friends...how to get an A+...how to get teachers to love me...how to be The Good Kid...how to reduce my value to my grades and what I produced, which is a mentality I've still only begun to unweave from within me, some 30 years later.

Anyway, point is, despite the hand I was dealt, I somehow never had trouble making friends and with a lot of my closest friends, I wasn't all that mean to in the way I describe above, at least initially. But when I did apply that behavior, god damn was it ugly. I get that now, but back then, I felt cool as fuck.

The more it (temporarily worked for me) the more I used meanness. By the time I was like 17, I literally was known as mean and wore it as a badge of honor. Lacking emotional intelligence and an overtly loving home environment, I thought it was normal? cool? idk...to "not be able to handle mushy emotional stuff." I would (LITERALLY) run if friends were telling me they loved me. It became more and more common for me to apply, "witty mean girl" quips to even my closest friends. Stuff was said about me like, "oh, if she makes fun of you, it means she really loves you." I was always saying shit to gain laughs from others that really hurt some people and I would act like that was a THEM thing like "god, they're so sensitive, poor widdle baby."

NOT GOOD. Nothing to be proud of. Signs of someone who deep down hates themselves and hopes you don't notice because of a big, bad exterior. In this era, I was someone who attracted and accepted other toxic people and was abusive toward and accepted abuse from friends who had these same issues. How I met and fell in love w/ my partner who is not at all like this during that period of time back when sometimes confounds me. His boundaries and feelings are why I started really looking inward. His patience and willingness to understand what was going on for me was immense (as I was similarly patient for things related to his baggage.) FOR YEARS we had a dynamic where I'd "make fun of" "tease" "just joke" about him too harshly in front of others and he would ask me over and over to stop. I'd get better for a while, then I'd backslide and make him feel like shit in a group setting again--but hey! everyone laughed at my ~*~*just oh so hilarious comment*~*~ and so that makes it fine right?? Obviously, not, and the older I got the more I started to FINALLY see "mean" as mean and not "telling it like it is" or being a core part of my humor.

How I REALLY know that this toxic coping mechanism I used to my benefit was a thinly veiled defense mechanism style behavior to cloud my deep deep deep self loathing is because when I'd be talking w/ my partner about his very reasonable and normal request that I not say unnecessarily cruel things about him for fun in front of others, I would be afraid of things like, "But that's part of who I am? It's my humor."

I really thought so lowly of myself that I believed that if I wasn't witty-mean, people wouldn't love me. That I wouldn't still be funny. That I wouldn't be ME unless I was being MEAN. It was so backwards and upside down because my meanness did make me harder to be around, and people were right there loving me anyway, not because of it, but despite it.

It's so sad to realize this! Looking back and describing this girl now feels in both parts foreign to me and also like looking in a mirror. I've been in 20 years of some form or another of "recovery" from this kind of childhood now, and I'm about 15 years into true healing and re-parenting myself. Almost 14 years ago, I made the biggest shift toward killing this old mentality...I moved away from my home town and the people I spent my days around to that point. I had an opportunity for a hard reset in my social life and behaviors, leaving behind old reputations that didn't serve me. And I’m still me. I’m spicy and I’m real and I’m blunt and I’m funny but I’m not cruel or mean anymore. The old me sometimes still rears her ugly head, especially when I'm tired, stress, or dysregulated. But it's less "how I am" now than ever in my life.

As I've been thinking about this whole topic for quite a few weeks now, and I tried to articulate what I did that really changed me and allowed me to shed that mean girl shell of armor I was wearing that I had so thoroughly needed to outgrow. If these things resonate with you, I do have some pieces of advice.

Speak from your personal values 100% of the time. That means defining your personal values first, not just accepting what you think is valuable you've been told by others. Once I grew the maturity to understand I needed my own life values, it was very simple to grasp that I was not in line with them. My top 5 personal life values are: love, equity, humor, loyalty, and open communication. Mean jokes don't check many of those boxes.

Become your own best friend first. My behaviors were driven by self-hatred I did not choose. When I choose how I want to feel about myself, I choose self-compassion, and I actively cultivate this mentality and practice all. the. time so that I don't backslide.

Stop "telling it like it is." This is not helpful. No one needs something obvious and cruel pointed out. This is basic "THINK" acronym stuff. It's a classic because it works. Is what you're about to say.... "true, helpful, inspiring, necessary, kind." Telling it like it is is only TRUE, it's rarely -HINK.

Never "just joke" about something someone could possibly be vulnerable about. If someone has a physical wound, you don't jab your finger into it for fun. When someone has an emotional tenderness, you similarly don't jab a mean comment into it. When in doubt, just don't joke about it.

Have actual hard conversations and "call outs" in the right times/spaces. Sometimes behavior that one friend may call "mean" is actually a very necessary hard conversation to the other person. So it's helpful to just remember that those kind of real-deal communications are rarely done effectively or productively with an audience or by using humor. Real shit deserves a real shit tone.

Push yourself to say the nicest stuff and just be fucking sincere and genuine. Tell your friends you love them. Tell your friends when you are obsessed with what they are achieving/doing/saying. Tell your friends WHAT you love about them. Make an effort for your most important relationships to have far, far more "positive bids" than negative.

Use "teasing" or "self deprecating" humor selectively and strategically. Sometimes, my partner and I DO tease each other by having open communication and actually knowing one another's boundaries, I now understand what's fine and what's not. So I can proceed w/o hurting him. But I don't know most people to that level, so I'm not going to try to tease someone else in front of others w/o that knowledge anymore. Self deprecating humor has also been a go-to for me in the past and one of the people I could be meanest to was myself. I realized I should use it sparingly with people who I don't know well, too, because I don't necessarily need to give them a cheat sheet to what my baggage is. And lastly, in general, I think that we should ALL be very very careful to spare strangers our sarcasm, deadpan comments, or whatever. Many folks are neurodiverse or otherwise don't get your sarcasm and your implications can be lost in translation. You never know what topics, with strangers, might be a hornet's nest you stumble into.

PFEW! Ok, I think that's plenty for now! If you've got similar tips or thoughts, LMK! Of course, I still fuck up my practice of not being mean all the time, but the best thing about having done this work and shared it with those around me is that my friends are much more like to say something like, "OW! Was that your dad talking for a sec?" and help me than to just go on assuming I'm an asshole. 😆

[femmefatalevibe]

i have recently discovered your blog. i noticed in some of your posts from last year you use the term "high value woman". if it's not just a buzzword, then it must have a (more or less strict) definition. for example: a high value woman is a person who has traits x, y and z. so, if i wanted to be a high value woman, i would have to meet certain criteria. if i didn't meet the criteria (i would have traits that are opposites of the traits that define a high value woman), what would that make me? a low value woman? sorry for any errors, english is not my first language. i hope i explained this well enough. this isn't a personal attack (i like your blog, i think most of the advice you give is useful), i'm just curious.

Hi love!

I appreciate your question as I believe it's an important one! Ok, hope this explanation makes sense lol.

The short answer is: Yes, I'm targeting a "buzzword" and sharing a more important message. If you follow the media––publication, social media, or otherwise, you know that, when applied thoughtfully and ethically, using trends to share a more significant, impactful, and actionable message is a very effective method to get more eyeballs on your core (evergreen) message and hopefully reach audiences who will find value from your content through the "trendiness" or "virality" of the way you packaged your content (think: how some creators who utilizing the current "demure" trend to share fundamental truths/valuable content + information).

The longer answer is that I ALSO believe that being a "high-value" woman does mean something, but for YOU, not through the eyes of society aka the patriarchy and the covert alt-right messaging many people disguise using this term. Viewing YOURSELF as a "high-value" woman, purely for your personhood, values, and depth as a person, is a very powerful tool. And, learning how to harness this confidence and competency in various aspects of your life is empowering––which can also (often) lead to many tangible and intangible benefits in your physical, emotional, and mental lives.

My mission with this blog is to help women dismantle the automatic programming of feeling powerless and slaves to people-pleasing, the patriarchy, shame, and all of those disempowering things while working through them in realistic ways. Many blogs seem to push very polarized, fantastical, or juvenile ideas, so I want to provide a space that feels welcoming, practical, and like a real community that doesn't push some sort of ideological agenda. My views are likely to come across if I'm giving my opinion on certain topics. But, ultimately, I believe everyone needs to be true to themselves and do what they want as long they aren't hurting or attacking other people.

I've always known that I was on an "unconventional" path in certain areas of life and never really questioned who I was/who I should be. I just went for it and am still trying my best (!) to become that woman I always dreamed/strived to be. I'm hoping to connect through this content with women (or men/non-binary individuals––everyone's welcome!) who feel this inner yearning as well.

Hope this makes sense! Sending love xx

[muthaz-rapapa]

Otona Precure '23: The Sequel We ACTUALLY Deserve

Let's not mince words.

Otona Precure wasn't just fantastic, it puts every reboot or sequel of an established series to shame.

Because yea, it's primarily aimed at an older audience alright but the issues and the themes discussed in the story are relatable and relevant to everyone's interests, regardless of age.

That reality is much harsher than we think it is, more than we can comprehend. That the world will never be perfect like we want it to be.

But also that, because we're on this planet right now at this very moment, we can't just sit around and resign ourselves to not do anything as situations continue to worsen.

Pollution, climate change, toxic society, war.

The show did not shy away from addressing these topics but what's even more notable is it pointing out that people, humans, are the source of them all.

And I appreciate the honesty of that statement because yes, frankly, we are the problem.

People are selfish. We indulge too much in ourselves, our own egos, that we are blinded to the welfare of others. We are also lazy and discriminating and even those who say we'd like things to be better often give up too easily because searching for a solution is too hard and daunting.

Mankind is the shittiest species to walk upon this earth and no one's gonna argue on that.

But does that make everyone inherently bad though?

No, of course not.

We're flawed beings but we're also capable of learning. We're capable of understanding and compassion. There are many among us who do try our best to make this world a kinder and more beautiful place to live in.

But as the finale shows, it cannot only be these few people (like Precure) to do all the hauling and pushing. Everybody has to pitch in. Everybody has to contribute for a better world to be possible.

And that doesn't mean tackling a conflict that's a lot bigger than you can handle. That doesn't mean you have to go at it all alone.

It means that you have to change the way you are, change the way you do things to get the ball rolling. Only by changing yourself first that you can begin to change your surroundings, not the other way around.

It's only through the collective effort of everyone wanting to change for the better that we can protect what we love and create the future that we envision.

Precure is meant to inspire that will to act which is best exemplified in Nozomi. Cure Dream, the Precure of Hope.

Nozomi stands out among the many lead Cures we've had over the years in the quality of leadership she displays as the head of her own team.

She is not the brightest nor sharpest person in any group but damn, does that girl woman never give up.

Not even when she pushes herself to the brink that she falls unconscious from fatigue several times did she ever consider the thought of giving up.

And that's exactly what makes her such a strong and effective leader.

It's not because she's been put into that position so she's only functioning as one.

It's because she inspires everyone around her to become the leaders of their own lives which would then repeatedly bring about the butterfly effect in people beyond their own circle.

Additionally, we must applaud at how well the themes of adulthood and personal struggle have been explored. Look at the girls! Look at how much they've grown, how much they've progressed from the time they were still just middle schoolers dreaming of what they want to be in the future.

(GODDAMNIT, MILK BECAME THE PRIME MINISTER OF HER HOME COUNTRY, I'M STILL NOT OVER THAT AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!)

They've accomplished so much and you can't help but be incredibly proud of how far they've come on their individual journeys.

But now that they're adults, they also realize just how difficult it is to keep the optimism they had when they were kids. Things don't always go the way you want them to. Real life is stressful and exhausting and the accumulation of all those negative feelings of helplessness is enough to send anyone into depression.

As an adult, you're constantly asking yourself "is it really worth it?" because you don't want to betray the hopes you had as a child but sometimes, it's just too hard that all you want to do is give up.

...and that's okay if you need to for a while.

Take a break, go talk to someone you can trust if you feel you've really hit rock bottom.

Find a secure, safe space to cry it all out if you have to.

It's okay to not be okay all the time.

Because that's pretty much what adulthood is.

Being an adult is not about doing everything but knowing you can't do everything and telling yourself that's okay. Because you're already doing everything you can. Your best is good enough.

It's good enough for one person. Nobody's asking you to save the world or become a magical girl to fight off monsters or resolve a major crisis with a miracle answer.

You just need to do your part of the whole in the best way you can. That's all.

And I believe Bell knows that as well.

She knows that just because today's worst was averted, it doesn't mean we're out of the doom radar yet. Because she's right. Humans still can't be trusted as proven by that after-credits scene. There are still plenty of jerks out there who don't give a damn about how much harm they're adding to the world.

But she also knows that as long as there is someone like Precure to do their part, to yell at those jerks to pick up their trash, then maybe, maybe, not all hope is lost just yet.

And so she leaves with the words "I'll be waiting for you in the future", hoping that what the Cures have taught her to believe won't betray her when that time comes.

That said, for us longtime fans of the series, Otona Precure is also a love letter.

A project of appreciation to us for the past 20 years of love and support we've given this franchise.

And I'd say we got what we wanted because before the announcement of this spin-off, I didn't think Toei would ever care to redeem Yes! 5 Precure on how badly it performed during its two seasons run.

Yet here we are and even 100 times better than the original.

They cut out all the fillers which was the primary flaw of those two seasons and focused entirely on the characters. The girls and the expansion of their story arcs. The stuff we actually want to see.

Moreover, the writers did a very great job of showing how everyone has matured. For example, Rin and Karen outgrew their bickering and even the uncalled for vitriol that Kurumi always directed at Nozomi is nowhere to be found.

Seriously! I laughed so hard when Kurumi switched the target of her criticism from Nozomi to Coco. I don't think we've ever seen her this concerned and sympathetic towards Nozomi to the point that she didn't even hesitate to yell at her superior to "cut it with your responsibilities crap and go comfort your lonely girlfriend, you idiot king!"

🤣🤣🤣🤣

Everyone is just incredibly supportive of each other and that's so heartwarming.

I also personally loved how they dealt with Komachi's episode, which introduced a sort of sub-theme of one's love for their hometown.

Komachi has always aspired to become a writer and it would've been fine to go down the route of getting her out of her slump.

But having Komachi put in effort for her community, learn about the history of her town, and becoming determined to defend it after her strengthened appreciation fit with the overarching theme and her personality so much better.

The inclusion of Splash Star into this story was awesome, too.

If I can be honest, I don't think Saki and Mai would've done as well as Otona Precure if they had 12 episodes only to themselves (including Michiru and Kaoru, btw). So by giving them a fair amount of screentime next to the Yes!5 girls, the show just felt more complete with their conclusions.

They're still chasing their respective dreams, had their relationship troubles (and Saki got engaged to her boyfriend/fiance who seems like a very good guy judging by how he's supportive of her going to Luxembourg, ugh so happy for her!) and career doubts but are still as close as ever which allowed them to pull through in the end.

Wonderful.

Finally, let's all agree that no anniversary season is complete unless proper spotlight is given to the dai-senpai Precure, FutariWa.

Maybe that's why 10th anniversary was such a dud?

They didn't get as much screentime as they did during the 15th anniversary (which included two episodes in Hugtto and sharing the main lead role with Hana/Cure Yell in the All Stars movie) but they still made a grand entrance in the penultimate ep of Otona Precure and kicked absolute ass in the finale and that's really all that matters.

So good job, Toei!

And ok, finally finally, NozoCoco officially got 💖MARRIED💖

Romance is not a vital aspect of Precure nor does it ever have to be because focusing on friendship and teamwork is still the most important aspect when it comes to this series...

But only a stupid numbskull would say Coco is unnecessary to Nozomi's happiness because he's the biggest reason she was able to become who she is today. The fact that she even tells him, right after she woke up from her coma, that she needs him to truly be happy is a proof of how irreplaceable he is to her.

She doesn't ask him to be with her because she needs a man. She wants him to marry her because he brings out the best in her. Because he is the one person who can understand her better than anyone else can and the one person whom she wants to share the rest of her life with.

Remember that Nozomi was inspired by Coco. She became Precure, became Cure Dream, because she met him. She aspired to become a teacher because of him. The butterfly effect for her began with him.

For them to overcome all these obstacles to their relationship and promise to be there for one another, through all the good and bad...it's the fulfillment of a dream they both deserve.

And the perfect ending to Yes! 5 Precure.

So congratulations to Yes!5 and Splash Star on an amazing sequel.

Congratulations to Precure for these precious 20 years you've given us.

Here's hoping to more successful years ahead.

See you in the new year!

[makisconmiel]

Toxicity : why didn't I escape it ? ࣪.

Image 1

Toxicity : why couldn't I escape it ࣪.

Why couldn't I escape it? - 10 of swords

~ you felt betrayed and were going thru a rough time. You didn't know what else to do or say. You felt helpless and hopeless. It was a matter of time until your energy felt drained while being still attached to that situation.

What would've happened if I didn't escape it? - 8 of swords

~ you would've felt trapped in a situation where no one could save you. It was for the best that you got out of there. You would've felt paralized and wouldn't know how to escape properly

How did I open my eyes? - knight of golds

~ You felt proud of yourself once you got out of there. You did it for yourself, not for others. Nobody can say you did it for them because You know the truth in your heart. You now are in a self love process and i'm proud of you.

Could I haved recovered if I stayed there? - 5 of cups

~ it isnt clear if you would've recovered, but it's clear that you would've gone through a emotional time in the way the things change.

How can I heal? - page of clubs

~ you are already in a healing process and it's going well. You can heal by letting go the things that hurt you and discovering new plans. You want to change and tha's fantastic

+ Advice - 3 of clubs

Image 2

Toxicity : why couldn't I escape it ࣪.

Why couldn't I escape it? - the justice

~ you were blinded by the complexity of the situation. You though everything was fair and it was complicated to get out of there

What would've happened if I didn't escape it? - 6 of golds

~ You would've prospered but still be trapped in a place you weren't comfortable

How did I open my eyes? - 5 of cups

~ You were extremely emotional in the process of discovering your new "era" of healing. The inestability was your worst enemy but you managed to see clear through that.

Could I haved recovered if I stayed there? - 2 of swords

~ No. You would've been ashamed to even live because of the shame a betray got You. It was only a matter of time until You escaped and become free.

How can I heal? - the magician

~ you can heald through your creativity, energy and mind. Focus on yourself and keep fighting, You're strong.

+ Advice - knight of swords

~ keep fighting, You're in a good path and you have to follow it

Image 3

Toxicity : why couldn't I escape it ࣪.

Why couldn't I escape it? - 4 of cups

~ You felt trapped, like you couldn't even breathe in your one place. Rather than free you were isolited from everyone, including your closest ones.

What would've happened if I didn't escape it? - 3 of swords

~ you would've felt into betrayal and wouldn't even notice it, since the situation was painted like it was a dream.

How did I open my eyes? - 2 of cups

~ You felt love for yourself. Didn't want to be hurt anymore and wanted to create a new you, a new version, a new life.

Could I haved recovered if I stayed there? - 8 of clubs

~ No. You wanted a new start and you did it. I'm so proud of you for your achievements and your new goals.

How can I heal? - queen of clubs

~ You can heal with your energy, wisdom and enthusiasm. You are a great person, the only one who doesn't see it is yourself.

+ Advice - templance

~ you need to let go of the past to be free, to be happy. Don't go back reliving those memories, it will only hurt you more.

—

Advice from the heart : don't look back, the only one You're hurting and the most important is : you

[ladydragonkiller]

Hello again! My previously mentioned travels have indeed been long and hard. I'm quite glad they're over, and that I'm healing. A fresh loaf of bread sounds lovely- I don't believe I've ever actually had fresh bread. Though, your face and company would be much lovelier, of course.

Ice cream and walks are always fun. I've been meaning to visit a custard shop in my post of town. My high school friend and carpool ride would take me there often, so it's quite nostalgic. On top of just having good food, hah.

Hoorah for a college deposit! I hope your major will be just as interesting and passion-sparking as you dream. Hoorah, as well, for knitting progress! Sometimes a shift in projects is what we need to see the old one with fresh eyes and motivation.

For armor, I do wish I actually had any, but alas. Instead, I alternate gender neutral dressed-up looks and incredibly camp outfits. Think Ashes vs Marius; those are about my two moods, when I'm not just in a t-shirt and jeans around the house.

For your next question.. If you were a candle, what would your fragrance be? Bonus points if you can give it a flashy name, or assign yourself a color as well.

- Mysterious Knight

to have never had fresh bread. . .this is a tragedy on the grandest of scales, and i wish dearly i could actually remedy it. fresh bread is to packaged bread as a warm, solid hug is to a high five. put a little butter and honey on it and ough. . .top ten snacks that connect you to humanity throughout history. my face and company pale in comparison (though i'm happy to provide the latter, even if the former is a tad more exclusive)

i adore both ice cream and walking, and am intrigued by this custard. some ice creams are made from a base of stirred custard, is it like that? or is it denser custards served not frozen, like puddings or flan or creme brulee?

thank you for both your hoorahs! i would like to give you two in return, to be used whenever you need a boost of good cheer

those fashions both sound lovely! ashes and marius are certainly fantastic and, perhaps, eclectic when compared to the usual style, choices (but if you aren't a little eclectic then you aren't really living life). and a t-shirt and jeans is classic, certainly what i default to some days.

see, there's a conundrum here. i would go for some classic baked good (apple pie maybe, or fresh bread) scent, but those always end up seeming over powering and saccharine. i tend to prefer lighter scents, like "fresh cotton" or "spruce forest" and the like, but those don't quite seem to capture my essence as i see it.

additionally, i have a hard time narrowing myself down to any one thing. though theoretically i would know myself best, i'm hardly at an objective distance to declare my own signature candle. can i be trusted to accurately judge the ratio of smells? unlikely

that said, i do deeply enjoy the smell i get in my room when i've opened the windows for the first time each spring. it's similar to sheets that have been dried on a clothesline, which is similar to sheets that have been sitting in a clean linen closet for a while. very light, and it reminds me of a breath of fresh air and the feeling of settling into bed knowing the sun will rise bright tomorrow.

For your question (one i've asked the cowboy before, but i think it's important enough to bear the shame of repetition): what's your favorite baked good?

[friendlyneighbourhood-parker]

this song talks about us

Pairing: Steven grant x reader / Marc Spector x reader

Summary: glimpses of the life of an ex mersenarie, the little english man that lives withing him and their partner (or Marc Spector is so wipped with you and this are moments that prove it.)

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: n/a

A/N: I didn't mention Jake because I knew deeo in my hear that I would end up writting about him instead and I really wanted to write about Marc this time around. here is the Spanish version and it's also in ao3

London, a city that’s big as it was cold where the tea was fantastic but finding a good cup of coffee was almost as hard as finding someone to enjoy it with. The streets were crowded with people who preferred to walk before taking the tube or the bus, recurring rain and grey days in which you’d have to grab your coat and scarf from the hanger on the entrance, the ones who entered your life the moment you stepped a foot into this place.

The line between days started to merge into each other, looking and sounding the same, the rain hitting against the window while you rested on a chair. Working at a library wasn’t the reason why you decided to move to London but it was a very good place to start, writing was something you’ve loved since little, losing yourself for hours without end in stories and fairy-tales. Storytelling calling you in your sleep and waking up with ideas to fill countless journals.

With stories.

Your stories.

Stories needing to be told, fairy-tales and novels filled with the dreams of a nine year-old that needed to tell them but never brave enough to actually share them, filled with the fear of being told they weren’t good enough, your master piece wasn’t finished yet.

So working at a bookstore gave you the opportunity to spend most of your time reading, the working discount wasn’t that big but it gave you the chance to buy more books that you would without the job. It’s alright to spend the money if it’s an investment to your future job, studying from the words of people who’ve made it or at least that’s how you justify it. Besides the people are nice, at least the ones who come and go enough times to quickly become face and names that you can recognize.

Some of the few advantages of working somewhere tiny in a not so visible place.

That’s how you met Steven, never actually spoke to the guy but it intrigued you how often he would walk in and take about five books at a time, you always wondered how he found the time to actually read all the books he buys. At this point your boss should be the one prancing in his flat to see which books he should take with him, walking into his home probably felt like walking into a library. He wouldn’t admit it to a stranger but his books where his priceless possession (Besides his one fin wonder), most of them filled with his shaky handwriting on the corners and important facts highlighted in yellow.

‘The poor guy probably doesn’t sleep’ was a recurrent thought that comically crossed your mind.

Until you found out it was true, he doesn’t sleep; the shame on his face when he confessed you that in the middle of eating dinner he cooked for you was huge, it was your fifth date together (not like you’re keeping count) and he had offered to cook for the both of you in his flat, after all you cooked for him the last time so it was only fair for him to prepare the best meal he could to the lovely person he had his eyes on.

On your eighth date he told you about Marc, about how he found out about his condition and how everything slowly started to make sense about his life, throughout the whole story his hand rested on top of yours, you could see the fear in his eyes and feel it in his words, fear of how it would affect your relationship.

Maybe you thought he was making it all up or that he was crazy, maybe you would never want to speak or hear from him again. He was terrified of losing the only person who’s shown real compassion towards him, the person that he’s been slowly falling in love with.

That night you kissed him, it wasn’t the first time your lips crashed against each other, that his hands trailed to the crane of your neck playing with your hair, that you heard him breathlessly telling you how much he liked you against your lips. But it was the first time you’ve done it to shut him up, to stop him from continuing talking senselessly about himself, all the bad thought drivelling out, you couldn’t take the way his face went red as his words came out faster and faster without even letting his brain process what he was actually saying about the situation.

After pulling away Steven heard you smile, your foreheads against each other. He couldn’t help but to smile too.

You asked Steven if you could meet him someday, to give you the opportunity to fall in love with each and every part of him, to being able to the possibility of finding the perfect person to share a cup of coffee with, Maybe Marc would be the one to ease you on those nights where the storms wouldn’t let you fall back to sleep. But you didn’t say all of that because you didn’t have to, you only asked for him and Steven nodding promised you that you would.

You were his partner after all, the person who he shared his favourite tea with and the one who made his lazy mornings even better. It was important for him that his two favourite people in the entire world get along.

The next time Marc was the one who crossed the door once you opened it, letting himself in as if it was his own home, which was a good thing, right? You wanted him to feel like home. It only took any person a second of knowing both of them to realize that to him Steven was the most important person in the entire world (you didn’t know this at the time but for Marc he was even more important that himself), you realized in the was his desperate gaze tried to find something wrong with you, an excuse or reason good enough for you to stop seeing Steven, to prevent the possibility of finding him with a broken heart and having to help him to pick up the pieces, but he only was able to find that special glare in your eyes, the one that left him wanting more.

Loosing himself in you.

Both souls bound to yours. You didn’t believe in soulmates and you wondered if your boys shared the same opinion, but when you were together you realized that no matter how hard you looked there wouldn’t be another person in the entire universe who would make you feel the way they did and at this point searching for another seemed like a waste of time.

“Bashert” Marc spoke in words of love and compassion, nothing less because he felt like you didn’t deserve any less. The words of a man that after keeping his head under water for a long time finally being able to breathe again and he cherished that, the peace you brought to his life.

It wasn’t uncommon for them to stop by at your work, every now and then they would walk in so Steven could buy some new books or with the excuse of Marc wanting to find a book about space, one of his favourite topics to talk about (that and Star Wars, which has a whole bunch to do with space). What was uncommon was the huge bouquet of your favourite flowers that Marc walked in with, and you could feel your hearth starting to beat faster and faster thinking that you forgot a special occasion.

Your birthday?

No, no. That was a while back and you remember it well, how after stepping into your shared flat finding Steven wearing an apron, flour smeared on his face and his eyes focussed on the cake he was decorating for you. ‘Great! Another year’ was written on it as suggested by Marc, at first he didn’t appreciate the input but after giving it some thought he realized your amused look would be enough to make his day ten times better.

Then your anniversary…

No, absolutely not. There were some months to go before you and Marc get to say that you’ve been together for a full year and your anniversary with Steven was just a few weeks back.

But apparently there was no special occasion, not a real motive besides the fact that your smile grew at the sight of the flowers, you placed a strand of hair behind your ear when you leaned in to smell them closing your eyes. You didn’t know but those little things made Marc’s stomach twist into itself, a gesture you would make every time you saw that kind of flowers in a flower shop and he loved to watch every second of it.

~☽☾~

You arrived with the bouquet to your home, his flat, it’s been some months since those two words had the same meaning and you fell into the habit of trying to sneak it in your everyday conversations. “Because your place is too far from work…” Steven told you that day after kissing you one too many times “And we love having you around” Marc said while cuddling you on the sofa.

You greeted him with a kiss on the cheek when you walked by his side, he had replaced his jeans for a pair of sweats and his t-shirt for a much more comfortable jumper, the one you usually steal when they go away for too long, the one that smells like both of you.

The flowers ended up in a jar as décor on the kitchen table, throughout their short life span both of you decided to take turns changing the water, sometimes you did it before going to work and sometimes it was Marc who did it after getting back home from protecting the travellers of the night.

It wasn’t uncommon to feel him slipping away from you in the middle of the night, at first you would wake up and ask him to stay but soon realized there was no use on wasting your breath, he had to keep his part of the bargain he made no matter how much the three of you hated it. With time you got used to it, still waking up just to feel his lips pressed against your forehead reassuring you he would be back and telling you to go back to sleep.

One of those many nights when you felt his hands trailing gently inside your t-shirt caressing your skin and tickling near your ribs, his face hidden on the crook of your neck and his breath clash into this making you smile even if your body was still half asleep. His arms pulled your back closer into his chest leaving as many kisses as he desired into the nape of your neck.

“I’m home my love” his voice was tired and raspy

“I’m glad” you turned hugging him back, your face against his chest living a tired kiss there “Sweet dreams”

Then both of you feel back to sleep like many other nights, with your arms and legs linked to each other. There wouldn’t be force in the vast cosmos who would be able to tear you from his side in a moment like this and part of that was the reason he held onto you like that.

With strength, firmly against him, with desperation, fear. Fear of waking up and finding an empty bed.

But that never happened and would never happen. After opening his eyes he always found you there laying in the same position as last night, in his arms calmly breathing, messy hair, open lips, beautiful lashes, a sight so addictive and he was totally hooked.

~☽☾~

“Can I wash your hair?” you frowned with a funny smirk plastered all over your face. He was laughing at your reaction pouring shampoo into his hand and gesturing you to turn around.

You shook your head following his order, there were few instances where you could take a shower together in the mornings, your work schedule started very early and he didn’t return home until very late in the night, so you held this few moments very close to your heart.

The steam from the hot shower filled the room, the way he hummed while massaging your head relaxed you making all the weight on your shoulders drop just as your eyelids closed, the fears and doubts that filled your mind went away.

After many years of hard work and sleepless nights you finally finished it, the book was done and it felt like almost unreal. Steven asked you for many weeks to let him read it but you always said no, feeling uncomfortable with sharing that part of you with someone else.

But it was only a matter of time until you had to.

“I just… I don’t want you laughing at it, and if you don’t like it?”

“I would never laugh my love… not when is something so important”

You spent the rest of the afternoon cuddling into the couch with him, your laptop on your legs and your back against his chest. His hand played with your hair while you read to him with fear of judgment that slowly became words filled with pride.

“Marc?” your eyes still closed feeling the water running through your back, his hands washing away any rests of soap.

“Yes baby?” his voice was smooth and calm

“You know how much I love you?” you tilted your head when hearing his sweet laugh.

“I have an idea” he admitted with ease, something that he struggled to do. It was almost two years since you met each other, two years filled with hard work until becoming the people who you are today.

Your hands rubbed the water out of your face before looking at him. You reached for the shampoo and mirrored his act of love, carefully washing his curls.

“Well, I love you even more than that”

~☽☾~

The morning was perfect, one of those few occasions where not only the sun was out but the temperature wasn’t really low, where it was enough with just wearing a jumper and not having to turn on the heater.

It was weird waking up without your boys next to you, something that happened really scattily in the span of your relationship, sometimes you would find the sight of Steven with his reading glasses on reading his more recent purchase and others it was Marc on his laptop watching a movie with his headphones on not to disturb your sleep. But mostly it was any of them still hugging you, his fingers barely brushing along your spine, from your nape to the arch of your lower back.

But today it wasn’t like that, after celebrating last night sealing the deal with a publishing house you woke up to his half of the bed unmade without a trace of your lover, Marc probably went out, Steven always did his side before even starting to get ready for his day. So you decided to occupy your time making breakfast, the CD player that you found at the flea market last week was besides you playing a song full volume, the CD gifted from your mother being something that you had long forgotten like the words from songs whiting it.

And yet the melody seemed capable of dragging you back in time, when the music swooned into your house while your family cleaned around, it was chore day and your mom sang to the top of her longs along the music and your dad danced at the rhythm of her sweeping, his hands on her hips. The strident laugh from your mom left you knowing how real love sounded like and you couldn’t wait to experience it.

Your hips swung from side to side following the melody, making enough food for you and whichever boy came through the door, sometimes Steven felt guilty for having you making a different meal for him but you loved seeing him enjoying the recipes you learned just for him.

You didn’t noticed when he stepped in, only repairing on Marc’s presences once you felt how his hands reached for your hips and his chin rested on your shoulder startling you.

“You look beautiful baby” You turned facing him, hitting his shoulder softly with spatula still in hand making him laugh “Did I scare you?”

“Of course you scared me!” you frowned but you weren’t angry, it was easy to tell by the way your lips curled up and how you tried your best to contain the laugh threatening to escape.

He reached to turn off the stove and take the spatula out of your hands before pulling you away from the kitchen, his hands guiding you to follow along the song as he started to sing the lyrics under his breath, the sweet sound of his voice made your heart race. You placed your head against his chest letting his voice swoon you completely, with closed eyes and your hands around his neck you kept him close, both hearts beating at the same pace.

~☽☾~

When you saw the books arriving at the bookstore it felt like a breath of fresh air.

You made it.

Your boss, an old man around his 80s had ordered your books, having you rearrange a table just for them. He wouldn’t admit it but he knew how hard you’ve worked.

You tried your hardest not to cry while setting them up, thinking about the younger you sitting in their room dreaming, thinking about your mom reading to you, the many tales that inspired you and realising how far you’ve become. You took a picture to the stand sending it to your boys and family. After a few moments the little grey dots popped up in his chat before suddenly disappearing just to be followed by them calling you.

“Congratulations my love! We’re really proud of you” Steven sounded as excited as you were and probably a bit more, it was really hard not to cry just form his words alone. “I can’t wait to get a copy so my favourite author can sign it”

You smiled not being able to ignore the butterflies that appeared in your stomach, even after so long of dating Steven still found the way to make you feel like the beginning, completely in love with him.

“I can’t wait to see you”

Marc didn’t let you wait at all, asking for the rest of the day at Steven’s job faking being sick. It took him a while to convince your boss to let you go early but after noticing that today wasn’t going to be a busy day he accepted and that’s how you ended together at the café.

“Café-sitio” was the name of this place, the one you found around a year ago and quickly became your favourite spot for dates with Marc, the only place you found where they served the coffee exactly how you liked it.

With a slice of pie next to your cup you enjoyed the drink, he took a spoonful near your lips.

You took a sip from the mug, your eyes closed enjoying the taste of the warm beverage and the breeze of the afternoon. Maybe if you had opened them in time you would’ve ween it coming

it was written all over his face, the way his eyes got lost in you, how your hand reached to pull away your scarf before placing a strand of your hair behind your ear, failing to keep it in place thanks to the wind.

He reached to place it for you.

“Mary me”

It was enough for you to choke into your drink coughing loud trying to feel your lungs with new air and making people stare at you, panic grew in him as he reached for napkins to give you.

“What?” your eyes were wide open, in any other situation Marc would be scared that it was a mistake, that you would tell him off and go away but right now that thought didn’t even cross his mind, completely sure of his words. His minds was full with the instances where he managed to make you laugh, how your eyes almost disappear behind your cheeks when you smile and the way your hands never seemed to get enough of him, having to be on his person all the time.

He knew how much you loved Steven and it was a relief it didn’t came when you thought about him, because every part that made him was completely in love with you.

“Mary me” he said once more as if where the simplest thing in the world “Well, us… apparently Steven had this big plan that I didn’t know about and I just ruined it so-“

“Are you joking?” you didn’t realise your hands where shaking until you felt his on top caressing you.

“I wouldn’t joke with that Bashert. I want us to share the rest of our lives together and I need to know if you want that too”

“Yes… I do Marc” they were few the instances where you saw Marc cry, every time it happened worry and fear grew in you. Right now there was none, only a huge smile plastered in both of your faces.

He leaned on the table to reach for your lips and you knew there wouldn’t be another person you wanted to share a cup of coffee with.

[dirty-urie]

Consequences

Second Person

Brendon Urie x Female Reader

What I'm Calling a "Soft Dom AU"

Smut Oneshot

6k Words

Warnings: Dominance and submission (both inside and outside the context of sex,) punishments, conversations involving slight kink negotiation, dom/sub relationship with some implied offscreen negotiation, sex

Author's Notes:

1. I am so incredibly protective of this fic. I wasn't going to post it at all, but I like it and want it on my masterlist. So be nice about it please.

2. Eternal appreciation and gratitude to @loverontheleft for her fantastic ideas. She elevated this fic from my own little self-indulgent baby to something actually worth posting, and made it at least 10 times hotter in the process.

Brendon struggling between his desire to stay in control, and his desire to absolutely ravish you

His whole head is moving as he goes down on you. He’s squeezing each of your thighs like he’s worried that you’ll disappear right from under him. You want to live in this moment forever, just laying back and letting him get off on getting you off. “Bren, fucking hell, what’s got you so worked up?” you gasp.

Brendon sucks and licks you over one more time. It pains both of you when he wretches his head off your cunt to answer you. “Just spending all day with you. You turn me on without even realizing it,” he says before he buries his face back into you.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come!” You shriek.

You jerk awake. “Fuck,” you mutter again, this time in frustration and not pleasure. Brendon’s on his side, facing away from you. “Brendon,” you whisper, in case he’s awake to help you out. Or at least give you permission to help yourself out. No response. “Sir,” you try. No response. You roll onto your tummy, hoping that’ll distract from the pulsing between your legs so you can go back to sleep and wait for him to wake up. It doesn’t work; you end up just having to reprimand yourself every time you unconsciously start grinding against the mattress. Fifteen minutes pass, and you can’t get back to sleep for the life of you. You’re tempted to wake Brendon, but the poor guy already doesn’t get enough sleep. You don’t want to interrupt the hours he does get to ask him to get you off.

After the tenth time of forcing yourself to stop rubbing on the bed, you give in and slip your hands into your panties. Brendon is asleep after all. The stimulation immediately makes you feel better, and you rub hard and fast to come before he catches you. You’re teetering towards the edge but just can’t quite cross that finish line. Finally, in a moment of desperation, you grab your vibrator off the nightstand. You nestle it onto your clit, so it can stimulate you externally while you finger yourself. You finally feel your orgasm ramping up, and it’s taking everything in you to not make any noises.

“Baby,” Brendon says, voice deep and scratchy with sleep. You scramble in vain to turn off your vibrator, clicking through each higher setting until it blessedly turns off. The silence is tense and heavy; he’s giving you time to stew in shame. You curse yourself, not just for knowingly breaking the rules, but for doing it so blatantly. If you hadn’t used your vibe, he might have just stayed asleep. “Was someone being a naughty girl?” He asks, tone practically begging you to dare to lie to him.

You squirm, hating the feeling of him being disappointed in you. “Yes,” you admit, exhaling in relief once the truth is out.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

He rolls from his side onto his back. Even in the dim light of the very early morning, you can see the outline of his erection proudly tenting the sheet he’s under. You wonder if he’s turned on from hearing you get off next to him or from a dirty dream or something else entirely. You reach out to palm him, and he grabs your wrist before you can get your hand on him. “Bad girls don’t get to touch,” he reminds gently.

You want to cry. You love Brendon; you want to touch him and make him feel good. “How are you going to punish me?” You ask meekly. As upset as you are about breaking his rules, touching yourself without permission isn’t that high on your list of possible offenses. You usually get away with a slap on the wrist (or the ass.) He just doesn’t like anyone but him touching his girl unless he says it’s okay. But he understands that he can’t be present all the time to take care of your needs like he’d like, so he’s lenient. You know you could handle a spanking, and he always takes care of you so well afterward that it’s barely a punishment.

You’re not so lucky though. “For one week, you will not touch me or ask to touch me at all unless I ask you to. I can and will touch you, but I’m not going to play with that pretty pussy,” Brendon tells you. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you try to say but your voice trembles.

He lets go of your wrist. “Hey, you’ll be okay, baby girl. I wouldn’t give you a punishment if I didn’t think you could handle it, and you know your safewords, right? Those don’t just apply to sex or bondage or pain play. If you need me, I’m here, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

Brendon kisses your temple before climbing out of your bed.

“Where are you going?” You ask.

Brendon laughs, putting his hand down his pants as he backs away from you. “Just because you can’t get off doesn’t mean I can’t.” He turns around and walks into your bathroom. You want to run after him, get on your knees, and beg for a different punishment. It’s even worse when you hear how vocal he’s being while getting off just to tease you.

He comes back to your bed looking sleepy and sated and soft, and you wish you could wrap your arms around him to fall back asleep. Instead, you steal one of his pillows and cuddle up with that. It’s not the same, but at least it’s warm, and it smells like him.

•••

You and Brendon shower together all the time; at this point, it’s not even sexual. Sure, sometimes you end up fooling around, but most of the time, it’s just a way to spend an extra couple of minutes together before he has meetings and you have errands or work or plans with your friends. But now that you can’t touch him, that’s all you want to do: wash his hair, scrub over his chest, get him hard while you clean his cock.

You’re giving him the stink eye while he’s being rude and cleaning his own body. He’s looking back at you feeling self-satisfied and smug. He really takes his time with the body wash, and you almost want to leave, but the show is good, and you think there’s a chance he’ll touch you when it’s your turn under the spray.

He does get a hand on his v-lines near his cock, and you make a noise that’s somewhere between a moan and a growl. His eyes widen in shock and amusement. “Stop making shower porn,” you snap.

Brendon raises his eyebrows. “You wanna try that again, pretty girl?”

“No.”

“No?” He asks.

You roll your eyes. “No, sir,” you say, laying on the snark. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. Maybe you’re mad at him for punishing you, maybe it’s a manifestation of your sexual frustration, but you so badly want to push his buttons.

Brendon yanks the shower curtain open and storms out, wrapping a towel around his waist. “Finish your shower and meet me in the bedroom,” he commands, and you brace your hand against the shower wall to steady yourself. You try not to let him know how much his orders turn you on. Whether he’s telling you to finish your dinner or to suck him off, you can’t help but get that rush of endorphins. You wish he would dominate you even more, but you respect that he doesn’t trust himself with that much responsibility. You finish and go into your bedroom without bothering to get dressed. He’s leaning against the wall wearing a full suit, and you know you’re in trouble. He wolf-whistles, and his eyes scan up and down your naked body. “What a treat. It won’t lessen your punishment, but I’m sure enjoying it,” he says.

You’re staring at your feet, not saying anything.

“Quite the shift in attitude,” he observes. “I was looking forward to some time with my bratty princess...”

You hope he won’t make you say anything because you know you won’t be able to without crying.

“…but my sweet girl just wants to serve her punishment and move on, doesn’t she? So obedient for me,” he praises. You smile a little at that, feeling better.

Brendon smiles back at you with no smugness or malice on his face. “Okay, love, knees,” he orders, and you finally notice the pillow at his feet. You get on your knees on the pillow and desperately pray that your punishment will be going down on him. He never uses sex as a punishment unless you two plan it out in a scene beforehand, but that doesn’t mean you can’t want it. He gets your hopes up when he unbuckles his belt and pulls it slowly through the loops before taking off his tie and unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt. “Do you need anything before we start?” He asks. You tell him that you’re okay, and he makes an approving noise. He moves behind you, and you stay still as he wraps your wrists together with his belt. Next, he reaches from behind you and places his tie over your eyes. He ties it snugly, and you hear him walking away.

“Sir,” you call.

His footsteps stop. “Yes, princess?” He responds.

“Where are you going?”

“The baby monitor is turned on on the nightstand if you safeword,” he assures, and it’s not an answer, but it makes you feel safer that he’ll be around if you need him.

•••

Your feet are asleep under your ass, and your knees are aching. Without being able to see, you really have no idea how much time has passed. You think it’s been at least thirty minutes, but you gave up on counting the seconds after about five minutes. You’re just about to call out for Brendon when you hear his footsteps coming back to you. “Y/N,” he says, “you still awake?”

You nod.

“Such a good girl. You took that so well.” He unties your wrists and rubs them soothingly before pulling his tie off your head. He gently picks you up and lays you on the bed, knowing your feet are asleep and you won’t be able to walk for a minute or two. To your disappointment, he puts his belt and tie back on. “What do you want to wear for dinner? We’re just eating at home, so if you want your jammies, that’s fine.”

You feel a little spacey from your punishment, and he must know because he pulls out a dress from your closet for you when you don’t answer. He eases you onto your feet and slips the dress over your head, not bothering with a bra or underwear. Whenever you’re feeling sleepy or spacey like you are now, you like to bury your face in his shoulder or chest or back. Especially if he’s wearing a soft t-shirt or jacket. But now you’re just stuck pining for him. Brendon does kiss your cheek once he’s dressed you and then puts his arm around your waist to take you to the kitchen.

He set the table nicely and everything. You’re glad he put you in a dress, so you don’t feel underdressed next to his nice outfit. Brendon pulls out your chair, and you sit down. He sits next to you. Normally you would lean against him while you eat, but you have to force yourself to stay upright. You put your head in your hand and poke at your steak, not feeling the energy to cut or chew it.

“You’re not eating,” he observes after a minute.

You put your head on the table. “Mmph, too sleepy.”

Brendon is silent next to you, and you think he’s angry, but you don’t sit up. Finally, you hear him go back to eating, so you start to doze off. A little while later, Brendon taps your shoulder. “Can you sit up for me?” He must be done with his dinner and ready to go to bed.

You lift your head off the table. In front of you, Brendon’s plate is still mostly untouched, but your steak is completely cut into bite-size pieces, and he’s holding your fork. “I want you to take at least five bites. Do you want me to feed you, or do you want to do it yourself?”

You want to cry. Brendon always knows exactly what you need. “Feed me. Please.”

At your request, he happily feeds you the entire rest of your dinner, completely neglecting his own. “Good girl,” he says when you’re done.

•••

As much as he likes to torment and tease you every way he can, limiting how much he touches you is punishment for him too. That’s why you’re not surprised when he opens his arms when you crawl into bed. His arms wrap around you as you face away from him. Him holding you from behind is nice, but you so desperately want him to slip his fingers into your panties as you fall asleep. It’s something he loves when you two cuddle. His long fingers will caress and stroke your clit perfectly, using you as his own little toy. Sometimes he won’t even be fully aware that he’s touching you unless you come for him.

“What are you thinking about, baby girl?” He asks softly.

You don’t know whether to tell him or not. Your mind so often goes straight to sex around him, and you’re worried he’ll judge you for it even though you know he gets off right along with you. Your cheeks heat.

Your prolonged silence must give you away anyway because he laughs behind you. “Mm, is my girl being all nasty?”

You smile bashfully. “You know me too well,” you say quietly.

He kisses the back of your neck, and you feel him smiling too. “Please elaborate,” he requests.

You take a moment to figure out how to explain it. “You know how you like to touch me when we’re falling asleep like this? How you rub my clit when you’re happy and relaxed? That’s what I’m thinking about. The way you’ll be barely conscious of it, but your hands consume my whole life for that little while.”

Brendon squeezes your arm to keep himself from touching you instinctively. “You’re always so good for me like that. You stay so quiet, you never beg for more, you just accept whatever I give you. Don’t get me wrong, love when you’re greedy for me, but I love being sweet and lazy with my girl.”

“Brendon, stop, please,” you whine. If he keeps talking like that, you’ll need to rub against something, you’re so turned on. You wonder if he is too. He’s not fully pressed against you, but you suspect you would feel him hard if you ground back on him. You want to try, but you don’t want to push it and risk him taking his arms off you.

“I miss you, baby. This isn’t easy for me either,” he reminds you against your neck. “But we agreed on rules, and we agreed that if you break the rules, there are consequences. However, I’m happy to renegotiate your rules after your punishment if you think I’m being unfair.”

You turn over to look at him. “No, you’re being fair, sir. I’m sorry.”

He kisses your forehead. “No need to apologize. It’s a punishment; you’re not supposed to like it. You’re supposed to learn from it.”

•••

You lie down on the couch, sneakily resting your head in Brendon’s lap while he plays video games. It’s your favorite position for reading or scrolling on your phone, and you’re hoping he’ll be too distracted by his game to notice you’re lying on him. Brendon wasn’t born yesterday though; he suspected you were up to something the minute you entered the living room. He clicks his game off and looks down at you. “Nuh-uh, off.” He nudges your head off his lap, and you sit up, pouting at him.

“Stop guilting me,” he says, and you pout harder. “Fine. You can put your feet in my lap,” he gives in, and you settle contentedly, your back against the armrest and your bare feet in his lap.

He rubs the arch of your foot absentmindedly. “Your punishment is more than halfway over,” he mentions as if you haven’t been counting down the seconds all week. “What are you going to do with all that freedom?”

You sigh dreamily. “Probably give you lots of kisses all over your face and then give you a big hug.”

Brendon stretches his arms, and it’s obvious how oversized his sweatshirt is when the sleeves flop around his wrists. He’s adorable; of course, you want to kiss his face. “Aww, I wasn’t expecting you to be all sweet with that,” he says.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, after I get that out of my system, I’m definitely hoping you’ll lick and suck and fuck me.”

Brendon’s eyes widen, and he bites his lip. “I like that too, baby,” he tells you, imagination clearly running wild. “Hey, you never told me why you were touching yourself in the first place.”

You can hear your own heavy breathing while you vividly remember your dream. “I had this fucking dream. You were devouring my pussy like you hadn’t eaten all day. No hands, just your face rubbing on me. Tongue probing inside, your nose moving on my clit. Your whole face was soaked.”

His eyes glaze over, and his thumb rubs on your foot harder. His cheeks are getting flushed, and his breathing starts to match the pace of yours. “God, that sounds incredible. What I would give to be drenched in you right now.” He moves between your legs, and an excited noise escapes from your throat. He spreads your legs and pushes up your shirt, kissing over your sensitive tummy. He kneads your bare thighs while his mouth moves over your abdomen. He moves your waistband down and nibbles along the strip of newly exposed skin.

“Oh, Brendon. Are you going to eat me out?” You ask hopefully.

Brendon sucks hard on your hip before answering. He pulls away, and you hear his shaky breath when he inhales. “No. Can’t break my own rule just because I feel like it. That’s irresponsible domming,” he responds, but you think he’s trying to explain it to himself more than you. He rubs his face over the thin layer of your shorts, and you know he knows he’s playing with fire. “God, I can do this,” he mutters to himself. He stops moving, just resting his head between your thighs. “This was a mistake. I love this wet cunt so much.”

You’re lying completely still. You know if you move while you can feel Brendon on you, you’ll come, and you don’t know how he’ll respond to that. He nips at your thigh one last time before slumping back on the other arm of the couch away from you. Then, feeling hot, he takes off his sweatshirt to reveal his bare chest and arms. You glance down briefly at him, and you can see how hard he is. “Can I-” you start before remembering you’re not allowed to ask to touch him. “Nevermind.”

He sees the ways your eyes dart to him and knows exactly what you want to ask. “Go ahead, baby. Touch my cock. Feel what you do to me,” he allows, willpower nonexistent at this point. You sit up and move next to him on the couch. You reach out eagerly and palm over him before stroking him roughly through his sweatpants. His head tips back, and you love finally getting to get him off directly instead of just knowing it’s you he’s thinking about when he gets himself off. You can feel him twitch and throb even through his pants. You rub at the small wet spot where his head is, and he hisses at the feeling.

You know he could come like this, but it would be better if you could touch him for real. You slip your fingers under his waistband. “Can I?”

He nods, trying to remember how to speak. “Yes, definitely,” he manages. “But only if you actually want to touch me,” he stresses. “Don’t just do this because you think it’s your only chance to jerk me off.”

He’s so thorough, and you love that about him, but there’s nothing you want more than to get a hand on his length and make him come for you. “I want this. You know I want this.”

Satisfied with the genuine longing in your voice, he shoves his pants down. You grasp his erection, and not even your favorite of his songs could come close to the sound of his heavy groan when you start to move your hand on him. “So perfect. Feels so good,” he says. Without his control, his hips are rocking up to thrust into your tight fist. He’s so slick with pre-come that you don’t need spit or lube or anything. You use your other hand to gently play with his balls, not even minding the somewhat awkward twist in your torso you need to get to both hands on him. You’re really soaking in the opportunity to fully devote yourself to getting him off.

“You’re so pretty, Brendon,” you compliment as you pay extra attention to the extra-sensitive vein running up the underside of his cock. One of his hands is clenched tightly into a fist, and the other is pulling on his hair. He’s trying so hard to force himself to retake control. “And so hard for me, even before I started touching you.” He pulses in your hand.” Are you about to come, sir?” You ask.

The way you call Brendon “sir” reminds him of his job as your dom to take charge and remain in full control of the situation, even in the throes of total arousal.“Stop, please, baby,” he chokes out, sounding tense and pained that he’s making you stop. You’re disappointed, but you obey immediately. “That’s my good girl.” He kisses your neck as a reward for doing what he asked. “Can you lay back again for me?”Brendon kneels between your legs, facing you. As you lay back, he continues to kiss down your neck softly. He sits back, jacking himself off quickly, and he really is a performer. Beautiful noises, tensed muscles, shiny cock. “Can I come on you, baby? Is that okay?”

You nod enthusiastically.

“Use your words, please.”

“Yes, please, sir. Come on me,” you beg, quickly pulling off your shirt and laying back down.

With that, hot come streaks your stomach. “My beautiful wife makes me come so hard. Even when she can’t come herself,” Brendon pants while tucking himself away. He reaches into the side table next to the couch for a washcloth. He sees you out of the corner of his eye about to run your fingers over your stomach to suck his come off your fingers. “No touching. Stay still,” he commands, and you pout, immensely disappointed. “Shit, we’re out of clean rags.” Your face goes red because you know he told you to restock the drawer. “Hands above your head, baby. Don’t move a muscle. I’m going to the laundry room.” You clutch the arm of the couch above your head, loving how spread out and vulnerable you feel for him. He takes a second to admire you before leaving the room. “God, you look fucking good covered in my come. Almost makes me glad I can’t come in your pussy.”

You whimper, body shaking with how badly you want to wipe up his come and then plunge your fingers into your panties. If you didn’t know better, you’d think Brendon left the room on purpose to test the limits of your self-control. Even though you know for a fact that he’d catch you, it’s ten times harder to follow his orders when he’s not looking right at you. Just when you think you’ll break, he comes back, warm and damp washcloth in hand. He swipes at your stomach with the cloth, and the feeling somehow makes your arousal spike even higher. He finishes cleaning you up and places a quick kiss right above your belly button. Much to your dismay, all the evidence of him coming on you is completely gone.

“Sir,” you mewl dejectedly.

Brendon sits you up to put your shirt back on and then pulls you into his lap. “Aww, is my baby disappointed she didn’t get sir’s come?” He asks, and you nod.

He kisses the base of your neck. “Does my naughty girl really think she deserves sir’s come?” You nod again, and he laughs. “Well, I appreciate the honesty, at least, babygirl,” he concedes. “My perfect sub deserves everything she wants, doesn’t she?”

You yawn, nestling back into his arms. “Now you’re finally getting with the program, sir.”

•••

“Y/N, the bath is ready,” he calls from the bathroom.

You groan under your blanket. “Don’t want a bath. I want to lie here and wait for you to touch me.”

“I’ll touch you in the bath,” he coaxes.

You pull the blanket over your head. “It’ll just make me horny,” you complain.

He comes out of the bathroom and flips the blanket down off your face. “Just one more night of sleep, honey, and then I can take care of you however you want.”

“Carry me,” you request, making grabby hands.

He shakes his head. “That counts as asking me to touch you, so I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You made that rule yourself. Just change it,” you argue, pulling the blanket back over your head.

Brendon pulls your blanket fully off onto the ground. “Aww, someone is cranky. Come on, the water is getting cold.”

You reluctantly roll out of bed and walk behind him to the bathroom. The bath does look appealing once you can see it, but you’re quickly distracted by something more appealing when Brendon starts taking his clothes off. Even when he’s eating well and not working out as often, he still looks like he’s chiseled out of marble. He takes off his pants, facing away from you, and it’s hard to ignore how his ass looks so plump and firm. He gets into the bath, and you slip in afterward, letting the warm water soothe your sore body. Your tummy and pelvis have been cramping from so much unresolved sexual arousal. You settle back in the water, and Brendon gasps in apology when his erection touches your thigh. “Brendon,” you whimper.

“Shit, sorry, baby. I can’t help it. I can go take care of myself if that would help?” He offers.

You shake your head. “Knowing you’re doing that would be too much.” You eye the silicone lube in the shower, remembering how nice it was to jerk him off, have him bucking desperately into your fist. Not to mention his little noises. God, his noises. Sometimes deep, guttural, and primal. Sometimes shuddery and breathy from the throat. You know he won’t let you jerk him after he already gave in and let you get him off earlier in the week, and it hurts to think about.

Brendon feels your whole body wound up tight.“Sorry, love, I wanted to relax you. But clearly, that didn’t work. You were right. Let’s just go to bed.”

You yawn. “The sooner I’m asleep, the sooner it’s tomorrow, and I can touch your dick whenever I want, and you can’t do anything about it.”

Brendon helps you out of the bath. “Well, yes, but consent laws still apply.” He reminds with a laugh.

“Oh well yes, of course,” you say. “That’s a given. But uh, you do want me to touch your dick, right?”

He bundles you up in a towel and kisses your cheek. “Desperately. Now bedtime.”

•••

You wake up to a warm, wet feeling on your face and a wet smacking sound. “Wake up, baby girl,” he kisses you awake.

You love his kisses, but your eyelids feel like lead. You grumble half-consciously, “Too early, sir. Sleepy.”

“It’s 3 am, baby. It’s been a week since your little infraction. Your punishment is over.”

That jerks you awake. You pounce on Brendon, showering his face with kisses from on top of him. You grind on his firm abdomen, relishing in the pressure you’ve needed for so long. “I love you. I love you so much I’m never letting you go ever again,” you say before lying on him and tucking your arms under his back. You keep moving your hips on him.

“I love you too, and I love you holding me like this, but I’ve been craving that sweet cunt on my face like my favorite drug,” he murmurs against the top of your head.

You sit up again. “Yes, I want that too. So bad.”

“You have two options. You can lay back, or you can sit on my face,” Brendon offers.

You crawl forward and kneel above his face.

“I see you’ve chosen the latter,” he laughs. “Okay, get down here.”

You lower yourself, hovering over his mouth. You quiver when you feel his hot breath on your skin.

“Sit. Put your weight on me,” Brendon says.

“You have to breathe!”

Brendon licks you. “Pshh, no, I don’t.”

“Oh, that’s fucking good,” you groan. “But still. What if I break your neck and kill you?”

“Then, I’ll die doing what I love.” He brings up his hands to gently pull your thighs down, and you cautiously put some of your weight on his mouth. He kisses you before diving in, not even using his tongue yet, just nuzzling and rubbing enthusiastically with his face. You grind down, loving how much control you have after a week of being subject to his whims. He finally gets his tongue on you, and it’s better than your best dreams and fantasies. He’s so solid and real under you.

You shift down, and he wraps his lips around your clit. He sucks hard, and you cry out loudly. He pulls off and licks in little circles before going back to suckle on your clit. Noises spill out of your mouth, and they seem to encourage him to suck you harder. He mumbles something under you, and you move down, humping his chin, so he can talk.

“God, you’re so fucking wet. I love it,” Brendon gasps. “That gorgeous slickness is all over my face, in my hair.”

You move back onto his mouth, and he licks over your opening and then sticks his tongue inside you, curling and spreading it. “I’ve been like this all week,” you tell him. “You would’ve known if you had fucking touched me,” you groan, tipping your head back. He moves one of his hands off your thigh, and you turn your neck to see him quickly jerking himself. “B, knock it off. Focus on me,” you plead. He moves his hand back to your thigh and pulls you up off his face so you’re hovering over him again and he can talk.

“Hey, watch it,” he warns, voice playful. “There’s nothing I love more than this pussy, but I’m still your dom. I’ll stop touching you right now.”

“Sorry, sir,” you say, although you know he’s bluffing. You sit back down with no reservations this time and fully ride his face. You bear down aggressively, needing some consistency to get to your orgasm. He seems to know that because his head stills while you work towards coming. “Fuck, sir,” you say.

“Yes, my sweet girl?” He says, muffled by your cunt on his face.

“I need something inside me when I come. It’s been so long, it’s going to be sharp and intense, and it’ll be better if I have something to clench around. Please?”

“Cock or fingers?” He asks, muffled again.

You think for a moment. You love his cock, but you know you’ll be too wiped after you finish to take care of him. “Fingers.” You slide off him and lie back, and he flips onto his stomach. He sucks on your clit and rubs on your g-spot just enough to get you squirming. You squeal and come, snapping around his fingers. As you come, he crooks his fingers, and you come harder. You scream as you soak his face even more.

“Good girl, come for me.”

You’re boneless and relaxed when you finally finish, but Brendon is still wound up tight. He flips over immediately to touch himself, gasping when he gets his hand on his aching erection. He uses his wet fingers to stroke his cock quickly. You wish you could touch him, but you’re too wiped, and you would hate to throw off his rhythm. “Baby, I’m so close. Thought I might come just from feeling you on my face,” he grunts.

“Oh god, sir. Can’t wait to see you come.”

With that, he comes. It rolls down his fist and hits his legs and stomach. You gaze at him in total admiration, loving his blissed expression and deep moans.

He moves his hand from his softening cock towards your face. “You still wanna taste me, baby?” He asks, and you suck his fingers into your mouth fervently. Long after you’ve sucked him clean, he removes his fingers from your greedy mouth.

He pulls you into his arms and not even your powerful orgasm from earlier compares to how wonderful it feels to be able to wrap your arms back around him and pull him as tightly to your body as you can. “Missed you so much, B,” you mumble happily, dropping the dominance and submission for a second to just cuddle with your husband.

“Missed you too, Y/N.”

•••

You’re back in the bath with him the next morning, but this time you can stroke him while he rubs your clit, so you’re in a much better mood. Brendon nips at your shoulder. “So how was that punishment? Should I add it to the rotation?” he asks. You shake your head quickly, and he laughs. “Tell me how you really feel,” he says sarcastically. “But seriously, is that a ‘never again’ or ‘only for certain offenses’ punishment?”

You’re conflicted. You really hated it, but you did feel like you could handle it the whole time. “If it was a few days instead of a full week, or if I felt like I really deserved to be badly punished, I might be more willing to endure it, but that was brutal. Definitely not for something as minor as trying to get off without you. I need to touch you all the time,” you explain, squeezing Brendon's dick harder.

In return, he moves faster on you. “We can change that rule too if you need. I love you touching yourself; you just said you like when I’m all possessive and controlling. In all honesty, I’d been wanting to try that punishment out for a while, but you don’t break the rules very often. So I had to leap on the opportunity.”

“No, no, it’s a hot rule. I just might wake you up in the middle of the night to finger me from now on,” you half-joke.

Brendon kisses your neck, “There are worse ways to be woken up. I love you. Even when you’re bad.”

“I love you too,” you say. “All the time. When you take care of me, when you get me off, even when you're being rude, and not letting me touch you. You're the best dom I could ask for, and the best husband in the world.”

[stutterfly]

Failure to Communicate

This was a joint collab fic that @gukslut​ and I worked on, commissioned by @cypherft-v as part of our fundraising for Black Lives Matter. Thank you for contributing! Banner & moodboard by me :)

{Pairing} Park Jimin/ Reader

{Genre} Enemies to Lovers/ College AU/ comedy/ smut

{Rating} Mature - Explicit 

{Word Count} 21K

{Warnings} oral, kissing, fingering, protected sex, biting, marking, other filthy shit

{Summary} You've always had a crush on Park Jimin, but the truth is that you're just one of many. He just so happens to be the TA for one of your classes, and you're determined to make your feelings known. Whether or not he takes you seriously remains to be seen.

{Prompt} Could either of you write an enemies to lover story about jimin and y/n set in college where he was her TA and got her kicked out of her major bc he didnt give her the grade she needed and was generally unhelpful? Posted on tumblr on August 17, 2020 by stutterfly and cross-posted to Ao3. I do not allow reposting, translations, or edits, to any platform, including YouTube.

Ten more minutes. You can barely see the clock from your seat against the wall. The lecture hall isn't crowded by any means; to the contrary, this Tuesday/Thursday psych class is usually pretty empty. You could have just as easily sat in the middle, but it doesn't afford you the same view. Well, it does. But not the one you prefer. It's just that positioned front and center, your staring would look more obvious. At least that's what you're telling yourself. If you stare from the corner it's less conspicuous, which is important because you do a lot of staring in this class. Park Jimin is the TA.

The man in question sits off to the side at a table of his own, typing away on his laptop. This reminds you that you haven’t been doing much other than quietly ogling from a distance. The only notes you're taking are lackluster doodles of his appearance and the occasional squiggle of your pen at the quiet sighs he lets out when he stretches his back after sitting hunched over his laptop for too long.

Jimin is absolutely breathtaking — even in an ugly plaid three-piece suit and perfectly round spectacles that would look horrid on any normal person. You're definitely not the only one who has noticed. His beautiful features and fantastic bone structure forge a man who is borderline ethereal. With soft eyes, big pouty lips, a flawless complexion, and a flirtatious demeanor he has enraptured many over the years. He's popular... like, really popular.

You begrudgingly count yourself among those love-smitten numbers. You know it’s hopeless and illogical. He could have any person he so desired at any point in time. Why would he ever choose someone like you? If you’d been paying any sort of attention to the subject matter of this class you might know that things like feelings and life’s rhetorical questions often don’t make sense.

But you’re shit at psychology. You’re more of a blunt poet at heart, and that heart is often hidden behind twisted brambles of anxiety and sharp thorns of insecurity.

You are but a speck of dirt upon his round glasses. It’s been a hopeless, silent crush for some time, but now that he’s assisting the professor in this core requirement for your academic studies, he has to acknowledge your presence. You’re a speck he has to look at before swiping you out of sight with a wave of his hand.

He's the object of just about everyone's affections, and rightfully so. He's not just gorgeous, he's charismatic, charming, and such a smooth talker. The word on campus says those pretty lips of his can do a lot of other really wonderful things too. You've been watching him chew on them for the past five minutes straight, wondering how many times his deliciously pink tongue can sweep over them before he makes them chapped.

Maybe they're chapped already. Maybe you should offer him your chapstick? Or maybe you should never talk to him at all, because you don't stand a chance. Park Jimin would chew you up and leave you bleeding out with a broken heart, and you know it. That doesn't stop you from imagining all the ways he could take you in his mouth first. You could watch those pretty lips all day long, but you’ll settle for an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Looking up as if he's been paying attention all along, Jimin attempts to figure out where the professor is in the lesson. It’s obvious that he wasn't listening at all and was instead answering messages. It would be nice if he could say they were messages for class, but that's not true and Jimin is a lot of things, but he isn't a liar. He's been talking to Chungha, his current flavor of the week.

He turns toward the students as the professor dismisses the class and there you are, eager and awestruck. It takes every ounce of self control Jimin has not to roll his eyes. Another fan, he presumes. You can't handle him, but he can tell by the embarrassed way you tear your eyes from him to look anywhere else that it hasn't stopped you from thinking about it.

Trying to seem nonchalant now is a lost cause. Jimin has no shame and although you busied yourself by packing up your neglected textbooks and darting your gaze to various points in the room for a straight minute, Jimin is still staring at you when you look back at him. He smirks when your eyes meet. It's not a flirty kind of smirk, you sadly note. It's condescending in your eyes, which further solidifies your theory: Jimin is too much for you no matter how badly you want a taste of him.

"Did you take notes?" he asks, nodding toward your backpack where you've just tucked your computer and sketched up notebook.

"I- uhh..." You panic.

"You know that was all about the exam next week. You're gonna need those notes if you want to have any hope of passing it," he tells you, shoving his own computer into his bag.

"I was just.. um, I was--" you attempt to explain.

"Busy staring at me?" He smiles and you know he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s teasing oh gyou.

You balk at the blatant accusation and force a half-laugh, half-scoff from your throat. “No.”

"Yes," he corrects with a light and mellifluous laugh. "Is there pen on my face or were you hoping you could be?"

"What?" you choke, eyes watering at the idea.

Jimin shakes his head, laughing softly to himself as he remembers his surroundings. With a small clear of his throat and the subtle adjusting of his tie, he provides a suggestion for you. “Get them from Taehyung.”

"Get what?" you ask, drawing a blank on what this conversation was even about. It's the first time you've ever actually talked to him outside of your dreams and it’s proving to be a lot harder than you thought it would be.

"The notes, Y/N. Get the notes from Taehyung, you know, the ones that you didn't take today because you were daydreaming about my mouth," he tells you, heading for the door.

Taehyung, who is the only other person left in the room wiggles his fingers at you in a wave. When you turn back, Jimin is gone.

"Need the notes?" Taehyung asks, voice free of judgement.

"Please," you sigh, relieved that he'd waited.

He spins his laptop toward you, where an email is already open with the notes attachment added. "Drop your address in there," he says standing up.

"Thank you so much," you say, frantically typing your student email into the space.

"Hey, y/n?" Taehyung asks, the bristles of curiosity or concern painting his tone with a soft comfort.

"Yeah?"

"Jimin is a fool," he tells you.

"What?"

"If you were looking at me like that, I'd at least ask for your number." Tae offers a combination of large hopeful eyes and a giant goofy grin as he holds his phone out for you.

Giggling, you take it from his hand and add your number to his contacts list. He purses his lips to hide his excitement as he takes his phone back. He slides it into his pocket before hastily packing the rest of his things into his leather messenger bag.

"Thanks, Taehyung," you say, waving on your way out the door.

"Wait!" he shouts after you, half of the contents of his bag threatening to spill onto the floor as he scrambles away from the table. He adjusts his belongings and clears his throat, instantly adopting a smooth persona. "Where are you going? I'll walk you."

"My car?"

"Wanna come eat with me?" he wonders. He's confident, but it's not the same kind of arrogant confidence that Jimin oozes. He's softer. He feels more real, more attainable. He obviously knows he's a catch and he’s definitely expressed the same about you. What could be the harm in letting an attractive man stroke your ego a little bit? If you’re being honest with yourself, you can use the boost after such a pathetic display towards your crush.

"Oh, uh... yeah. I guess so," you agree, letting him lead the way out the door.

"Cool." Tae takes his glasses off and hooks them in his shirt. Pulling a snapback from his bag, he pushes his hair back and puts it on before he swings his messenger bag over his shoulder. Damn. Why did that raise his hotness like ten whole levels?

"You like hamburgers?"

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Taehyung slips into the seat next to you on Thursday, brushing against you very deliberately as he passes.

"Hello, sugar," he says, licking his lips as he spares a fleeting glance down at your chest.

"Hey, Tae," you greet him while your eyes are still locked on Jimin.

"Still on Jimin, huh?" he asks. He doesn't sound particularly disappointed, or surprised for that matter. He's just stating a fact. You're relieved he's not offended. Letting him eat you out in his backseat after dinner was probably not your best decision, although it seems like it meant about as much to him as it did to you.

"I don't know," you say with a shrug.

"It's okay. I can't blame you. I could put in a good word for you if you want. We're close," he informs you, sitting back and spreading his legs wide under the desk.

Sighing, you rest your cheek in your palm. "I've got a plan," you confess.

"Oh yeah?" he chuckles. He playfully knocks his knee against yours as if to signal for you to spill. "Do tell."

"I think I need a little extra help with this material," you tell Taehyung.

"Good luck, Y/n. I hope he can squeeze you into his busy schedule, but hey, if he can't, I'm totally down to squeeze into yours anytime."

Looking at Tae out of the corner of your eye, you smile at the grin he wears and start to laugh at the way he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

"I'll keep that in mind," you joke.

"Please do."

The minutes drag on as you wait for this class to end. Doing your best to seem a little less obsessive this time, you make a point to take notes and look at the teacher more than the TA. Jimin still catches you staring at least three times. It's embarrassing, but not enough to stop you from approaching him as the room empties out.

"Hi, y/n," Jimin sings, giving you a knowing smile.

"Hi." You tuck your hair behind your ear, and smile back.

"Do you need something?" he wonders, purposefully combing his fingers through his silver hair.

Damn, do you ever.

"I was wondering if you had time to help me. I'm struggling with this material and I could really use some one-on-one guidance." Leaning over his desk you make sure he has a good view right down your shirt, not that his eyes wander from yours. While he shows restraint in his gaze you swear he briefly drags his bottom lip through his teeth before he catches himself.

"One-on-one, huh?" He sticks his tongue in his cheek, looking amused. "I bet Taehyung would give you some one-on-one guidance."

You're sure that's true, but it's not Taehyung you're after. Taehyung isn’t the TA. Taehyung isn’t getting paid to help teach a course. Of course you want to say that and in your head you rehearse the words but you can’t seem to find a way to phrase them eloquently enough. Why do you always get stupid brain around him? Your plan is quickly falling apart.

Jimin waits for your response with his eyebrows raised. You know he's two seconds away from leaving you gaping at him and walking out the door, so you do something incredibly rash and stupid.

"I like you," you blurt out.

Jimin smiles. He knows that, obviously. He also knows damn well that you're perfectly capable of looking back at your notes by yourself. You're definitely smart and dedicated enough to study on your own. He can't help teasing you anyway.

"Everyone likes me," he casually informs you as he plants his palms on the desk and leans on them.

He peeks over the edge of his glasses as he looks up at you, like some kind of otherworldly sexy librarian. If deities ever needed a librarian, Jimin wouldn’t even need a resume. His charm and seduction are so strong that you almost miss his rejection. Almost. You're stunned into silence when it hits you. Just as you're about to tuck and run, he smiles again.

"But,” he pauses to click his tongue thoughtfully, “I think I have some time on Saturday. I'll give you my number.” He rips a corner of paper out of his notebook. "Is it okay if I come to your place? Do you have a dorm or…”

"Oh. My apartment’s fine!" you flounder, trying to remember how to speak coherent sentences. Jimin. In your room. How many dreams have you had about this moment? "I mean, yeah, sure. You'll come to mine, yeah."

Jimin giggles and it sounds like pealing bells. You're lost in the beautiful sound of it until you realize that he's laughing at you. "You okay with that? We could meet somewhere else instead."

"I wouldn't mind you in my room," you sigh. Open mouth; insert foot.

He raises an eyebrow, giving you a chance to backtrack, but you're both well aware you meant every word of that.

"Okay, y/n. See you Saturday then. Call me."

"I’ll call you," you repeat, resisting the urge to slap your palm over your face. You sound like an idiot. Stupid brain strikes again.

Jimin barely notices, all too used to girls falling over themselves to get his attention. You’re no different to him, just another pretty face in a sea of women entranced by the way he walks, talks, and breathes. It’s not his fault he’s so damn pretty. He does note that you’re brave, however. Not many people come on to him so brazenly, and that’s something worth rewarding. Besides, he feels a sort of obligation to help you out. He is getting paid to help out the professor, after all.

He winks at you as he leaves, taking your breath and your sanity with him. You have Park Jimin’s phone number. Park Jimin is going to be in your apartment in two days. Maybe you didn’t bomb that as hard as you thought.

A slow clap beckons you to look back for the source and you find Taehyung looking back at you with his boxy grin. When he’s sure he’s got your attention he raises his two thumbs up in approval.

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Jimin is not surprised when Chungha disappears into the clusterfuck of bodies as soon as they step into the party. They may have come here together, but their fling is on its last leg and they both know it. She wants him off her couch, doesn't appreciate the feeling of tied-down-ness that comes with your friend with benefits staying over all the time. She's ready to move on, that means he has to as well.

Jimin isn't even sure whose house this is, but he’s happy to tag along for free booze and maybe a new face to go home with. Luckily, his friends are never far, and he finds them easily. Getting absolutely hammered in the backyard makes them hard to miss. Jungkook is the only one looking particularly bored as a very drunk Taehyung hangs all over him talking about the sweetest thing he ever tasted.

"Why so glum?" Jimin asks, nudging Jungkook's shoulder with his own.

"I'm the designated driver tonight," Jungkook sighs, pushing Taehyung off of him.

Taehyung slumps to the ground, immediately entranced by the stars above him. Jungkook kicks at him gently.

"Where's your girlfriend? I haven't seen you without your tongue down her throat all week," Jungkook wonders, looking behind Jimin for the woman in question.

"Girlfriend," Jimin repeats with a snort. "Hilarious. That's not a thing. She's probably looking for her next kill."

Jungkook regards Jimin thoughtfully, his eyebrows scrunching toward each other. "If you take over DD you can have the futon."

Jungkook loves his futon. It's one of his most prized possessions. He keeps it very clean and being allowed to get anywhere near it is a privilege. Jimin is pretty sure he goes over it with a lint roller as part of his nighttime routine. It's also incredibly comfortable.

Jimin releases a breath in a tortured groan as he thinks over his options. He could get black out drunk and wake up god knows where with a terrible hangover, or he could hang out and watch his friends get black out drunk and then wake up on a futon that feels more like a cloud than a mattress, a little slice of heaven in Jungkook and Taehyung's little apartment.

"Okay," Jimin relents. "Give me the keys. I’ll stick to water for the rest of the night."

"Ah, I love you man," Jungkook praises, tossing his keys in Jimin's general direction before grabbing the newly opened can of beer out of Taehyung's hand below him. Taehyung, still staring up at the sky with a glazed smile, doesn't react. It takes Jungkook all of five seconds to pour the contents of the can straight down his throat. He follows this by smashing the can in a bicep curl with a giggle and a bashful smile.

"Do it again," an unfamiliar girly voice pleads from across the table. She tosses him another can and he repeats the action, turning away when he's finished so that he doesn't have to see her reaction. Jimin knows what's going to happen once his friend gets a few more beers in him. Jungkook is going to go apeshit. There will be no trace of this shy hunk of muscle who blushes and coils away from pretty girls. He'll be chest thumping shirtless and picking up everyone who gets close enough to touch. Half of them will probably end up thrown in the pool, if history is anything to go by, and he'll most likely have the hottest girl at the party slobbering all over him in the backseat when Jimin drives him home tonight.

Jimin's suspicions prove true an hour later when Jungkook throws Tae in the pool. Jimin runs to the edge of it in a panic. Tae was very drunk so he needs to make sure he's not just sinking like a stone. That was his first mistake, although he'd make it again to keep Taehyung safe. His second mistake was wearing these ridiculously tight ass jeans.

Any other pair and he might have been able to pry his cell phone from his pocket the second he felt JK's hands on his back. Had he worn any other pair of pants he might have been able to throw it to safety in the grass before he hit the surface of the pool. As it stands, his skin tight jeans are soaked through, Tae is slightly more sober than he was when Jimin arrived and is swimming just fine, and Jimin's phone is totally destroyed.

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You should be sleeping. It's three in the morning. You should definitely not be awake right now. Lifting your phone up for the three hundredth time tonight, you're not surprised to have no new notifications. That text you sent to Jimin hours ago has gone unanswered.

You typed and erased it at least ten times, agonized over what to say, and how to say it. By the time you pressed send, the message was nothing like how it began and you noticed a second too late that you didn't even tell him who you were. Adding a second text saying 'it's y/n btw' seemed so desperate. You've been waiting for him to ask who you are for so long that you've convinced yourself he already knows and he's avoiding you on purpose. Who else would have said "i'm excited to see you tomorrow" in a text about meeting up to study? He knows it's you. He has to. The alternative possibility that he plans to see other people tomorrow too is too bothersome to accept. You really need to let this go and try to sleep.

Keys in the door stop you from dragging yourself off the couch. Your roommate will see you and accuse you of trying to run away from him to avoid something. He’s right, of course. You’ve attempted to flee from your problems in the past, against his advice. Now you know better than to try. It's much better to face things with Yoongi head on. At the very least, maybe he's got something helpful to say.

"Why're you up? You look sad." His words slur just the tiniest bit and he leans against the wall for stability as he takes off his shoes just inside the door. You see right through his attempts at nonchalance. He's tipsy.

"A boy I like isn't texting me back," you admit with a scowl. "You didn't drive, did you?"

"No, friend dropped me off. Is it Taehyung?" Yoongi asks, not pausing for an answer. "I wouldn't worry too much. He talked about you a lot tonight. He was really drunk though. You should go to bed. He'll probably text you in the morning."

You don't bother to correct Yoongi. Admitting you're harboring a huge fucking crush on the campus it-boy is the most foolish thing you could possibly do. It's embarrassing and naive and Yoongi would pity you for falling for someone so far out of your league. Maybe you should just date Taehyung and forget about Jimin. He sure seems to have forgotten about you.

When the morning comes and your only notifications are an email from Target and a text from your mom, you muster up every bit of courage you could possibly find in your body and call him. You’d rather know if he’s deliberately ignoring you now than agonize over other possibilities all day.

It doesn't even ring. His phone goes straight to voicemail. You try again, and a third time. Voicemail, voicemail. Could it be you rushed putting his number in and did it incorrectly? You dig through your backpack for the slip of paper he gave you to double check, and sure enough, it’s his number. He's ignoring you. He turned off his phone to solidify that fact in your brain.

Last night, laying awake waiting for his name to light up your phone, you felt pretty damn bad. In the daylight, with rest and a clear head, you're absolutely crushed. He was supposed to come over. You had plans. It was stupid of you to think you could earn space in his mind or time in his schedule. He played you, and it hurts.

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Studying on your own proves more difficult than you imagined. With only Tae's notes to go by, you feel like you're quizzing yourself on things you already know. Turning to the textbook doesn't give you the specialized knowledge you need for the exam. You could never hope to memorize enough of it that you'd retain something pertinent.

On top of that, your heart hurts. You were so close to spending time together you could practically smell the subtle scent of his cologne. He pulled the rug right out from under you so fast, your ass is sore from falling on it so hard.

Sunday and Monday pass miserably in their slowness as you continue to nurse your tender rejected heart. You spend two days mulling over how you're going to face Jimin on Tuesday, let alone how you’re going to pass this exam when you're so disgustingly focused on figuring out why he stood you up and ignored you all weekend.

Tuesday comes too soon and you find yourself lingering outside the lecture hall for way longer than any sane person should.

That's what bothers you the most about this whole thing with Jimin. He's stolen your sense. How on earth did you let a stupid crush, on a boy you hardly know, get between you and your grades? You tell yourself no more as you suck in a deep breath and steel yourself to march right through the door. You're not going to let Park Jimin and his cruelty stand between you and your credits.

With your resolve solid and your head held high, you push yourself forward. You don't even spare a glance in his general direction as you pass, although it would be a lie to say you didn't clock him in your peripheral. Tae sits down next to you a moment later and you thank your lucky stars you have a friend here to make you look busy.

"Ready to make this exam your bitch?" he asks, making finger guns at you and clicking his tongue.

"That remains to be seen," you say, turning toward him in your seat so that Jimin is behind you. "I couldn't get anything done this weekend," you confess. "I thought I was more prepared than I am so it really just depends on what's on the exam."

"Aw fuck, you could have called me," he says, passing you his note cards. "We could have studied together."

"Oh, Tae," you sigh, pushing his hand back and refusing his offer of notes. "You should use this time for yourself. It wouldn't be fair of me to take it from you."

"We've got ten minutes." He points to the clock at the front of the lecture hall. "Quiz me. It will help us both."

Ten minutes fly by as you do your absolute best to retain any of the information in Taehyung's carefully written cards. You take one last glance at it before someone slips it from your hand and replaces it with a test. You know it's Jimin.

Only when you look up and level him with a glare does it seem to register on his face that you're angry. Realization dawns on him as you snatch the test and lean over it on your desk.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry," he quietly whispers, but he's moving on already. The exam is about to begin. He doesn't have time to explain himself right now. He knows what it looks like. He led you on and stood you up without so much as a text message. He should have asked Tae to tell you what happened, but the truth is that he forgot about you entirely and he knows that is the cruelest thing he could possibly confess.

Nearly an hour later you set your pencil down and run your fingers through your hair. Did any of those answers make sense? Your only possible saving grace is bullshitting your way through the open responses. Maybe you’ll earn some partial credit at the very least.

You swallow the petty words threatening to spill from your tongue as you gather your things and approach Jimin’s desk with your test in hand. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the anxious glances he threw your way. You swore every time you looked up he was looking at you, so you’d squint like you were checking the time, like you had somewhere more important to be than taking an exam for a core requirement course.

As you slap the packet of your evident failure down on his desk, you don your best apathetic expression. You look down at him and allow a sliver of eye contact, just enough to send the message that you don’t care anymore. You try to look bored. He doesn’t deserve to see how he’s hurt you or angered you. He’s nothing to you. You’re nothing to him, but you’re not beneath him. He’s beneath you. You don’t just look at him; you look through him.

He blinks a few times and a chill runs down his spine. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words won’t form.

“Don’t bother. I don’t care,” you whisper with a roll of your eyes.

You make sure to straighten your shoulders and keep your chin up as you turn on your heel and leave. You bombed that exam and you know it, thanks to your stupid feelings, but at the very least you achieved the victory of shaking Park Jimin to his core. So why do you feel like you’re about to sob in the bathroom down the hall?

Oh. Because you are. You spend at least five minutes composing yourself and washing your face before your phone buzzes with a much needed distraction.

[NEW MESSAGE] Tae: hungry?

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Jimin’s leg bounces uncontrollably under his desk while he waits for the remaining students to finish their exams so he can go after you. He wracks his brain for ways to clear the nervous tension dwelling within but it’s no use. Confrontation makes him so uncomfortable. Still, he can’t have you thinking he’s a total douche. He should text you. Fuck, he should call you. And he would, if he had a working phone. The second the last student drops their exam on his desk he’s going to find you and apologize.

He knows his reputation precedes him. He knows exactly what this looks like. You probably think he blew you off to get some or just led you on entirely, but he really did mean to meet up with you. He needs to clear the air. Maybe he’s a little loose with his morals at times, but he’s never an asshole on purpose. He prides himself on being a beacon of positivity and an example on how to make people feel good even if it’s only to make them feel good. He barely knows you, but it bothers him to think that you’re out there thinking he’s a heartless jerk and that he hurt your feelings on purpose.

It’s a big campus and Jimin spends the better half of an hour searching it before he finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung. You look awfully close, and he almost feels bad interrupting you, but he owes you an explanation. It’s a mystery to him why on earth you would seek out his company when Taehyung seems all too willing to be what you need.

Taehyung notices him before you do. He shakes his head at Jimin disapprovingly. “Cold, man. So cold.”

Jimin nods, hanging his head. He’s well aware. You haven’t turned around yet and don’t intend to. If Jimin can ignore you then you can ignore him too. Besides, if you turn to face him, he might notice your watery, puffy eyes. How incredibly foolish that would be to admit that you’ve been crying about being stood up by someone you’ve barely even spoken to.

“Y/n?” Jimin’s soft voice calls to you, melodic and soothing as ever. “Can I have a minute?”

Taehyung looks between the two of you while he moves a french fry into his mouth at a snail’s pace and slowly chews as if this is free entertainment.

“No,” you answer.

“I’m sorry about Saturday,” he tells you, progressing despite your refusal to listen. He plants his hands on the table beside you and leans in to try to steal a glance at your profile, but you turn your head away.

“Jungkook pushed me in the pool right after this asshole,” he says, pointing at Taehyung. “My phone was in my pocket. It’s ruined.”

“Hey,” Taehyung interrupts, his mouth open in protest and full of half-chewed fries. “Don’t pin this on me. You could have asked any one of us to let her know what happened. You never even mentioned it. Why don’t you just admit that you forgot?” Taehyung suggests, jamming another french fry into his little paper cup of ketchup before cramming it into his mouth.

Jimin fumes for a moment, glaring at Tae before he pulls out the chair next to you and spins it around. He straddles it and rests his chin on the backrest. “Y/n, I’m sorry. I forgot. I swear I never would have done something like that to you on purpose. My phone getting ruined messed up a lot of things, but if you give me another chance, I’d love to prove that I’m not the horrible person you think I am.”

Silence. You glance over at Taehyung, willing him to speak up and either back Jimin up or get you out of this. You’re ready to forgive Jimin already and leave with him right now and it’s not lost on you how bad that looks. It’s so easy for Jimin to have you wrapped around his fingers. You wish he was ugly. You wish you never signed up for this stupid class. You wish you could feel for Tae the way you feel for Jimin so that you could just leave with him instead. You’re about ready to anyway when he finally opens his mouth again.

“I think you should take her out to eat. Eating out is the perfect way to apologize, don’t you think?” Tae’s grin is so wide it makes his eyes crinkle.

You huff out a humorless laugh. If that’s what you wanted you’d stick with the original plan and be in the backseat of Taehyung’s car again in the next twenty minutes. Against your better judgement, you turn to look at Jimin, puffy eyes and runny nose no longer hidden. He’s a little taken back by your expression. He smiles at you softly and reaches out to brush his knuckles against your cheek. You practically melt into his touch.

“Mmm, I would like something sweet.” Jimin licks his lips. “How about ice cream?”

“When?” you ask, embarrassed by the way your voice cracks and by how easily you’re giving in.

“Now?”

“Well, look at the time,” Tae says, standing with his tray and messenger bag. “I’ve got to go wash my hair but you two have fun on your date. Use protection!” he calls behind him on his way toward the exit.

You’d be irritated by his blunt suggestion if his statement didn’t swirl a storm of butterflies deep in your gut. You’re so distracted by them that you don’t realize that you’re still gaping at Jimin in disbelief.

“So?” Jimin wonders, holding out his hand.

“I don’t forgive you,” you insist while taking it into yours. Although it’s probably a lie, he doesn’t call you on it. He simply smiles and gives your hand a tiny comforting squeeze.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

“My car is on the other side of campus,” you tell him once you’ve stepped outside. “Where are you parked?”

“Oh, um,” he stalls. “I thought it might be nice to walk, give us more time to talk. Is that okay?”

“Isn’t it kind of far?” you ask, assuming he's taking you to that chain ice cream shoppe a few miles off campus.

"No, this place is close. It's a secret. Not many people know about it," he says with a wink.

"You say that to everyone don't you?" You narrow your eyes at him, moving out of reach when he tries to put his arm around you.

"No," he laughs. "I've been here with other people, though. I was here with Jin last week." He smiles, leading the way toward a small alley between buildings.

You follow him easily, questioning again why you have so little self preservation when it comes to him. At the other end of the alley you can see what looks like a park. Green trees line the sidewalk up ahead, creating a canopy against the brilliant sun. The walk to this mysterious ice cream place is shaded and chilly. Jimin slips his jacket off and slings it over your shoulders when he notices you rubbing at your arms.

"Almost there," he promises. In the distance, framed by two towering oaks, is a tiny little ice cream place. It looks like a mirage, something out of a board game or a fairy tale. The closer you get, the more real it becomes. The siding is faded, the roof looks like it's in dire need of repairs, and the hand-painted sign reading The Cheery Cherry has seen better days. It's clean though, sparkling in all the places that matter.

There is a stout old man behind the window with a shining silver ice cream scoop ready and waiting in his hand. Jimin greets him by name and asks for a simple vanilla cone. You're tempted to judge him, he doesn't strike you as the vanilla type, but there must be a reason. Maybe this is the best vanilla ice cream on earth. You order the same just in case, taking your first taste as Jimin pulls a few bills from his wallet and hands them over with a shaky hand.

To your dismay the ice cream is not extraordinary; it's just plain vanilla. You could probably get the same exact type from any grocery store. You should have gone with something else. You should have at least gotten the cheery cherry cone. That might have been a flavor worth tasting. Why was he so bent on coming here for such a bland ice cream?

You suppose you should be thankful for the gesture but you still feel uneasy, like he’s playing you somehow. It almost feels like he’s doing it out of obligation rather than desire. Is he doing the bare minimum because he doesn’t feel like you’re worth more than this? Your company must be the equivalent to a plain vanilla cone. Mediocre. Unremarkable. Ordinary.

Forgettable.

Jimin turns back to you with his ice cream in one hand and change filling the other. "Is it good?"

"It's vanilla." You shrug.

"Do you want something different?" he asks, counting the money in his hand.

"No, I like vanilla."

"Figures," he teases.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you snap back at him.

"Nothing, sweetheart. I just think you're soft, sweet. Vanilla suits you."

"I am not vanilla. I do all kinds of freaky shit," you argue, realizing too late that you've over shared in your annoyance.

Jimin looks you over with a smirk, bringing his ice cream to his lips and dragging his tongue around the edge of the cone where it's dripping. "Noted," he says.

"I didn't mean-- I wasn't -- UGH," you huff, embarrassed that he's still making a fool of you from the doghouse. You need to change the subject fast. "What'syourmajor?" You rush the question past your lips and he laughs at your flustered state, waiting for you to slow down and ask him in words he can understand.

"Your major?" you repeat, slower this time.

"Oh, uh. Urban studies."

"Interesting."

"You don't know what that means, huh?" He nudges you with his elbow, falling in stride beside you. Unfortunately, you had just brought your ice cream up to your mouth and his nudging caused you to smear it across your cheek.

You look at him angrily. First he stood you up, forgot about you, then he had the nerve to show up to class today looking like a fucking angel, takes you for ice cream to make it up to you, and now he's teasing you and making you look every bit the fool you feel like you are. Tears well in your eyes when he laughs at the mess he caused.

"I'm sorry," he says through his giggling. He reaches out to gently wipe your cheek with his thumb which he promptly pops in his mouth and sucks clean after. "What's wrong?"

You swipe at your eyes, ridding them of the tears that were about to spill out as your shame bubbles over. "You make me feel stupid," you confess. "You're wasting my time."

Shoving his jacket back at him, you take off in the direction you came, throwing your stupid vanilla cone in the closest trash can and kicking yourself for not leaving with Taehyung instead. Jimin winces at the action, looking like you’ve discarded a precious keepsake rather than a plain, boring vanilla cone.

"Y/n, wait!" he calls, catching up to you with ease. He takes you by the wrist and spins you back to face him. "I don't think you're stupid at all. I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.” He sighs, softening his hold on you. “I didn’t know what to think about you when you approached me at first, you know? Girls throw themselves at me all the time.”

You grimace at his words and roll your eyes, snatching your wrist back with a scowl. Of course he thinks you were throwing yourself at him, but you’re sure that you weren’t. You were just being direct about your feelings. Do you really come across as such a desperate person? Maybe you should ask Yoongi for his opinion later.

“But I definitely didn’t mean to stand you up and I don’t mean to make you feel stupid at all. I think you're pretty smart, you’re cute and you’re actually bolder than I initially thought. I'd love to get to know you better. I know I'm not doing so great so far, but I can be better. Please, sit with me?" he asks, walking to a nearby park bench.

Reluctantly, you follow, although you make a point to drag your feet the whole way there. When you sit down beside him, he loops an arm around your waist and draws you closer, offering his ice cream up to you once your legs brush against his. You reach for it but he pulls it away.

"Hey," he jokes. "Just lick it. I didn't make you throw yours away."

You shake your head and lean forward to drag your tongue over what's left of his vanilla cone.

"Forgive me?" he asks. His toothy smile catches the sunlight and it genuinely hurts your eyes to keep looking.

"Okay. One more chance," you agree. "So, urban studies?"

He relaxes back against the bench, taking another lick before he offers the cone to you again. "Yeah, it's like community development and stuff. What about you, princess? What are you studying?"

You flush at the nickname, heat rising in your face and other places you'd rather not acknowledge. You're oblivious to the fact that you're having a similar effect on Jimin. The way you're licking his ice cream is making his pants feel a little tight.

"Teaching," you tell him, picking at the peeling paint on the bench.

"Little kids?"

"Yeah." You take another lick of his ice cream while he holds it, looking up halfway through.

Jimin's expression is unreadable, stunned almost. He shifts a little, crosses his legs, clears his throat.

"Kids are fun. I have a younger brother," he tells you.

"A lot younger?"

"No," he laughs. "But he's a total baby so it's basically the same.”

“Oh, does he get that from you?” you tease with a giggle.

His mouth drops open in surprise. “Hey,” he pouts. “That’s not nice.”

“I never said I was nice,” you tell him, taking another slow lick of his ice cream.

“Clearly,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes. He drags his lip through his teeth to try to hide the smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

You manage to cram so much conversation into the next twenty minutes on this park bench, learning more about the mysterious campus celebrity than you ever thought you’d know. You hope his interest wasn't feigned, because it felt so fucking good to have his attention, to have him really listen to you and ask you about your life and your family and your hopes for the future. If you're not mistaken, you might think this was real progress.

Jimin watches you walk back toward campus with a soft smile and an unfamiliar feeling brewing inside him. You've surprised him. You're not the naive infatuated little girl he took you for. If he had a phone he'd be texting you already. He'd call you tonight, and maybe tomorrow. It's alarming to him how badly he wants another ten minutes with you. He hates that you declined his offer to walk you to your next class, but damn does he ever appreciate the view.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Thursday comes quickly. After your initial ice cream date, Jimin has found himself curiously seeking your attention rather than the other way around. With his phone out of commission he was hanging around the cafeteria all day yesterday in hopes of catching you. While it’s clear you don’t trust him and you haven’t forgiven him, you seem to have softened up a bit. You spent your meals together and allowed him to walk you to your classes, all while exchanging playful jabs at each other. You might forgive him for bailing if yesterday stood alone. Today is a whole different story.

Now Jimin is staring down a stack of graded exams the professor has dropped on the table at the front of the room. Students haven’t begun to trickle in yet so when the professor takes the opportunity to excuse himself, Jimin wastes no time in flipping through the pile to get a sense of the overall success of the class. When he gets to a test marked in thick red marker with an ‘F’ his stomach drops. He knows it’s yours before he even reads the name. He was hoping maybe you’d been lying about not paying attention.

He shuffles the exam back into place and straightens the pile just as the earliest student walks in. Jimin offers her a wan smile and a tiny bow of his head as a greeting. Although his stomach is still sinking and churning, he’s already thinking about ways he might be able to make it up to you.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung again, where he has you distracted from your misery by folding and unfolding a cootie catcher in front of your face like you're in third grade and not your third year of college.

"Pick a color now, y/n," Tae urges, opening and closing the folded paper four times after you've indicated the triangle marked 'pink.' "Hmm," he ponders. "It says you need to relax."

"What is this, a fortune cookie? I thought these things were like truth or dare, or like... who I was gonna marry," you complain, flicking the craft from his hands.

Jimin picks the paper up off the floor and hands it back to Taehyung. "Do me," he says.

After a moment of pointing and folding, Tae announces, "It says you need to apologize. Again."

Jimin looks at you while Tae packs up his stuff. After dropping a kiss on the top of your head he leaves for his next class. The action makes Jimin furrow his brows and frown. A feeling too uncomfortably close to jealousy blooms in his chest. Why did that bother him so much? He's not ready to acknowledge the answer to that. Instead, he contradicts it by reminding himself that Tae is one of his closest friends and it's cool that the two of you are getting close too.

"Princess?" Jimin's song-like voice drifts to your ears once Tae has disappeared. You've pressed your face into your folded arms on the table and it's taking everything you have not to start crying about your failed exam again. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, laying his hand against the small of your back and beginning to rub soft circles there. "I'm sorry I didn't help you."

"I wish you were ugly," you mumble into your arms.

"What?" he laughs, leaning his face down next to yours.

You lift your head to meet his eyes. "If you were ugly this never would have happened," you insist, sitting up and shaking his hand off your back with a twist of your spine. "Just be ugly! FUCK."

Jimin smiles before screwing his face up into the most unrecognizable grimace he can manage. He holds it until you start to smile then switches to another terrible expression, with his chin tucked into his neck so that it morphs into several chins and crosses his eyes for extra emphasis on its ridiculousness. When you start to laugh he sticks out his tongue to make it worse.

Once you’re clutching your stomach and doubled over with pealing laughter, he gives you the beautiful smile you're so used to again. "Let's do something fun together," he offers. "And then after that, we'll get studying and make this right. Please let me make it up to you."

"Okay," you agree, leaning into his open arms. It only took a couple days of spending time together to remove the awkwardness you felt when he touched you. He's even held your hand a few times while you walked together after your other classes. Now, his embrace feels welcome and comforting. You still can’t tell if he’s just trying to be nice or if he actually likes doing it but you don’t mind at all.

"There's a party on Saturday, will you come with me?"

"Where?" you ask, as if you have any hope of refusing him at all. You'd go anywhere with him and you know it but you want to try to play it cool. Your tone seems more tepid than you anticipate but he doesn’t seem to call you out on it.

"Jin's," he tells you, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together.

He rubs his thumb against the back of your hand while he waits for you to pretend to decide. You relish in the motion. The tingle of butterflies erupt in your belly again like a cannon aimed at your heart, ready to sink it in an instant. Instead of falling, your heart seems to fly up to your brain and a light giggle escapes your lips.

"Okay. I'll come," you say in a euphoric brain fog, looking down at your joined hands. It's scary how good it feels to have his attention like this, but you hope it doesn’t stop.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

"Why are you home?" Yoongi asks, finding you on the couch when he emerges from his bedroom. His late afternoon nap went longer than expected, leaving you believing he was out for the night. You settled in with Netflix and snacks of your own. He flops down next to you, causing you to swing your feet off the couch before they get squashed beneath his butt. He yawns and lets his head dip forward as he pulls out his phone and begins flipping through it.

"It's Friday night,” he reminds you, his tone scratchy. It makes you giggle.

"I didn't wanna go out alone and I thought you were gone. You're gonna be up all night now, you know."

"I would have stayed asleep but I've got a friend in need," he mumbles, rubbing the remainder of sleep from his eyes.

"Aww, you're so good to me." You beam, snuggling up to him and wrapping him up in a tight hug.

"Not you," he huffs with a disgusted grimace. “Ugh, that’s enough touching.”

You immediately pull back and scoff. “Wow. You’re lucky I know you know you love me.”

He rolls his eyes. "That’s debatable.”

“Yeah, okay,” you mock him in a tone of disbelief. You pop a chip into your mouth. “So why are you really up— if not to support your wonderful, beautiful, perfectly sculpted local couch potato?”

He smiles and steals the next chip from your hand before you can shove it into your mouth. “If you're good with it, my friend is gonna crash on our couch for a few days. His parents cut him off and he’s got nowhere to go. He’s almost got enough saved up to get his own place, but he could use some help in the meantime. Figured we’re doing alright and we have a couch. You cool with that?"

"Sure," you agree, trusting Yoongi's judgment. He's not gonna let some crazy person stay on your couch. "When?"

"I was just waiting for your approval but I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to you before I passed out. I'll go pick him up now, if that's good with you," he says slipping his feet into a pair of sandals and looking for his keys.

"What, he doesn't have a car?"

"Sold it to pay for his books this semester. He's got nothing. He's keeping all his clothes in another friend's closet. It's kinda sad."

"That's rough," you agree, blowing out a heavy exhale and turning your attention back to the TV.

"I'll be back in a few. Maybe take it to your room so he can have the couch?" Yoongi suggests.

"Sure, sure," you say, already sucked back into your show and forgetting entirely about Yoongi and his friend for now.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

When Yoongi returns an hour later, you haven't moved. In fact, you’ve crashed… hard. Yoongi and his mystery guest enter to a chorus of your snores and the Friends theme song.

“Hey, get up,” Yoongi urges, nudging your shoulder lightly.

When you peel your eyes open to look at him, you’re utterly mystified to see the object of your affections a few feet behind him, standing awkwardly in your kitchen with a duffle slung over his shoulder.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you blink a few times to clear your vision. You want to be sure it's him before you open your mouth. He's there, in black sweats with a grey hoodie pulled up over his white baseball cap. “Jimin?”

“Oh good you know him," Yoongi says with relief coating his tone. "I’m gonna get him some blankets. Think you can take your Netflix marathon to your room?”

"Yeah, I can do that," you mumble, gathering up your mess and disappearing into your room without another word.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Alone in your room, you conjure up a hundred reasons in your anxious mind that could explain why Jimin thought he had to keep this huge secret from you. He’s got nothing? Maybe he was afraid you'd tell people. Suddenly, it makes so much sense why he's always walking everywhere.

You think back to Tuesday at the Cheery Cherry. His usually steady hands were so shaky handing over those bills he pulled from his wallet. You think of how tightly he clutched his change and even counted it out afterward. If you hadn’t been so preoccupied with your own thoughts of inadequacy, you might have been able to put it together on your own. Your stomach drops when you recall the insulting way you threw your vanilla cone in the trash. The scene replays over and over again until you’re crying into your pillow.

Guilt keeps you awake until well past midnight as you turn these unsavory ideas over and over in your head, looking at them from every possible angle and over analyzing every detail of the time you've spent together thus far. Your eyes are now wide and dry, fixed on a black spot on your ceiling that you're hoping is just a speck and not a spider. The quilt in your hands is frayed, giving your nervous hands something to pick at while you let the silence drive you mad.

The soft knock on your door at half past one is a relief. Yoongi does his best cooking at odd hours, usually bringing you a plate if you're awake. It's a surprise to find Jimin outside your door instead. He awkwardly shifts from foot to foot until he finds your eyes in the dim glow of your table lamp.

"Did I wake you?" he whispers, head leaning against your door frame.

You shake your head, looking down at your skimpy sleep shorts and the university hoodie you pulled on to open the door. “I was up.”

“Can we talk?”

“Of course,” you answer, stepping aside so he can come in. Your eyes scan the room nervously, checking for underwear on the floor and counting the half empty glasses of water on your nightstand. If you knew Jimin was going to be in your bedroom tonight, you would have cleaned up. At least you didn’t leave your vibrator out in the open. You don’t think you’d recover from the embarrassment of that.

Jimin follows you to your bed, perching on the edge once you’ve settled back against your pillows.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t,” you respond immediately. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Then why did you run away?” he asks, pulling at his hoodie strings.

“I wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You didn’t tell me what you were going through and I didn’t want to…” you trail off, unsure how to articulate just why you ran away.

“You didn’t want to embarrass me? Hurt my pride?” he asks, sarcasm evident.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “You don’t owe me an explanation. We aren’t that close.”

“That’s the problem,” he whispers. “I want to explain. I want to be that close to you.” He leans towards you, resting on his hands. He looks confident despite his current situation and it worries you a little. How can he be so sure of himself when he’s crashing on your couch and apologizing to you again for the fourth time in less than a week?

The Jimin you’ve gotten to know recently seems to disappear, leaving on the smooth talking playboy in his wake. He seems too calculated to be genuine. The words he whispers don’t seem like words meant for you. He is him, after all, and money or not he’s still the greatest catch on campus. And you, much to your dismay, are still just you. Unassuming, uninteresting, unexciting you. You’re the plain vanilla cone he’d never ask for if he had the means to get the banana split.

“Why?” you skeptically ask, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Jimin bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth while he thinks. “You’re special,” he says. “You’re cute and funny and I like spending time with you. You make me feel like I can be myself with you.”

“But you don’t trust me?” you ask, obviously referring to the elephant in the room. He didn’t tell you he was essentially homeless. How much of himself can he truly be if he was keeping that from you?

“I didn’t want to scare you away, and most girls I… see, don’t get close enough to find out,” he confesses. “I can’t afford to take anyone out right now. I haven’t been able to for a while. But I’m so close to getting enough for an apartment. That’s why I took the TA job; at the end of the semester I should be ready.”

“Jimin,” you start, unsure what to say. You’re still thinking about that goddamned three dollar ice cream cone you threw away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells you, standing up. “I just wanted to be real with you, and thank you for agreeing to let me have the couch for a few days. I’ll let you sleep.”

“Wait!”

As you scramble over yourself to reach out, you find yourself on your knees awkwardly clutching your hand towards your chest. You’re still worried about seeming desperate but you can’t let that stop you now. Jimin turns toward you, but you’re unsure of what you wanted to say. You only know that you want to be closer to him too, that you’re not ready for him to go, that if he leaves now you’ll lie awake for the rest of the night reliving this short conversation.

“Stay,” you plead, nervously twirling the string of your hoodie around your fingers as you sit back against the pillows. “Talk to me?”

“Aren’t you tired?” he wonders.

You hold out your hand and he crosses the room to take it, standing next to your bed. You pat the space next to you and tug him toward it. “Wide awake.”

Your yawn says otherwise.

Jimin smiles, climbing over you to lay by your side on top of your blankets. He looks at you expectantly once he’s settled but it’s too much pressure for you to lead the conversation. You only know that you want to keep hearing his soothing voice. You have no idea what you wanted to say.

“You look cute,” he says, breaking the silence and touching your nose with the tip of his finger. “Sleepy and soft.”

“You look sexy,” you complain, waving his hand away. “I kinda wanna punch you for it.”

He throws his head back in laughter. “So feisty.”

“I can be boring instead,” you jokingly offer, rolling on your side to face him.

He does his best to keep his eyes trained on your face, despite the fact that all he wants to do is let them wander down. “I just want you to be you.”

That sounds fake. Again, you battle against the idea that this is all a farce, some sneaky way to get into your pants once and leave you wanting for the rest of your life. He hasn’t bared himself to you enough for you to trust him, so you pry.

“Why’d your parents cut you off, Jimin?” you ask.

He looks at you for a second, stunned at your boldness. That’s definitely not where he thought this conversation was going. He takes a moment to prepare his response and sighs.

“They have this restaurant. It’s a small place right off the coast: Jeongsik. My great grandparents started it from nothing and now my parents manage it. They want me to take over since I’m the eldest, but I want to move to the city and have my own life. I don’t want to work in their restaurant forever and my brother loves it and is perfectly capable. They love me. I know they’re just trying to teach me a lesson,” he tells you. He sounds unsure of that last bit. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that he’s got nowhere to live and he’s penny pinching for meals and they’re shunning him.

“And what is that lesson, Jimin?” you ask, trying to dig deeper before he slips back into playboy mode.

“That being a part of Jeongsik is my only option if I want to be successful. That I can’t make it without them.”

“Can you?” The question is quiet and unassuming. You only want to know how bad it really is.

He takes a deep breath and taps his fingers anxiously against the fabric of the pillow. “I can. It won’t be the same, it won’t be easy, but I can.”

After giving Jimin a moment to say more, which he doesn’t take, you push him further. With your heart on the line and this miracle of an opportunity with him in your room, you're determined to learn as much as you can. You need to get under his skin. You need to know him, so you can know if you should run.

"What's your plan then?" you question, shifting closer so you're face to face against the pillows.

Jimin smirks at your line of questioning. It seems to break him from his thoughts. “Well,” he begins. “The Village has some one bedrooms opening up at the end of the semester, and by then I’ll be ready to make a deposit and lease one. After that I’ve got one semester left until I graduate. Then I’ll move to the city and live my life how I want.”

“Won’t you miss your family?”

“They still talk to me. They’re just not paying for school. Or my car. Or my food.” His heavy sigh at the end contradicts the lightness with which he revealed all of this to you.

“I’m sorry, Jimin.” You reach for his hand, familiarity in the way it fits with yours.

“It’s okay. I have good friends, and I have…” he trails off, catching himself and looking away with an awkward huff of a laugh.

“What?” you wonder, heart fluttering at the possibility that he was about to say ‘you.’ “What else do you have?”

Jimin looks up at you, rising up on his elbow. His eyes search your face for any hint of rejection. When he finds only hope, his hand moves to cup your cheek. It’s warm, adorned with rings that contrast the temperature of his skin.

“You,” he breathes, moving closer. You watch his gaze dart down to your lips before your own eyelids flutter closed. “I was going to say you,” he confesses before he closes the space between you and lays a soft kiss against your waiting lips.

He pulls away way too fast, leaving you to panic in the aftermath. You thought you had feelings for him before, but now that he’s let you in, now that he has shown you his heart, there is nothing more to deny. You’ve fallen, hard. The realization makes you feel trapped, like a frantic dying bird in a cage. But your captor is kind and beautiful and the flavor he left on your lips is the most divine thing you’ve ever tasted.

“Then say it,” you prompt him, urging him to accept the affection you’ve been so desperate to give him.

He kisses you again in lieu of words, longer, deeper, until his tongue is dragging over yours. You fist the material of his hoodie in your hands, pulling him towards you while you turn on your back. He’s hesitant to get on top of you, afraid he might be taking it too far, but you’re insistent. You pull and he caves willingly, slotting a leg between yours and letting his hand drift from your cheek to the back of your neck.

“I like you,” he pants when he breaks away. It feels like your heart flies up out of your chest and does a lap around the room, flapping its hummingbird wings like the wild thing it is before it crashes back into its place.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you plead. “You don’t have to pretend just because you’re here now. I’m a big girl. We can just have tonight.”

You say the words but you know if he leaves tomorrow, you’ll cry all day and probably the day after that too. The truth is, you can talk all you want about how you can do this no strings attached, but you know you can’t. Your strings are so attached to him at this point you might as well be metaphorical shibari.

“I mean it,” he whispers, full, wet lips brushing the side of your neck.

You freeze. You were expecting him to drop the charade and just fuck you or something, but in this moment he exudes tenderness and consideration.

“And because I like you, I think I should go back to the couch before we do something we aren’t ready to do.”

“Stay,” you plead. “We don’t have to do anything, just lay with me.”

He slowly nods and reaches over you to turn off the lamp, planting a soft kiss on your cheek as he settles back into place. You wiggle your form down into the covers and he smoothes the hair from your face before tracing his fingers down your arm. You lean in close enough to smell the subtle clean scent of his cologne. Is it cologne? You doubt it knowing what you know now, unless he’s borrowing it from someone else. You still find yourself enjoying it nonetheless. It’s comforting. Sleep begins to claim you just as he slips his fingers into yours and gives you a tiny squeeze.

“Goodnight y/n.”

You think you respond but you’re in that purgatory state between sleeping and being awake, so you can’t be sure. At least you’re eighty percent sure you gave him a squeeze in return.

That’s how Yoongi finds you in the morning: you tucked neatly into your comforter and Jimin laying on top of it beside you, your hands clasped together in the middle.

“UM!” Yoongi shouts from the doorway, loud enough to wake you both.

Startled, you sit up in bed and look around for the source of the shout. “Fuck! Yoon. You didn’t need to scream.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to keep this from Taehyung,” Yoongi chides, looking from you to Jimin and back. “That would be quite the moral conundrum.”

“For fuck’s sake. It was never Tae. I am not seeing Tae. We are JUST FRIENDS!” You yell the last two words and chuck your pillow at him for emphasis.

“Okay cool, then Jimin can explain to him whatever this is to him. Jimin, he wants you to call him. My phone’s on the table. I’m taking a shower.”

Yoongi disappears from the doorway and an uncomfortable silence settles over the room. In the light of day, you feel nervous and uncertain. Jimin does nothing to ease your anxiety. He just lays there quietly, unsure what to say.

“Do you want breakfast?” You try to smile and sound as chipper as possible.

He sits up finally and turns his back to you. “I should go see Taehyung.”

He moves toward the door and you feel your chest tighten. “Jimin?”

He turns to you from the hallway, and taking in your confused expression, offers you a smile. “We’re good, princess. I’ll be back tonight, then me and you: party time.” He winks before moving out of sight.

Alone once again, you start to question things. Everything. Are you imagining things or did Jimin seem cold when he left? He kissed you last night, didn’t he? Was everything you talked about too much? Does he regret kissing you? Does he regret staying the night with you without getting anything out of it? You can feel your thoughts spiraling out of control, but you can’t stop yourself from putting up the walls you so desperately wanted to keep down forever last night. It obviously didn’t mean anything to him, despite his claim that he likes you. He probably just meant that he’d like to fool around with you. Like he does with everyone else. You can’t let one night beside him make you think you’re special to him, no matter how badly you want to be.

Knowing you won’t make it through the day without driving yourself completely mad with questions and doubts, you dig your old phone and charger out of a drawer and go after Jimin. He’s leaning over the kitchen counter staring down at Yoongi’s phone when you steal his attention.

“Please take this,” you plead, thrusting the phone and charger towards him.

He looks from the device to you and blinks a few times in surprise. “What?”

“It’s a little old, but if your sim card didn’t get damaged I’m sure it will work in this. I kept putting off bringing it to be recycled.” You laugh nervously as you try to place it in his hand. “But now I’m glad I didn’t. Take it.”

“I can’t accept this, princess. It’s too much,” Jimin says, staring down at the object in your hands.

“Take it for me. If I have to go another day without being able to send you memes I’ll die.”

“Memes?” he repeats, sounding baffled.

“Memes, nudes, the weather forecast. Who cares? I wanna text you. Please take it.”

He licks his lips and smirks at your joke. Was it a joke? It’s hard to tell. He accepts it anyway. “Thank you. I’ll call you later?”

“You’d better,” you tease, offering the grandest smile you can manage before retreating with a slow saunter back to your room.

There’s that view again. He could watch your ass sway in those teeny shorts all day. It takes every last ounce of self control he possesses to pick up Yoongi’s phone and dial Tae rather than sprint back into your room and pin you to the bed. It doesn’t stop him from daydreaming about it though, even as his friend answers.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

“What are we doing?” Jimin stands in the sprawling living room of Taehyung and Jungkook’s shared apartment. Both are from wealthy families that are all too ready to give their sons everything that matches the silver spoons in their mouths. They’ve been blessed with a bachelor pad that looks more like a college movie set than anything normal one would find around campus.

“Pick up a controller,” Tae tells Jimin, completely absorbed in the race on their oversized flat screen TV.

Jungkook hasn’t even acknowledged Jimin’s presence yet. Focused doesn’t even begin to describe the way his eyes bore into the television. He doesn’t break from his trance until he wins. Only then does he sit back with a smug grin, dropping the controller in his lap and just barely resisting the urge to gloat.

Taehyung drops his controller too, turning to give Jungkook a congratulatory fist bump. “Take his place,” he says to Jimin.

Jungkook has already vacated his place on the hallowed futon and moved to the row of cup noodles sitting on the counter. The first cup is half empty before Jimin even sits down.

“I suck at these games, Tae,” Jimin grumbles.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be good. It’s a ploy to get you relaxed enough to talk about y/n.” Taehyung smiles, knowing Jimin can’t refuse now that he’s cornered.

“What about her?” He feigns nonchalance, as if he didn’t just spend last night catching feelings along with your lips between his own.

Taehyung scoffs, half bewildered, half disgusted. “Come on, Jimin. She’s amazing. You like her.”

“I barely know her,” Jimin replies. It’s a lie he can taste like copper on his tongue. He knows your favorite food, where you grew up, what you study, and he’s already programmed your birthday into his borrowed phone so he won’t forget.

Taehyung clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Okay then. If you don’t give a fuck, I’m gonna shoot my shot. She’s funny, and nice, and her pussy is so bomb it makes me wanna get married, so if you’re not gonna do something about that then I will.”

Jungkook cackles from the kitchen. “Did you fuck Jimin’s girl?”

“She’s not my girl,” Jimin grumbles, staring daggers at Jungkook, just as Taehyung says that he did not.

Jungkook takes his armload of cup noodles into his bedroom.

“I know you like her,” Tae prods. “She’s not some materialistic bitch who’s gonna leave you if you can’t afford lavish dates every other day. She’s a good, genuine person. She just wants your time and your attention. Maybe your heart. She doesn’t care about the other stuff.”

“Yeah? So I can bring her back to this futon after I buy her dinner from the dollar menu?” Jimin’s nose starts to tingle, months worth of frustrations finally reaching a breaking point. “I can’t get in a relationship right now and you know she’s not a fuckbuddy kind of girl.

“Right, because I didn’t eat her out in my car for fun last week.” He’d date you in a heartbeat if you wanted him. But he knows it’s Jimin you want and he’s more than happy to push the two of you together to see you both happy. He values friendship above all things.

“If that’s all you want from her, fine. But I think you and I both know it’s not and she’s too good for you to string along. If you’re just gonna break her heart, do it now before she falls any harder for you.”

“Why, so you can swoop in and be the good guy again? So you can get her off in your backseat?” The words are venom dripping from his mouth.

“Bro.”

Jimin softens. Tae is his dearest friend. He knows he only has his best interests at heart.

“I’m sorry.” He pauses and sighs. “We talked about Jeongsik last night. She knows my parents cut me off.”

Taehyung grimaces. “How’d that go?”

“Now she knows I’m not good enough but it didn’t seem to deter her at all.”

“‘Cause you are good enough and now she can see your true worth as a person, which is a thousand times better than the fake worth of money.”

Jimin seems to consider this for a moment but then expresses the concern gnawing at his insides. “What if she really is just another person who wants to idolize me? I’m really into her, but I need it to be more than that.”

“Jimin—”

“What if she’s after the meaningless title of being Park Jimin’s girl... like every other girl that has pursued me lately?” The words make him cringe. He’s humble and kind, not one to throw bouquets at himself, but those thoughts are intrusive and hard to ignore.

“Tch. Do you know her at all? Do you really think that matters to her?”

“No,” Jimin sighs. “But what if?”

“She admires you. You like her. Stop making it so complicated and let go of those ifs. You’ll never know if you don’t try and I want to see you try because you deserve to be happy,” Tae insists, starting a new game. “Now pick up that controller. I wanna kick your ass.”

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

You’ve spent the better part of your Saturday afternoon picking out your outfit for tonight. Yoongi only teased you twice before helping you select something a little bit more slutty than you’d normally pull out for a date. You’re going to a party after all, not some Sunday brunch with your friends.

When it’s almost time for you to meet up with Jimin you find yourself growing increasingly nervous. You run your hand over your thigh and down your calf, testing for any stubble you might have missed in your meticulous hour-long shaving session. On your way back up you tug on your skirt, eyeing it as though your gaze can simply increase its length. When was the last time you wore this dress?

You adjust and fuss over the way your tits fit inside the garment and puff air out of your cheeks. Yoongi squints at you from across the room. Your door is wide open after all.

“Stop worrying so much.” He sighs and clicks his tongue, crossing the room until he can see you in perfect clarity. “You look great.”

“I feel stupid. I should change. Jimin’s gonna think I’m weird if I wear this.” You try to turn and run back to your closet.

Yoongi plants his hands on your shoulders and spins you back to face the full-length mirror hanging over your door. “Look at yourself. Jimin’s gonna think you’re the hottest one at the party. Look at that makeup game.” He gestures to your face. “Wooo! So strong! Wow!”

Your lips twitch into a smile. Yoongi can be so sweet when he’s not busy pretending like he isn’t the softest man on earth.

“What if he doesn’t actually want me?” you ask, strings of doubt still plucking at your insecurity.

“He does,” he says with all the comfort you need in this moment. “I can tell with these kinds of things, you know.”

“That your like, weird sage sense you’re always telling me about? Reading the horoscopes doesn’t make you a fortune teller.”

He laughs. “Don’t be jealous of my power. Have I been wrong before?”

He hasn’t been, at least not with the advice he’s given you.

You exhale a huge breath and cock your head to inspect your appearance one more time. “What if you’re wrong?”

He hums a soft sound before planting a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Then he’s an idiot.”

A knock saves him from the overbearing hug you’re about to give him. He practically sprints towards the door. “That must be him! Pull your skirt up a little, would you? You’re not a nun and it’s gonna ride up anyway.” He pauses with his hand on the deadbolt and drops his tone to a rather loud, strained whisper. “Wait. What underwear are you wearing?”

Your eyes widen and your brows furrow as you angrily march over to your strappy heels and begin to put them on. “Why does it matter?” you whisper back.

“Are they the beige ones?”

“No!” Your hushed tone threatens to break into a shriek. “You know those are my period panties.”

“Please tell me they’re not the green ones.”

“Yoongi!” You get frustrated and lift your skirt just enough to show off a bit of the black lace adorning your buttcheeks as you lift your foot onto the nearby stool to finish setting the strap in place. “Satisfied?”

He breathes a sigh of relief and nods. “Good. Those are good.”

He opens the door faster than you can register the action. Jimin catches the flash of lace and more skin than he’s meant to see as you swing your leg down off the stool and adjust your dress. Heat flushes your face as you meet Jimin’s gaze. His eyes are wide and he licks his lips before nervously clearing his throat. He nonchalantly drops his hands and holds them together in front of his pelvis.

“You-You look good,” he stammers, completely stunned by your appearance.

“Thanks,” you reply with a shy smile. Park Jimin gets flustered? Who’d have thought?

He thought you were beautiful before but he’s never seen you like this. You’re completely decked out and drop dead gorgeous. He’s almost worried he’ll feel inadequate standing next to you tonight but it doesn’t stop him from wanting you by his side, hanging on his arm. He wants everyone to know that he’s there with you.

The pair of you stand there looking at one another and Yoongi slowly turns from Jimin to you, then back to Jimin.

“Have everything?” Yoongi prods, trying to get you to move so he can get on with his evening of relaxation and lazing about.

That seems to break you from your stupor and you nod and walk forward to hook your arm around Jimin’s. Before you get too far Yoongi calls to you and tests your reflexes by tossing your keys. You’ll need those if Yoongi is dead to the world asleep by the time you get home, which is quite possible. You’re not the most dextrous person but Jimin catches them and smiles at you. When you try to take them from his fingertip he moves his hand away and you swipe at the air. He offers to keep them in his pocket and you gratefully oblige. You pull your phone from its confines against your breast and check on the status of your uber with one hand while slipping your other into Jimin’s.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jin’s party is already in full swing by the time you arrive. It looks like something out of a movie. There are glowsticks, red solo cups, a buffet table of snacks, and loud music by the large inground pool. People inside and outside of this big ass frat house are grinding up on each other, dancing, and spilling their drinks on one another. It’s a little overwhelming honestly. You’ve never been much of a party person and this is a monster-sized one.

Jimin takes your hand in his and gives you a reassuring smile. “You want a drink, princess?”

“Yeah.” You grin and breathe a sigh of relief, feeling your insides melt at the sound of his voice. You know whatever happens tonight you’ll be okay with him by your side.

Jimin keeps you close all night, drinking and dancing and stealing the occasional quick kiss. It's pretty clear to everyone who's paying attention that there's something going on between you. You came with Jimin, you're there with Jimin, you're leaving with Jimin. Either Jungkook wasn't paying attention, or he just plain doesn't care. The moment Jimin leaves you alone to run to the bathroom, Jungkook steps up behind you in the chair you’re sitting on.

"Hey, y/n!" He smiles, all teeth and sleepy eyes. You can smell the whiskey on his breath when you turn to face him. "You look so pretty tonight."

"Thanks, Kook." You know he's one of Jimin and Tae’s closest friends. If you just hang with him until Jimin gets back, you'll be able to avoid the advances of all the weird guys here you aren't familiar with. "I like your boots," you tell him, looking down.

He follows your gaze to his feet. "Me too, I hope no one barfs on them tonight," he laughs, lifting his face back up to yours. The words are slightly slurred but you’re still able to decipher them.

His eyes definitely linger on your cleavage on their way back up. By the looks of it, he's on the short list of people who might end up barfing on those shoes. He holds his liquor well, but if you had to guess you'd say he's had more than he should have at this point in the night.

"So, I was talking to Taehyung recently," he starts with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The rest of his sentence seems to get lost in translation on the way to his mouth.

"And?" You smile at him and realize he’s probably too drunk to have anything of worth to say but you wait anyway.

"He told me something." Jungkook smiles so big his nose crinkles and he giggles like it’s the biggest secret in the universe.

You puzzle for a moment over what could have him so giddy before remembering that Taehyung is intimately familiar with your o-face. You'd gotten so close with him over the last two weeks that the details of your first time hanging out had completely slipped your mind. Jungkook is definitely about to say something crass.

"What did he tell you?" you ask, fearing you already know the answer.

Jungkook leans in closer so he can whisper in your ear. An amused giggle spills from his lips like he can’t contain the punchline to a joke only he knows. Somehow he gets his tone under control and finally speaks. "He told me your pussy tastes like heaven and what a coincidence," he pauses, "I haven't had dessert."

Jimin finds his way back to you just as you've moved to elbow Jungkook off your chair. Unfortunately, the alcohol in your system has your brain a little fuzzy and you misjudge the distance and location. You end up elbowing Jungkook right in the dick. Hard.

A circle clears around you as Jungkook doubles over in pain. Jimin steps up next to you, looking down at his friend and trying to piece together what might have led to you inflicting bodily harm.

Jungkook goes from bending over, to squatting, to laying on his side on the floor. He rolls onto his back still clutching the jewels despite the audience of people who have stopped to observe.

“I’m gonna throw up,” he squeaks out.

“Watch the boots,” you remind him as Jimin leans down to help him up and leads him towards something he can barf in. Through the crowd of people, you can see him just barely make it to a trash can in the kitchen. Gross.

Jimin gives Jungkook a pat on the back as he retches and reaches over him to grab a handful of jello shots off the counter. He returns with the rainbow of little cups clutched in each hand. The crowd seems to go back to their business of dancing and talking amongst one another, the random altercation just a fleeting moment in the night.

"What'd he do?" Jimin asks, holding his hand out to you so that you can make your selection.

"He came on to me." You shrug, picking a blue cup and popping the lid off.

"That's it? You elbowed him in the balls for hitting on you?" Jimin raises his eyebrows in shock and laughs.

"Well, it was kind of an accident. But," you pause to bring the plastic shot glass up to your lips, "he insinuated that he wanted to go down on me." You dip your tongue into the Jello and swirl it around the perimeter of its plastic casing.

Jimin watches you gather all the Jello up onto your tongue with rapt attention. He's growing so hard watching your tongue work like that. It’s driving him insane. He wants to feel it on him instead. He’s also now acutely aware of how badly he wants to swirl his tongue around your cunt, just like that.

"That makes two of us," he confesses with an enamored sigh. His hands are still full of Jello shots but that doesn’t stop him from holding your face between them.

He fiercely smashes his mouth to yours and you cave to the welcome intrusion of his tongue. It presses against yours, curling around it as he sucks the blue raspberry flavor from your mouth. You drop the empty cup to the floor and reach for his belt instead, pulling him against you until you can feel him pressed up against your stomach, hard and needy. He grinds his pelvis against you to be sure you can feel him.

“You feel that baby?” he asks, his tone low and sultry.

You grind back with a muffled hum. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re practically dry-humping each other next to the crowd of other sweaty, writhing couples. While Jimin likes how this feels, he’d like to regain the use of his hands. Jello shots be damned.

He pulls away for a second and looks around, depositing all but one of the unopened cups into the hands of the next person that walks by before he squeezes the chosen red one out on his tongue. He leans back in and presses his mouth to yours again. You can still taste artificial strawberry on his tongue. You're not even sure he swallowed before you started trying to lick his tonsils but you don't care. You want him now. You need him.

His thoughts are much the same as his free hand wanders down your back, dipping lower for just a second to feel the curve of your ass and squeeze. When you gasp he takes a step back and looks at you through hazy lust-drunk eyes. His lips are red from the gelatinous treat. You’d love to try and suck the color right out of them.

"Princess," he pants, his hands grabbing at your hips.

"Jimin," you breathe back, pulling him closer again. "Come home with me." It's not really an invitation. He'd be coming back with you anyway since he's currently living on your couch, but this has a different meaning and you both know it. It’s a plea for him to take you to bed.

You make out on the front lawn while you wait for the uber. You make out in the back of the uber on your way home. You make out on the way up the stairs and you leave a heart shaped love bite on his neck while he uses your keys to open the door. You make out pressed against the kitchen counter, and in the hallway.

Yoongi watches the pair of you act like he’s invisible as you stumble your way around the apartment. He has a spoonful of Fruit Loops half-lifted to his gaping mouth and finally takes his bite when you’ve made it to your room. Thank god you closed the door.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin isn't as shy this time about laying his weight over you once you’ve dropped down onto your bed. You’re warm and he seeks the heat of your body as your hands explore the taught muscles of his chest. They dance around his belt, slipping up over the curve of his perfectly round ass so you can squeeze and pull him against you, inviting him to grind his solid cock into you. Your movements get slower and more focused when you unbutton his shirt. He tugs it off his shoulders and throws it to the floor before helping you pull that tiny excuse of a dress over your head.

You're thanking your lucky stars you had the foresight to put on a matching set, despite how foolishly hopeful it felt at the time. The way Jimin is drinking you in wrapped in nothing but a little bit of black lace is making your head spin, or maybe that's the alcohol.

He sits back on his heels beside you, trailing his fingertips from your throat to the valley between your breasts. He skims over your belly button then side sweeps over your hip and down your thigh, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

"Wanna take those heels off, princess?" he asks, scooting toward them on his knees.

"I can do it," you insist, planning on making a show of dropping what's left of your modesty. You aren't counting on the way the room turns when you stand up too fast. Luckily, Jimin's reflexes are quick and his hands on your hips steady you before you can actually fall. Standing up is also doing something terrible to your stomach. It rolls and clenches and your anxiety skyrockets.

Parties aren't really your thing, and while Jimin might be drunk he is damn good at controlling it. On the contrary, it's becoming increasingly apparent that you are completely hammered.

"You okay?" Jimin asks, concern dripping from his tone. He stands up and turns you both so you can sit on the edge of your bed.

"I think... I'm drunk," you confess, unable to explain why you suddenly feel like crying.

"I think you're right, baby," he agrees, squatting down to unbuckle the ankle straps on your heels. "Let's get you some water."

Your stomach flips again and time slows as you feel the contents of the evening rise in the back of your throat. Panicking, you look to Jimin with wide eyes and a hand flying up to your mouth. He spins around looking for anything to catch what's surely coming and upends your little trash can. Candy wrappers and old class notes fall to the floor. He thrusts the can under your face just as a rainbow of Jello shots and reappears.

"I'm so sorry," you cry between heaves, tears streaking your make-up down your face.

"Shhh," Jimin soothes, gathering your hair away from your face. When he's sure you've finished, he disappears from the bedroom with the offending trash can and you're left with your horrible, alcohol twisted thoughts.

He's going to think you're pathetic and disgusting. Why on earth did you think you could drink that much?

Jimin returns with a glass of water before you can get much further into your self-deprecation.

"You're never gonna fuck me now," you blabber, your filter lost. Your thoughts are a jumble of sadness and muddled lust.

Jimin laughs. "Well, I'm definitely not gonna fuck you like this. I didn't realize you were this drunk," he softly says. It's a caring statement, not even a little bit condescending.

You should be grateful that he wants you sober for sex, but it only makes you cry harder because you really just want him so badly and you're absolutely certain you've ruined your chances beyond repair. So, you do the only thing that makes sense right now and cry harder.

Jimin wraps his arms around you and leans close to your ear. "I want to, you know. I want to lay you down and touch you all over." He presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck. "I want to taste you, feel you. I want to be inside you so badly, but not like this."

"Please," you whine.

"Sober up first, okay?" he coaxes. "Can I help you get some pajamas? Brush your teeth?"

"Okay," you sniffle.

Jimin smooths his hand up your back, tracing the black lace band of your bra with the tip of his finger. “Do you want to take this off?”

You nod, reaching behind you to unfasten the clasp while Jimin reaches down to the floor for the button down shirt he discarded. He averts his eyes while you shed your bra, then holds his shirt open for you. You slip into it but don’t bother to button it up before walking to your door. He helps you get to the bathroom but you insist on doing it yourself so you can clean up and assess just how fucked up you really look right now.

When you close the door behind you, he makes sure to quietly apologize to Yoongi, who is still scrubbing the trash bin Jimin brought out earlier. Yoongi reaches into the cabinet for the bottle of Advil and gestures to a glass of water already on the counter.

Jimin waits for you to open the door and when you finally do he's relieved that you haven't fallen asleep. You've washed the makeup from your tear-streaked face and brushed your teeth. You've even pulled your hair back so it's no longer in the way. You look at him through a hazy apologetic lens as he offers you Advil and water. The last thing you want to do is ingest anything but if it will help you in the morning, you'll try it for his sake.

The journey from the bathroom back into your room is a blur. All you can think about is crawling back into bed and sleeping this awful feeling away. You struggle with the covers for a moment until Jimin helps you slide underneath them.

"I'm sorry. Don't hate me," you plead in a weak voice.

"Why are you sorry? I don't hate you," he assures you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He's shirtless. He could have been naked pounding your pussy stupid if you didn't overdo it on the drinks. You hate yourself a little bit for botching this chance, but if he could just put his arms around you again maybe you’d feel okay, like you didn’t blow it.

"Will you hold me?" you ask.

“Of course,” he replies softly.

The light in the room disappears and the mattress sinks behind you. His arms wrap themselves around your waist and his fingers twine with yours.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers when you squeeze his hand.

The heat of his breath brushes against your neck but you don’t close your eyes. You’re too dizzy. Instead you focus on the soothing rhythm of his breathing until the weight of your eyelids wins out against the nausea and sleep finally claims you.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Your ringtone wakes you late, when the sun in your room is far too bright to be any time before ten. The sound is grating and irritating and you pull your pillow over your head to block it out. Jimin reaches for the phone, you can feel his weight shift and the heat of his skin when he hovers over you.

"Hello?" His voice is gruff and coarse with sleep.

Peeking out from beneath the pillow, you look over to him. His eyes are still closed and your phone is laying on his bare chest, speaker on and screen lit up.

"Gimme your bae," Jungkook's voice calls through the phone.

"She's sleeping," Jimin tells him. Looking in your direction, he meets your eyes and smiles.

You vaguely remember him making you drink more water last night, giving you Advil, and tucking you in. It's a very pleasant surprise to find that you aren’t horribly hungover.

"Wake her up," Jungkook whines. "Bro. She hit me so hard."

Jimin laughs. "You deserved it."

"I know," Jungkook agrees. "That's why I'm calling. Can I talk to her please?"

"You're on speaker."

"Hi, y/n. I got your number from Tae."

"Hi Kook," you croak.

"I'm sorry I was a douche last night. I get stupid when I drink whiskey."

"I accept your apology. Don’t do it again. How's your dick?" you ask, scooting closer to Jimin and laying your cheek on his chest. He wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head. The gesture makes you feel warm all over. He likes you.

"It hurts but I'll live. Sorry. For real. Do you guys wanna go eat later?" he asks you both.

Jimin answers this time. "Maybe. We have stuff to do first. I'll text you." He hangs up before Jungkook can say more.

“What stuff are we doing, hmm?” you question with a giggle, trying to play coy.

“Depends how you’re feeling, princess,” Jimin replies, leaning over you again to deposit your phone on your nightstand. He lingers above you, prompting the cautious exploration of your fingers on his chest.

Suddenly, you are acutely aware of the awful taste in your mouth. In fact, you feel gross all over. Not exactly the way you want to experience sex with Jimin for the first time.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you tell him, wiggling out from under his body. “You must think I am the worst, most unattractive human.”

“No,” Jimin says with a giggle. “I think you’re sexy and sweet. I really like you y/n.”

“Nobody likes me.” You scoff at him in disbelief.

“It’s rude to call people nobodies, don’t you think? Especially when they’ve just confessed their feelings,” Jimin teases, sitting up beside you.

“Well, let me at least brush my teeth,” you tell him, holding his shirt closed around you while you rise from the bed. You step around the clean trash can that’s been placed at the side of your bed thanks to Yoongi, noting that there is also a neat row of condoms on your nightstand and a note that reads ‘be done by 5 i wanna watch Dragonball Z after work.’

You laugh and quickly take care of your morning bathroom routine in record time so you can make use of Yoongi’s gift.

When you come back to your room, Jimin is watching you. His lips are drawn down in a pout, his eyes are half closed, and his chest, still bare, rises and falls heavily with each breath he takes as he rakes his eyes over your bare legs and up. His shirt hangs open on your body, leaving a strip of skin visible from your throat to your panties. He licks his lips when your fingers drag a slow line up that strip.

Parting the soft fabric further, you let it fall from your shoulders and pool around your feet. Jimin sits up for a better view and you wait for embarrassment to strike. It never happens. Instead, his gaze emboldens you. He looks wrecked already and he hasn't even touched you yet.

“So beautiful,” he whispers.

His assurance pulls you forward, one foot in front of the other until you’re close enough to touch and his hands are on your hips as you climb over him. He leans back under you as you push forward, connecting your lips with a force that borders on overeager. You can feel him smile against your lips and self-consciously, you will yourself to calm down. You have all day, there’s no need to rush.

When your kisses become soft and patient Jimin decides to take the initiative. He has to have you. He wants to be inside you. He sits up and sinks his hands into the flesh of your ass and begins to pull you down so he can grind up against your clothed cunt. When you moan his eyes roll back for a second and he buries his face into your neck to muffle the sound of his own. His tongue works in circles against you, giving you a taste of what’s to come before sucking a spot that has you burying your hand in his hair and grinding yourself down on him with need. He licks a hot stripe to your ear so he can whisper in it. In an instant he’s flipping you around on your back and grinding his pelvis against yours, allowing the dark desire to consume him.

“You like that, princess? You like feeling my cock on that sweet pussy of yours?”

“Yeah,” you whine, circling your legs around his hips. You can’t manage much more than that breathy reply, he is intoxicating and already you are drunk on his fumes.

“I hear it’s the sweetest. Made me so fucking jealous to hear Tae talk about you like that. You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?”

“God did Tae just go around telling everyone?” you pause when the friction rubs against your clit just right. “Oh fuck,” you moan, imaging the pillowy soft press of his lips on your more intimate areas.

He chuckles in response. “No,” he assures you. “Just Jungkook and me. Don’t worry,” he says, persuading you with a careful roll of his hips that has his shaft parting your folds despite the layers of clothing between you. “He won’t talk about it anymore, and you’ll forget all about it by the time we’re done here. I’m gonna eat your sweet little cunt until mine are the only lips you remember.”

“Please,” you whimper, drawing him into a needy kiss.

His fingers dip into the band of your panties and he teases and tugs at them until you’re squirming and begging him to take them off. His lips trail wet kisses down to your breasts and he pauses to take your nipple into his mouth as he carefully works your last remaining piece of clothing down your legs.

Nudging your legs apart again, he settles between them, ghosting the pads of his fingers up the inside of your thigh as he drags your nipple gently with his teeth. He switches to repeat the action on the other side and cautiously slips a finger between your folds, parting them and testing your wetness. Much to his delight, he already finds you soaked.

“Jimin,” you breathe out. “Please.”

“Be patient for me, princess. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He sits back on his knees between your thighs and uses his thumbs to smear your arousal over your lips. He groans something deep and tortured when he spreads them open.

“Y/n, holy fuck,” he whispers. “You’re perfect. So perfect.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at his praise. It feels like some kind of worship the way he looks down at your cunt, watching his fingers disappear inside you. His satisfied hum is like a hymn to the divine way your hot, slick walls squeeze him, a prayer to the mere idea of having that wet heat wrapped around his needy cock.

“Tae didn’t tell me you were so tight,” Jimin admits, looking up at you under his eyelashes.

“He only used his mouth,” you tell him, throwing your arm over your eyes. “I’ll never forget his lips if you keep talking about him.”

That seems to spark a fire in Jimin. His eyes grow dark and wild. He wants to ruin you. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh and begins sucking marks into the soft flesh while his fingers continue to pump inside of you. He slowly works his way down, making sure the red spots he leaves behind are sufficient enough to last for days. He makes sure you’ll have the reminder of his face between your legs every time you look down.

“Jimin don’t tease,” you beg, bucking your hips up to seek the warmth of his breath.

“I’m not teasing,” he chides. “I am savoring.” He curls his fingers and presses his thumb to your clit, making your legs jolt. “Trust the process.”

“Jimin--,” you start again, but you’re cut off by the first touch of his lips. It’s barely there, just the ghost of a kiss on your mound. It’s immediately followed by the flat of his tongue, pressing down as he moves it lower, slipping his fingers out as he descends. His tongue parts your folds instead, circling your dripping hole and then dipping inside it.

“Mmmmm,” he hums. “Fuck, you’re sweet.” He spreads you with his thumbs again and goes back for more, lapping at your wet cunt, swirling around your clit, sucking your folds into his lips. But it’s not just the action, it’s the drive behind it. He’s insatiable, moaning at the taste, bucking his hips into the mattress when you whine for him.

Your fingers tangle through his silver hair, twisting and pulling as he devotes himself to your undoing. He moves with you when you grind up against his jaw, stealing a glance up at your face. Jimin feels his cock twitch at the sight of you; breasts heaving, mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut. He’s leaking so much precum he can feel it soaking through his boxer-briefs. He’s almost afraid he’s going to lose it and cum in his pants.

“You gonna cum for me, princess?” he asks, lifting his face to push his fingers back inside. He pumps them hard, curling and searching for that elusive spot while he presses soft kisses to your clit. He alternates between flicking his tongue and rubbing against it with his lips, pausing every few seconds to whisper encouragements with warm breath puffed over your swollen bud.

“Come on, baby. Do it for me. Cum for me, princess. Let me taste it.”

“Please Jimin. Pleeeeease. I need you to suck it. Suck it harder,” you beg. “Right there. There! Don’t stop! Please! I’m so close.”

Jimin keeps steady for you despite your trembling thighs. He pounds your g-spot while he sucks as hard as you can take. Your mind goes totally blank, consumed by an orgasm so powerful you can see fireworks bursting behind your eyelids. Heat spreads from your core down your legs, up your spine.

“I’m cu— cumming— Jimiiiiin!” you cry, legs trapping his head like a vice. Your fingers leave his hair in favor of squeezing at your breasts as you ride out your orgasm. You buck your hips when he doesn’t let up after you’ve come down from your high.

“Take your pants off,” you pant, shoving at his head.

He finally pops off with a grin, his chin and lips covered in your slick.

“What if I’m not finished down here?” he teases, dipping his head back down to lick a stripe up your slit. Your whole body jumps when he touches your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Oh?” he feigns shock. “Sensitive?” he smugly asks, going back for one more taste.

“I wanna suck your cock,” you tell him, lazily pulling your legs up and turning your body away from him. You keep your eyes on him as you turn just enough to hang your head off the edge of the bed.

“Are you for real right now?” he asks, standing slowly. The tent in his pants is obscene.

“Please, Jimin. Just a little bit?”

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he sighs, tugging the zipper down on his jeans and letting them and his underwear fall to his ankles. He kicks them off and steps in front of you, smiling down at your upside down face, a little dumbfounded to have you wanting and willing to have him like this.

Your mouth waters at the sight of the swollen mauve tip standing at attention. He’s rock hard and so thick you’re not sure you can take him in your mouth, or your cunt for that matter. You’re glad he warmed you up with his fingers because you’re already clenching tight at the thought of that thick cock splitting you in two.

He reaches for the row of condoms as you take him in your hand and give him a few pumps. Just as he rips off one of the packets, you guide him towards the entrance of your mouth. You swirl your tongue against the tip and he drops everything, focusing on the way you tease him instead.

He inhales sharply. “Fuck. Who’s the tease now?”

You run your tongue along his shaft and smile when you get to the tip, giving it a quick kiss. “I’m savoring. What happened to trusting the process?”

He drags his lip through his teeth and clenches his jaw as you put his patience to the test but lucky for him you’re kind. He doesn’t have to wait long. You close your lips around him a moment later, reaching around his hips to guide him deeper, controlling the depth of his thrusts until he learns your limits and leans over you. With his hands on your breasts he rolls his hips. He can feel the tip of his cock bumping the back of your throat. He moans when you gag around him.

“That’s it, princess. Suck it. Just like that,” he praises.

Jimin is careful with his pace, and tender with his touch when he twists your nipples. He thinks he’s in control. He thinks he can take this just fine, despite the fact that your mouth feels fucking incredible. It’s when he watches you part your thighs and slip your hand between them to finger yourself while he fucks your mouth that he realizes he’s got none of the control he was so certain of. His balls tighten and he pulls out quickly and squeezes them, pinching at the tip of his cock and leaving you gasping for the breath you couldn’t catch with him in your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need a second,” he huffs, eyes closed, standing perfectly still. He breathes slowly and deeply. If you could peek into his brain you’re sure you’d see any number of boring things trying to distract him from the image of you fucking yourself with your fingers while you sucked his cock. It’s futile. He’s certain he’ll see it in his dreams.

“Did I do something wrong?” you wonder, shuffling around so that you’re laying back on your pillows.

Jimin ignores your question. He knows you’re well aware he almost came in your mouth. “I need to be inside you like, now,” he says, picking up the condom again.

You watch him tear it open and roll it on with his one knee pressed into the mattress and his other foot on the floor.

"Come on then," you coax, opening your legs for him to crawl between.

He pushes two fingers inside you on his way up, dragging them out slowly and smearing your wetness around your pussy before he lines his cock up and sinks in to the hilt in one smooth press.

You gasp as he fills you, feeling the stretch of his girth, and he hushes your whimpering and brushes his nose against yours. "I'm sorry baby," he soothes. "I'll go slow." He seals the promise with a kiss before hiking your legs up high around his waist and wrapping his arms around you.

He lies still like this, waiting for the green light while he kisses you breathless. He moves to your neck when you break away to inhale, sucking more little bruises in the skin there. "Tell me when."

"Move," you moan. "Move. Fuck me."

Jimin pulls out slowly, leaving just the tip inside. He pushes back in just as slow, repeating the action several times until it looks like you're about to cry.

You need it so badly. It feels cruel to have him rocking so gently inside you when all you want is to be ruined by him. "Harder," you plead.

"Are you sure?"

"Don't make me beg," you whine.

"What if I want you to beg?" he jokes, dropping his hips against you. It's almost hard enough to satisfy you.

"Then I'll beg."

Jimin groans, dropping his head to your shoulder as he sets a brutal pace. He pounds into you, forcing the air from your lungs with his powerful thrusts, rolling his hips like his life depends on it. "You're so fucking good for me, princess. So tight. Feels so fucking good."

"Go faster," you tell him, grabbing a handful of his ass.

Shifting higher on his knees, he picks up the pace. Sweat beads on his forehead and over his lip. It beads in the dip of his cupid's bow and you lick it away before raking his bottom lip through your teeth.

“You feel my fat cock baby?" he asks. You moan in response pulling your legs higher so he can fuck you even deeper. "You like the way I fill you, don't you? Want me to fuck you full of my cum? Take it," he grunts. "You take it so fucking well. You gonna cum for me again, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

Jimin pulls out when you start to clench, not quite edging you but stealing the pleasure you were high on nonetheless. You whine at the loss of him, walls fluttering wildly around nothing.

"Can we try something?" he asks, lifting your legs and putting them to the side.

"What did you have in mind?" you wonder. You reach for his cock but he's already moving, nudging at your hips until you turn.

"Up on your knees for me, princess," he instructs. He kneels behind you once you're in position and smooths his hand up your spine, guiding you gently down onto your elbows. “Is this okay?”

“It’s good,” you assure him, wiggling your hips a little to get him moving again.

He teases your slit with the tip of his cock, dragging it through your folds and rubbing it against your clit. Finally, he pushes back inside you, coaxing a fresh wave of arousal with the stretch of his girth. It’s deeper like this and impossibly you feel even more full than you did before.

“Oh, Jimin,” you sigh, dropping your face into your folded arms. “Jimin.”

“Good?” He folds himself over you, pressing his chest to your back and sliding his hands from your hips to your breasts.

You thrust yourself back into him as you answer. “Perfect. You?”

It takes him by surprise but he follows your lead. He drives himself into your cunt while massaging your breasts and kissing your back. “Fuck, y/n…” he moans, letting his teeth drag over your shoulder before he bites down.

You hiss at the sting and he soothes it with his tongue and puckered lips.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous taking my cock like this. Feel how deep I am. You’re squeezing me so tight, baby.”

“Jimin? Jimin, I need—,” you gasp out between thrusts.

“What, princess? What do you need?” he questions, releasing a breast to play with your clit instead. “Want me to pull your hair? Want me to fill you with my cum?”

“I wanna ride you.”

“Oh, fuck.” Jimin pulls back immediately.

He lays down beside you and grabs at your waist, guiding you over his cock and holding on tight as you drop your weight and take him completely. Swiveling your hips, you set a pace slow and steady. Jimin’s thumbs rubs soft circles into your skin as you move.

“Go faster,” he urges, unable to keep his hips from rising to meet yours.

You shake your head ‘no’ and continue with your slow rolling pace.

“Please, y/n. Ride it like you wanna cum with me.”

Smirking devilishly, you slow down even more and lean over him with your hands on either side of his head.

He looks down, watching your breasts sway and the way his cock disappears over and over.

“Fuck, y/n. PLEASE,” he whines, roughly grabbing your hips and pounding up into you.

Your startled laugh quickly turns into desperate cries of his name. His cock hits your g-spot directly. It feels so good you don’t even think you need him to touch your clit to make you cum. But he does. He pinches your bud between his fingers while he slams into you, growling and moaning and begging you to cum with him.

“I’m close,” he grunts, licking his fingers and rubbing furiously at your clit.

“Me too,” you whine. “I’m gonna—”

You don’t have time to finish the thought as he takes you over the edge with him. He slams his head back against the pillows as he pumps his hips and cums to the wild pulsing of your orgasm. Your cunt milks every last drop from him and you cry his name, clutching his wrists and letting your head fall back so you can wail your pleasure at the ceiling.

Jimin gasps, picking up his head to look down at how your pussy spreads open around him. Your slick cum coats the condom and his mouth waters, remembering the sweet tang of your taste. You’ve barely stopped grinding on him when he sits up to push you down on your back.

Pulling out, he kneels beside the bed and pulls you to the edge by your legs so he can gently lick you clean. He exhales a hot and heavy breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up to peel the loaded condom off his softening cock.

“That was… wow,” you pant, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as you try to regain your breath.

He’s already back at your side, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you towards his chest.

“Yeah,” he agrees while softly combing his fingers through your hair. He’s tired.

You smile against his sweaty chest and plant a soft salty kiss against him. Through the corner of your eye you see the row of untouched condoms on your nightstand. “We’ve got a lot left. Wanna go again?”

He hums a deep throaty sound and laughs when your hand falls to his limp cock. “I want to, but I need a bit to recharge. I can make you cum again while we wait. Do you want that, baby?”

“I always want that. But you don’t have to.”

The groan in his throat sounds croaky as he leans in to kiss your forehead. “I want to.”

He reaches down to wedge his fingers between your thighs and your whole body jumps at the sensitive sensation. How dare your body betray you in this moment?

“Seems like you might need time to recharge too,” he teases while nuzzling against the top of your head and squeezing you in a warm embrace against him. “I’m okay with just laying here and holding you.”

“Yeah?” You smile and cross your leg over his to get more comfortable. “Mmm. You can always help me study for the next test while you’re here.”

Laughter bubbles from his throat. “Are you trying to seduce me for answers to the exam? You know I don’t grade them, right.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, barely containing your giggles as you look up at him. “I don’t think I need to seduce anyone for answers. My head feels a little clearer now.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” he prods while playfully ghosting his fingers down your side.

“Because I know I can be distracted outside of class now instead. I mean, if you wanna keep doing this,” you explain while nervously drumming your fingertips on his chest. “I know I’m not anything special, but—”

Jimin lifts your chin and pulls you into a deep kiss. “You are,” he whispers when he pulls away.

You lick your lips and blink a few times. “I was gonna say you make me feel like I am the most special vanilla ice cream cone on the planet.”

His shy, warm smile fills your stomach with butterflies even as he makes his joke. “Want me to lick you up?”

“And so much more.”

It’s a weighted confession. You sit up to look at him so he knows this. He purses his lips and casts his away. He was avoiding this conversation.

“I don’t know how much more I can give you. I want to be what you deserve, but things are so hard right now. I don’t know that I can be someone who’s good enough for you. You deserve to be showered in gifts and taken on dates. You deserve to be given flowers every day. I don’t even have a car to take you somewhere for a vacation. I’m not sure I can be what you want.”

“Just be yourself,” you state plainly, cupping your hand around his jaw. “That’s what I want. So far I like the person I see. I like you, the real you.”

“I like you too,” he blurts, eyes snapping back to meet yours. “But I can’t afford—”

You press a finger to his lips. “I don’t need expensive dates or fancy gifts. I don’t need you to take care of me— well, last night was the exception and you didn’t need money for that. I just want you to be with me. Talk with me. Spend time with me. Maybe have lots of sex? I don’t know, we can figure out the rest later.” You laugh, embarrassed by your own boldness.

“You see everything that I am and you still want me.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re amazing. Now I know for sure you’re too good for me. But,” he pauses and slips his hands into yours, “I want to keep seeing you. I like talking to you and the more time I spend with you, the more certain I feel about the choices I’ve made. No one’s ever made me feel so free. I want to hold onto that feeling. I want to hold onto you.”

You tell yourself not to cry as you straddle his waist and hover above his lips. “I’m yours then. Are you mine?”

He catches your lips between his and buries his hands in your hair. “I’m yours.”

[chudleycanonficfest]

the hippogriffs and the flobberworms

Day 23, Post #2 by @accio-broom

Title: the hippogriffs and the flobberworms Author/Artist: accio-broom Pairing: Arthur & Ron Weasley (platonic) Prompt: slice of life Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Mentions of sex lives and STDs, very cringe-worthy.

Arthur whistles as he roams the ground floor of the Burrow, searching for his youngest son. Ron’s best friend Hermione is due to arrive any day, ready to spend the latter part of the summer holiday with the Weasleys, but there are some things Arthur needs to speak to Ronald about before Miss Granger joins them.

He’s probably left this conversation a little late—Ron turned fourteen a few months ago—but this is the first time the youngest has shown any interest in the opposite sex. With the rather exciting activities coming up for their fourth school year, including a ball, it’s only inevitable that different feelings will start to stir.

Chuckling, Arthur reminisces about the conversations with his other sons. Bill, always cool as a frost salamander, kept his focus on his old Dad without any outward discomfort, even though Arthur made a complete mess as he told Bill about the facts of life. All of Arthur’s words came out in a massive jumble—he couldn’t even use the correct terms for various body parts and used all the wrong euphemisms. Arthur had been trying so hard to be a cool dad that he got himself far too worked up to make any sense. 

His second son, Charlie, was dismissive and didn’t seem interested in the mechanics of making love, which was disappointing given the amount of time Arthur had spent rehearsing, determined to get it right that time. Percy approached the conversation with logic and appropriate questions, discussing it as he would an important Ministry policy before thanking his dad then leaving the room without a backwards glance. In stark contrast, the twins cracked inappropriate jokes and turned the tables on Arthur, making him feel awkward as innuendo after innuendo spewed from their mouths.

Ron will be Arthur’s last chance to do “the talk”. Molly is responsible for dealing with Ginny, and they’ve probably already started. He doesn’t baulk at the female aspect of puberty, having lived with a woman for almost twenty-five years, he’s well versed in the potions and muggle contraptions they need to use, but he thought it only fair that Molly gets a go of this, too. It’s one of the essential parts of being a parent, after all. 

Although Arthur is well-seasoned in explaining the facts of life without going overboard with the detail or using cringe-worthy phrases now (although the twins did teach him a few new idioms), he has decided to step away from the ‘cool’ dad persona and go full-on over the top this time. 

He could make this easy for Ron, but why would Arthur want to spoil his own fun?

A flash of red hair leaving the broom shed catches his attention out of the kitchen window, and Arthur’s grin widens. It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining, but there is a light breeze, keeping the air fresh and cool. It’s the sort of day that would lead to him fishing in the lake at the bottom of the garden, but he has a task at hand that he needs to deal with first. 

Maybe there’ll be time for him to get his rod out later.

Pouring two glasses of lemonade from the jug Molly has left on the side, Arthur uses a cooling charm on them then steps out from the backdoor and onto the patio. 

“Ron,” he calls, smiling as his son turns his head around faster than a niffler chasing gold, looking like Arthur has caught Ron doing something that he shouldn’t. Probably skiving from the long list of chores Molly gave him this morning. “Come up and have a chat with your old Dad.”

Arthur eases himself into the bench under the wisteria with a groan. Although he isn’t all that old, having seven children and living through a war takes its toll on a guy’s body. Now, every joint clicks and complains every time he moves. Forget getting somewhere in a hurry; slow and steady is now the way to go.

Ron settles in the seat next to him. 

“What’s up, Dad?” he asks, smiling at Arthur. He takes the offered drink, gulping almost half of it in one go before letting out a loud, satisfied sigh.

“Hermione is coming to stay with us before we go to the World Cup, I hear? But not Harry?”

Ears turning pink, Ron turns his head to look out at the garden. “Y-yeah. We’re going to collect Harry in a few days, remember?”

“Oh, yes. I’m very excited to be visiting the Muggles. Will they tell me about eckeltricity? Should I take my battery collection?”

Ron laughs. “I don’t think the Dursleys will be too impressed with batteries, Dad. They use them every day.”

“Shame.” Arthur sighs, then turns his eyes to gaze the same way as Ron’s. “So, Hermione is a girl.”

“Er, yes, I guess so.”

“A girl you’re attracted to?” Arthur glances at Ron, whose face has turned as white as a ghost.

Ron reacts with a knee-jerk response, but the look on his face indicates that he’s not telling the whole truth. “No!”

“Are you sure? You and her have gotten close lately. Mum and I like her.” Arthur waits a moment for Ron to take back his first response, then tuts when he stays quiet. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone you do like soon. Anyway, as you already know, she’ll be staying in Ginny’s room with your sister, and I’m sure you’re clear on the rules of the house. Your Mum does not want any sneaking around or late-night visits.”

Arthur doesn’t hold the same views as his wife. Sure, he doesn’t want the kids to be sleeping in each other’s beds, but he remembers the conversations he and his friends had during the early hours of the morning when he was their age. If the children wanted to get up to something, Arthur would rather it happen under their roof where they’re safe than have them take unnecessary risks. He and Molly were young once, too, although it feels like a lifetime ago now.

“I know, Dad.”

“Good. And so you know, if you ever find yourself feeling conflicted or wanting some advice on how to ask a lady out, you can always come to me. Because being a teenage lad is a very confusing time, and the magic will heighten this, as well as the fact that you live in proximity to some charming young women. You might not feel it right now, but you’re on the precipice of being a man. Your voice has started breaking. Sure, it’s a little later than the others, but I’m sure that’s nothing to worry about. Everyone develops at their own pace, after all. Pretty soon, you’ll have hairs sprouting all over the place, even in places you wouldn’t expect it. I can’t remember when all of this started happening for me, but it was around your age. And don’t get me started on the wet dreams…”

“Merlin,” Ron sighs, now squirming in his seat, trying to make himself as small as possible. When Arthur checks again, his youngest is looking into the depths of his glass as if considering whether he could drown himself in there.

“Sex is healthy, son, especially if it’s with someone that you admire and love, whether that be a girl or a boy, Your mum and I don’t mind as long as you’re happy. And if you find the right person, then it can be amazing.”

A low groan emits from Ron’s mouth as he pushes himself further down the bench, attempting to put some distance between him and Arthur. 

“Please stop talking,” he pleads with bright red cheeks.

“Having a good sex life is nothing to be ashamed of, let me tell you. The seven of you weren’t delivered by the hippogriffs, after all. Not that we only have sex to procreate. Having you kids out of the house has done wonders for our love life. 

“While we’re on the subject, if you can’t get a partner, then there’s nothing wrong with taking matters into your own hand. Masturbation is very beneficial, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. It’s important to explore your own body and learn the kind of things you like so that you can recreate those moments with a partner. I can tell you some useful charms if you need them—ones for when you’re with someone, and others for when you’re alone. Of course, there are some spells that are vital for you to learn. Safety is sexy, and you don’t want any little accidents happening.”

Ron runs his hand over his face as if trying to erase his dismay. “Dad. Please stop. I know all of this already. Not that I wa-I mean, do that sort of stuff.” 

He crosses his legs with a gulp, and Arthur feels a rush of joy. He’s succeeded in making his youngest son feel as awkward as possible. You have to take delight in the smallest of moments, especially the older you get. 

“Who told you?”

“I have five brothers and live in a dorm with four other boys. Also, Flitwick taught us the contraceptive charm last year.” Ron is still focused on his glass, looking like he wants to be a million miles away.

“Oh, right. ”

An irrational surge of disappointment crashes over Arthur. He should have realised that kids are far more advanced and talk much more than they did in his day. He should have bit the bludger earlier and nabbed him last summer.

“Well,” Arthur continues anyway, determined to see this through, “contraceptive charms aren’t the only things you need to learn. You need to ensure you protect yourself from Sexually Transmitted Diseases, or STDs, as well. Some of these can make you a little itchy, but others can be dangerous. You should go and see Madam Pomfrey if you think you might have one. Of course, you could always get some muggle con-domes. Fantastic little invention they are. Rather than trying to remember a load of different spells while you’re in the heat of passion, you can whack on a rubber and get to it.”

He doesn’t allow Ron’s small squeak to put him off his speech, now he’s in full flow again. “Talking about getting to it. Consent is important. When you decide to take that step, or even before when you snog someone, you need to make sure they want to do it too. Every step of the way. If they say no, you stop right away, even if they said yes only a minute previously. You must understand that. Never force yourself on someone, especially if they are drunk or otherwise intoxicated. If they can’t say yes, it’s a no-go. Got it?”

“I-I d-do,” Ron stutters, his voice strained under the embarrassment of the situation. “C-Can I go now?”

“Yes, yes, of course. But don’t forget that I’m here if you need anything, son. Even if you think it might get you into trouble. And look after Hermione, even if your feelings for her are only platonic. I admire the way you, her and Harry have formed a little group. The three of you are good for each other.”

Arthur reclines on the bench and closes his eyes, letting out a sigh as the sun warms his face. There’s no point getting one’s wand in a knot over spilt potion. He still managed to get Ron squirming like a flobberworm, so it was mostly a successful mission.

The bench shifts as Ron rises to his feet. He finishes his drink with a gulp and sets the glass down on the floor before shuffling away.

“Dad?” a small voice asks.

When Arthur opens his eyes, he spots Ron towering over him. When did he get so lanky? Ron is going to be the tallest of the family, for sure. There’s a smile on his face, though he still can’t meet his Dad’s gaze.

“Yeah, Son?” Arthur asks, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Thanks for trying.”

Ron shrugs, then wanders back down the garden, his gangly frame hunched over. Arthur marvels at Ron’s response. You think you fully understand your children, and then they do something that knocks you off your broom. But Ron is a decent lad, and Arthur knows he will go far, like the rest of them.

With a happy sigh, he leans back and closes his eyes again. He’s done an okay job at this parenting thing. As long as none of them gets arrested or tries to break into Gringotts, he can die a happy man.

[lauraashley93]

It Was Always You

Reader X Miguel

Warnings: none

It had been years since you had seen each other. You had both went your separate ways both wanting different things and neither wanting to part from your dreams. Your stubbornness and pride winning over love. You both told yourself it was for the better, but was it? You both said you were better off, but were you? It was just another day and you lived quite a bit out from Santo Padre but you occasionally made your way there to your favorite book store. So far you had manage to avoid him but seeing as he was a very busy man that wasn’t very hard. Except today.

You had just walked out of the book store with your nose in your book when you walked into him. Your conversation wasn’t long but it was enough to bring out the wine at dinner with your best friend. Little did you know, it did the same with Miguel.

I saw her today, Nestor. | I saw him today, y/bf/n.

“Seems like it’s been forever.” Miguel began his story.

“I wonder if he still cares.” You bit your lip.

“She looks better than before” he smiled at the memory of you.

“I couldn’t stop staring at him.” You sighed at the thought of him.

“I asked how she was doing. She seemed to be doing well.”

“I asked how his wife was. They’re expecting a baby boy.” You took a drink of your wine and swallowed hard. “I bet he’s happy now.” Your friend patted your hand as you took another drink.

“Between me and you, I’d pick her over any girl.” Nestor just nodded in understanding. I cant even look at her without wanting to cry. How pathetic am I?” He scoffed.

“He wouldn’t even look at me.” You wiped a tear away from your eye.

“I told her I missed her, ya know.” He took a drink of his scotch.

“He doesn’t mean it. There’s no way he meant it.” More tears fell down your cheek.

“I meant it. I could tell she didn’t believe me.” He slammed his fist on the table. “I love her.” His voice cracked.

“He loves his wife. His new life.” You sniffed and half smiled. “He gave me a friendly hug.” Your friend gave you a sympathetic smile.

“I held her for the last time, Nestor.” He looked down at the drink in his hand. “I lost her.” He swallowed back the rest of his drink and got up so Nestor wouldn’t see the tears falling down his cheek.

“I just love him so much but it’s such a shame that it’s not enough to change anything.” You finished off your wine and started crying as your friend came to your side and held you.

@angelreyesgirl @auroraariza @spookys-girl @trulysuccubus @stunning-shitz @rosieposie0624 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @skyofficialxx @strawberrywritings @bucky-iss-bae-archive @miss-nori85 @cind-in-real-life @deeandbobbymcgee @starrynite7114 @louisianalady @itsjaybeast @-im-fantastic- @justatiredfool @scuzmunkie @ly-canthropewrites @yourwonkywriter

[juuls]

Juulna’s ‘Hold Onto Your Sanity’ Fic, Book, and Music Recs for the 2020 Dumpster Fire... Part 3!

So you just crash-landed behind enemy lines in a war you know barely anything about except that your role seems infinitesimal and insignificant, and dumped into a year, 2020, that already seems fifteen years too long.

Before you drown your sorrows in some fantastic scotch or wine coolers for days (or weeks)… I have a proposal.

That you step back from the flames, tune things out for a bit, and try to forget about the outside world for a while (but don’t forget to vote or I will be very sad at you!).

These fics are meant to take you out of your head (I’m including more plot/story-minded fics than PWP) for the next few weeks or months as the world goes to hell (even more) but of course there are some bits of solid angst in these as there is wont to be in many a fic. Check the tags, read responsibly, don’t like-don’t read, ship and let ship, and please do leave a kudos and maybe even a comment! :)

This is PART THREE.

Check out here for Part One and most of the Marvel fic recs, along with a selection of book recs too. :)

And here’s Part Two, which has the bulk of my Star Wars and Game of Thrones recs, along with Spotify playlists!

Part Three is this one here, all about the Potterverse.

(Not yet complete) Here’s Part Four, filled with even more shippy goodness from all over the Star Trek universe. So. Many. Ships. :D

(Not yet complete) Part Five is Witcher, Man From UNCLE, Stargate: Atlantis and SG-1, Sherlock, Hannibal, and Doctor Who.

(Not yet complete) Part Six will probably be all for my newfound love of Supergirl, along with some Game of Thrones and Marvel ships I skipped, because I gotta stop somewhere with all these recommendations or I’ll be at it forever. Seriously, how much of this stuff have I read!?

But I think we all need some distractions from the world these days, eh? Or something to console us other than internet rage and a barrel of ice cream and/or hard alcohol.

Potterverse

I’ve chosen to pick fics (mostly) off of AO3 for their easy reading access, though HP fics’ golden years were on sites like fanfiction.net and other independent archives like Sycophanthex and others which have closed their doors over the years, sadly. Some of these fics date back to almost 20 years old, or more, amazingly!

For fics on fanfiction.net, I highly recommend using this link (FicSave) to epub/mobi converter rather than dealing with the frustrating app. It functions like AO3′s built-in download button.

SSHG/Sevmione

Rec assistance by @perrydowning​

Second Life by Lariope

Phantom of Hogwarts by Good_Witch

Romancing the War by Pubella

The Poison Garden by turtle_wexler @turtlewexlerwrites

A Light in the Fog by turtle_wexler

Pride of Time by AnubisAnkh

The Savage by MagdatheMagpie

Snape’s Story by Tbird1965

Recognition by jezzie (krith)

Tedium of Time by oneredshoe

Tango by Desert_Sea

Sense and Insensibility by Desert_Sea

Time Mutable Immutable by Grooot

The Twenty by Leyna Rountree

For the Only Hope by ausland @run-with-me-to-the-sea

Bundle of Joy by LadyTuesday

Our Hands Tied by multilingualism

Choose Something Like A Star by TeddyRadiator

Mistress of the Stacks by Ms_Anthrop

A Derailed Train of Thought by Ms_Anthrop

Antiquities by stormcorona

Watch Over Me by @snapeslittleblackbuttons​

Dropped Down into the Unknown by @q-drew​

Delicate Transitions by @morbidmuch​

Lay Me Low by TeddyRadiator

The Savage by MagdatheMagpie

Another Dream by @dragoon811​

A Chance For Happiness by @corvusdraconis​

Breath of the Nundu by corvusdraconis, Dragon_and_the_Rose

Just to Be by Amarti @amarti-writes-stuff​

Hinge of Fate by Ramos

Forged in Flames by @mswhich​

Days in the Sun by bluespring864

Making sure the boy who lived, actually does by Hold_en @hold-enwrites​

The Problem With Purity by Phoenix.Writing

One Step Forward, Two Decades Back by corvusdraconis

The Headmaster’s Wife by Mrs_HH @propertyofseverustsnape

The Master, the Warden, the Headmaster, and the Deputy by mak5258

Cloak of Courage by Wendynat

Hermione Granger and the Intended Vessels by ShawnaCanon

Augury and Ardor by SnapeySnax

Before the Dawn by snarkyroxy

The Love You Take by Subversa

His Draught of Delicate Poison by Subversa

and sooooo many more if you want them just ask, this is both mine and Perry’s oldest ship lol

Gramander (Original Graves x Newt)

A Gilded Cage is Still a Cage by Anonymous

take a deep breath (and let it go) by lincesque @tumbloncat

Roar by @elenothar

Matchmaker, Matchmaker by @prosodiical

Dearly Beloved by prosodiical

Basic Instincts by @manic-intent

Promised by Miss_Lv

Plan G by Aate

Heat of the Chase by argentoswan @wannahearaboutmycats

Newt Scamander’s Guide to Getting Things Done by arthureameslove

Against all Odds by Maril

Where I Belong by Mishafied

He Wants To Say, “I Love You, Nothing Can Hurt You”  by @obsidionwingsofmidnight

Arranged by Miss_Lv

death of a bachelor by gudetama (elementary)

The Graves Identity by Mishafied

you make me feel this way somehow by gudetama (elementary)

The Nature of the Beast by AntiGravitas @absolutelynogravitaswhatsoever

The Knights, the Newt, and the Rose by @yinyangswings

The Wizard’s Cat by @natecchi

The Color of Boom by gypsiangel

Signalling Theory: Blue Coat by @obaewankenope​

Flame by @esamastation​

And The Tag Read Simply: “Pretty” by @funkzpiel​

Aren’t You Gonna Arrest Me, Officer? by JoyBurd

a little bit lost by shortbread @shortbread-fanfiction​

Dramione

Rec assistance by @cuthian​

Seven Times by kerri240879

Her Beauty and the Moonlight by BrilliantLady

The Fallout by everythursday (orphaned and only available on AO3 now, but complete)

The Eagle’s Nest by HeartOfAspen

Turncoat by elizaye @imnotleavinherewithoutyou

The Virgin Conundrum by AkashaTheKitty @akashathekitty

Bad Faith by Morrighan256

Isolation by bexchan @bex-chan-blog

The Serpent, the Witch, and the Broom Closet by bitchywitchy

Silencio by AkashaTheKitty

All You Want by senlinyu @senlinyu

Static by galfoy @heymanticore

What the Room Requires by Alydia Rackham

And We All Fall Down by @rumaan

Ambition’s End by Hanako A

Wait and Hope by mightbewriting @mightbewriting

Rewriting Destiny by mayawrites95 (mayarox95)

Chronos Historia by In_Dreams @indreamsink

A Muggle-born Magic by Musyc @willhavetheirtrinkets

Hunted by Bex-chan

A Second Look by @riverwriter

The Nietzsche Classes by Beringae

This Too, Is Sacred by HeartOfAspen

Bite First, Ask Questions Later by Daredevilsinthedetails, Kaylessi

Nocturnus by In_Dreams @indreamsink

Broken by @inadaze22​

The Green Girl by Colubrina

Lady of the Lake by Colubrina

Rebuilding by Colubrina (really just anything written by @colubrina)

Presque Toujours Pur by @shayalonnie

Can’t Change the Way I Am by @nauticalparamour

Law and Marriage by DragonGrin (formerly TeenTypist)

The Tower Window by @xodramaqueenox​

Unexpected by Emara88

Something Old, Something New by Kate Dessi

Suppressed Emotions by hopelesslydevoted.xx 

Silver Blood by @freyaishtar

When the Day Met the Night by @bex-la-get

Harmony

A Marauder’s Plan by CatsAreCool (Rachel500)

A Step to the Right by CatsAreCool (Rachel500)

Eighth by lorien829

The Catalyst by lorien829

Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists by lorien829

Knife’s Edge by Celtic55

The Black Book by mosteveryonesmad

Awakening by SweetShireen

The Sword and the Snake by bartonfink1974

Dispelling the Silence by Indygodusk

One Year Later: Return to Hogwarts by Twilight’s Inferno

DraHarmony

Fourteen Thousand Galleons by @frumpologist

The Invitation by hot_elf @hot-elf

Love Love Love by MissELY @misselylux​

Changing Scenery by aethling

East of Eden by msmerlin @ms-merlinblack

Turn Back Time by Dazeventura6

Foxfire by @setissma

Come Together by @nuclearnik

The Soul of the Wolves by LR_Earl @fanficbylrearl

Running From Lions by tryslora @tryslora

An Unexpected Family by ladyroxanne21

The Prophecies by jamcreynolds

Drarhinny

Reconstruction by @aldersprig​

Fell From the Sky by BrandonStrayne @brandonstrayne​ (I really love this one, and not just as a Canadian.)

Demons From the Past by pottermum

Drarry

Rec assistance by @newtypeshadow​

Rarely Pure and Never Simple by birdsofshore

Aural Gratification by birdsofshore

Lost Among and Falling by @bafflinghaze

The Corruption Sequence series by beren @berenwrites

Sentinel ‘verse series by elyssblair @elyssblair-blog

Date Blindness by dysonrules

Starts With a Spin by Maxine @serasarahhhh​

Temptation on the Warfront by alizarincrimson

Paradigm by dysonrules

Here’s The Pencil, Make It Happen by ignatiustrout

Draco Sodding Malfoy by Shewhxmustnxtbenamed @shewhomustnotbenamed

Pieces of What by Jadwiga

Found, Not Lost by inspiration_assaulted

Shared Detention by DadIWriteGayPorn

Dirty Little Secret by Writcraft @writcraft​

19 Years by shilo1364 @whimsicaldragonette​

Morning Suns & Coffee Runs by laugh_a_latte @queer-coffee​

Reus Una by purplepen76

Between Ink and Blood by Candamira

Ginmione

Distractions by @morningsound15​ 

Cissamione

(This seems like it’s a bit cracky, but there’s some good ones, I promise! I sorta stumbled ass-backwards into this ship but really enjoy some of them.)

One Step Left by Cysteine @cysteine

Extinction by @rubikanon​

Blinding Light by @16-pennies​

Somebody Loved by beforeyouspeak

...

..

There. This is much better, isn’t it?

So my challenge to you, if your world is falling, burning down around you in flames... is this:

...if you feel yourself getting anxious or depressed, whether from the news or being cooped up in isolation or bored or on the verge of tearing your hair out or jumping off that roof or grabbing something to go after the dictator-of-the-week.... pause, take a breath, open up this rec list, close your eyes and pick something, and let chance take you somewhere hopefully far away. Let yourself be transported.

Oh, and don’t click on this Google Drive link. Really, there’s not 30+ GB of data on that Drive I’m sharing. Shame. There totally aren’t tens of thousands of books, as many audiobooks as could fit, and a large collection of fanfiction downloaded from AO3 in there. (Also, not all fics have been shared to that folder yet; I’m working on it a little at a time as I download more.)

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Mysterious Night Blooming Roses pt 3

Hey look, more of that vampire bodice ripper. 

Things are really heating up at Castle Pankratz!

tw: blood drinking, horny

---

“Many of your predecessors found my feeding to be...pleasurable,” the Viscount shrugged. “So don’t be embarrassed should any such feelings or physical reactions arise during our time together.”

The blush that bloomed across Geralt’s pale cheeks was enchanting and the vampire felt himself falling a little more in love with his most recent pseudo-employee. 

“Wh-What happened to my, uhm, predecessors?” Geralt asked, biting at his bottom lip. 

“The one before you, Moira, she’s off to start a wool trading business in Temeria. She wanted to learn a skill and find a job; you know, become a woman of independent means.”

“Oh.”

“And before her there was Thoren, and he’s probably teaching his children to fish by now. I suspect he has his own fleet of ships with the price cod has been selling for in Redania.”

“They’re still alive?”

“Of course! And they left Castle Pankratz with a hefty payment in thanks for their service. Enough to buy a whole herd of sheep, if you’re Moira. Or a nice cottage and a fishing boat, if you’re Thoren. I don’t know what you’ll choose to do with your money when your ten years is up. How old will you be, then?”

“Thirty-four.”

“You’re the perfect age! I became a creature of the night some time during my twenty-seventh year of life and that’s how I appear now; or so I have been told. I’ve actually been living here for nearly two thousand years.”

The peasant’s went wide and he swallowed thickly. “Hmm.”

“May I have your consent to drink from you, Geralt? I know it’s an odd way to meet and a rushed explanation of things, but it’s been rather a long week and I’m… I’m hungry, Geralt. Would you mind?”

“I suppose not, Your Grace,” the peasant murmured, and tilted his head to the side.

---

Their first time together had been rushed and uncomfortable and awkward. Fumbling. Like two teenagers attempting their first romantic embrace in a barn, avoiding their chores and praying that their parents or siblings didn’t accidentally peek inside and catch them. 

Things had gotten better since then. The village’s Samhain celebration was drawing ever closer and the darkness of night came earlier every day. There was more time for Geralt and Jaskier to spend together, talking and laughing in the library or sitting room. Jaskier wrote music, and often played his compositions for Geralt on the harp, lute, or piano. Geralt would read out loud some nights, his fingers playing idly with the laces of Jaskier’s shirt or the fringe of his hair as he did so. 

Then, early one autumn evening, Jaskier summoned Geralt to his private chambers.

“Your Grace?” the peasant asked, peeking his head and shoulders into his Master’s enormous bedroom.

“Come in, Geralt. Please come in and close the door behind you.”

Geralt stepped inside and closed the door. His eyes remained downcast as he turned towards bed where Jaskier lay, reclining comfortably like some kind of presiding deity. “You summoned me, Your Grace?”

“Come here, pet, and have a seat. I’d like to talk to you about something rather important.”

Geralt crossed the windowless chamber and took a nervous seat at the very edge of Jaskier’s mattress. He’d never been in this part of the castle before; usually the vampire took him to the sitting room or his own bedroom to feed because it was easier to tuck him in for a nap afterward. It was, as the vampire liked to joke, a rather draining experience for the young man. 

“Are you displeased, Your Grace? Have I done something wrong?”

“Oh no! Of course not, dear heart! You could not possibly be any more pleasing, in all honesty. I just wanted to know how you were getting along. How do you spend your days in my castle when I am asleep in here?”

“I read, mostly. You have some of my favorites in your library.”

“Such as?”

“I’ve read The Three Musketeers twice. I’ve read Treasure Island, Faustus, and a few collections of poetry as well.”

“Studious,” the vampire smiled, tugging Geralt closer. The mortal man allowed himself to be moved up the bed and into Jaskier’s cold yet inviting embrace. “I like that in a man.”

“In… in a man?”

“Have I misunderstood something, my dear? I thought I saw you peeking at me while I changed for supper yesterday,” Jaskier explained, relaxing his arms enough so that Geralt could easily leave if he wanted to. The vampire was right, however. Geralt had been peeking and he had liked what he’d seen. “I thought that you had perhaps begun to feel the same things for me that I have begun to feel for you.”

“What are you feeling exactly, Your Grace?” Geralt’s voice was low and sweet and dripped like honey. The warm human wrapped in Jaskier’s arms smelled fantastic, like lust and mint; the wine from dinner still sang in his blood. The vampire shivered and narrowed his eyes. The irises flashed from blue to red and then back to blue again, revealing to his guest the intense emotions he usually held in check. 

“In regards to you, my dear Geralt? I’m afraid that I feel significant attachment. I have not tasted blood so sweet and floral in over a hundred years, nor have I had conversations so scintillating. I suspect it has been many more years since I’ve had that, if I cared to actually count, but that would be a waste of time in your presence. You are clever, curious, loyal, and your chivalry seems to know no bounds, dear heart. How could I not feel something romantic in nature towards you when you, yourself, are so naturally easy to romance?”

The peasant’s face flushed prettily and his heartbeat sped up to a pleasant, ringing tempo. Jaskier could smell the mixture of love and arousal wafting off his darling Geralt and it nearly intoxicated him. He felt his fangs go sharp and steely in his mouth and he bit back a predatory hiss. “Fuck!”

“Your Grace? Are you alright?”

“Perhaps you should go after all, my pet. I’m afraid I-”

“No!” Geralt stiffened and pulled out of the Viscount’s arms. He shrank back against the covers and looked up at his Master with wide, worried eyes.  “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I’m so confused. I can’t leave again until I know what your intentions are. It’s only been a few weeks since my arrival and yet I still I -” the young man grappled with his language, pleading for something that would get his feelings across to the ancient, all-knowing vampire before him. “- I can’t stop dreaming about you, Jaskier! I can’t get you out of my head! The more I try not to think about you the more I fantasize about sneaking in here and laying at your side as you sleep. I ache to feel your skin against my own. I long for your hands, colder than death as they are, to caress me and hold me.”

The vampire let his lips part, his fangs gleaming in the low light of a few candles. Geralt’s words caught in his throat and his heart-rate rose again. It was nearly frantic. Jaskier would have been worried, but that particular rhythm combined with the way Geralt had started to smell was really getting to his head. 

He allowed himself to give a single, territorial little growl before he rose onto his knees. The vampire placed one hand on either side of Geralt’s head and leaned down, brushing the tips of their noses together as he trapped his human quarry against a goosefeather pillow. “I dream of you as well, my pet. I dream of running my fingers through your soft white hair and listening as you read to me in that deep, rumbling voice.”

“Your Grace?”

“I dream,” Jaskier sighed, tracing his nose along Geralt’s jaw, “Of how delectable you smell when you’re happy. Of how caring you are when you’re worried. Of how you might react to sweet, glorious compliments being whispered in your ear as I hold you close and take you apart. I’ve had centuries of practice, dear heart, and I really am quite good.”

“Your Grace.” 

“I dream of touching you, Geralt. May I please touch you?” 

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Gods, Geralt. When you call me that, it -” the vampire’s fangs lengthened again, pushing and straining towards his sweet human sacrifice, “- It really awakens the nature of a beast in me.”

“My apologies, Master.”

Jaskier groaned and leaned away, his hands covering his face to keep his fangs from finding Geralt’s neck on instinct. “That’s certainly not any better.” 

“Do you wish to drink from me, Jaskier?” Geralt asked. His voice was meek. Nervous. The vampire’s long-dead heart nearly cracked in spite of itself. 

The peasant had never referred to it as drinking before. Always feeding or supping. Geralt understood that he was a food source and kept his distance from the whole process by using such specific terminology for their activities. Yes, the human clearly enjoyed the endorphins Jaskier’s feeding process released throughout his body, and the inhibition-lowering side-effects of Jaskier’s vampiric presence had let a few specific terms of endearment slip through the human’s lips but…

This was different. This was Geralt offering himself up rather than accepting his status as an offering from the village. He was an equal participant, now. 

“Would you like it if I drank from you, my dear?”

“Yes,” Geralt admitted. His face was aflame with either shame or lust; Jaskier suspected that it was a strong combination of both. He pulled himself against the vampire and tossed his hair to the side, baring the pale column of his throat. His voice was breathy and a little higher than normal when he locked his gaze with Jaskier’s and whispered, “I’m all yours, Your Grace.”

The backs of the Viscount’s knuckles swept across the smooth expanse of skin and both men shuddered with anticipation. Jaskier curled around Geralt possessively and ran his icy lips down the side of the human’s neck to his pulse-point. The vampire nibbled teasingly for a moment, letting his teeth and tongue worry the skin to a warm, vibrant pink before placing the tips of his fangs down. As he pressed in, breaking through and tasting the first few delectable ruby droplets, Geralt moaned openly. 

His hand clenched in the material of Jaskier’s night-shirt and his eyes rolled back into his head. It was rapturous. It was ecstasy. And now he didn’t have to keep himself silent and resigned; he could react the way he’d wanted to for weeks as his Master drank deeply from the fount of his heart.

“Jaskier!” The hand that wasn’t the vampire’s silk night-shirt was grasping at the skin of his hip, digging his fingers into the cold, firm crease where Jaskier’s long torso met his legs. He needed to hold on to something. He needed an anchor to this mortal realm or he’d go floating away forever, lost to the pleasures of his soon-to-be lover. 

Jaskier removed his fangs from the human’s neck after another moment or two and slowly licked the wound to clean it. Geralt frowned and glanced up, his eyes bright and his face flushed.

“Done already, Your Grace?”

“Oh, Geralt,” the vampire purred, clambering to straddle the taller man’s hips. “I’m just getting started.”

[witchbitchheadedtoaditch]

Shadow Work Prompts Part 2

Hello my loves! I'm going to add some more shadow work prompts (primarily because... Kaye needs to do shadow work and maybe this will convince them to do it. (It won't. We all know it won't. But we can hope....))

I'm gonna put these below the cut just so people don't have to scroll through this long as fuck list on their dash if they don't want to see them lol

Some of these are really, really heavy, and do touch on things like sexual assault, abuse, death, etc., so this is the trigger warning for you.

A lot of these are also focused on women and AFAB folks because I'm trying to reconcile with my femininity and whatnot.

Anne Carson Quotes

You remember too much, my mother said to me recently. Why hold onto all that? And I said, Where can I put it down?

Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.

Words bounce. Words, if you let them, will do what they want to do and what they have to do.

Eros is an issue of boundaries. He exists because certain boundaries do. ... Eros: the boundary of flesh and self between you and me.

Desire is no light thing.

It is easier to tell a story of how people wound one another than of what binds them together.

Reality is a sound, you have to tune in to it not just keep yelling.

All mortals owe a debt to death.

...sex is a substitute, like money or language.

...your story begins the moment Eros enters you. That incursion is the biggest risk of your life. How you handle it is an index of the quality, wisdom, and decorum of the things inside you.

Myths are stories about people who become too big for their lives temporarily, so that they crash into other lives or brush against gods. In crisis their souls are visible.

Philosophers say man forms himself in dialogue.

There is no person without a world.

If there is anything dearer than being alive, it's dark to me.

We humans seem disastrously in love with this thing... life.

The underworld's a blank and all the rest just fantasy.

Caught between the tongue and the taste.

What is mortality after all but divine doubt flashing over us? For an instant God suspends assent and poof! we disappear.

Girls are cruelest to themselves.

What really connects words and things?

Blessed be they whose lives do not taste of evil

Perhaps the hardest thing about losing a lover is to watch the year repeat its days.

Consider incompleteness as a verb.

You can get used to anything, my mother was in the habit of saying.

I am talking about evil. It blooms. It eats. It grins.

I don't want to be a person. I want to be unbearable.

Beauty makes me hopeless.

The dead... are victims of love, many of them.

To live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing.

You read a hundred military manuals you won't find the word kill they trick you into killing.

I went mad, a god hurt me, I fell.

Those nights lying alone are not discontinuous with this cold hectic dawn. It is who I am.

Love does not make me gentle or kind.

Your grief is as great as your splendor was: some god is weighing the one out equal to the other.

You can never know enough, never work enough, ... never leave the mind quickly enough.

Language is what eases the pain of living with other people, language is what makes the wounds come open again.

Where does unbelief begin?

Everything that is me is with me.

A wound gives off its own light...

I began to think I was someone thirsting for God.

You are a person in love with the impossible.

When we are denied a story, a light goes off.

Some conversations are not what they're about.

I lack myself.

Who knows what will happen if I'm alone with my grief.

I... forbid that you should ever lose your screams.

You are not a god. You are not that enlarged self. Indeed, you are not even a whole self, as you now see. Your new knowledge of possibilities is also a knowledge of what is lacking in the actual.

There is a loneliness that fills the plain.

The women of mythology regularly lose their form in monstrosity.

We live by waters breaking out of the heart.

Time as hunger. Time passing and gazing. Time as perseverance. Mountain time. Time as paper folded to look like a mountain. Time compared to the wild fantastic silence of stars.

What are we made of but hunger and rage?

When I look at you, even for a moment, no speaking is left in me.

Kelly Cherry Quotes

I didn't find my story; it found me.

There is blood everywhere and I am lost in it. I breathe blood, not air.

The story of [their] great-grandfather [or any ancestor]... was [their] own story, too.

Ashe Vernon Quotes

Don't you dare, for one minute, believe that my kindness makes me anything but insurmountable.

Understand that I am not your next victim in a laundry list of broken girls.

I will eat you alive before I let you make a meal of me.

What they don't tell you about standing up for what you believe in is that your feet will bruise and your legs will ache.

I'd like to take a moment to submit a formal apology to my soft parts because they kept me warm when I was trying to freeze to death, and I hated them for it.

I let myself be afraid.

When you learn you are only as good as your beauty routine, you forget how to define yourself by anything else.

I will know how to be vulnerable with you, but I won't know how to not regret it.

I know how to put my body inside someone else's but not how to make it beautiful.

I love better at a distance.

I am as much lion as I am lion tamer.

I got good at inflicting pain the same way I got good at soothing it.

Quit picking old wounds and going tor walks in the aches and pains you already made it through--you call it healing, but it sounds like a good way to take a haunting home with you.

I am a cathedral of almost-lovers

Louise Gluck Quotes

We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory.

I thought that pain meant I was not loved. It meant I loved.

The soul is silent. If it speaks at all it speaks in dreams.

Intense love always leads to mourning.

You will never let go, you will never be satiated.

It will feed you, it will ravish you, it will not keep you alive.

Why love what you will lose? There is nothing else to love.

I speak because I am shattered.

I don't need your praise to survive.

Whatever returns from oblivion returns to find a voice.

Nakedness in women is always a pose. I was not transfigured. I would never be free.

The unsaid, for me, exerts great power.

I am tired of human... I want to live on the sun

Death cannot harm me more than you have harmed me, my beloved life.

There are places like this... you enter as a young girl... you never return.

Writing is a kind of revenge against circumstance, too: bad luck, loss, pain. If you make something out of it, then you've no longer been bested by these events.

The riddle was: why couldn't we live in the mind. The answer was: the barrier of the earth intervened.

It is true that there is not enough beauty in the world. It is also true that I am not competent to restore it. Neither is there candor, and here I may be of some use.

You're not a creature in body. You exist as the stars exist, participating in their stillness, their immensity.

And then, suddenly, something is over.

You must be taught to love me. Human beings must be taught to love silence and darkness.

Sappho Quotes

Someone will remember us/I say/even in another time.

Their heart grew cold. They let their wings down.

What cannot be said will be wept.

What is beautiful is good, and who is good will soon be beautiful

Once again love drives me on, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet creature against which nothing can be done.

Love shook my heart like the wind on the mountain rushing over the oak trees

Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.

I know not what to do, my mind is divided.

The female creature is a letter.

No holy place existed without us then

She who loves roses must be patient and not cry when she is pierced by thorns.

Because I prayed this word: I want.

If you had a desire for good or beautiful things and your tongue were not concocting some evil to say, shame would not hold down your eyes but rather you would speak about what is just.

Wealth without virtue is no harmless neighbor.

I am weary of all your words and soft, strange ways.

Paisley Rekdal Quotes

Does it offend you to watch me working in it, touching my hands to the greening tips or tearing the yellow stalks back, so wild the living and dead both snap off in my hands?

I can wait longer than sadness.

It is such a small thing to be proud of.

Should I, too, not be loved?

We are even now still so young

I loved him. I loved forgiving him.

Yasmin Belkhyr Quotes

Contrary to wound, I still know nothing of defeat.

Contrary to ache, I still know nothing of guilt.

I help: a good daughter.

Someone always ends up holding something mangled.

It wasn't enough to feel... he had to see, to know.

Adrienne Rich Quotes

There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep and still be counted as warriors.

Lying is done with words, and also with silence

Responsibility to yourself means refusing to let others do your thinking, talking, and naming for you; it means learning to respect and use your own brains and instincts; hence, grappling with hard work.

When a woman tells the truth she is creating the possibility for more truth around her.

My heart is moved by all I cannot save: so much has been destroyed

If you are trying to transform a brutalized society into one where people can live in dignity and hope, you begin with the empowering of the most powerless. You build from the ground up.

Until we know the assumptions in which we are drenched, we cannot know ourselves.

The truth of our bodies and our minds has been mystified to us.

It will take all your heart, it will take all your breath. It will be short, it will not be simple.

You look at me like an emergency.

The unconscious wants truth. It ceases to speak to those who want something else more than truth.

In a world where language and naming are power, silence is oppression, is violence.

There is no 'the truth', 'a truth'--truth is not one thing, or even a system. It is an increasing complexity. The pattern of the carpet is a surface. When we look closely, or when we become weavers, we learn of the tiny multiple threads unseen in the overall pattern, the knots on the underside of the carpet.

The moment of change is the only poem

There is nothing revolutionary whatsoever about the control of women's bodies by men. The woman's body is the terrain on which the patriarchy is erected.

The scars bear witness but whether to repair or to destruction I no longer know.

Not biology, but ignorance of ourselves, has been the key to our powerlessness

What kind of beast would turn its life into words?

Truthfulness, honor, is not something which springs ablaze of itself; it has been created between people.

You touched me in places so deep I wanted to ignore you

Silence can be a plan rigorously executed, the blueprint to a life, it is a presence, it has a history, a form. Do not confuse it with any kind of absence.

Most women have not even been able to touch this anger, except to drive it inward like a rusted nail.

We have lived with violence for so long.

This is my body, take it and destroy it

We have been raised to fear the yes within ourselves, our deepest cravings. And the fear of our deepest cravings keeps them suspect, keeps us docile and loyal and obedient, and leads us to settle for... many facets of our own oppression.

Every journey into the past is complicated by delusions, false memories, false namings of real events.

A language is a map of our failures.

The more I live the more I think two people together is a miracle.

Poetry is, among other things, a criticism of language.

How do you make it, all the way from here to morning?

An honorable human relationship--that is, one in which two people have the right to use the word "love"--is a process, delicate, violent, often terrifying to both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other.

You grieve in loneliness, and if I understand you fuck in loneliness.

We write from the marrow of our bones.

The liar has many friends, and leads an existence of great loneliness

We must use what we have to invent what we desire.

William Styron Quotes

We're all in this game together.

In depression this faith in deliverance, in ultimate restoration, is absent. The pain is unrelenting, and what makes the condition intolerable is the foreknowledge that no remedy will come-not in a day, an hour, a month, or a minute.

It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul

We each devise our means of escape from the intolerable.

Reading--the best state yet to keep absolute loneliness at bay.

Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy.

Let your love flow out on all living things.

Loss in all of its manifestations is the touchstone of depression--in the progress of the disease and, most likely, in its origin.

Kai Cheng Thom Quotes

I wanted to protect you, but I'm starting to think that the best thing you can do for people is teach them how to protect themselves. Every girl needs to be at least a little dangerous.

A sanctuary is a place where the door only locks from the inside.

Sometimes to be somebody else, you have to be nobody first.

You will be able to stop hurting people when you stop hurting yourself.

When you're a child trapped in a situation of physical or psychological depravation, you learn shame as an efficient, elegant mechanism of survival: shame simultaneously shields you from the reality that danger is out of your control (since the problem is not that you're unloved and deprived; it's that you're Bad) and prevents you from doing or saying anything challenging that might provoke a threat.

It's good for you to cry sometimes. Even if there isn't a reason.

When you live in a community of queers, anarchists, & activists, crisis is the baseline and stability an outlier.

You are mine like nothing has ever been before.

Safety is, I believe, an inherently classed, raced, and gendered experience that frequently runs the risk of being used for regressive ends--ironically, for restricting the freedoms of the vulnerable, those who are never really safe. Often, we see the call for safety actually reinforce the power of oppressive institutions, like the police and the prison system, in our lives. When we choose safety over liberation, our movements fail.

When they looked at me and my sister, even their love was hungry.

Some people will cling on to anything that makes them feel even a little bit free.

Forget, if you can, all the promises you've ever made and the lies that you've told.

Once you start hurting people, you can't stop

I feel tired. I don't want to be myself anymore.

Sometimes it's important to be alive.

Sometimes, there is nothing you can do but surrender.

You are always disappearing in the hope of being seen. You are always shrinking to fit into someone else's arms. You are collapsing ever inward, a galaxy to become smaller.

Gregory Orr Quotes

If we're not supposed to dance, why all this music?

Even hell is holy.

I was born with a knife in one hand and a wound in the other.

Maybe she loved me, maybe not--who knows? Not even the gods can see into a human heart--it's that dark.

Writing often reveals us to ourselves, lets us name what's important to us and what has been silent or silenced inside us.

And to live only once--what if that's not enough?

Maybe it was always simple: loss surrounds us. Who would deny it? We ourselves are loss, are lost.

I want to study the book of the world: every vanishing page.

The dead sing us songs I'm learning to answer.

[grunklefidds]

an unfinished stanley-centered same coin fic that has been sitting in my phone since around new year's (i'm happy with what's there of it, it just cuts off abruptly and i don't think i'll be adding to it any time soon). enjoy

1.2k words, only significant warnings are for recurring discussion of self-loathing, some unreality/depersonalization as relevant to the theory, not particularly detailed mentions of violence, and a good sprinkling of cursing

stanley dreams of burning. flames hot enough to burn blue licking around him until theres none of him left.

he thinks the first time he told ford he really was a bad kid they were seven or eight. ford told him that he was wrong. stan gave him a noogie and they laughed it off.

he doesn't remember most of his dreams. still he often wakes up feeling like he's just got away with murder.

lying on his brother's bed with snow eddying outside the window, stanley was distantly aware that if he shifted to lie on his side, the fresh burn on his shoulder would hurt less. he didn't move. a fuck-up like him didn't deserve small comforts.

he burns up into nothing that night.

the phrase 'self-esteem' wasn't really present in stan's vocabulary until well after he'd got settled in to life as mr. mystery. talking about that sort of things with kids was not in style when he and ford were young, and for the first decade or so of adulthood he was too busy surviving to really give it any thought.

dreams are strange things, anyway. sometimes you do awful, awful things in them, as if watching yourself do it, any sense of horror completely absent. surely you'd never really do that! if all the people in your dreams are really you, if the you in your dreams is really you, then you must be some sort of monster, right?

stan tried to get in on the self help game back in '78: it seemed like an easy grift. when he found some junk workbook called SHAME 'N' YOU at a garage sale the first year he was in gravity falls, he dismissed it as more of the same. he still slipped it into his jacket. good for spare toilet paper if nothing else.

dreams of fire mix with dreams of him trapped in a colorless motionless place. it feels like home.

stan didn't like sleeping much in that first year or two working on the portal. at night he would sit in the kitchen desperately trying to understand the physics books he got at the library, alternating coffee and vodka, rather than sleep. he certainly didn't deserve to rest, not until he could clean up his mess. it only seemed fair.

occasionally among the dreams of fire and stifled screams there's feelings of comfort. some are memories of old hijinks with sixer but out of order with the colors brighter and warmer, and some are pink flashes of a sense of being protected. stan remembers these as little as he remembers the flames.

he found the phrase 'negative self-talk' not in the first book from the garage sale, but a similar one a few years later. stan scoffed at the concept. how could thinking that shit be a problem if it was all true?

his dreams are a bit less remarkable once the little guy starts working around the shack. it's nothing stan notices at the time, nothing abrupt, but dreams about ice cream goats and missing deadlines for high school english papers begin to slip in among the flames. some he even remembers. they leave him less exhausted in the morning.

at some point, despite the years of headache and frustration, it started to feel like stan was making good progress on the portal. it was satisfying, mastering all the nerd junk he picked up from books well enough to get the damned thing rumbling again. he wouldn't let himself feel proud of it, but 'accomplished' might be in reach once his brother was back.

his dreams are all over the place while the little ones are there. vivid memories of glass shard beach, flames a brighter blue than theyve been all his life, and horrifying sequences of him hurting the children in impossible ways. the traces of them leave his heart racing in the first moments after waking up.

having the young twins around the house made things a hell of a lot livelier. between getting general weird feelings from them reminding him of his brother and going out of his mind with worry when they didn't manage to hide whatever magical death trap they'd found that day, stan hadn't worked this hard at keeping a poker face since the 80s, at least.

dreams of happy days on the beach mix with ford looking at him with fear and shoving him onto a scorching stovetop. during the day, watching the kids smack each other with empty paper towel tubes, he recognizes the feeling in his gut as jealousy.

soos got on fantastically with the twins. stan was thrilled to see the three joking together, and tried to quash any fuzzy feelings over it. surely he was glad to have a load off while another adult (the big goober being over twenty still felt strange) could watch out for them. ...he could think more about who exactly he could call his family once he allowed himself to rest.

his dream the afternoon that gideon broke in is strange even for him. his memory of it fades as quickly as most of them do, but during it he's distinctly aware of someones other than him in his mind. some of them feel comfortably familiar- the kid he'd watched grow up and the kids he'd like to- and one feels terrifyingly familiar. he desperately tries to reach them, manages to pat dipper on the back, and is awake in what feels like seconds.

the day that the shack's deed was stolen, stan felt like he hit rock bottom yet again. of course he put on a strong face (out of courtesy) for the kids, and for soos (who probably knew better by now), and for soos' grandmother (who still intimidated him a little), but it was damned hard. thirty years of blood, sweat and tears over that machine, and a flimsy piece of paper with his brother's signature was still all there was keeping him off the street. all that work, added up to nothing. he couldn't help but see it as some kind of confirmation.

his dreams about jail are never pleasant. they're never true to life (though his memories of it are bad enough): something always twists partway through into some vast structure or impossibly tight space. they make him wake up nervous and ashamed.

he wouldn't say it to anyone, but stan loved cooking for other people. part of it was that he only ever ate enough to keep him moving when he was living alone (even well after things had settled in the shack). if it was for someone else, he actually thought about what the food would taste like, and, shockingly, he usually enjoyed it more. stan discovered this a while after soos started working there, but having the kids actually living at the house (not just there after school or whenever soos wanted to come over before his shift started), he was getting a lot more practice. it was nice.

stan dreams of being small and exhausted. he's giddy, he hasn't had an opportunity like this in decades- no, centuries! he runs around banging into every sharp object he can find, gleeful to have a new sucker to discard. the glee barely fades as the blue flames burn him out to wakefulness.

he makes bacon and eggs for breakfast.

later that day, he saw mabel stitching a sock puppet with her own face. he raised an eyebrow, but when she grinned at him he smiled back.