#this is hardly coherent lol i apologize

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

The way substance abuse has been handled on the show thus far genuinely upsets me and reeks of writers who either 1.) don't understand the subject matter they're presenting and haven't done even the bare minimum to research it or, worse, 2.) simply don't care.

Apologies for the slight rant incoming, your comment about how it has been mostly "handled" off-screen got me going because that's 100% true and in that truth is such a missed opportunity for the show. The way it has been handled winds up feeling incredibly shallow and juvenile at the end of the day, especially for a piece of media that is attempting to present itself as "adult" and navigate multiple incredibly sensitive topics. I'll try not to get into my own personal experiences and will speak broadly, but the show uses substance abuse more as a cheap character flaw to poke fun at or something to magically handwave away when it is inconvenient, rather than the life-altering, debilitating illness that it is.

Nothing about Angel's use is ever meaningfully explored. It's so (apparently) unimportant to his arc and development that one rude comment from Husk (a character who ALSO has a problem with gambling and alcohol that is never addressed) is all it takes for him to suddenly "resist temptation" and be shown as "recovered" (unless I'm misremembering). Or was he suddenly going to counseling off-screen too and its just another thing that will be told to us rather than shown? And how does Charlie even handle that at the Hotel (I'd be really interested in this as a moment for her character to have to grow/change too)? Does she even understand substance abuse and the many unaddressed systemic factors that can influence it? Or is the entire recovery process just shame based (because that works so well /s) combined with some more corny trust exercises? Why is this incredibly serious topic relegated to the background as if it's unimportant?

Recovery is hard. It is emotional and exhausting. Withdrawal (depending on what you're coming off of) can sometimes mean excruciating, unimaginable pain and in some cases people literally die. It is not a funny "ha-ha I take drugs because I'm chaotic and wild" quirk to be adored or glorified and it definitely should not be presented as something that can be wrapped up in a month or two off-screen without any development whatsoever. That's just insulting.

When you approach a topic like substance abuse and recovery, I personally feel you need to take in all sides of it. All the missteps that come with it (two steps forward one step back - mistakes are expected and okay), the self-loathing, the guilt and shame, the joy, the sense of freedom, the loss, and the best part of all: the incredibly difficult but liberating journey that is rebuilding your life and learning to love yourself and your body again, once you've chosen to be free and to live life.

Mad props to anyone who has ever battled this disease. You are strong, you are worth it and you are valued. Lol I am so sorry for going off here but I so appreciate you calling out the lack of exploration on this topic in the show. I guess I didn't even realize how annoyed and upset it was making me feel (praying this is coherent...).

This was absolutely coherent don’t worry!! Im really glad to see other people talking about this. I myself have not struggled with drug addiction but I have struggled with other kinds and as someone that studies a bunch of medical junk, I’d say I’m decently knowledgeable.

I’m mainly going to focus on Angel for this since he’s the main character I write for, but I assure you other characters addictions are also handled in my rewrite.

During the actual canon show, we don’t see Angel actually abusing substances that often; there’s a few times, most notably in episode 4, but from the rest of the show onward we hardly see anything. Yes in episode 6 they mentioned relapsing, which, mind you, was done horribly, but I digress. They touch on relapsing; Angel relapses, and then… what..??? What happened from that? I don’t feel upset or second hand guilt of any kind from this scene because we haven’t seen Angel’s attempts to stay sobre and off drugs.

His name is fucking Angel Dust. You don’t, I dunno, think that’d entail a higher dependency on drugs? Why do you think he named himself that?

About his name before anything else, the show has so much potential later on to talk about Angel picking out his drag name and why he chose that specifically. So much potential to explore how he views drugs and himself. He sees them as an escape and something “fun” to take his mind off of his actual life. When you die in a fucking coma and wake up in hell as a spider you’re going to want an escape. You will want to ignore reality. I am fully convinced Angel picked his name once he started performing because thats what he needed at the time. He needs to be like that to survive in hell. Angel is an incredibly mentally ill, troubled, traumatised, and unstable person, and being surrounded by so much intense negative influence only amplifies his current problems. I don’t mean to drag Vox in here but in my last redesign post I mentioned how very mildly bad people can become even worse people in hell because of the environment and this is no different for Angel. He’s been surrounded by crime and drugs his entire life and unable to live comfortably because of his sexuality. He has very likely been struggling with substances since he was a teen. Possibly even younger. He is not going to suddenly get over his addiction because of something like this. It could pave the way to him looking into dealing with it, but things like this can take years. I don’t remember when my addiction started; I’ve been clean for 2 1/2 years now I think, but the amount of relapsing and anguish I experienced while working towards that isn’t something that can be done in a few days or months. I still struggle with feeling like I deserve to say I’m recovering.

I’m hoping they tactfully handle this as they should, but my hopes are low. It’s okay to show a character relapsing. It’s okay to show a character feeling guilty. What matters is that the struggle is there to signify they’re trying. For a character with a song called “Addict” you really don’t see much of it. Drug and alcohol addiction is not a silly thing to just twiddle your fingers with and be like “well I guess thats over!” It’s incredibly insensitive to do so.

Whenever I write about Angel’s struggles with addictions, I focus on how small they can feel until you realise what’s actually happening. Just me talking about my rewrite again, but to get my ideas out here: Angel smokes often. He smokes at the studio when he’s stressed, he smokes at the hotel when he’s stressed, he smokes at in alleyways when he’s bored, there’s almost no location he won’t, but sometimes he tries to smoke less. His lungs aren’t the same as humans and technically he has 2 pairs of lungs, but smoking causes him to cough. This is painful in general and especially painful for Angel since he has barbs going down the back of his throat. Imagine choking on sandpaper, kind of like that. It’s painful, he doesn’t like the sound, Fat Nuggets REALLY doesn’t like the sound, and it’s an overall inconvenience, so he tries to stop smoking as much. Periods like this usually go fine for him until the stress returns or he starts to feel the withdrawal. Withdrawal from any sort of addiction is terrible, and in Angel’s case, just from not smoking it worsens his mental state further. He becomes irritable and stressed and that stress leads to wanting to smoke again to calm down. He may resist a few times and those times should be praised, but he gives in eventually. One cigarette to calm down becomes two, then three, and before he can process himself getting carried away, the entire pack is gone. It’s things like this that make addiction horrible. It’s something that deeply scared me when I was struggling. When I was struggling I was still in the mindset of “I can stop when I want to” and then being so suddenly hit in the face with the realisation that I’m not longer in control of this is terrifying. I could not stop when I wanted to. There were even points where I didn’t want to stop. Even just getting the smallest glimpse of this in an incredibly serious manner with Angel Dust would surprise me. To think the bar is this low on a show that seemingly prides itself on tackling such sensitive topics like you said is appalling. Your show shouldn’t have to be told how to write itself.

[elliesasks]

How do you keep track of so many OCs? Is there a particular format you use?

Hello! Thank you for the ask!

To answer your question, I don't necessarily have a particular format. I have a toyhouse that needs to be updated, but that has like, not even a quarter of all the OCs I have.

I guess how I keep track is I split each character into their respective universes? I have my main characters for each one, and most other characters are side characters, or very minor characters, but they all fall into a certain universe.

That being said, most of my characters are hardly developed. I have a very, very basic idea on each of the minor characters, whether that be just a design, or a basic hobby. I would love to sit down and just develop each and every character, but I just... don't have the time for that as of now lol

My mind is such a mess full of characters and ideas just floating around, and I'm always thinking of more ideas! Maybe someday it'll be more coherent lol

Anyway, I'm sorry I went on a little tangent, and I apologize if I didn't answer your question!

I hope you have a great day!

[hinagamoizaf]

That suddenly got me curious, what made you start shipping them? Funny enough, kid me shipping them not because of their compatibility, it was actually the potential drama that it could cause. I loved the thought of Taichi and Takeru just lunging at Yamato at once — Taichi, because he is protective of Hikari, and Takeru, for similar reasons (bonus points if he likes Hikari since that'd make the situation much worse). Kid me loves chaos lol.

I did eventually consider them as an actual ship, and I think their personalities mesh well together!!! Maybe it's the ship bias, but I love the the thought of the both of them being subtle when it comes to their affections to each other. The both of them crushing would also feel so awkward at an outsider's perspective, if that makes sense? God they're so fucking cute I don't know where to start lol I have too many thoughts about them. I wish I can tell you more coherently what I like about them but goodness there's so much about Yamato and Hikari that makes me go apeshit.

Apologies for the lengthy ask, I am not passing up the opportunity to finally talk about my Digimon OTP with someone else 😂 Hope you're well!

-Rose

Heyaa oh no it's all good!! We support lengthy talks about what we love under this roof-!! Hope you're well too :) Omg kid you had the vision. All your points are chef's kiss,a dozen virtual bouquets & gift baskets for youu. Yeah so Hikari's always been a childhood favourite of mine - her personality,motif,Digimon partner,aesthetic etc Then with Yamato,it was a 'right place & right time' kind of moment. But basically, I get to see Last Evolution in theatres during the pandemic & when Yamato came on screen I was like,"...this is it.Peak husbando material. How could I have been so blind." lol Then it was a barbie doll moment of 'I like this character.And I love this character. I wanna see them together & kiss' Ahahahah I know that sounds juvenile but then my brain made the connection between them. Obviously us Yakari shippers are just making stuff up cause they hardly interact in canon lol But when you take a step back & think about their personalities, yeahh like Hikari & Yamato are quite private people/incredibly empathetic/ hand on heart put their loved one's needs before themselves (albeit at a destructive level but yknow they can help each other out-!!) / (my personal HC) he plays music & she's a photographer,Your Honour they're an artsy couple. I think as well they've got their own personal demons.Yamato my poor baby boy I know he's still affected by his divorced parents & at times has his cool wolf persona. Then a recent interpretation I read about Hikari is that she's so appreciative of life & the beauty of it, when someone's life is at risk,she will stop at nothing to advocate for them. But for herself,Hikari has trouble voicing her own needs. Wow,I wonder who else is secretly holding onto heavy feelings but putting on a strong front for others? (PS this is also my own reading of their characters & been digging in some creator's interpretations too) This is an equally long response that I could go on for ages lol, But for me,Yamato & Hikari are two very beautiful & quiet souls. Then in my silly lil' head with these silly little thoughts, they found solace in each other as friends before slowly realising they've got feelings for each other & are compatible as romantic partners. But end of the day,they're still individual people who have had their own woes,and together they've better themselves because they feel comfortable opening up to the other & want to improve themselves. The tldr of it is 'I like these characters individually & make up a bunch of stuff how they could work' and that has me kicking my feet & giggling like a little girl. If you've read this far along, first of all thank youu ahaha. Wishing you a good time & hope you're taking care!!! x

[smokeys-house]

hi hi i am the anon from this post (https://www.tumblr.com/superbellsubways/749867967259590656/can-u-give-me-coffee-advice-as-someone-who-has) and i have come in request of some more specific coffee advice. tomorrow i'm picking up a cheap (but decent quality as far as i know? its a bodum chambord) french press and i wanted to know if you had any specific advice as to like. what should i buy ingredient (??????) wise and are there any brands that make these at a reasonable price that taste good? i do not have much experience with coffee so i am assuming i would probably be best off with something closer to a latte. i also don't know how useful this information is but i also live near a coffee production plant of some kind and i can get literal buckets full of pre ground coffee free from the dumpsters behind the place. is this useful for anything?? i am sorry that its so painfully obvious that i have no idea what im talking about. i hope this is at least a little bit coherent 👍

No need to apologize, we've all gotta start somewhere! Asking questions is how we learn!

Bodum makes decent quality stuff, as far as a French press goes it's hard to go wrong. There's arguments to be made about the type of mesh, but as long as it's all metal or glass you're probably fine. Some plastic is okay for some parts, but in general I prefer not to put hot water in anything with a plastic interior. Just a preference.

As far as brands go for coffee, it depends on your location. Avoid starbucks for multiple reasons, and I'd avoid folgers too. What you're looking for is something roasted somewhat nearby. Almost all coffee beans in the US are imported, and this remains the same for coffee beans in other countries unless you live in a place that exports them. But they're usually shipped unroasted and whole. Find something that was roasted not too far from you (for instance my go to beans are Peet's Major Dickason Blend and they're roasted in the next town over or the next state over depending on which store,) and make sure you're buying whole bean. If you can, grind them at home with an electric grinder. Some folks grind a week's worth and seal them air tight, I prefer to grind the amount I need daily instead. The fresher the beans (more oily, not dry) the better. Grinding just before you prepare your coffee generally ensures that it'll be a more flavorful and robust cuppa when you're done.

I'd recommend avoiding anything that's been "flavored," not because I'm a purist but because in my experience any flavored whole beans are going to lose their coffee flavor but only in exchange for a very mild hardly noticeable artificial flavor. If you're looking to improve the flavor of your end result, add things after the coffee has brewed or during the brewing stage.

Now as far as prep goes, it's important to follow the instructions for your prep method, and understand how it differs from other methods. Using a French press creates a notably different cup of coffee than pour over, so if you don't like it there's still a good chance you'll enjoy another method more. Measuring coffee is something that you'll notice you're told to do by volume a lot on packaging, but the best way to ensure a good cup is to measure by weight. Most people don't own a kitchen scale, though, and measuring by volume is generally fine too. It's what I do most days bc it's faster lol.

Making coffee in a French press is super simple! Your French press should come with instructions as well, but there's dozens of videos on youtube with good information! One of the key notes to keep in mind is that your coffee should be ground coarsely, so as not to slip through your French press sieve. Other methods require different grinds, but the best suited one for a French press is coarse. I'll go over the instructions in brief, but measurements will depend on the size of your French press.

Prepare the water. This is a debated topic, temperature and timing and such. In general you just bring it to a boil, pull it off and wait a bit for it to stop boiling. Careful not to burn yourself, and never pour very hot water into cold glass/ceramic/what have you bc it'll crack. It's safest to use a kettle, stovetop or electric, but they make ones specific for coffee that are easier to pour known as a gooseneck.

Grind yer beans! Preferably while the water is coming to a boil. Remember coarse is key for a French press

Add your coffee to your French press and "bloom." Which is adding a small portion of the water, agitating it or stirring it a bit, and letting it sit for a little bit. Amount of water and time to wait depend on preference, coffee type, size of French press, etc.

Stir again and add the rest of the water, put the lid on it but don't press yet. Brew time varies depending on how you like it, coffee type, size, etc. Like 3-5 minutes usually I'd think.

Press! Slow and even pressure. If it slides down super easy, your grounds probably are too coarse, and if there's too much pressure they're probably too fine. Looking for a little resistance here

Pour! Some grounds may make it into your cup if your seive isn't meeting the walls of the container or if you press too hard and fast. This is normal and you can drink them fine, they won't hurt ya.

Now some folks will tell you it's an exact science and everything must be perfect, or that their methods they use every day are better. If someone says "I've been a barista for 5 years and here's what we did at work" ignore them because that's vastly different from at home coffee usually. Unless they worked at a good cafe or a craft coffee bar or something you're probably talking to someone who worked at a rinky dink coffee joint who did things for maximum profit and efficiency by following a training guide. Experiment with different ratios and methods, etc and find what works best for the cup you like.

In general, I prefer black coffee at home. I get fancy coffee drinks if I go to the craft coffee place in town, but they're difficult to replicate at home. Simple stuff like milk and sugar can change the flavor drastically, so I urge you to try a sip while it's unaltered before you add anything to it. If you feel it's missing something, look up recipes online. There's a ton of different simple and fun ways to make an interesting coffee drink. Mochas and Lattes are all well and good, but cultures around the world have been drinking and changing coffee for foreverrr. Stuff like lavender and other flowers, fruits and peels, roots and herbs and spices, even whacky stuff like salt or egg. Dive into the world of coffee and do some digging yourself, it's a near endless hobby and I highly recommend trying other brew methods and experimenting within those brew methods.

This was fun! Feel free to ask me for clarification on this or anything else. Keep in mind I'm not an expert, I'm a hobbyist. I've been drinking and making coffee for years, but that doesn't mean I know it all. There's a million different ways to make coffee and everyone's got their tried and true, this is just what I know from my experiences.

[exastriis]

first of all, love your writing and art because asdfgh how could i not??

second of all, does alfred ever feel insecure about his and suzie's relationship? because of the possibility that she could (not that she would, but she has the option to) leave her assistant job and therefore both him and immortality (bc he might console himself w/being able to be w/her outside of the workspace, but if she turns herself entirely to mortality, then she could really then leave him in a way that he can do nothing about). just thought of this bc of how suzie seems to bear the brunt of wondering where they stand in their relationship (and i just like angst lol). anyways, love to know your thoughts & tysm for all your work in the hetalia fandom (and sorry for such a long ask lkjhg) <33

Thank you so much for the kind ask !! 💖💖💖 Never apologize, I love getting long asks dfhdv <3 and to answer your question, yes he does! I would hardly call Alfred an insecure person by any means, but his image of himself and what he stands for is a little… complicated, to say the least. He's simultaneously unaffected by his human emotional conflict because, well, "time heals all wounds", and what is a two week, month, year, decade skirmish to an immortal eldritch being? But at the same time, he is affected by it, because his image of himself is far too human in comparison to other Nations. By "far too human", I don't think he thinks in terms of mortality, no, but rather, in terms of vulnerability. Simply put, he's a sensitive bitch who wears his heart on his sleeve, LMAO. This is his one worry— that one day, someone will see the cracks in his perfectly carved out armor and use those against him. And Suzie? Well. Suzie's like an open wound.

For a little context, Alfred and Suzie confessed their feelings for one another sometime in the 1880s— during the death of the wild west followed by the roar of industrialization. Although, they only really realized that their fates were intertwined forever during the Civil War. It meant Alfred was going through it, emotionally, physically and mentally. His own people tearing each other apart meant he was tearing himself apart from the inside, and even then, when he was trying to figure out what to even do, Suzie stuck around. Even when he thought he must make one hell of a pathetic sight, when he could barely walk or stay conscious long enough to string a coherent thought together. He has faint, blurry memories of candlelight by his bedside, the cool wind of night and Suzie crying silently into their hands. Going a little further back, they had a much-too-long conversation in the late 1790s, when Suzie came clean to Alfred about essentially losing whatever connection she had with the rest of her family after the Revolution. It broke his heart. It didn't make him regret anything, though— God, no. But it did make his heart ache. He realized he'd come to care for her deeply then. He's not exactly had a good track record with regards to not getting attached to humans (see: Davie), and even though Suzie's not exactly mortal anymore, it's a bit more complicated considering she still had living immediate family who were. Up until then, Alfred was content to hold Suzie at arms length. He thought (and sometimes, still thinks) that perhaps he'd robbed her of a chance for a normal, fulfilling life. Despite their disagreements, they were steadfast, open-minded and cared deeply for everyone around them. Suzie was and remained tough, but not unfeeling, and he respected this highly. But he worked his way into her heart and she worked her way into his.

I think the main cause for Alfred's "insecurity" in the relationship, then, would have to be the fact that he doesn't feel like he's human enough to love them properly. He can never let his guard down. He can never not watch his back. He can never not be standing for something bigger than either of them. For the promise of a future— something so unsure. So it manifests in numerous ways to make up for it. Big, extravagant gifts, expressions of love and affection, you name it. Suzie has since learned to take Alfred's grand gestures as a sign to slow things down. They do appreciate the gesture, but what's wrong? They ask him to talk to them, and to talk to them honestly. Alfred doesn't think he's able to bare his heart completely to anyone but with Suzie, the words just spill out. He's never been too good with words— always talking too fast, too much, too loudly. But they listen. They always have. They've always believed in him and sometimes, when he thinks too hard about it, it hurts in his chest and his head and all over. And every time they squeeze his hand, their eyes meeting his with that all-too-familiar tenderness, he has to ground himself. He's here, his heart is beating, his world is right here and he— they'll be alright.

[gnflorida]

something i have been thinking about a lot recently in regards to dream & sexuality is how he is really carving out this space that has normalized being publicly questioning. i think a lot of people when they start to have that newfound uncertainty towards their sexuality feel that they have to spend some designated amount of time figuring everything out in private, then pick a label and tell everyone what it is. and (especially as a public figure) you are expected to spend that first interim period of reflection in silence.

since the second he made that reddit post people have argued and will continue to argue over whether or not dream has checked off enough boxes to fall within their own boundaries of what is and is not included in the queer community. which is something he never asked anyone to do. he literally was just. honest. but people are so used to “addressing my sexuality” meaning either quiet straight allyship or clear declarations of I Am Queer Here’s My Flag See You At Pride that they don’t know what to do with something that is neither. so it must be a lie. it must be a misinterpretation. it must be queerbaiting

[xiao-isms]

— sensitive.

character(s): xiao.

content: praise, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, prostate stimulation, xiao gets fucked dumb basically. little edit: i should probably state that reader is still gn. 'cock' can be read as a strap on or a natural (??) one lol

word count: 878 words and 4,795 characters.

voicemail: hi i have no excuse for this being as late as it is, apologies!!! im kinda semi proud of this one so hope u enjoy! :D ps i was listening to acnh music while writing this. riveting experience

the wangshu inn was as quiet as ever— or, well, it would be, if not for the rhythmic slaps of skin against skin coming from your room on the third floor. if that didn't give away what kind of sinful actions were taking place to the other patrons of the inn, then the ear-piercing, high pitched moans of your lover underneath you certainly did. xiao wreathed beneath your touch, his back arching so much it looked downright painful as you thrusted in and out of him with vigor. "you're doing so well, darling," you complimented in between grunts and shallow moans. "so perfect for me." you let your hand trace the smaller's curves and, soon enough, found your way to his v-line and then cock. eager to please the absolutely adorable man whining under you, your nimble fingers wrap around his cock with a vice-like grip, aligning the pace of your hand with your thrusts. xiao was close; you could see it in the way his eyebrows furrowed and hot tears gathered in his already glass eyes, the way his mouth lolled open, drool running down the sides and gathering on his chin.

"harder, please! 'm gonna c-cum! f-fuck, gonna cum!—“

his body spasmed with the force of his own orgasm, all the while you fucked him through it. xiao was always beautiful, no matter the circumstance, but at times like these where all he can do is let out pathetic little moans while you fuck him so, so good, are the moments you think he's prettiest.

"good?" you question, a cheeky smirk on your lips.

"y-yeah. really good."

you give him an uncharacteristically innocent smile, tracing his flushed cheeks with your fingers and hoist his legs onto your shoulders. "in that case," you start, giggling softly when his golden, tired eyes widen in surprise, "i hope you're ready for more. we aren't stopping until tomorrow morning." and with that, you line your cock up with his hole and thrust inside him fully in one swift motion. the dark-haired man lets out a scream, tiny hands gripping the bed sheets for purchase. that's when you realize: you hit xiao's prostate directly.

strong hands latch around his hips with so much force he was almost positive they'd be bruised and sore the following day. you aimed for that spot again— the one that had made such a composed and cool-headed character lose all self-control, only being able to focus on the mind-numbing pleasure he received. in and out, in and out, in and out; that's the only thing he could pay attention to. xiao looked dazed, completely and utterly lost in the feeling of your dick ramming into his abused prostate over and over again, each thrust of your hips carrying a new wave of strength. archons, he was so sensitive. he swore he could feel himself clenching around your cock like a whore, a filthy whore. it was such a demeaning title for such a well respected being, an adeptus no less, but that's what he was and he would say it a thousand times if it meant you'd keep fucking into him so delicously for the rest of eternity.

"hngh, s-sensitive! uhn, s-so sen-sitive!" he cries, fresh tears rolling down his slim face. his body shook and he wrapped his legs around the small of your back to keep himself as steady as he could. you slammed his hips against yours, pressing your own clammy face in the crook of his neck and spoke in a lower, lustful tone. "c'mon xiao, you can take it. don't you wanna be good?" he nodded, no longer trusting himself to speak coherently. he wanted to be good so bad, he wanted to be your good boy. he'd do anything for your praise, and you were well aware of that.

deciding to use his desperation to your advantage, you hook your fingers around his chin and tilt his head upwards and place a finger on his now red, puffy bottom lip. he can only squint and look at your blurry face, unable to utter a word; no, instead all that came out were slutty moans that he could hardly repress with how nicely you were delveing into his tight heat.

“cum for me, then."

and cum he did. so hard, in fact, he felt like he had died and came back to life. he could barely focus on what was going on around him, all he knew is that you hadn't stopped fucking him; he could feel himself pulsate around you, the sheer filth of it all almost enough to make him come for a third time. your hips stuttered for a moment as you too came, groaning xiao's name and showering him in praise, telling him how good he was, how nice he felt, how sexy he was. the yaksha smiled dopely, unable to think properly- or at all, for that matter. not five minutes later, you'd regained your stamina and sat up once more, the adeptus wincing at the sudden movement.

"you up for round three?" you asked. he didn't answer verbally, but the way his cock immediately became hard again after you spoke was enough of a confirmation.

boy, was he in for a long, long night.

[dollslayer]

Artistic Intention

Artist!Steve x Reader

Summary: Steve's doing well in his life drawing class, but a new muse throws him for a loop in the back supply room.

W/C: 2,374

Warnings: NO MINORS, p in v smut, unprotected sex, public sex, breeding kink if you squint, swearing

A/N: Hey! I wrote this for @buckyownsmylife 1st anniversary challenge! I love me a good AU so I chose Artist AU+ exhibitionism. Happy tumblr-versary! I made Steve a shy boi in this lol. If you liked this fic pls reblog/comment!! Check out my other fics too! Cheers!

Main Masterlist

It’s 1:45pm and Steve is desperately trying to weave his way through the crowd of people before him. His art folio hits everyone and thing as he makes feeble attempts to apologize to everyone for the bulkiness of the case. He can’t be too apologetic though, he’s running late for his 2pm life drawing class and if he doesn’t make it the professor will close the door in his face.

This is the longest 15 minutes in Steve’s life, he figures. He finally makes it up the steps and jogs up the stairs. His folio hits his leg, he winces but doesn’t stop, he’s only got a few minutes to make it up to the second floor and get himself situated behind an easel. He’s nearly out of breath when he makes it to the second floor and he’s trying to check his watch while running for the door. Two minutes.

Steve bursts through the doors and exhales loudly, he’s not sure he’s ever felt so relieved. His feeling of relief is short lived and quickly replaced with embarrassment as he realizes every pair of eyes in the room is on him. Every pair except for one. The new model for class this week, you slowly turn your head to reveal sharp eyes and a coy smile. He feels himself blush under your gaze and mutters an apology before getting settled in an easel directly in front of you.

He tries his best to focus on getting his paper and charcoals set out in an effort to shrug off the mixture of humiliation and lingering anxiety he had about being late. He feels his heartbeat begin to steady and he lets himself relax a little bit.

“Good afternoon, everyone. We have a new model in class this week, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. She’ll be keeping her current pose for one hour and repositioning for the second half of class. Mr. Rogers, since you had no problem running late I assume you’ll have no problem staying late as well. You’ll clean up after class.” The professor concludes with a short nod.

Steve sighs but nods his head in acknowledgement. He catches you smirking in amusement again at him and he can’t help but to blush all over again. He feels just like he did in high school, embarrassing himself in front of pretty girls. He sighs and picks up a piece of charcoal.

Steve decides to get a proper look at you and almost regrets it when he chokes on his own breath. You’re gorgeous, you’re coy and charming, you’re a muse. He’s still blushing because you’re naked, and beautiful and the feeling of humiliation hits him even more. He’s been in this class before, he knows the models will be naked but none of them had ever caught his attention as more than a subject, none of them were you.

He takes his time admiring your natural curves and appreciates your figure. You are so full of natural beauty, your bare face is perfectly flawed and the sun shining through the window highlights your skin tone. He can see why you were chosen to model for class, you’re perfect. He has to discreetly adjust himself and shuffles his jacket into his lap as he feels his pants tighten. He’s flustered all over again and realizes everyone else is already ahead of him. He puts charcoal to paper and gets to work.

____

As class goes on Steve’s sketch is coming along nicely. He can’t bring himself to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time for fear of getting hard again. When he sends furtive glances your way he catches you looking back at him with that smile of yours. He swears at one point you raise an eyebrow at him like you’re amused by him. He brushes it off and keeps drawing.

Class comes and goes much faster than he anticipated. He wants to pack up and get out as quickly as he can when he remembers that he has to clean up the room. He lets out a groan and waits for everyone else to leave. Now it’s only you, him, and the professor who are left in the room.

“Mr. Rogers I’ve got to get out of here, I trust you can put easels away without incident?” The professor asks. Steve nods and the professor turns to you. “Thank you for your work today, you can collect your pay from the front office. I look forward to having you as a model for this class.”

You smile and nod, waving goodbye to him. By now you’ve slipped on a robe and are reaching for your bag but it feels like you’re lingering. It’s just now that Steve realizes the two of you are alone. He swallows thickly, trying not to pay attention to you out of the corner of his eye. He begins to pack away his own drawing but not before giving it one final assessment. He can’t help himself from his own critical eye, analyzing mistakes and appreciating triumphs.

“Is that supposed to be me?”

Steve jumps in surprise, you’re peering right over his shoulder. He’s caught off guard by your presence and also by your voice, do you always sound this sultry?

He swallows and nods before taking a deep breath. Wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans he turns to face you.

“Uh, yeah. Yes it is. I don’t think it’s very good but I’m trying” He anxiously starts making excuses, assuming you hate it.

But you don’t. You just smile thoughtfully at him and nod.

“It’s good. At least, I think it is.”

“Th-thanks, thank you.”

“Do you always cut it that close or were you just hoping to stay late with me?”

Steve sputters at your boldness. He has to remind himself that he’s not that scrawny, measly kid he used to be. But he can’t help but feel like he is with his sweaty palms and short breaths.

“I, I um, I didn’t realize there’d be a new model. Was kind of expecting the old one. Not- not that there’s anything wrong with you, of course! I, sorry I didn’t mean to imply that, you’re- you’re beautiful too, you’re perfect really, I just. Oh jesus.” He spews the words out faster than his brain can keep up and he’s making a complete fool of himself.

He can’t bear to look at you, so he starts closing up easels and stacking stools. He doesn’t notice you ogling his muscles through his tight t-shirt.

“You think I’m beautiful?” You ask innocently.

“I-, um, yes. I think you’re very beautiful, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Steve answers honestly.

He moves some stools to the large supply room in the back of the classroom and you follow him.

“I think you’re beautiful too. And cute. You’re practically falling all over yourself, it’s sweet”

Are you talking to him? He still sees himself as he was back then, having a hard time thinking that anyone would look at him and find him attractive. It’s why he’s so beside himself now. You’re so completely beautiful and self-assured, there’s no way you’re talking to him. He sets down the stack he’s carrying and realizes you’re much closer than he thought. You’re inches away.

“What do you like the most about me? Is it my body? Don’t think I didn’t notice you readjusting your pants at the beginning of class.” You move even closer and Steve thinks you must be able to hear his heart beat because it’s about to come right out of his chest.

Your hands are on his chest and you have to lean up on your tip-toes for your lips to meet his ear.

“What do you say? You and me in this supply room? There’s hardly anyone here. Come on”

Steve feels like he’s dreaming, he has to check if he is. But then your hand reaches for his dick through his pants and he nearly doubles over from the sensation. He’s never been with anyone so brash and confident, your touch leaves a burning trail on his body.

“But- but what if someone comes in and sees?” He says, using every last bit of coherent reasoning he has.

“Isn’t that what makes it so fun?”

Oh, God. You. You. Smiling that devilish smile at him. He was weak in the knees and you took the opportunity to push him backwards onto a spare desk. You pulled him by the shirt collar to meet your lips and he let out a noise of surprise. Steve pushes his tongue into your mouth and lets out an obscene moan. You feel so good. He knew you’d feel good but not this good.

Steve’s large hands come to your waist and venture lower until he has a handful of your ass and grabs. You let out a little moan and nudge your knee between his legs and he grinds against it. You pull back to catch your breath when your hands go to the ties of your robes.

“We’re a little overdressed, don’t you think?”

Steve doesn’t need to be asked twice as he pulls his shirt over his head. Jeans have never felt so uncomfortable and he’s frantically trying to get himself down to his boxers. He swears he goes slack jawed when he looks back up at you. He’s already seen you naked, he just stared at you naked for hours, but you’re just as gorgeous as before but it’s the way you’re looking at him. Like he’s desirable, almost like he’s a piece of meat. It makes him feel wanted and reassured and he feels himself grow harder.

Your hands slip beneath the elastic of his boxers and slowly slide them down his legs. He can’t help but flush when you let out a small gasp at the size of him. He doesn’t want to get too big of an ego with it but he’s always known he was… gifted.

Before he can let anything go to his head he lets out his own soft gasp as you stroke him languidly. He can’t control his hips as they cant up into your hand. You grab his hand and quickly lead his fingers to your dripping pussy. Steve nearly melts when he feels how wet you are and slides two fingers in easily. He’s pumping them in and out and you let out tiny mewls as you kiss his neck.

There’s no more time for preamble though, you two need to be quick if you don’t want to be caught by some unfortunate custodian. You remove your hand from his cock and he takes his fingers out of your pussy and swears you whine a little. Feeling brazen himself, he makes direct eye contact with you and sucks his fingers clean. You bite your lip and squirm while he revels in the taste.

Reluctantly he takes his fingers out of his mouth and gets up to situate you so you’re sitting on the desk. You spread your legs wide for him and he takes in the sight, committing to memory. Maybe he can draw you like this some time. For now he takes a step closer but falters, remembering one fatal flaw in this whole plan.

“I… don’t have a condom”

You don’t look let down at all, you look excited in fact. Shaking your head, you explain to him.

“Doesn’t matter, ‘m on the pill. I wanna feel you cum inside me”

Steve might pass out before he gets the chance, the way you keep talking with that mouth of yours. He wastes no more time and positions himself at your entrance. He has one hand on his dick and the other on the back of your neck when he looks you deep in the eye and impales you fully in one go.

The moan you let out is pornographic and Steve uses his newly freed hand to cover your mouth.

“We have to stay quiet. Can you do that?”

You nod silently and he removes his hand, opting to grab your hip instead.

He pulls back and begins to start pumping into you. He’s steady at first, trying to keep himself from cumming too quickly. Slowly he starts increasing his speed and the force that he uses is causing the legs of the old desk to scrape against the floor.

Your hand reaches and grabs his ass, pushing him deeper into your pussy. You feel so tight wrapped around him with no barrier and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out. You’re trying to keep your moans quiet when he kisses you to silence them all together. He’s trying with all his might not to cum before you do.

His fingers find your clit and he starts rubbing it in tight circles. You have a harder time keeping quiet and you’re squeezing him like a vice. The friction on your clit and his dick hitting your G-spot perfectly is causing your eyes to roll in the back of your head.

“‘M gonna cum, please. Please don’t stop” You beg. Steve feels a wave of power surge over him now that you’re the needy one.

“Go on then, I’m not far behind ya. Wanna feel your pussy cum on my cock.”

With a few moments more he has you seeing stars and you claw at his back and pull him close to you. He continues on in his movements and starts pounding into you in earnest chasing his own release. All you can do is hold on for dear life.

Steve makes one final thrust before he’s cumming deep inside you. The rush of warmth is welcome to you and you kiss his jaw as he tries to catch his breath. The only sound being both of your heavy breathing. Hopefully no one heard you.

Steve can’t believe what just happened. He met a gorgeous girl and she propositioned him in a public place all in the span of two hours. He realizes just how far he’s come from who he used to be. He looks down at you, your noses touching.

“So, what’s your name?”

[to-the-stars8]

The Lamentation of the Apprentice

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Ao3 A/N; Another shortish chapter this time, lol

Chapter 8

Asra pulled away from the kiss, surprised, turning around to look at me with confused, wild eyes. My heart pounded in my chest, and suddenly it felt like the world was at an end. Apologies were tumbling from me in fast, hardly coherent sentences. Desperately, I raked through all the excuses I could think of. As I asked for forgiveness, my eyes would not meet his, and I was sure that I would never see those pretty purple eyes again. 

Yet, when his hand came upon my face, stroking away any worry I had left, he leaned in such a way that our eyes met again. A small smile crossed his face and he brought me to him. Our lips met in a chaste kiss. It was brief but ultimately new. Then, we kissed again. His lips were soft, just as soft as I had imagined. 

When we pulled away again I giggled and turned my head away so Asra would not see the blush I could feel rise to my cheeks. I could feel his own breathless laugh against my cheek slowly fade as he turned away to hide his own embarrassment from me, but I could see the pink on the tip of his ears. 

“We are still friends, then?” I whispered after a few moments. 

Asra looked at me. “Surely, when you kiss me like that you would not consider us only to be friends?”

“No,” I grinned. “I would not.”

As Asra had said, spring did come soon and summer even closer behind. Little had changed between us during those months that had passed. Between his trips and business growing in my shop we had moved at a much slower pace. Nonetheless, I had noticed a change in his attitude toward me. The things he said and did were more intimate, as though he was not scared to touch my hand openly now or compliment me every day. He had also started to spend more time in the shop, eventually staying nights to simply talk. 

Asra’s presence in the shop even drew Muriel into town with Inanna by his side. Though he did not like the crowds, Muriel seemed taken to the shop, which only brought the magician to my home more. Often, when it was too hot for anyone to be outside, we lounged around the shop--Other times, we lazed around Muriel’s woods. 

This day was not such, as a cool rain brought in few customers and I was forced to stand at the counter waiting for those daring to brave the wet, humid weather. I was reading through the logs of orders when I heard the door ring open and saw a man with long ombre hair walk in. Just by the amount of gold in his clothes, it was obvious that he was from Lucio’s court. 

“Good day,” I smiled despite the knowledge that this man was going to absolute dread fill my mind. “How may I be of help?”

The man gave me a once over with his eyes before sighing long and deep. “Well, I doubt you’re the magician Asra. I hear he is more…noticeable in talent.”

I couldn’t help but a quick laugh. “Ahem, forgive me. He is not here, I am afraid. Perhaps come by tomorrow--”

I was cut off by the ringing of the front door and Asra rushing in with wet hair, huffing. The wind had been at him by the looks of the wild white curls on his head and clothes disheveled. “For-forgive me. I had lost track of time.” 

The courtier looked over Asra once before nodding nonchalantly. Little was portrayed by the man other than annoyance and disgust by all things, not him or gold. “I hope you do not make it a habit of being late to your card readings.”

Asra shuffled around the man awkwardly. “No, I do not. MC, may I speak with you for a moment?”

I nodded and gestured to the kitchen, excusing us to the gold-dressed man who only rolled his eyes, we disappeared behind the curtain in the adjacent room. When we were alone, the magician leaned in close to me with a pleading look in his eyes. 

“MC, may I use your appointment room to do my reading?” His voice sounded panicked. “I told the consul that it would be professional.”

I narrowed my eyes, a bit annoyed that Asra would use me and my shop in such a way. By the apologetic and pleading look my friend gave me, he understood. Sighing, I relented. “Fine. I do not like this suddenly sprung onto me, Asra.”

“Thank you, MC,” Asra pressed a feather-light kiss to my lips. The magician started to step away before turning back to give another kiss. I leaned in this time, keeping it for just a moment longer before he turned on his heel and then disappeared behind the curtain. 

While Asra did his reading I continued my duties around the main floor of the shop. Eventually, after everything had been done, all that was left to do was dust and continue to act busy. Every now and then, when there was silence between cleaning, parts of their conversation were clear. I told myself hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the question, “Will I be the next count?” Hit the air loudly. 

For a moment, I worried for Asra’s safety. Montag never took kindly to betrayals, even indirectly, so if he found out a bounty would surely be on the magician's head. There was hesitation in the answer. “I…I do not believe that is wise for me to answer.”

The man scoffed. “Not wise? Unbelievable considering how much I am paying you. Nevertheless, I suppose I will ask another…”

I had tuned out of the conversation as another customer walked in. The card reading must have been going well because, as I was helping put together an order, I heard clapping along with cheerful praise. Something in my heart swelled knowing that I, the shopkeeper, knew the great magician Asra who brought more cheer to Vesuvia than the count. 

When the customer left, the consul and the magician finally emerged from the appointment room with smiles on their faces. The consul placed a purple silk pouch in Asra’s hands before leaving, not saying goodbye or thank you to anyone. 

The instant the bell on the door rang, indicating that he was gone, I immediately went over to Asra. “I cannot believe he asked you if he was going to be the next count!”

His laugh was light. “Yes, I could hardly believe it myself. You should have seen the look on his face, though, when I told him that it was not likely the count would marry him.”

I gasped then laughed, thinking of how only a short while ago was the count married to the Princess of Prakra. The wedding was quick, but lavish all the same. People talked about it was wall to wall in Prakran flowers with gold accents, which was not surprising. 

Since then, we had seen the Princess a few times through Vesuvia, and Asra would tease me about my secret love for her. Though love would be quite a strong word, I had started to admire her love for the Vesuvian people and her shared goals of making the place better. It seemed the count had made at least one good decision in his reign. 

Asra turned back into the appointment room and I followed since the business of the day had started to die. He sat there counting the coins he had been given then started to gather his cards. Looking at them in the golden light, now I could see them better, they seemed personal--Handmade. It was obvious a lot of detail and attention went into every card. 

“Great Magician Asra,” Was a name that he hated to be called, especially by me, but that did not deter me from using it. “These cards, did you make them yourself?”

“I did,” He sounded proud and splayed them out for me. 

I picked up a card, the fool. Oddly enough, the fool on the card almost looked the same as me. Not thinking much of it, I put it back down with the rest of them. “It’s impressive, my dear. If I may ask, why do you tell fortunes?”

Asra shrugged and started to shuffle the cards as he pondered on the question a bit longer. “I always have…It was something I could do after my parents disappeared.”

It wasn’t often Asra spoke of his parents, as he claimed he didn’t know much about them or could remember much, anyway. They had been gone for over ten years, and that was as much as he could or would tell me. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, leaning over to press a kiss on his temple. 

“Don’t be. Now I have money to buy things,” Asra smirked and shook the purple pouch that jingled with coins inside. “You know, perhaps you can start reading fortunes! I could teach you if you like-- More, I know you have some knowledge already.”

I looked down at the tarot cards again, pondering on the thought for a moment, before I looked to my magician. His violet eyes were so bright and hopeful of my yes that I could not say no. When I confirmed my answer, his grin only got wider before motioning me to sit to begin our lessons that would later cause me nothing but dread. Despite that, seeing Asra happy would be worth more than the world. 

[metaphorical-love-for-a-car]

Achilles Come Down-- Damien (WKM) x Reader

Prompt; Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths

Warnings; slight swearing, bit of angst, nothing too bad

Word Count; 1.8k

Notes; not my best work because i have a ~brain injury~ but i couldn’t get this idea out of my head so i went ahead and wrote it lol

Your eyes fluttered at the sudden bright light shining from above. A gasping breath racked your chest as you instinctively grabbed the fabric covering your abdomen. It was dry, no trace of the hot, sticky liquid that it held mere moments before. With a moment of hesitation, you sat up to survey your surroundings. Your brows knitted together. You were sitting in an open field, surrounded by tall grass, but weren't you just at Markiplier Manor? A flock of birds startled you from your thoughts as they flew overhead. You watched them dip in twirl with the wind until your eyes landed on a more captivating subject. "Damien?" He faced the opposite direction, sitting quite a distance away. His head turned when he heard your voice. A smile crept across Damien's features, and he was quick to wave you over. You pushed yourself off the ground and made your way towards him. There was something... off. He was sitting on the edge of a cliff, legs dangling over the side. His hair was ruffled, and his shoulders were slumped. But you found your gaze returning to his face. His warm, loving eyes and his soft smile made you fall in love all over again every time you looked at him. He gently bumped his shoulder into yours when you took a seat beside him. 

"I'm glad to see you here. Well, I'm not glad that you're here, but I'm happy to have you with me again." You raised a brow, and Damien pursed his lips. "What I mean is, I'm glad you're safe now. That's what matters."

"Where are we?" You glanced down at the dark waters splashing below. It appeared nearly as dark as ink, making its depths undetectable. Something about it unnerved you. You wanted to move somewhere else, but Damien appeared to enjoy sitting on the cliffside, where he could see the water. His jaw tensed at your question. He stared into the water. You placed a hand on top of his, hoping to calm some of the thoughts running rampant in his mind, but he stayed silent. "We're dead, aren't we?" A joking tone laced your words, but there was truth in them. You thought back to your last moments in the manor. You could have survived the gunshot alone if taken straight to the hospital, but you had little to no chance once you stumbled over the banister. Damien chuckled, finally returning his focus to you.

"You're not too far from the truth. We're sort of in-between realities at the moment. We're certainly not alive, but we're not quite dead either. It doesn't make sense. Hell, I'm still wrapping my head around it too, and I've been waiting here for you for a long time now."

"How long has it been for you? It was hardly an hour that I..." you faltered, struggling to find the right word, "appeared here after you vanished." Damien shook his head. 

"Time passes much differently here. An hour out there could easily be a decade here." Guilt hit your chest like a bag of bricks. He truly waited all that time, just for you? Damien caught the sadness welling up in your eyes. He cupped your face in his hands, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "But that doesn't matter. I wouldn't trade a second of it because it means I now get to be here with you. Don't tell me you forgot our vows?" You couldn't help the laugh that escaped your lips. 

"We'd always be there for each other, and if one of us died first, they would accompany the reaper until it was time to escort the other to the other side. Quite ironic, given our current circumstances."

"And everyone thought we were just being dramatic!" His comment brought about another round of laughter, easing the guilt from your heart. Damien got to his feet and pulled you up with him. He stared down into the water once more. "Why don't we enjoy the time we have here before we brave the other side? Let's go for a swim. " You followed his gaze with a grimace. The waves below were calm, but the water still seemed unwelcoming. Something in the back of your mind warned you not to trust it. Damien wrapped his arms around you, laughing. "Don't tell me you're scared! Nothing can hurt us here. We're finally safe." Your eyes widened as you heard footsteps approaching. Damien went rigid. Neither of you moved until the newcomer made a dramatic gagging sound.

"Look at you two so in love. It's so sweet it almost makes me sick," he deadpanned. Your jaw dropped. Mark was here too? Damien squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, biting back all of the words he truly wanted to say. You tried to move away from Damien to get a better look, but his grip around you tightened.

"Don't. He's not real," Damien whispered in your ear. There was a sense of urgency in his voice that made you freeze. 

"Sharing secrets now, are we? That's not a very nice thing to do to a friend, especially when said friend was murdered," Mark whined. "Since we're in a secretive mood, I feel inclined to tell you that Damien is lying to you, (Y/N)." You glanced over at your partner, whose face had darkened. You could practically sense the smug smile on Mark's face. He took his time walking closer to the two of you, wanting to make sure that he held the spotlight. "You're not safe. There is no 'other side.' He's using you to revive himself and Celine." Damien cupped your face, forcing you to look at him rather than Mark. 

"Don't listen to him. I love you, (Y/N). I'd do anything to keep you safe. You know that." Damien glanced behind you into the open water. He opened his mouth, but Mark interrupted him. 

"How many times have you sought my counsel? How many times have I given you my thoughts? And when have I ever steered you wrong?"

"(Y/N), love, listen to me. I know you're scared, but we need to go. We're going to have to jump."

"Don't be dense, (Y/N)!" Mark shouted. "I know you hear those warning bells in your head. If you go into that water, you'll never come out again."

"It's safe, I promise. I'd never do anything to hurt you. We'll be in a better place." Damien's voice was filled with desperation. His eyes searched yours, urging you to trust him. You swallowed thickly.

"You'll be with me?" Damien offered you a comforting smile as he stroked your cheek with his thumb. 

"Of course. Do you think I'd let you go alone? If you jump, I'm jumping. There is no me without you." You slowly nodded, and Damien released his hold on you. You finally caught sight of Mark. He was in his signature red bathrobe, and he was shaking in anger. What caught you off guard were his eyes. They were inky black and unforgiving, much like the water below.

"He's offering you acclaim and the taste of a new life, but he can't deliver. Don't waste yourself on this cliff, (Y/N). You'll be trapped in your own personal hell if you jump." You shook your head, standing by Damien's side. He took one of your hands into his own.

"I'm sorry, Mark, but I trust him. Even if you're right in the end, I have to stand by him. Love is a dangerous thing. I have to accept that." You looked at Damien and nodded. He counted down, and the two of you stepped off the cliff's edge. Mark stood above, watching as you both sank into the dark water. He shook his head, knowing what was to come.

The water seemed to suck all of the warmth from your bones as soon as you touched its surface. On instinct, you thrashed you get back to the surface, but you continued to sink. Panic settled into your mind. You couldn't get back up, and you couldn't find Damien. He let go of your hand once you both hit the water. Now, it was rushing into your lungs with a fiery burn in its wake. Your mind felt heavy and muddled. You could form a coherent thought. The last thing that filled your mind was regret. 

You hit the tiled floor with a loud thud. Your eyes snapped open as a violent cough shook your whole body. You rolled over onto your hands and knees, coughing. You could practically feel the water all around you, but you were completely dry. You blinked, slowly becoming aware of your surroundings. You were in the manor's foyer, except everything looked a little dimmer. Sitting back on your heels, you inspected your hands. They had a slight translucency to them. Is this what the 'other side' was? Were you a ghost? "Damien?" you called out, getting back to your feet. 

"Oh, good, you're awake. I should apologize. I didn't realize the process would be so... painful." You furrowed your brows, glancing around. It sounded as if he was standing right beside you, but he was nowhere to be found. You finally caught sight of the old mirror hanging on the wall Instead of showing your reflection, it showed Damien standing with an apologetic look on his face. You carefully approached. "I love you, (Y/N)."

"I love you too, Damien, but what's going on?" He sighed, avoiding your gaze.

"I'm protecting you. With Celine's help, I created a sort of pocket dimension inside this mirror, and we put your soul inside." You put a hand on your forehead, struggling to grasp the situation. "Don't worry! I'll be able to visit you, just as I'm doing now."

"Okay, but when can I leave?" Damien's face fell. He stuttered for a moment before finally going quiet. "Am I trapped here, alone?" your voice was barely above a whisper. Damien's eyes widened. 

"No, no! Of course, not. You're not alone. As I said before, I'll be able to visit you through the mirror."

"Am I trapped in here?" 

"I don't understand. I'm only trying to protect you-"

"Damien!" you shouted, tears flowing freely down your face. "Please, answer me." Your voice cracked along with Damien's heart at the sight of you. He nodded, looking away. You grit your teeth, suddenly overcome with anger. "You had no right! You didn't tell me this would happen. You told me that we would face the unknown together, but instead, you fabricated your own little birdcage for me to sit in for the rest of eternity."

"(Y/N), please-"

"No, Damien." Your sad laugh echoed in the empty foyer. You ran a hand through your hair, pacing. "What happened to always staying by each other's side?" you scoffed, "I should've listened to Mark. I shouldn't have jumped with you."

"I did this because I love you."

"Well, maybe you should have loved me a little less." 

[books-and-dragons]

pegoryu (pre-established) post-interrogation hurt/comfort fic. has mentions of nightmares, trauma, and implied physical assault. unedited and for that i big apologise in advance

___________

okay!!! so this fic has been sitting in my drafts for months (lol what else is knew i know, shush i’m getting to the point) and i was supposed to post it on ao3 at the same time as i did a couple of others, however never got around to it bc it needed editing and im too lazy for that

likelihood is, i will edit and post to ao3 at some point, but it needs some BIG rennovations and i just can’t be arsed atm

so yeah, apologies for the shoddy writing in advance xoxo

but for now, i wanted to post it on here. today. as a sign of goodwill for the year to come. (ie. i own p5r, still havent played it, need to play it, and hope posting this will kick me into gear)

so, hope you enjoy!! and lmao if not it’ll just get buried as i start to revive this blog so,...win win?

In the first few nights since the interrogation, Ryuji stayed awake, listening to the fragile shudders of Akira’s breath in the night. So sensitive to every breath of air restricted by broken ribs, Ryuji hadn’t needed to look across the room, to gaze at the beaten figure on the bed, to know how his face was contorted in pain- unmasked in sleep.

He refused to so much as close his eyes until Akira’s breathing levelled out, still shuddering and restricted by pain, but deep enough to assure him that Akira was asleep. Only then, Ryuji allowed himself to rest.

Nobody else stayed the night. They lingered until the last train, crowded around the attic bedroom, gaze worriedly resting on Akira until the final second, where they’d leave with the accompanying chime of Leblanc’s door closing. But not Ryuji.

Ryuji, who had refused to leave Akira’s side since the moment he’d returned to their arms, beaten and drugged up, hardly coherent, but so relievingly and perfectly alive.

Akira hadn’t been alone since, Ryuji ensured that much. Torn over so much as going across the road for a bath, he couldn’t leave the other boy alone- something pulled at him to never let that happen, a pit of fear in the bottom of his stomach that pulled at his every nerve.

Maybe it had something to do with the nightmares, the visions of Akira lying broken on cold tile, at the mercilessly unrelenting hands of the police, the images of Akira lying dead, blood pooling from his head, the way the images seemed to haunt him even when awake- but there was no point reading into it. It wasn’t important, especially not now.

What mattered was that when he woke up, breath haggard and skin shining with sweat under the light of outdoor streetlamps, Akira never woke. Wasn’t even perturbed. 

Ryuji tried to be thankful for it, tried not to think about why Akira was suddenly such a deep sleeper. Ignored the puncture wounds on his neck, the bottle of painkillers by his bedside. Akira was resting, and that was enough.

Even if it didn’t make sense that, when morning rose, the dark circles under Akira’s eyes had grown. That he tried to muffle pained yawns behind bandaged hands, and begged for more coffee- even though Takemi had put him on a temporary ban.

Because Ryuji had seen him sleeping, watched the rise and fall of his chest as Ryuji reminded himself that Akira was alive and safe, it was the sight that lulled him back to sleep from a nightmare. So why did Akira always look so tired?

He tried not to let his growing concern show, there was already so much to be worried about, he didn’t want to add another. Especially not when it could be nothing but his own annoying thoughts.

It wasn’t until the next night, after a particularly painful and thorough visit from Takemi earlier that day, that Ryuji started to reconsider.

Blearily opening his eyes to the dark lighting of the attic, Ryuji didn’t need a clock to know it was well into the middle of the night, and that he’d been woken up from his sleep, again.

But it was weird. There was none of the usual constricting fear, the blind panic- he’d hardly even started seeing the figure of a beaten Akira surrounded by shadow, let alone begun imagining the worst. 

About to blame it on the lumpy and painful springs of the couch and try to fall back asleep, Ryuji caught it. Quiet, as if muffled by something, but just loud enough to penetrate through the silence in the attic and reach Ryuji: crying.

No. Not crying.

Sobbing.

Ice burning in his stomach, he carefully lifted the blanket and rose, wary of creaking springs and the sound of rustling fabric, towards the shaking figure on the bed.

His voice was barely above a whisper, carrying clearly and softly through the silence as he carefully extended an arm, not touching, only hovering, “Akira?”

The responding flinch broke Ryuji’s heart all the more, as a head rose from under the covers, bloodshot eyes wide and darting around the room in panic, hair wildly askew. 

Moving as slowly as he dared, Ryuji sat at the side of the bed, “Hey, it’s okay, it’s only me.”

As the mattress shifted under him, Akira froze. Muscles tight and unyielding, back as ramrod straight as his broken ribs would allow, the entire body braced for something Ryuji didn’t even want to think about. His gaze was distant, somewhere far away from Leblanc, from the blond sat right beside him.

It reminded Ryuji of his Ma, in the months after the divorce. Curled up together on the dingy bed, they’d cling to each other so tight even in sleep, waking up in the morning sweaty and sometimes a little uncomfortable, never minding because they woke feeling completely safe. But there were the nights when his Ma’s screams would wake him in the early hours, recoiling and shaking even in her sleep. Ryuji would sit upright and watch over her until sunrise, would try to pull her from the memories he knew haunted her. Haunted them both.

Looking at Akira, the striking familiarity of the situation made him want to hurl.

He didn’t move, no matter how strong the urge was to reach out and console his hurting best friend. Instead, he kept his voice quiet, just audible above the laboured sobs, and waited.

“You’re okay, Akira. You’re safe, I’m not goin’ anywhere, alright? You’ve got me, it’s okay-”

Slowly, the frantic scanning of the room stopped. Staring at the artificial yellow light that bathed Leblanc’s street, following it into the shadows of the attic, where dark figures seemed to fade away. The flash of blond in his vision, perfectly still, aside from the hushed mutterings leaving chapped lips.

Akira focused on that sound. It felt safe.

As Ryuji uttered soft words of reassurance, he watched the tension slowly leave Akira’s body. Shoulders slightly slouched, jaw unclenched, his lip was bleeding- but he could worry about that later. All that mattered was the softening of Akira’s lines, as he slowly came back to Ryuji.

Delicately as he dared, he reached out. Hand brushing against bruised skin, careful not to as much as press on the marred areas. For a moment, there was no response. He waited, watching the panic continue to leave until, slightly trembling, Akira’s hand interlaced with his own.

“Ryuji?” The hazed look in his eyes was clearing, staring at Ryuji with a newly discovered relief, which was quickly overtaken by shame, “Shit- I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up, just go back to sleep I’m fine-”

“Hey no, no man it’s okay, really-” Feeling Akira begin to pull away, Ryuji let his thumb run over the back of his hand, determinedly meeting Akira’s gaze, “I don’t mind.”

Akira opened his mouth, ready to retort and insist, but found himself silenced by the look in the other boy’s eyes. Ryuji’s hand was warm, and for a moment Akira forgot there were even any injuries there at all, thumb tracing over them with such a delicate touch he hadn’t known the blond to have possessed.

Staring into Ryuji’s eyes, he wondered at how they were always so open and unguarded, never with anything to hide- a true reflection of his best friend, passionate and honest to a fault. It was something Akira had often envied, that ability to always be his true self, to freely display his emotions. 

He almost took that back now, staring back into deep brown eyes. Eyes which so clearly reflected hurt and worry.

The raw concern so honestly displayed to him that, just in this moment, Akira decided he would allow himself to be vulnerable. Just this one time. Knowing that, as they had done for each other so many times before, Ryuji would never judge.

Hesitantly, Akira pulled his hand out of Ryuji’s and, ignoring the concerned look he got in return, allowed his hand to trace higher, around his forearm, pulling him closer with a silent plea.

As always, Ryuji understood.

Carefully reaching out, Ryuji wrapped his arms around Akira, pulling him to his chest. His touch is firm, but cautious of the bruising and bandages decorating Akira’s abdomen. Even then, careful as he was, the occasional shift sent twinges of pain up Akira’s spine. And yet, he found he didn’t mind- not when he was so surrounded by warmth and comfort and the steady beat of Ryuji’s heart just audible through his chest, that for a minute Akira feels like he can just forget-

Somehow, Ryuji shifts so they’re leaning against the back wall, Akira’s head resting high on Ryuji’s chest, ear pressed to his left side. Logically, Ryuji supposed now would be a good time to ask about what just happened, about the dark circles under Akira’s eyes and the fear still lingering when he caught sight of shadows in the room- but there would be other opportunities. When Akira wasn’t so damn exhausted and clinging to Ryuji like he’s the final lifeline holding Akira together. When neither of them would be waking up in the middle of the night, a frenzied mess, and worrying about suspicious strangers in public and carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Yeah, there would be other times to talk. But for now, Ryuji would stay with Akira and listen as his breathing mellowed out into deep breaths, as his grip on the blond weakened and he cuddled closer still, lost to the throes of sleep.

Ryuji will stay with him until the sun rises.

Neither of them were plagued by nightmares for the rest of the night.

[chrisevansgoodgirl]

you’re screwed up and brilliant and look like a million dollar man

summary: murder gloves.

warnings: S M U T. sex everywhere. it’s violent sometimes. what’s a safe word? lol ransom wouldn’t know. (seriously, reader tells him to stop a few times and he doesn’t, so pls do not read if that is upsetting to you) and they’re annoying, legit can’t talk without fighting. and that daddy kink because y’all know me. a lot of choking. very vanilla bondage. spanking. fluffy feelings about sweaters.

word count: a bit over 8,000

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

a/n: lol and nearly THREE FUCKING MONTHS LATER 🙄🙄🙄🙄 truly, i am sorry. i hope that you picture a raccoon with creepy evil little hands when you think of me bc i am trash. and i have creepy evil little hands. you guys know how excited i got when i thought of this title, right?

It was your anniversary even though it hardly felt like one at all.

Six years today. Somehow, you had put up with all the shit. His horrid behavior at times. The family drama. The extravagant events Harlan planned that your high maintenance boyfriend never let you miss. Whenever you tried it, he either pouted or just fucked you until you wouldn’t dream of ever saying the word ‘no’ to him. At least not for a few days.

Six years.

Yet, you were sure he was still nowhere near proposing. That was a battle for the next anniversary, you had decided. This anniversary required much more pressing topics to be discussed.

You heard Ransom pull up in the driveway and come inside, but you kept your place at the counter. When he found you in the kitchen, you were in a thin robe, making him an Old Fashioned while your coffee brewed.

You glanced at him over your shoulder as he sat at the dining table. His eyes lingered on you for a moment but then he turned down to his phone, so you took your chance to stare. After all these years, you would think that the sight of him in a sweater wouldn’t matter to you, but it still did.

You’d met him in a sweater, several December’s ago at a ski lodge where you had bonded over unfathomable resentment toward your respective families and an inability to ski—something he still wouldn’t admit. I can ski, I just wanted to fuck you. You were practically begging me. Was I supposed to say no? That wasn’t exactly how it happened but when Ransom pouted, that often meant no sex, so you let him lie. Regardless, he was beautiful then and you swore he got more beautiful by the day.

He lifted both hands onto the tabletop in front of him, phone set against his palm, showing off those stupid leather gloves that were starting to make you question your sanity. You thought about those gloves too much and in the most depraved ways.

“Did you get the house?” you asked, a distraction for yourself. No sex, not until he gave you an answer. Hell, he was gone most of the day with Marta, so he damn well better have some success to report.

He narrowed his eyes, lifting his gaze from his phone screen. “Why are you so dressed?”

Normally, he liked you walking around the house in nothing. A bodysuit, maybe. A bra, panties, and thigh-high socks. He liked you as naked as you could get. You liked it as well, it reminded him that even though, most of the time, he was in control, there were times when it was you. You who had final say, you who would withhold sex as some deranged power play. Sure, you needed Ransom like you needed oxygen or money, but he needed you just as much.

The robes were for occasional visitors. He knew that, he was just trying to prolong this conversation. He was trying to bait you, actually. If you were feeling…playful, you would have lied or refused to tell him. Then, long story short, you wouldn’t have been able to walk or sit right for a week. It wasn’t that he even needed such an elaborate reason to start this game, this time he was just trying to distract you.

“Joni stopped by.”

He gave you a flat look. Nothing confused him more than you sincerely getting along with Joni.

“She brought some crystals for us.”

“Rocks,” he corrected. “And they’re damn ugly and they’re not staying in my house.”

“Tiger’s eye for mental clarity,” you explained, voice level. It was your house too, and if he wanted to play this game, well, you had no problem throwing a chair through the window. Again. “Amethyst, for protection and stress—and intuition! It’s great for the third eye chakra—”

“Don’t start all that bullshit with me—”

“You’re just mad that I’m psychic—”

“No, you are not,” he snapped.

“Scared I’m going to find out about whoever else you’re fucking?” Okay, he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else. If you truly thought that, you would have been so far out the door the second you had a suspicion. Ransom was good. Even though he liked to pretend he wasn’t.

He glared. “It’s a god damn scam—”

“Your family specializes in those.”

“She’s not family.”

“Meg is,” you pointed out. It was left unstated but blatantly clear that that did, in fact, mean that Joni was family also.

“Joni thinks you have money, she’s trying to play you.”

“They don’t need to play me, Ransom. I like Meg, she’s nice…and she’s finishing her degree. I’ll make sure of that, with or without your help. And I like Joni, you know, she was the first one who was nice to me. Other than Walt, I guess—”

“Yeah, he was nice because he wants to fuck you.”

“You think everyone wants to fuck me.”

“Joni does, too.”

“Oh yeah, your whole family?”

“My grandfather included.”

You rolled your eyes. “Can you not be so…you, right now? Please, he’s fucking dead, Ransom.”

“He was a fucking perverted bastard. He always stared at you, tried to get you alone as much as possible. And don’t even get me started on that time he had you on his lap—”

“It wasn’t like that,” you argued.

He arched an eyebrow.

So, you were sitting on Harlan’s “lap”. It was Christmas, Harlan had dressed up as Santa. Ransom liked to pretend that Meg and Marta weren’t in the picture with you. Okay, maybe it was that you were trying to make him mad. You remembered that to be around the time you discovered that angry sex with Ransom was something else, something you truly weren’t sure how you had lived without.

You walked his drink to him and you watched as he downed the entire glass.

“Make me another. Please.”

You returned to the counter to oblige. You weren’t much of a cook, neither was Ransom, but he had the strongest desire to see you acting domestic for him. Sometimes, that just meant you making him drinks or bringing him a beer. You didn’t mind, so long as he watched you the entire time.

You once again set the glass in front of him. “So, your mother wants to fuck me?”

He eyed you, lifted the glass to his lips, took a small drink, set it down, then he nodded once. Instead of speaking, he went back to texting on his phone.

“Donna?”

“Not family, but yes.”

“Jacob?”

He scoffed. “Yes, he would fuck you. Also, possibly tie you up and dismember you after that—”

“Nana?”

Again, his eyes narrowed at you. He knew you were up to something now. He lifted one of his hands, smirking when he saw how intently your eyes were following it. He pulled at the tie of your robe; it was such slinky material that it slipped off your shoulders just after it was loose enough.

Your bodysuit was lace because Ransom loved you in lace. It was a tiny white scrap with thin straps and cups that your breasts spilled out of when you bent over. You were never one for modesty, but there was always something that made you want to cover up whenever Ransom was looking at you—even though his eyes were always full of lust and appreciation.

He let his hand return to the table and he looked at his phone.

Seriously? That was it? You shoved his phone away, it clattered to the table a few inches over, and you sat down on top of him. Your arms around his neck, your knees pressed to his hips, hovering over his soon-to-be hard cock. “And what about your dad?”

“Excuse me?” he demanded.

“Does he wanna fuck me? Because maybe I should ask him to get me that house and maybe fucking him would be all the motivation he needs, motivation you clearly are not feeling—”

You heard his arm brush across the table and then his glasses were shattering to the floor. Before you could scold him, his hand tangled tightly in your hair and he jerked you down flat to the table. He abruptly stood, leaning over you, his face mere inches away from yours.

You should have been scared; you knew that. He was so strong and he rarely ever stopped to think, he was fast actions and apologies later. But this was Ransom and you couldn’t be scared of Ransom.

“Wanna try that again?” he challenged. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

“I would love to sit on his face,” you stated. “And I would love to feel his m—”

He gripped your jaw with his free hand and you utterly melted. You couldn’t explain coherently how much you needed that cold leather against your skin. Despite what you knew he had done with those gloves. Hell, maybe that was why you liked them so much. All of his scheming and malice, the killing. But then he would come home to you and he was so soft and so sweet, until he wasn’t, until he was fucking you, spanking you, choking you.

“You. Little. Brat. I got the fucking house for you—”

“You did?” you blurted out.

You suddenly realized, of course. That was why he hadn’t answered you. He knew you were getting impatient and he knew you would act out. Now, he would get to punish you. You would have been mad but the Thrombey house was the most beautiful house you had ever laid eyes on. The idea of building an actual life with Ransom there, in a house that he loved even though he wouldn’t admit it to his parents, only made you happy.

“I did,” he promised. “And now, you have to earn it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Brats don’t get houses.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” you accused. “I’m not earning anything. Every day I fucking put up with you, I earn that fucking house.”

“You just made a comment about wanting to fuck my dad—”

“No, I said I wanted your dad to eat me out. There’s a difference.”

He pressed his fingers into your jaw harder and yanked a little on your hair. “Say you’re sorry, baby doll.”

“Fuck. You.”

He narrowed his eyes, hand snapping from your face down to the clasp of your bodysuit that lay between your legs. He yanked it open, settling his hips against your knees to hold you open for him.

He never moved his eyes from yours and you, if only to meet his challenge, did the same. “I swear, you better not be wet.”

He was in a fucking sweater, what did he expect? You figured voicing that question would do nothing for you, probably only make him even more conceited. No, silence could damn you if that meant Ransom was knocked down a little.

“Or you’ll have to be my father’s latest mistress because I will fucking throw you out.”

“Well, maybe he’s better than you,” you pointed out.

Instead of a verbal response, his leather-clad fingers smacked your cunt.

Pleasure was right on the tail of pain, so close that you weren’t sure what you were feeling. Yes, it hurt, but wow—it fucking hurt. Half of you wanted to retract from the pain but as it settled, you immediately wanted more. If you weren’t wet before… Your body was vibrating with your undeniable need for him, but still, fuck him. He’d been an ass since he walked in and you didn’t feel like just giving in.

“Ow! What the fuck is wrong with you?” you demanded, only because he was smirking at you and staring with knowing eyes. “Get the fuck off of me.”

He snorted at what you both knew was a sad attempt on your part.

You began to struggle against him, attempting to push him back with your knees. “Ransom, let me go.”

He forced you into a sitting position with the hand still in your hair and let go just to grab your wrists. His other hand grabbed quickly at the scarf around his neck.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” you warned.

He shoved you back down, forcing your arms above your head.

“Ransom, I swear—”

He cut you off with a rough kiss as he wound his scarf around you in some complex way that he probably wouldn’t even be able to get you out of when this was all over.

You turned your head away, and he moved his mouth to your neck. “If you do not untie me, I am going to leave and never come back!”

He bit you hard enough to leave a mark before pulling back to set himself onto his forearms. “And live where? The street? Or you wanna go crawling back to your fucked-up parents?”

“Tell them I finally came to my senses; they’d take me back.” Long story short, your parents fucking hated Ransom. They thought he would never do anything for you or give you anything.

It didn’t help that you sort of cut back on work once you’d met Ransom. He was possessive, he just didn’t want you flying all over the world if you couldn’t take him with you. And you couldn’t because his family was beyond demanding and Ransom still had to show up now and then at whatever theatric event Harlan could think up. And as a model…taking pictures with men sometimes, or other women, wearing very little? Well, Ransom would never ask you to quit but he was always so insecure afterward. You still had your campaigns, a few projects you did with friends, but you were hardly a model anymore.

But well, your parents were obviously fucking wrong. He got you the house. The first time he had taken you there was to meet his grandfather—which was huge because it was the first time Ransom was letting you get that close to him. He hadn’t anticipated Joni and Meg being there but you hadn’t complained. He had, non-stop. Still, it was something…special. He’d shown you his old room and fucked you. Took you out to the woods and fucked you against every awful statue out there. Then took you to his parents’ room and, of course, fucked you there.

They were meant to show the next week, you’d left before that. Much to his pleasure, his mother left him a screaming voicemail or two or seven once she’d realized what had been done on those silk sheets.

You’d fallen in love with the house and you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it to an outsider. At the will reading, when it was announced that it belonged to Marta, you nearly fainted. Ransom had been so damn calm though, up until he was laughing like the god damn psychopath that you’d always suspected he was.

That was five days ago and things between the two of you had been…unconventional. When he had shown up that night—after ditching you, no less, to do whatever he was doing with Marta—you immediately started fighting. You had to get a fucking Uber! And he refused to apologize because, according to him, you were “having an attitude”. Things were thrown, insults were traded, and it was the longest night of your whole relationship.

It was only two days ago that you admitted to the root of your hostility. The house. He couldn’t lose the house. It wasn’t like you thought you were going to be living in it any time soon, but when he did finally propose, maybe things would work out that way. The following morning, he apologized with a diamond necklace and the promise that he would get the house back from Marta.

“Or you could just apologize,” he pointed out.

See, he never did, and in all your time with him, you decided you never would either. It was a good relationship. The sex was amazing, you guys never lied, never cheated, but there were a few communication barriers that neither one of you wanted to mend. Who really needed the word ‘sorry’?

“Seriously, Ransom, fuck you.”

He sighed, but that did little to hide how thrilled he was that you wanted to fight today. “I try to be nice to you, you know. But you don’t want nice, do you?” He jerked you up higher on the table by your arms and crawled his way over you. His forearms were on either side of your head and his leg was coming up to settle between yours.

The table had been freezing, but with him over you, and his heavy coat caging you in, you were just hot. Too hot. The snow-covered back yard seemed the better option at that moment. Anything to get away from him.

“Ransom,” you sighed. “Enough, stop—”

He pressed his knee against you and you shuddered. It hadn’t been long at all, so why you were so desperate was beyond you. Since Harlan, Ransom truly had a new outlook on life. He was impulsive and selfish before, but after the death of his beloved grandfather, there was nothing that could stand in the way of what he wanted. And what he often wanted was you, not that you were complaining.

“Get yourself off, baby.”

You glared up at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Yes, you heard, but what the fuck?! You didn’t get yourself off. He was controlling enough to need to dictate every single one of your god damn orgasms and if it wasn’t because of his mouth, his fingers, or his cock, it wasn’t happening. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m not sure if I’m going to let you finish at all,” he explained. “I suggest you do it yourself.”

You theorized that if you complied now, then maybe he would forget he was so angry and just fuck you. That had happened a few times before, he did always tend to pout when he remembered, though.

Despite your pride and the burning you felt on the tip of your tongue because you sincerely wanted to yell at him, you rolled your hips. It was tentative almost, which made him scoff. The material of his pants was too soft and with no assistance from him and your awkward angle… You figured he was enjoying making you work for this so much.

After what you said about Richard? There was no way you were going to be able to convince him to help you. You supposed he didn’t need to. Hell, you didn’t even need to finish. He just had to think you did. You turned down to watch, moved your hips faster, started making just a little more noise—

“You’re faking.”

You stopped altogether with a huff. “I am not!”

“You are. You wanna know how I know? Because for the past few years, every orgasm in your life has been because of me. You don’t know how to get off without me.”

“You are such an ass.”

“You don’t just want to ask for some help?” He looked down, one hand lowering slowly. “You know I can be very helpful when I need to be.”

You watched, gasping just when he pulled his hand away. “Ransom.”

“Let me just take the gloves off—”

You whined an incoherent protest. You knew that he knew.

He pretended to be confused, eyebrows pulled together. “You want me to keep them on?”

You frowned at him.

“Why?”

“Fuck off, Ransom.” You didn’t know why! Your only theory was that you were just as messed up as him and that you needed to make an appointment with a mental healthcare professional!

He smiled widely, and you hated how that made your heart skip a little. He always smirked, rarely ever smiled, so when he did, you were screwed. “You want to hear about it again? About how I murdered my grandfather?”

You snorted. “Oh, is that what happened? I thought Marta murdered Harlan—”

“She didn’t.”

“She’s the one who gave him the medicine,” you pointed out. “You didn’t have to do anything except switch a vial.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You’re trying to provoke me.”

“Are you going to kill me, too? Oh, correction, are you going to get the help to kill me, too?”

“I might.”

“God, you are disgusting.”

He finally released your wrists to grab your jaw again. “Keep your arms up, I won’t tell you a second time.”

You were already moving them down, stopping right when you heard his threat. With a soft sight, you settled back against the table.

“Good girl.”

You wanted to hit him.

His thumb and forefinger pressed hard against your cheeks until you opened your mouth. He took that as his chance to slide two fingers inside your mouth until you gagged. You closed your mouth anyway, refusing not to meet one of his challenges.

They tasted even worse than you had imagined but you weren’t going to stop. You started to grind against his thigh again. It was better now, like maybe this was going to be enough to get you off.

He set his forehead to your temple, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “You don’t want to hear what happened after we left the party, after I fucked you in the car so good you couldn’t stand?”

Oh, that night. Where to begin with that night. It was Harlan’s birthday party, you’d been to all the ones before that and they’d gone off without…okay, well, there were definitely hitches, but nothing you hadn’t come to expect. Nothing that lasted too long. Yes, this family was all kinds of fucked up, but they never stayed away from one another for too long.

You had assumed Ransom’s argument with Harlan was going to be just another one of those cases. You’d been talking to Walt and Linda, the latter trying to ignore her husband’s attempts at pulling her into an argument he was having with Joni. Walt was talking about the company again; it didn’t bore you or Linda like it did everyone else.

Ransom’s voice carrying out from Harlan’s office startled everyone silent. He stormed out just to grab you and drag you outside, all while his family watched from windows at the front of the house. You told him to stop, which he didn’t. You told him your heels were a hazard, which he ignored.

When he started driving, you were honestly scared. Ransom was hardly a cautious driver generally, so when he was angry? And god, he was angry. You were sure you had never seen someone else get to him the way that Harlan had.

And he was ignoring you. He wouldn’t tell you what they fought about, but he always told you. It was, very simply, too much, and you were not going to put up with it. It was dark, cold, and Ransom had been drinking. You directed him to stop the car, and as firm as you hoped you were being, you were stunned when he listened.

The way he looked at you was so unlike any way he had ever done it before. You were more than just confused and you were a little worried, there was realization in his eyes. You could see that his mind was moving and you had known him long enough to know that that never meant anything good.

He demanded that you get out of the car and you did, even though part of you was worried he was going to leave you there. He followed, coming around to lead you into the of the car. He wrapped one hand around your throat and pinned you against the car door with his body, his chest to your back. His free hand was working his clothing out of the way, then fumbling to open the door.

He wordlessly shoved you against the seat, shoving your dress out of the way. Before you could say a word, he was inside you, his body covering yours. His hold around your throat was tight, and you knew that meant that he didn’t want to talk. That didn’t shut him up, however.

He just kept saying he was going to take care of you, and he didn’t loosen his hand until he asked you if you wanted him to take care of you. You said you did. He asked if he had taken care of you up to that point. You said that he had. He asked you if you trusted him. You said you did.

He left you in the backseat, covered in his cum and reddening marks on your neck, hips, and breasts, wrapped in his coat. He turned the car off and you echoed with just about 100 questions, none of which he directly answered. He said you couldn’t come with him because well, you honestly couldn’t walk.

The following morning, you woke up in bed while Ransom was making breakfast. Well, okay, you hadn’t actually seen him make anything, but since you didn’t find any restaurant containers, you couldn’t throw that accusation at him. He brought you pancakes to eat in bed and you guys had an amazing morning together.

By noon, the family was calling both of you with news of Harlan’s death.

He pressed his free hand over your face, covering your nose, and shoved his fingers deeper down your throat. You were choking and that didn’t frighten you like it should have. Some of the best orgasms you’d gotten from Ransom were when you were choking on his fingers or his cock.

You didn’t stop rocking your hips until you were finishing and you never once looked away from him. He stared into your eyes the entire time because it was undeniable at this point, Ransom had a kink for murder, and this was as close as he was going to get to it with you—some minor breath play.

He pulled away from you completely, stepping back onto the floor. He glanced down with a self-satisfied smirk, admiring the mess you had made on his pant leg. His amusement only grew as he watched you try to catch your breath.

You were still coming down when you felt Ransom leave the space between your legs. Glancing around the room, you found him at the counter. His back to you, you heard him pour some bourbon in a glass. You weren’t much of a bourbon person but whenever you tasted it on Ransom’s tongue, you never minded it too much.

When he returned to you, it was with a knife from the block on the counter. A large knife, you wondered what he would do if you made a comment about him compensating for something. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He smirked. “You scared?”

You snorted. “No.”

Arching an eyebrow, he pressed the blade down just barely against your thigh, dragging it upward toward your soaking center.

You had to bite your lip as he touched you there, just a tease because he didn’t truly want to cut you. The cool surface made goosebumps rise on your legs and your heart began to pound with excitement. You often wondered if you would be this fucked up if you had never found Ransom.

He lifted it to your chest, eyes bright as they followed the knife. He pressed down just slightly harder and led the knife to your shoulder. Your heart dropped the second you realized what he was doing.

“Ransom—”

“Shut up.”

“This is a piece from Megan Fox’s collaboration with Fredrick’s—” You felt the snap of your bodysuit’s strap and your jaw dropped.

He smirked down at you, proceeding to the next side to do the same.

“You fucking psycho!” you reprimanded. You thought dating a man with too much money and a narcissistic concern for his appearance would have given him at least some respect for clothing. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me? You’re the one so wet over a god damn knife.”

“You can’t just destroy my clothes!”

“Well,” he shrugged, “just did. The fuck are you going to do about it? And consider your answer carefully, you know, if you want that house so badly.”

“It’s already my house,” you declared. “You got it for me. Stop pretending—”

“Pretending what? That I couldn’t find someone to replace you in a second? I bet Marta would be up for it.”

You shut up immediately, just staring at him. You knew Ransom liked it when your anger was quick. And truly, the last thing you wanted was to give him anything he wanted. You weren’t trying to be jealous in any way, but you’d always wondered how he felt about Marta.

He seemed to like talking to her—albeit, he also liked talking to Meg…just to get a rise. But he also liked getting a rise out of you, clearly. You just wanted to know. And he wouldn’t answer you, any time you asked him how he felt about someone else, he just fucked you.

“Now, don’t pout—”

“Fuck you—”

“Don’t be such a baby—it was a joke.”

“I don’t care,” you proclaimed. “You know, you can fuck her if you want.”

“Oh?”

You nodded, humming. “Please do. Then I’ll follow up with your dad.”

He snorted. “That’s getting weak.”

“You think he wants me to call him daddy?”

He took your neck in his hand. “If you say that again, I’ll fucking…”

“What?” you demanded. “What the fuck are you going to do, Ransom?”

Suddenly, he was kissing you. You’d blinked, then he was over you, hand tearing down your bodysuit as he held you by the throat. He stood to toss the bodysuit out of his way, eyes tracing your body.

He didn’t seem to care that you were completely out of breath by the time he’d pulled away, you didn’t either. This was something you both had in common. In moments like these, nothing mattered. You both did and said whatever you wanted, but by the time he was inside you, it was all forgotten.

“I’m moving out,” you announced.

He snorted. “You’re not.”

“Yes, I am. I’m going back home; I can’t stand another day with you.”

“You ever try to leave me and I will drag you back. Every fucking time, Y/N.”

You scoffed weakly. “Learn to hear the word no. You’ll need to. Now that you’re poor, especially.”

“You think that’s what this is?” He still wasn’t looking at your face, just your naked body as if he’d never seen it before. “You think it’s because I’ve never been told no?”

“What else would it be?”

He snorted. “Try to be less transparent. Is this your way of asking what we are?”

You knew what you were. To an extent. It was just that sometimes, Ransom wasn’t the most traditional, and you were okay with that. But well, it had been 6 years. You were waiting on the future to start, the engagement, the ring, changing your last name, possibly starting a family. But well, Ransom hadn’t even told you he loved you. You knew he did, love wasn’t just words, and he definitely showed you, but it would be nice to hear. Still, that was not what you had been asking… okay, maybe it kind of was what you were asking.

“No, I couldn’t care less. I won’t have to stay with you much longer anyway… I would never date anyone poor.”

“Baby, call me poor one more time and your ass is going to be so sore.”

He was in such an odd mood. You didn’t know exactly what he wanted. It had sounded like he’d wanted to fight, then he started getting…well, sappy for him. Now, he was threatening to spank you for stating fact?

“Look at that,” he taunted, smirking at your silence. “You can be such a good girl when you try.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I should give you incentive to shut your mouth more.”

“Excuse—”

He shushed you as his free hand pressed to your pussy.

You quieted only because you forced your mouth shut. You hadn’t been sure how the leather gloves were going to feel, if you should like them… But well, you did. And maybe you didn’t want him to know that.

But he did, that much you could tell from the arrogant look in his eye. You closed your eyes, letting your head roll back against the table. Whatever, you might as well get an orgasm for all this trouble he’d given you.

He traced small, gentle circles around your clit and you couldn’t even remember what you’d been arguing about. You knew he was watching you; you knew you shouldn’t be giving in so easy. That was why he was a dick; he knew you would let him be because he knew how to fuck you well. Two fingers easily slipped inside you—at least you thought it was two, you couldn’t tell.

You were caught off guard. It had been years since you’d felt something inside you other than Ransom*.

Was it supposed to feel good? What you liked was that these gloves were not supposed to be inside you, yet there they were. Ransom didn’t seem to care that they were close to a thousand dollars. You remembered glaring at him when he showed them to you, sent to him by one of his few friends, a designer (🙄) You had lectured him. They were real leather! You did not believe in killing animals for fashion. It was your one rule. You’d never participated in a campaign or contract if there was an animal harmed in the making.

But now, here you were, rolling your hips, fucking yourself on his fingers as he wore those sickening gloves. It was a strange sensation, maybe not good, but not bad. He started to crook his fingers against that spot that he could now locate in record time, and so it didn’t matter what it felt like anyway.

He leaned over you, grabbing one of your arms to pull you into a sitting position. “Watch, baby girl. Watch your pussy take my fingers.”

You turned down and at an agonizing speed, his fingers disappeared inside you. He crooked them twice before pulling them out almost completely. The gloves were embarrassingly wet and you could feel your cheeks heating because of it.

“Can you take another?” he inquired.

You weren’t capable of forming thoughts. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to want an answer. He pulled his fingers back, pushing three back in.

Your head dropped back and you closed your eyes. “Fuck, Ransom, please—”

“Keep watching, baby—I’m only going to tell you once.”

You hurriedly turned back; struggling to keep your eyes open and your hips still. Watching made you anxious because you knew exactly when you were going to feel what and you were simply not patient enough for your tease of a boyfriend.

“You hear how wet you are? Your pussy is so desperate…I bet it could take all four of my fingers. What do you think?” He took your jaw, turning your gaze up to him. “Hmm?”

You began to eagerly nod. “Yes.”

He pulled his arm back and let his pinky join as he moved it forward—once more, you felt yourself blushing at how easily they all slipped inside. It was a delicious stretch that was already driving you crazy. He rarely ever got to four fingers, by the time he was three in, that usually meant he was ready to fuck you. He always tried though, mindful of his size and how difficult it was to take him sometimes.

You sighed his name and whimpered a plea, you did not know what for, but he did. His free hand wrapped around your neck and he leaned in to kiss you, the fingers inside you still curling skillfully. His lips were soft against yours, a notable contrast to everything else he was doing.

“What is it about these gloves that get you so wet? he pressed. “Huh? Let me tell you, my love, about all the bad things I’ve done in them.” He seemed completely detached as he recounted all those events that you had missed because he’d wanted you to miss them, you wondered if he’d decided to that just so he could bring it up while he was fucking you.

Everything was calm and slow. Then he said Fran’s name and his hold on your neck tightened, and he started fucking you with his fingers, relentless in pressure and pace. His stare was locked on yours and you noticed how he brightened when tears finally filled your eyes. You would start turning a terrible red soon, you knew because he’d choked you enough times in the mirror. He always liked it so much so you never complained.

You had run out of air several long seconds ago and that was why your finish was coming so harshly. You just hoped he couldn’t tell because he would undoubtedly make you wait.

“I liked killing her,” he told you. “I would do it again. She was standing in the way—our way of the future I want to give to you. I’d fucking kill anyone for you, baby, you know that?”

“Yes,” you coughed. You didn’t think he killed Fran for you. Maybe, maybe on some low level, but it was ultimately for him. You didn’t mind that, though.

He smirked. “Say my name.”

He loved it when you were choking but still so desperate for him that you wasted what little oxygen you did have on saying his name, letting him know that he was pleasing you. You obliged and his hand instantly fell away from your neck. You took a deep breath in, coughing as you tried to blink away your tears.

He grabbed your hands and put them over his pants. “You feel how hard you’re making me, baby?”

Your pussy clenched around his fingers in anticipation, you couldn’t wait for him to be inside you. You hurriedly searched for the button on his pants until he shoved your hands away.

“No, not yet.” He grabbed your neck again and then crouched down, immediately burying his lips in your pussy.

A strangled yell came from your parted mouth, pure nonsense. You grabbed his forearm, a pathetic attempt to keep yourself sitting up, not that he would have let you fall if he didn’t want you to.

He tilted his head back to look up at you as his fingers kept working you. “Keep saying my name, baby.”

You did so three times before he finally placed his mouth back on you. You were shaking as he flicked his tongue over your clit repeatedly. Your end had built up to this impossibly high place, you were sure it was because your last orgasm was so unsatisfying.

Regardless, he’d barely been on his knees long at all when you knew you would come soon. And fuck, you needed to come. “Ransom—I—I’m—”

“You’re close?” he spoke against your hot, wet flesh, humming as he started sucking your clit gently. “Hm, baby?”

“Yes!” you sobbed.

And you couldn’t so much as blink before he was standing, pulling you off the table by your hips. You came crashing down hard, collapsing onto the table as you realized what was happening. You had been confused for only a second, but then, this was Ransom—why would you expect anything else?

That fucking piece of shit.

You were leaned over the edge of the table, legs shaking so much that he had to hold you up. Your bound arms were in front of you, unable to offer you any assistance. You wanted to push him away or kick him but you worried about your physical safety if you tried. The only thing that could make this situation worse was falling on your ass in front of Ransom.

The dick probably wouldn’t help you up.

You rested your forehead against the table, that was when you realized you were crying. Your cheeks were hot and lined with trails of tears. “I fucking hate you.”

His hand came down on your exposed ass with no warning at all.

You yelped, attempting to pull away from him.

He held you right where he wanted you with one hand closed around your hip bone.

“You’ve been acting like a brat this whole time, what the fuck did you expect?”

“Absolutely nothing from you!” you hissed. “You can’t fucking do anything right!”

And that rewarded you another slap on the opposite side of your ass.

You grit your teeth until your skin stopped stinging. “If you hit me again, I’m going to kill you!”

But hell, even you knew that was only going to get you another one. “You’re going to apologize.”

“For what?!”

“Everything—your attitude, talking about my father, and hanging out with Joni—”

“Oh, fuck you, Ransom! You’re a fucking psychopath with serious possession issues. I’m not a god damn object—”

His hand cracked across your ass, maybe a little more forceful than he intended but he hadn’t expected you to put up so much fight today.

Your mouth was clamped shut and more tears had gathered in your eyes. You weren’t sure what you were crying about anymore, sheer frustration or because he was hitting you so hard.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“No!” Was he out of his mind? He had never made you apologize like this. He let you suck him off or he just tied you up and you were “sweet” enough that he just forgave you. He had never tried to force you to say those words.

“Do it, now—”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” you decided.

“I will give you one more chance,” he informed. “Then I’m done talking.”

“That sounds like the best idea you’ve had all day.”

He smacked you again. And again, you were finally starting to realize that the leather hurt more than his bare hand. Again, and your legs buckled. He quickly scooped you up, setting you atop the table.

“Ransom,” you pleaded.

Instead of responding verbally, he spanked you again. You only took three more before you blurted out those dreaded words. He paused but you knew he wasn’t going to give you more opportunities to make it right, you would have to do that on your own.

“I’m sorry for my attitude.”

He hummed and you were stupid enough to think he was going to let the rest go. Not a blink of an eye later, he smacked you again.

“And I’m sorry for what I said about your dad!”

Yet again, he struck you without a word.

“Ransom, please, I’m sorry! I’m really sorry—”

“Sorry…what?”

“What?” you breathed back. He didn’t say ‘for what’ because that much he knew; you’d said that much. Then what the fuck did he mean?

He tsked and you knew what was coming.

You flinched before he even touched you. “S-sir? I’m sorry, sir!” He’d tried to start that but it was awkward at best. Sir did nothing for either one of you. You were running out of logic though and seemed the best bet.

He snorted. “No, baby. Not ‘sir’.”

“Daddy!” you realized, nearly crying tears of joy. Of course, after that joke you made about Richard, Ransom just needed to assert his dominance. Then his temper tantrum would be over. “Daddy, I’m sorry—”

“Now I don’t think you’re being sincere; you’re just telling me what I want to hear—”

“No, daddy, I’m so sorry—”

But he hit you again.

And okay, fuck him—you had just been telling him what he wanted to hear. You were done. “Stop!”

“Or what?”

“Ransom, I swear—”

He wrapped his arm around you, grasping your neck so he could yank you up. His forearm was pressed hard between your breasts, his elbow digging into your side where he held you tight against his chest. “You made a mess of my gloves, clean them.”

Before you could argue, he shoved his hand into your mouth. You were refusing to obey, however, which he realized when your mouth was completely still. His solution was to force his fingers down your throat until you were gagging violently.

When you realized he wasn’t going to give, you started sucking. You could feel his sweater against your back. It shouldn’t have been able to calm you down, but fuck…this was Ransom. This sweater-wearing asshole was apparently the man you loved—how fucking stupid could you be?

He began dragging you to the sliding door. Ransom’s house was pretty secluded and the only other people that regularly showed up was the help. Three weeks prior, you had pointed out that there was no point in having a sliding glass door if you didn’t have a dog. That was your subtle hint that that was what you wanted.

He flat out refused and you guys had ended up screaming at each other until he held you against the glass and fucked you silent. He had enjoyed it, but you couldn’t relate.

Once more, he pressed you into the glass, lifting your arms over your head. You tried to recoil the second you felt the cold surface against your breasts but he just pushed you back harder. You began turning your head pointedly, his fingers were still in your mouth but you knew he would take the hint.

Finally, he pulled them free and began brushing your hair away from your face. “What do you need, baby?”

“You are such a fucking asshole, Ransom!”

“And you are disrespectful.”

“Why the hell should I respect you?”

“Keep it up, baby, we already have a long night ahead of us. You really wanna let this go on tomorrow, too?”

You couldn’t, you knew that with total certainty. Your body was worn out, the only thing that was keeping you going was the anger you felt. You dreaded imagining how sore your muscles would be when you woke up the next morning.

“Now,” he sighed, feigning patience, “Try not to make a mess of my gloves again, or I’ll make you clean them again.” He reached between your legs and began rubbing his fingers quickly over your clit.

“Ransom!” you cried, attempting to push your body back against his. You could not keep doing this. “Stop, please!”

“No.”

That was all he said, the last thing, in fact, even though you didn’t stop talking the whole time. The whole nine almost-finishes he gave you, that he would stop in the middle of because you kept “making a mess”.

He had to know when you were truly almost spent because that was when he tore his pants out of his way and without even a teasing remark, thrust into you. It took a mere two thrusts before you fell apart.

The glass was stained with streaks from your skin, sweat, tears, and probably other bodily fluids, and you hated that the housekeeper would know why. God, he was the fucking worst person on the planet.

He never gave you a moment, he just kept fucking you through your orgasm and then after because now he needed to finish. “Tell me you’re not going to leave me,” he ordered.

You were more than just confused, wondering briefly if you’d even heard him correctly. “What?”

He let both hands grasp your hips and he pushed into you harder. “Tell me that you’re never going to leave me.”

You turned your head back, attempting to be coherent through the whining and mewling. “What—the fuck—are you talking about?”

“Even if this shit all goes wrong,” he explained. “Even if I get caught. Right now, tell me that you’re not gonna fucking leave. Say you won’t leave me.”

“Of course, I’m never—going to leave, you fucking idiot.” You turned forward, eyes shutting because you didn’t want to be looking at him when you said this. “I love you.”

His hips stuttered and he froze buried inside you, but you weren’t going to acknowledge what you’d just said. He pulled out just to turn you to him, lifting you so he could properly fuck you against the door.

Your legs hung loose around him but your tied arms could successfully hold around his neck. And just like that, the fight was over. Neither of you would probably ever bring up a single thing said during this disastrous night. He just kissed the side of your face as he told you how good your pussy felt.

[exoticarmyofcrowns]

dilwale | pjm [m.]

pairing: jimin x fem!reader

summary: a trip across europe turns a bit more interesting when you meet park jimin, a shameless flirt with a penchant for trouble. dilwale (dil-wah-ley): [hindi] the good-hearted, the strong-hearted, lover

genre: romance, fluff, minor angst (pining), smut, dilwale dulhania le jayenge!au (this is not a thing but i made it one oop)

warnings: LOTS of pining (god so much pining) / some cursing / copious amounts of fluff / (bad) flirting / banter / allusion to being taken advantage of BUT IT’S FALSE / lots of feelings / lots of consent (bc consent is sexy) / switch!jimin / switch!reader? / the smut is pretty soft ngl / praise kink sorta? (bc come on is it a jimin fic w/o it) / creampie / excessive use of the word sweetheart / thicc!jimin / unprotected sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT PLSSSS) / tease!jimin / riding / aaaaand i think that’s it??

word count: ~15.6k

a/n: hello ya girl is BACK w another self-indulgent fic hehe THIS ONE’S FOR MY FELLOW DESIS AND BOLLYWOOD LOVERS!!!! ddlj is my absolute favorite movie in the entire world and i just wanted some representation dammit lol this is heavily based on the plot of that movie but obviously with some changes for my own artistic purposes. shout out to @moonlytae​ for helping me decide which member it should be and @joonies-girl-08​ for the fountain scene u guys are the best! as always, a big thank u to @jooniecult​ for ur expertise, u da best! i hope you all enjoy this, i had so much fun writing it!

“Shit shit shit!”

You’re sprinting through the terminal, checking the directory clutched in your hands as you try to both watch where you’re going and find the damn platform you’re supposed to be on. Your friends and you have been planning this trip for weeks now and you’ve already fucked up by waking up late with barely any time to spare as you frantically waved down a taxi to the train station. You and your friends are taking the Eurail across Europe to celebrate your college graduation and you really should have been at the station about 20 minutes ago but you can blame your overexcitement—and the subsequent lack of sleep—for that.

Of course, luck was not on your side as there was an accident mere minutes from the station. London traffic at its finest. You made the split-second decision to abandon the cab, throwing an apology and a few bills over the divider before running the rest of the way. A glance at your watch says that you’re mere seconds away from missing your train and the thought pushes you to pump your legs faster, backpack slapping against your back with bruising force as you attempt to drag your small carry-on behind you.

Turning a swift corner, you catch sight of the platform you’re looking for. The train doors are still open, thank god, but you know they will close any second. You’re not sure that you’re gonna make it when you see a hand pop out of the open doors, beckoning you to grab hold. Figuring you have nothing to lose now, you take it, arm jolting you through the automatic doors just as they slide shut.

Collapsing with relief, you rest your hands on your knees as you try desperately to catch your breath. The latch on your suitcase has snapped open, spilling the contents onto the floor. You curse, frantically stuffing the carrier full again. You don’t necessarily have anything to hide but you’re not really looking to literally air out your laundry to strangers. Speaking of, you remember you never actually thanked your savior for pulling you to safety. You look up, an expression of gratitude on your lips when you catch sight of the person who helped you onto the train. Your mouth dries as you struggle to form a coherent sentence.

To say he’s gorgeous would be the understatement of the century. He’s absolutely stunning, almost fairy-like with his delicate features and mischievous eyes. It’s a direct contrast to the way he’s dressed, t-shirt tucked into sinfully-tight jeans and a leather jacket thrown over his shoulders. His hair is the softest shade of pink you’ve ever seen and you’re tempted to run your fingers through it.

The sound of someone clearing their throat snaps you out of your reverie. You glance up at the man’s face to see his eyes glimmering with mirth and you know you’ve been caught checking him out. You straighten abruptly, cheeks warm with something other than exertion.

“Um,” you begin, cursing yourself internally for how lame you sound, “th-thank you. You know, for pulling me in.”

“It was no problem.” The words come out like a purr and the effect is not lost on you, heart pounding just a little harder in your chest. 

You clear your throat nervously and look away from his piercing gaze. You realize you’re both standing in the gangway connection. The handsome stranger seems to realize this at the same time because he glances over to the door and drops his own bag to try and pry it open. He struggles for a moment before knocking loudly on the door.

“Anyone over there?” He tugs uselessly on the door one more time before stepping away, hand running through his pink strands in frustration. He glances over to you looking a little sheepish. “Looks like we’re stuck here for a little.”

“Ah.” You sigh, not sure what else to say so you remain silent. You go to check your phone but remember that it had died midway through your taxi ride. Flopping down onto the ground, you figure you’re gonna be here a while so you pull out the book you brought to keep yourself entertained and flip to where you left off.

Just as you’re getting back into the story, you see the stranger settle down next to you a little closer than you would have liked. While you can admit the man is attractive, you’re still strangers. You have no idea who this guy is; he could be a mugger for all you know! Okay, that was probably not very likely but you can never be too careful.

“So,” he begins, leaning his head back to peer at you, “have we met before? You look awfully familiar.”

You frown. Of course you haven’t met him before, you’re sure you would have remembered such a stunning man. Not that you’d admit that out loud. “Uh…no?” It comes out a bit harsher than you intend but he recovers well.

“Ah, I see. My mistake.” He flashes you a sweet smile and you return it, albeit a little uncomfortably. You try to return to your book but he interrupts you yet again. “It’s just that, your eyes…”

“What?” you practically snap. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

“Nothing,” he simpers, eyes boring into yours. “They just remind me of someone.”

“Oh? Who?” The beginnings of a sneer are curling at the corners of your mouth but you manage to bite it back. You cannot, however, keep the impatience from leaking into your tone.

“My mother,” he answers back, gaze turning fond if not a little dreamy. “Her eyes are just like yours, soft and warm and—”

“Listen, that’s very sweet and all but I’m just trying to get back with my friends so if you could, just please leave me alone?” You’re trying really hard not to get tight with this guy but you know his type—pretty boys with an agenda. This trip is for you and your girls and you’re not about to let some schmuck ruin it for you.

He raises his arms in a gesture of defeat. “Alright, alright. I was just trying to break the ice. No need to worry.” Settling back against the wall, he tips his head back to close his eyes and you relax slightly.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift uncomfortably but choose to ignore him in favor of your book. 

“Excuse me, are these…?” You feel a nudge against your arm and you frown, directing your attention back to him.

Dangling from his fingers is a thong. Your thong, to be exact. 

A gasp of mortification tears itself from your throat as you rip the offending garment from his grasp, rushing to shove it back into your backpack. The man has the nerve to laugh at your embarrassment.

“I thought so,” he chuckles, a dangerous smirk curving at the corners of his plump lips. Even his mouth is a pretty pink. You catch yourself staring again and quickly curse yourself, pushing yourself further against the wall of the gangway and away from him.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a black lace kind of girl.”

You whip around to fix him with your most annoyed glare. The fuck was wrong with this guy? “Excuse me?”

He’s still wearing that insufferable smirk and you have to fight the urge to slap it off his stupid face. “It’s just…you seem so pure. Sure that ain’t a little out of your league, sweetheart?” 

Mouth agape, you can’t even formulate a proper response to that. “I don’t see how that’s any of your fucking business?”

You congratulate yourself a little when you see his eyes widen fractionally, clearly taken aback by your response. Serves him right, creepy bastard. He drops the subject and you raise your book again to resume reading, albeit with a bit more force than necessary. You can hardly focus on the words, too caught up on the last few minutes to read properly. 

You’re halfway through a mental smackdown of Cotton Candy Headass when you feel something making its way into your lap. Startled, you look down only to see the little gremlin squirming his way into your space and under your book. You shoot him an incredulous look, unsure whether to laugh at the sheer gall or scream in his face. 

“Don’t stop on my account.” He smiles disarmingly bright and you would be entranced if you weren’t so annoyed. “I was just curious to see how you could read a book upside down. Very interesting style!”

You glance at the way you’re holding your book, face warming at the realization that you were in fact holding it upside down. Fuck.

“Alright, jackass,” you begin, pushing against his shoulders in an effort to dislodge him from your lap, “enough is enough—”

Just then, the cabin door slides open revealing one of your friends. You and Cotton Candy Creep turn your heads to your friend at the same time. Your friend raises a brow at you in a silent question.

“___? What are you doing here?” You sigh, opening your mouth to answer her, but a low voice beats you to it. 

“Why hello there, my dear. Did I keep you waiting?” Picking yourself up from the ground, you roll your eyes as you gather your bags. First you, now your friend? This guy doesn’t give up.

“I was scared you had missed the train.” Your friend, Sheena, says the words to you but is looking at your strange companion, eying him up like she wants to devour him. 

“Oh, not to worry, darling, I caught it just in time.” He sidles up next to Sheena, leaning against the wall with one arm.

“Good, I was…worried.” She twirls a lock of hair around her finger and you have to remind yourself that you love your friend more than you want to throttle her at this moment.

You sling your backpack across your shoulders before picking up your suitcase. If you had gotten the chance to eat breakfast this morning, you’re sure you would have thrown it up already.

“By the way, what’s your name?” He holds a hand out like a gentleman, as if he weren’t just commenting on your lingerie not ten minutes ago.

“Sheena…” 

“Park Jimin, at your service” he returns, grasping Sheena’s proffered hand to kiss the back of it, and you decide you’ve finally had enough.

“Oh, Sheena~” you sing-song, wiggling your fingers in a mock wave. “I’m over here. Shall we go?”

She has the decency to look sheepish as she turns to you, reaching out for  your arm so she can pull you to her side.

“Allow me.” Jimin, the little imp, slides the door open with a flourish, sending a last wink at your friend. You usher your friend through before she can get another word in edgewise. As you step through the door, you make sure to knock his knees as hard as you can with your suitcase, taking pleasure in the hiss of pain that escapes him.

As the door shuts behind you, you can’t help but mutter, “I hate men.”

“___, come on! Are you ready?”

You have just finished placing the finishing touches on your makeup when Sheena calls you from the bedroom. Sending one last appraising look, you deem yourself ready and make your way out of the bathroom.

“I’m here, I’m here,” you chuckle, throwing your small purse over your shoulder. “Let’s go!”

Grabbing your other friends, your small group makes its way down to the lobby. The hotel is having a party sponsored by Eurail in the middle of Paris and you can’t help but feel a little excited. You’re having a great time so far, surrounded by your girls, in the city of love no less, and you feel giddy at the thought of what’s to come.

You follow the directions on the invitation and find yourselves in a ballroom located in the back of the hotel. The doors open and the sight that greets you is—

Underwhelming.

The room is dotted with tables and waiters traverse the space, glasses full of bubbling liquid balanced skillfully on trays. It’s almost unnervingly silent as a drab opera singer sings on what you think is actually a dance floor that has been repurposed into a stage. You exchange wary glances with Sheena and the other girls before making your way through the cluster of tables and settling on one closest to the bar and furthest from that damned opera singer.

“Oh god, this party is so boring,” Sheena whines beside you, picking up a menu and flicking through it.

“I told you it would be,” one of your other friends, Jennie, pipes up.

“Yeah well, you also said that the train would get into an accident, the hotel would burn down, and we’d be poisoned by the food so forgive us if we were inclined to ignore your premonitions.” You roll your eyes playfully, nudging her with your foot to let her know you were joking,

“Hey, hey, ___. Look.” Sheena shakes you as you scan the appetizers, prompting you to look up to where she’s pointing at the entrance. “It’s your loverboy. And he brought friends.”

“Oh crap,” you whine, whipping back around and sinking lower in your seat. You hope he hasn't seen you.

“‘Loverboy’?” Jennie asks with a frown.

“I found him curled up in ___’s lap when I went looking for her.” Sheena smirks at you while you try to melt into the floor.

“Shut up, Sheena, you know it wasn’t like that. Especially considering the fact that the two of you started flirting right in front of me.”

“Oh. come on. Lighten up, it was only a bit of harmless fun. I wouldn’t dream of taking your man.”

You splutter. “He’s not my anything—”

“Hey! We should invite them over!” Jennie smiles obliviously. You love the girl to death but sometimes she can be a bit…airheaded.

“That is a great idea, Jen,” Sheena shoots you a devious look and before you can stop her, she’s already flagging the group over. You wish the earth would open and swallow you up—better yet, take both you and Sheena so you can have the pleasure of throttling her yourself.

The boys make their way over to you before you can think of an escape plan and you stare resolutely at your menu in an effort to block them out.

“Hi, Sheena.” His voice is just as soft and seductive as you remembered and it sends a familiar heat flashing across your skin but you quickly stifle it. He looks good, you notice begrudgingly. He’s wearing black slacks and a black blazer with a white t-shirt to give a casual vibe. He’s topped off the look with pink tinted glasses that make him look like some celebrity. You think it would be pretentious if it were anyone else but unfortunately, he makes it work. The slacks hug his legs almost sinfully tight, highlighting the strong muscles of his thighs and the rounded curve of his— 

Snap out of it! You abruptly stop your scrutiny there, shoving your face back into your menu. You will not let him affect you like he did in the train. You won’t. Still, you can’t help sneaking a glance over to him only to find he’s already staring at you. “Hello, sweetheart.” He shoots you a devastating smile along with a wink and you sneer, abruptly turning away.

“Hey, Jimin.” Sheena simpers and she’s laying it on a little thick, you think, but you know it’s all for show. “Who’re your friends?”

“Ah, this is Jung Hoseok and Jeon Jeongguk.” Jimin points first to a young man with the brightest smile you’ve ever seen and then to a slightly younger man whose eyes and nose crinkle cutely as he waves in greeting. The three of them are stunning and you’re left wondering how all the attractive people seem to find each other.

Birds of a feather, you suppose.

The boys make themselves comfortable at your table and you try your best not to grimace. Jimin may be an asshole but the other two have done nothing wrong. You actually quite like them. You’re enjoying listening to a story about the time they got kicked out of a karaoke bar when you overhear parts of another conversation happening across the table.

“You know, Sheena, I think I’ve seen you before.” Jimin is leaning close to your friend as if they are sharing some sordid secret. An unknown emotion churns in your stomach.

“Oh, really? What makes you say that?” 

“Your eyes. They remind me of someone.” You stiffen. Now, there’s a familiar line. The nerve of this bastard, reusing pick up lines? How much more pathetic can you get? You clear your throat, trying to appear interested in your conversation with Jeongguk and Hoseok while also keeping tabs on your friend.

“Oh? Whose?”

Jimin has a coy smile curving the corners of his plump lips. “My mother.”

Sheena coos at his words and you can’t bear to hear any more. You stand up abruptly, glasses clinking on the table with the force of your exit. 

“I’m going to get a drink,” you murmur to no one in particular and stalk over to the bar. You’re craving the burn of a shot or even the dim haze of wine but you abandon those notions in favor of a water, flagging down the bartender. You chug it a little desperately, relishing in the cooling effect as the water tempers the annoyance you feel for your unwelcome companion. Taking a deep breath, you push away from the bar and make your way back to the table where you find Jeongguk and Hoseok complaining about the music choice.

“I’m just saying, this party could be bumpin’ if the music wasn’t shit.” Hoseok glances over at the poor woman singing her heart out on the dance floor. 

Jeongguk sits up suddenly, a devious smile lighting up his face. “Let me see what I can do. Come with me.” He grasps Hoseok’s arm as he gets up, hoisting the man out of his seat.

“Where’re you going?” you ask Hoseok but he looks just as lost as you do. The younger man tugs at his arm, dragging him off to the other side of the room.

“Beats me.” Hoseok shrugs and he disappears with Jeongguk in the sea of waiters and tables.

You’re left a little dumbfounded as the pair leaves you but you shrug it off. You try to enjoy the evening before remembering that Jimin is currently flirting his way into your friend’s pants and your mood sours once again. Just as you’re in the middle of planning your escape, the lights dim and a voice comes on the loudspeaker.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” you recognize the voice as Hoseok’s and you can’t help but laugh in disbelief. “We are now going to progress to some beats that are a bit more…exciting. Ready, set, and begin!”

A song with a heavy bass and a pleasing trap beat bleeds from the speakers and the room seems to buzz with life all at once. A few squeals and cheers fill the air as people rush to the dance floor at the center and begin dancing wildly. You laugh, shocked that the boys managed to liven up this party in a matter of minutes.

They walk back over to your table with self-satisfied smirks on their faces. You smile widely at them as they approach. “That was awesome! How did you manage that?”

“I just hacked into the speaker system and synced up my music playlist.” Jeongguk looks rather bashful but still proud as he flashes you a sweet smile.

“Shall we dance, then?” Hoseok bows with a flourish and you giggle fondly, nodding excitedly. You glance over your shoulder and spot Sheena still with Jimin except now he has his hand out in a question and she takes it before following the pink-haired man to the dance floor. 

You don’t feel so good anymore but you’re determined not to let some prick ruin your night. So, you turn back to the boys resolutely and lead them into the throng of writhing bodies.

Jeongguk and Hoseok, you quickly learn, are incredible dancers. The power with which the two of them move is truly a sight to behold and you’re having a hard time keeping up. You manage to have a good time, though; when Jeongguk sees you struggling, he strikes a ridiculous pose and makes up the silliest moves, making you laugh merrily. 

Unfortunately, you can’t keep your gaze from flitting over to Jimin and Sheena every so often. They seem to be getting awfully close, you think as Jimin pulls your friend close to him and the sight is almost too much. Why, you’re not sure and you don’t want to let yourself think about it. You thought you were being discreet about it but Hoseok seems to notice your shift in demeanor.

“You’ve been moping for the past few minutes now.” He nods at something over your shoulder and you know exactly what he’s referring to. “Why don’t you go ask him to dance?”

Your eyes flicker back to the happy couple of their own volition and you spot Sheena leaning up to whisper something in Jimin’s ear. You wish you were anywhere but here.

“What? No, I— That’s not…no,” you finish lamely, knowing full well that was not the least bit convincing but not finding the will to care. Hoseok looks unimpressed and you’re about to reassure him when you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder.

“May I cut in?” The velvety smooth voice caresses your skin and god you wish he’d stop appearing everywhere. You’re almost rendered speechless as you stare into Jimin’s eyes, soft and playful with an undercurrent of mischief that both intrigues and irritates you. You glance at Jeongguk and Hoseok but they merely share a look, smirking at each other as they not-so-subtly back away from the two of you. Left with no other option, you gently sway to the beat of the song, allowing yourself to fall in rhythm with Jimin.

It’s awkwardly silent for the first few moments before Jimin finally pipes up.

“Why do you hate me so much?” He steps minutely closer to you and all you can see is Sheena pressed up against him as she whispers in his ear. An inexplicable anger flashes through you.

“Why do you make it so easy to hate you?” you fire back.

Jimin raises a brow at your tone but otherwise shows no outward reaction to your hostility. It only serves to irritate you further.

Just to make matters worse, he starts laughing. It’s a soft, tinkling sound and you hate how much you like it. “I think I know why.”

“You don’t know shit,” you spit, fists clenching at your sides. You have half a mind to smack him right there on the dance floor but you know it would only cause a scene. That’s the last thing you need on this night from hell.

Suddenly, he grasps your waist and spins you around so that your back is pressed to his front. You try to squirm away but he’s surprisingly strong, keeping you locked in place with one hand around your waist and the other caressing up the length of your body. You tremble as he begins to sway.

“I think you like me.” The words are nothing but a whisper, soft breaths fanning out across your skin and creating goosebumps in their wake. The music has slowed significantly and you can feel the bass reverberating through your chest.

“L-Like hell I do!” You curse internally at the way your voice stutters but he merely laughs, sending shivers up and down your spine.

“Then why can I feel you shaking?” Jimin guides your hips with his, coaxing your body to move according to his whim. You feel him along every dip and curve to the point you’re not even sure where he ends and you begin. It’s sensual and dizzying and ridiculously sexy.

“Because I can’t stand the feeling of your hands on me.” You’re desperate to hold onto some shred of your dignity, no matter how slim,  but then you feel the tip of his nose glide up the length of your neck and your brain short-circuits. You only just manage to reign in the urge to bare yourself to him, to submit, but you’ll be damned if you let him have any more control over you.

“Then why haven’t you pulled away yet, hmm?” You swear you feel his lips brush your shoulder and your eyes slip closed of their own accord. “I’m not even holding you anymore.”

It takes a second for his words to register but when they do, it’s as if he’s dumped a bucket of cold water over you. Your eyes snap open as you realize his arm is no longer holding you in place but merely draped across your middle in a loose embrace. You could pull yourself free if you just moved slightly forward. 

You’re not even sure when that happened and you know he knows this. This is just a game to him and you? You’re just another plaything at his disposal. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth and you practically rip yourself away from Jimin as if you’ve been burned.

“I-I have to go.”

“Wait—” Jimin starts to say but you don’t wait around long enough to hear him out. You’ve seen and heard enough for one night,

Grabbing your purse, you all but run out of the ballroom, barely remembering to shoot Sheena a text that you were heading back to the room early. Tears sting at your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, especially not over the likes of Park Jimin. He’s nothing more than a pathetic excuse for a man looking for a quick lay. He’s not worth it, you desperately try to remind yourself.

But somehow, as you wait for the elevator, as you feel the ghost of his touch on your waist and the soft caress of his breath on your skin, your heart refuses to believe that as the truth.

It’s been 3 days since what you’ve deemed as The Incident, and you’re happy to report that you have yet to see Park Jimin.

Of course, you’ve seen him—you’re on a tour together after all—but you’ve made it a point to actively ignore him any chance you get. Sometimes you’ll run into Hobi (as he’s reminded you numerous times to call him) or Jeongguk and talk to them for a while but you don’t linger too long, for fear he’ll just pop up out of nowhere. You feel bad because you genuinely like the other boys but every time you catch sight of Jimin’s pink cotton candy head, your heart beats a little faster and your skin runs a little warmer and you just can’t handle that headache right now.

The Eurail train has stopped in a quaint little town on the way to Zürich and you decide to take the opportunity to stretch your legs. Besides, the sooner you get off the train, the less likely you’ll have an encounter with the object of your (des)ire.

Stepping down gently, glance around the station and spot a little road that leads further into the town. You don’t really have a destination in mind, figuring you’ll just walk for a little and then make your way back. You walk until you spot a quaint little souvenir shop and decide to check it out.

A familiar head of pink by the cashier makes you pause in the doorway and you nearly turn around to walk right out but he sees you and calls you over.

“___! Come over here, I need your help.”

You shift from foot to foot. You could just ignore him and continue on your way but the guilt that would follow would be unbearable. So you swallow your pride and make your way over to him, silent and cautious.

As you approach, you see him pouring over a small spread of trinkets. They’re little handmade pieces of jewelry—rings, bracelets, necklaces, you name it. They’re quite cute and would normally have you grinning and cooing but your present company puts a bit of a damper on that for you.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he begins nonchalantly. He doesn’t look up as you approach and you’re not sure if you’re annoyed or grateful.

You clear your throat awkwardly. “Uh, yeah, I’ve been…busy.”

Jimin looks at you then, a single brow raised that tells you he doesn’t believe you, which is fair. You don’t even believe you. “We’re on a tour of Europe together. What could you possibly be doing?”

You don’t really have an answer for that so you remain silent.

“Okay, nevermind that,” his voice brightens up significantly and you’re marginally grateful for the fact that he’s changing the subject. “Help me pick out a souvenir to take back home!”

A smile plays around the corner of your lips and you quickly bite it back. You will not be endeared by him. Your eyes catch on a small bracelet and you can’t help but fall in love instantly. It’s a delicate gold chain threaded with beautiful black pearls, a small pink flower resting on the end near the clasp. Your lips part as you stare at it for a little too long and you quickly snap yourself out of it to look back at Jimin. He’s already staring at you with a soft look in his eyes. The expression makes your heart clench so you look away, clearing your throat again.

“I-I don’t know,” you dismiss, glancing out the window where you can just barely make out the train. “Just pick something, we’ve gotta get back to the train soon.”

“Alright, alright. Calm down, sweetheart. Gimme two minutes.”

You check your phone impatiently, noting the time. The conductor had said you were stopping for about half an hour before you would be on your way again. You don’t remember the exact time you stopped but you know it’s getting close to the time you should be leaving.

“Sweetheart, can you come here a second? I always forget which coins are which.” Jimin beckons you over, a collection of francs in his palm and you send another despairing glance at the train.

“Jimin, I have no clue but come on, we’ve gotta go!” 

You decide to stop waiting on his slow ass and run out of the shop. You make it to the platform just in time to see the train pulling away. Jimin takes a bit longer than you, practically having to sprint after you, but he stops abruptly as he notices the retreating train. 

He starts to laugh in disbelief and you can’t help the tears that well up in your eyes. All your luggage and most of your money is on that train. And now you’re stranded out here, with Park Jimin no less. You try to hold back but you feel a few tears slip down your cheeks as the train disappears from view.

Jimin seems to notice your distress because he begins to panic a little himself. “S-Sweetheart, come on. It’s okay! Look, at least you’re not alone. I’m here with you!”

That only makes you cry harder, a small sob escaping your lips as you smother your face between your hands. Jimin falls silent, unsure how to handle your emotional display but doesn’t leave your side. It’s both comforting and confusing.

It takes a few minutes but you eventually regain your composure, adamant in avoiding Jimin’s probing gaze. You can’t believe you cried in front of him like a child. You’re embarrassed and annoyed and tired but you channel that energy into fixing yourself up to look like a functioning human being and marching over to the ticket booth and finding out the next train to Zürich. Just your luck, the next train isn’t until tomorrow morning. You quickly text your friends what happened, letting them know you’re safe and that you’ll meet them in Zürich tomorrow afternoon. You sigh, wondering how what should have been an exciting trip turned into such a mess.

“So what’s the damage?” Jimin asks. Oh, right. That’s how. You fight not to roll your eyes as you relay the information. “Oh, that’s no problem! We can just—”

“Oh no,” you cut him off abruptly, seething with annoyance. He thinks you want to spend any length of time with him after he made you both miss your train? Not a chance. “We are not  doing anything, I am going to find my own way to Zürich. You’re the reason we’re stuck here in the first place. I want nothing to do with you.”

Jimin looks taken aback but then his expression hardens. “Listen here, sweetheart, I know you’re pissed but you’re being a bit of a bitch. I’m sorry I made us miss the train but splitting up is the literal worst thing we could do right now. This is not to patronize you but you are a woman alone in a foreign country, I’m not about to abandon you just because you don’t like me. Now let’s just play nice and try to find a place to stay for the night so we can catch the first train out of here and be on our merry way. Deal?”

You blink, surprised by the force of his outburst. Fuck. He’s right. You know he’s right and the wave of shame that overtakes you is well-deserved. You duck your head, thoroughly chastised, and nod at him, following his lead as he turns around and begins walking back in the direction of the town. Glancing at him timidly, you murmur a soft apology.

He turns his head in your direction but doesn’t look at you. “What was that?”

You huff, squaring your shoulders. “I’m sorry, okay? You were right.”

Jimin looks at you then, a blinding smile on his face and you feel your body relax a little. At least he’s not mad at you. 

“No problem, sweetheart. Things like this happen. We just gotta make the most of it.” He falls in step with you so that you’re no longer trailing slightly behind and the gesture warms your heart just a bit.

“Why do you keep calling me sweetheart?” You thought it was just a cheap way to endear himself to you, especially back when he didn’t know your name but the way he says it doesn’t feel gross. It feels almost…nice.

“Oh, uh,” Jimin rubs the back of his neck a little shyly, the beginnings of a blush staining his cheeks, and you can’t help the swell of affection. “Sorry. It just kinda…stuck?”  

“No, it’s…it’s fine.” You look away, suddenly finding the scuffed material of your shoe very interesting.

Clearing his throat, Jimin forces out a gruff, “Good,” and the two of you fall into a companionable silence. 

Eventually, you stumble across a small inn a little ways into town, about a 25 minute walk from the train station. Jimin ducks inside, asserting that he’ll handle the cost of the room to make amends. You try not to smile after him as he leaves.

Key in hand, Jimin leads you to a small but cozy room on the third floor. It’s very quaint, a single bed dominating the room with an old settee off by the window. There’s even a small fireplace and a tea set. You slip your purse off your shoulder as you settle near the mantle.

“Wow, what a cute room!” Sitting on the couch, you marvel at its soft texture. “Where’s yours?”

“Yeah, about that…” Jimin hasn’t really moved from his spot by the door, rubbing at his neck again in what you recognize as a nervous tick. “This was the only room they had so, uh, we gotta share?”

“What?” You blink, hoping that he’s joking. 

“I-I know that it sounds weird but there really was no other option. I’ve already decided to sleep on the couch and you can—”

“Listen, I am fine with sticking together and getting back to our friends but this is just— I can’t…I can’t share a room with you.” You stand up abruptly but you don’t have any idea what to do with yourself.

“Why not?” Jimin seems confused and honestly, you are too. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, especially since you’ve kinda-sorta made up but this is little more than you can handle.

Glancing at him, you shake your head, words failing you. How can you explain that you just feel too much for him to be comfortable around him? How do you tell him that you’re having second thoughts about him being a total pain in the ass or about the stutter in your heart whenever he so much as glances at you? You can’t so you just send him a helpless look before storming out of the room, a flush on your cheeks and a heaviness in the pit of your stomach.

You don’t know where you’re going but anywhere is better than in there with the man that forces you to confront your feelings. Shaking your head, you figure you’ll explore the town a little. You could use the fresh air.

Jimin doesn’t know what else to do.

He’s willing to admit he fucked up with you at that party. He never should have come on that strong but you had looked so beautiful and, even though they were his friends, seeing you with Hobi and Jeongguk had ignited such a strong feeling of jealousy that he was helpless to do anything but whisk you away in his arms. He had spent that night tossing and turning in his bed. Now that he knew what you felt like in his arms, his mind refused to think of anything else.

But then you had run away and Jimin knew that he had crossed a line. He just wanted to tease you, maybe fluster you a bit, but never had he wanted to scare you off. You intrigued him. You were funny and sweet—to your friends at least—and it was quite fun to fluster you with his charms. He knew it was simply a physiological reaction, having nothing to do with any actual attraction to him as a person, but he was willing to take what he could get from you.

That, as it turns out, is absolutely nothing.  He thought he was making progress with you. First and foremost, he realized at some point, he wants to be your friend. He enjoys your company and likes your attitude. It doesn’t hurt that he finds you absolutely stunning but he figures he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it. Right now, his main focus is getting you to like him and every time he thinks he’s close, something happens and you’re back to despising him. One step forward, two steps back.

Speaking of you, it’s been a few hours since you’d stormed out of the room in a flustered mess. Jimin didn’t understand why sharing a room with him was such a big deal but he respects you enough to recognize that your feelings are your feelings and he should just accept them. He’s beginning to grow worried, though, as the sun has just set on the horizon. It’ll be dark soon and he doesn’t even want to think about what could happen to you, a beautiful young woman, alone on the streets of an unfamiliar town in the middle of the night. 

He checks his phone and curses when he realizes that he still doesn’t have your phone number. It’s decided then; he has to go looking for you. Jimin leaps off the bed, grabbing his wallet from his bag and stuffing the room key inside, before practically sprinting out of the inn. 

Jimin’s not sure how long he searches for you but the light has long-since faded from the sky and the street lights have come on. He’s pretty sure he’s stopped in every shop and establishment along the length of the main road but he has yet to see any sign of you. He wants to keep looking but his stomach gives a ravenous growl and he forces himself to stop and take a break. You’re out here somewhere; he can just stop quickly and then continue his search once he’s gotten something into his stomach.

Ducking into a random bar, Jimin runs a tired hand through his hair. He’s about to head to the bar at the back of the place when he spots you sitting on one of the stools, hunched over a drink. Jimin’s not religious but he thanks every god above that you’re alright. All thoughts of food vanish as relief floods his body, nearly knocking him over with the force of it.

“Hey, sweetheart, you nearly gave me a heart attack. You can’t just run off  like that—”

“Jiminie~!” you cry with a dopey grin on your face as you swivel around to look at him. And, you’re drunk. Figures. 

“Jiminie, I saw the cutest puppy when I was outside and I wanted to take a picture but my phone died and so I couldn’t and I was so sad—”

You start rambling about how much you love puppies and Jimin just rolls his eyes fondly as he pays the tab and decides to get you home, hunger long-forgotten. Eventually he gets you out of the bar and the both of you start walking back to the inn albeit a bit slowly.

You suddenly speak up out of nowhere. “You know, I don’t like you.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Jimin can’t help the bitterness that creeps into his tone but he keeps his expression neutral.

“It’s because of your face.” 

“What about my face?” 

“It’s too pretty. Like what the fuck?? It’s not fair. You’re pretty and handsome and sexy as fuck and it’s just not fair.”

Jimin smiles to himself but tries to sound teasing. “You think I’m sexy?”

“Duh, I may hate you but I’m not blind.” A beat. “Okay maybe I don’t hate you. I hate that you make me feel things.”

“Things?” 

“Yeah, things.” 

“What kind of things?” 

“Bad things. My heart hurts when you talk to me but also when you talk to other girls? But I can’t like you. You’re a flirt. And I don’t like flirts. But I like you.” You seem to realize what you just said because you gasp dramatically. “WAIT, NO I DON'T! Well… kinda. Woah, I’m dizzy.”

You stumble and Jimin catches you, amusement swimming in his eyes as he gazes fondly while you struggle to keep yourself upright. As the pair of you walk towards the inn, you catch sight of a fountain in the middle of the town square and bolt upright, running over to it.

It’s quite pretty, even Jimin will admit. It’s relatively small, carved out of a sand-colored stone in a pretty, almost chalice-like design. Water trickles from a spout on the top where it makes its way down to the pool. Spouts surrounding the round rim all spray a thin stream of water toward the center and little lights within the pool illuminate the coin-covered bottom.

“I’ve always wanted to jump into a fountain!” you say as you stop in front of the structure to admire it.

“Why?!” 

“I don’t know, I saw it in a movie once and it looked fun!” 

Jimin glances over to you nervously and tries to grab your arm surreptitiously. “Well, maybe we should do that another time. You know, when you’re not—” 

SPLASH! 

“—drunk,” he finishes with a sigh.

You giggle in delight as you splash around, fully clothed, in the shallow fountain and Jimin can’t help the swell of affection as he watches you smile brightly. He’s never seen you smile like that before and he wishes he could be the cause of it.

You catch sight of the coins resting on the bottom of the fountain and you gasp dramatically, begging Jimin for a franc to toss in. Jimin laughs but acquiesces, lending you a hand as you struggle to get out of the fountain, dripping water all over the pavement. He watches you fondly as you clutch the coin with both hands up to your face and whisper into it like a prayer, swaying slightly because you are still a little drunk after all, and all he can think is he could watch you forever.

You abruptly open your eyes and throw the coin in, smiling softly as you wave at your coin. God, you’re precious.

“So… What’d you wish for?” 

You look scandalized. “I can’t tell you!” 

“Why not?” 

“Then it won’t come true,” you say as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and Jimin wonders if it’s possible to die of smiling too much. 

“Ah, I see.”

You start shivering. “I’m cold.”

“That’s what happens when you jump into a fountain in the middle of the night, sweetheart” Jimin shrugs off his jacket and wraps you up in it. It’s not much but it’s better than nothing. You snuggle into the fabric, shivering again.

“I like when you call me that. My heart doesn’t hurt anymore when you say it.” 

Something tightens in Jimin’s heart and he’s overwhelmed with it, petting your hair softly. “Then I’ll say it for the rest of your life, sweetheart.” He whispers the words like they’re something sacred. He thinks they are.

Going slack in his hold, you lean heavily against him and your eyelashes flutter prettily as you struggle to stay awake.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Jimin says and he can’t stop the tender way his voice caresses the nickname or the reverence in his touch as he slips an arm around your waist. 

“Let’s go home.”

You’ve only been awake for a matter of seconds and you already want to die.

You have a splitting headache and your mouth feels like sandpaper. Well yeah that’s what happens when you drink too much, genius. You don’t even remember what happened after your visit to the bar but you figure it was nothing good.

You glance down at your clothes and find an unfamiliar t-shirt and a pair of shorts on your body. There’s clothes strewn across the room, on the bed, on the floor and your heart crawls into your throat. Now you’re concerned. What the hell happened?

Just then Jimin comes in with breakfast, some water, and, bless his soul, ibuprofen.

“Morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?” his voice sounds soft, softer than you’ve ever heard and you’re confused but also swooning? It’s a strange combination.

“Uh yeah, I-I guess I did. What happened last night?” You wince as you move to sit up. Damn, what did you do to make you so sore?

“Last night did quite a number on you, I’ll tell you that.” He laughs as he sets down the tray on the side table, perching himself on the edge of the bed as he looks at you. “How much did you have to drink exactly?” 

“Uh, I kinda lost count after my fifth or sixth vodka soda.” You scratch your head in embarrassment.

“Jesus Christ, how are you alive?” Jimin shakes his head in disbelief. Leave it to you, he figures. 

He hands you some water, which you chug gratefully, and take care to swallow the pills. He watches you, irises warm and pretty and you don’t like the way your heart flutters against your ribcage.

“You were incorrigible last night,” Jimin chuckles and you stiffen. What the fuck does that mean? “You kept pulling me in every direction, hanging off me at any given chance.” His voice is light and teasing and far too casual for what he’s suggesting.

Suddenly it clicks. The clothes strewn everywhere, the soreness, the strange tenderness in Jimin’s voice. 

Holy shit. Holy fuck. 

You slept with him. 

You fucking slept with him.

Jimin is still talking but you can hardly hear him over the ringing in your ears.

“We slept together,” you whisper in disbelief and Jimin immediately stops rambling about whatever the fuck and you’re still reeling with the realization that you fucking slept with him.

“What?” He seems confused but you can’t think about his emotions when yours are swirling around violently in your head, increasing the pounding against your skull and making you want to throw up.

“You fucking slept with me while I was drunk? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jimin’s eyes widen so much that it would be almost comical if you weren’t absolutely devastated. “What? What the hell are you talking about?” 

But you’re not listening anymore. You can’t, not with the way the blood is rushing too loudly in your ears, or the way your heart has crawled so far up your throat you think you could choke. 

Logically, you know this is not the worst thing in the world, that it may be a bit of an overreaction, but you can’t shake the feeling of wrongness that permeates your body when you think about what a vulnerable position you were in last night. Stupid, you think. How could you be so stupid? A desperate sob meets your ears and you’re all too aware that the gasping breaths are coming from you.

You can hear Jimin trying to reason with you but your body reacts violently, slapping his hands away every time he tries to reach for you. You cry, arms wrapping around your body in an attempt to hold yourself together but you can’t stop the tremors wracking your frame.

“___! Sweetheart, please, will you just—!” 

“No! Get away from me!”

You try to push him, shove him, hit him, but it’s futile and you only cry harder. Finally, Jimin decides enough is enough.

“Listen to me, ___. Listen to me.” Jimin’s hands come up to cradle your head, gentle but firm. His voice leaves no room for argument and you let out a pathetic whimper but look into his eyes nonetheless.

“I know what you think of me. I know you think I’m the scum of the earth, that I'm a flirt and a tease, and maybe I am those things but I am not a monster. Do you hear me? I may push boundaries and irritate you but I would never, ever dream of crossing that line without your explicit and enthusiastic consent.” 

His eyes blaze into yours with a passion you’ve never seen before. He looks serious and stern, but most of all he looks hurt. You did that. Before you can go any further with your self-hatred, he continues. “You were drunk and wet and I needed to get you into a change of clothes. I am telling you the truth when I say nothing happened last night. Believe me, please?”

You stare into his eyes for an immeasurable amount of time, back and forth between his irises and you feel all the tension within you release, as if his touch is a balm you never knew you needed to an ache you never knew you had.

Another whimper escapes you and you throw yourself into Jimin’s arms then, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over again and he just embraces you, shushing you as he strokes your hair oh so gently.

You stay like that for a long time, simply relishing in the warmth of his body, before you realize what you’re doing. Jimin seems to come back into himself as well because you both pull away from each other at the same time, albeit a bit bashfully.

“Um, so. Why don’t you go get dressed, hm? We’ve got a train to catch.” He starts to move off the bed but turns back to you with a glimmer in his eye. “I will be needing my shirt, though…” He goes to move closer to you as though he were going to take the shirt himself. You lean back instinctively but relax at his wide grin, soft giggle escaping his lips as he leaves you to it.

You gaze after him, a fond smile curving at your lips as you wipe at your tear-stained cheeks, and your heart is too light to worry about anything else.

Refreshed and ready to go, you pull up to the train station almost an hour before your scheduled train. It may be overkill but you are not missing another train, thank you very much. 

While you wait, Jimin gets you both coffee, for which you are eternally grateful. You sit on one of the benches, swinging your legs happily as you sip your drink. Neither of you speak but it’s a comfortable silence. Who would have thought you would get to feel so comfortable around Jimin?

“Let’s play a game” Jimin pipes up out of nowhere. You laugh at his innocent suggestion and decide to humor him.

“Alright I’m down. Whatcha wanna play?”

“Twenty Questions!” He looks so excited you can’t help but tease.

“What are we, 14?”

“If you don’t wanna play, all you have to do is say so, you don’t have to be mean about it.” He pouts and you laugh if only to stifle the urge to coo at him and pinch his cheeks.

“Fine I’ll bite. You go first.” 

“What’s your most embarrassing kink?” 

You smack him upside the head and roll your eyes. “Next.”

The questions continue back and forth for a few minutes, some of them serious, most of them anything but. You laugh until your stomach hurts about the time he got into an argument with his best friend over a dumpling incident.

“Listen, it was a very serious argument—” 

“Over dumplings.” 

“Excuse you, dumplings are very important, I’ll have you know—”

You laugh as he puffs his cheeks out at you. He even looks like a dumpling and you tell him as much, earning another pout from the man. Eventually the topic shifts to more personal things.

“Okay, okay, serious one now,” Jimin says and there’s an unreadable look in his eyes. “Have you ever been in love?”

The question is unexpected and you have to think for a moment. Have you ever been in love? You’re not really sure.

“Dunno,” you shrug. 

“You don’t know? How could you not know?” 

“I’m just not sure if what I felt was love or…something else.”

“Valid, I guess.” He falls silent for a moment before speaking. “I know for a fact I never have.”

This surprises you. “What? A guy like you? Surely, you’ve been in love before.”

“A guy like me?” Jimin smirks as he side-eyes you.

“Y-Yeah you know flirts with anything with a pulse.” 

“Okay, rude.” You both laugh but sober up pretty quickly. “But yeah no. I’ve had a few flings or whatever but never anything I could call love, you know? Just…never really met the right person.”

“What kind of person are you looking for?”

“Well…” He sits up a little straighter in his seat. “I don’t have, like, an ideal type or anything but…all I know is, that when I see them—the person I’m meant to be with—all my heart’s desires and dreams will come true.  And maybe that makes me naive or whatever but I feel like I’ll know when I see them. Maybe not immediately, it might take some time, but I believe my soul will recognize its other half.”

You sit there, shocked and dazed. You hadn’t expected such a serious answer from him. “I— That’s…that’s beautiful.”

“You should hear Jeongguk talk about it.” He laughs softly as he rubs the back of his neck. “Says he’ll hear bells or something. He’s a cute kid.”

“Yeah he is…” You’re still a little dazed hearing him speak so passionately about love. It makes you feel painfully inadequate.

“What about you? What kind of person could sweep the ever-elusive ___ off her feet?”

You pause, unsure how to answer. “Oh, uh… I’ve never actually thought about it? I don’t know, I’ve always felt like, if I think about it too much, I’ll get too excited. I’ve always been the overexcited type.” Jimin chuckles, remembering the other night. He knows that all too well.

“But, uh, yeah. If I think about it, I’ll anticipate it, I’ll wait for it, and if it doesn’t come well… that’ll make the disappointment that much more upsetting.”

Jimin frowns. “Why wouldn’t it come?” 

“I-I don’t know.” You fidget with your fingers, insecure. “What if… What if I never meet someone? What if I do and my heart—my soul—never recognizes its other half?” You look into Jimin’s eyes. “What if I’m just alone?”

His gaze holds yours for an immeasurable amount of time. 

“I think,” he says slowly, and you find yourself hanging off of every word, “that you’re overcomplicating it. Sure, life has its disappointments but it comes with the territory. Having things to look forward to makes life worth living, even if it’s something as simple as waking up the next morning.”

Jimin inches his hand slowly over to where yours rests on the grainy wood of the bench. He nudges your pinky with his own, wrapping your digit with his. It’s a small gesture but it fills you with an inexplicable warmth.

“All I’m saying is, it’s okay to want.” He says it with such conviction that you desperately want to believe him. “And it’s okay to feel disappointed if you don’t get what you want. But don’t let that stop you from doing it.”

You’re silent again but you can’t look away. The words come rushing out before you can stop them. “And what if I already do? Want, I mean.”

His eyes flick between both of yours and you fight a shiver. “Then it’s your job to do something about it.”

The sound of the train’s whistle breaks the moment and you find yourself taking in a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You glance at the approaching train before looking shyly at Jimin.

“The train is coming. Wouldn’t wanna miss it again.” You try to joke but you can’t seem to shake the residual tension from before.

“And yet,” Jimin hums, barely above a whisper, “I find that I want to miss the train again and again.”

The trip wraps up almost too quickly for your liking.

When the two of you reunite with your friends in Zürich, it’s as if something has changed. You find yourself glancing at Jimin more often than not, and he’s almost always staring right back at you. It should unnerve you, you think, but you feel…calm, almost peaceful knowing his eyes are on you. Powerful. You also find yourself thinking about him a lot, often at night once the lights are cut and all your friends are asleep. You can’t shake his words.

It’s okay to want.

It seems obvious; of course it’s okay for you to want things. But when he said it, it was as if he had opened up a whole new world to you. Had you been unintentionally stifling your own desires? What did you want? You can feel something niggling at the edge of your consciousness but it disappears when you try to pinpoint the feeling, like stars when you look too hard at them. It frustrates you and you want to talk to him but where you actively had to avoid him before your little detour, you can’t seem to find him alone for longer than a cursory greeting. An ache has settled low in your stomach and the feeling of something missing pervades you for days after. You don’t sleep well until the end of the tour.

You’re sadder than you thought you’d be to leave this trip but you chalk it up to how much fun you’ve had over the last two weeks. Definitely does not have anything to do with a certain pink-haired man. Absolutely not.

“Be sure to keep in touch, yeah?” Hobi smiles his beautiful sunshiny smile and you can do nothing but return it, pulling him into a warm hug.

“Of course! We’ll have to hit up a karaoke bar together. You know, one that you haven’t been kicked out of.” You elbow him in the ribs playfully.

“That was one time and I told you that to bond! You can’t make fun of me!” But his smile is just as bright if not brighter and you’re really going to miss him. 

You turn to Jeongguk and pull him into a hug as well. “It was so great getting to meet you. Now I know who to call when I need to liven up a party.” 

Flashing you his signature toothy grin, he practically bounces in place. “Anytime, ___. We should definitely hang soon!” After nodding your assent, you wave a final time as he joins Hobi and leaves the platform.

Your friends hug you and tell you they’ll see you later. With a wave, you send them off until you’re left with only one other person. Bracing yourself, you turn around and face Jimin with a shy smile. Your heart gives a dull throb but you ignore it.

“So,” you both begin before collapsing into nervous giggles. God, were you always so awkward? “You first,” he smiles.

“This is it, huh,” you marvel, reminiscing over the last few days. You can’t believe just two weeks ago you two were strangers, enemies even, and now you’re… Well, you’re not sure what you are but it’s definitely an improvement from your first encounter. “Can’t believe two weeks went by so quickly…”

“I know. Seems like just yesterday I was pulling your late ass onto the train,” Jimin smirks at you and you shove his shoulder.

“Yeah and making inappropriate comments about my underwear.” You glare at him playfully but it dissolves into a smile when you see his sheepish grin. 

“I never did properly apologize for that, did I?” He scratches the back of his head and you melt at the familiar gesture. 

“Hey, no worries. We’re cool.” Silence befalls the two of you. It seems to happen a lot recently, but it’s not a bad silence, just a thoughtful one. “Thank you. For everything.”

“It was no problem, sweetheart.” There’s something lurking in the depths of his eyes but you don’t dwell on it.

“Friends?” You stick out your hand between you. You can’t discern why Jimin’s face looks so drawn but the expression disappears just as quickly as you notice it, replaced by a beautiful smile. 

“Friends,” he repeats, soft as he grasps your hand almost reverently.

You look into his eyes and you once again find yourself trapped. The seconds tick on and you can’t bring yourself to remove your hand from his. His grip feels warm and comforting. Right. You don’t know if you want to think about what that might mean.

Inhaling deeply, you finally muster up the will to let go of his hand, albeit a bit begrudgingly. Jimin looks just as reluctant but plasters a smile. You return it, confused as to why there seems to be so much tension but you figure it’s the sadness of parting. Sending a last lingering wave, you go to turn when you feel a hand grip your wrist. You turn in surprise, a question in your eyes.

“I just… I have something for you.” Jimin lets you go for a moment to pull out a small box. He hands it to you, bashful. You accept it gently and slide the lid open. Inside, is the bracelet from that souvenir shop. The black pearls gleam back at you in the fluorescent light of the station and you have the strangest urge to cry. You look up at him, touched beyond belief.

“You—”

“May I?” He gestures to the bracelet and it takes a second for you to understand what he’s asking, too caught up in his thoughtfulness, but you nod silently when you do. You’re not sure you trust your voice right now.

Jimin beams, delicately taking the bracelet out of the box and wrapping the thin gold chain around your wrist. He clasps it securely so that the pink flower just brushes the inside of your wrist. Your skin tingles where he grazes you and the warmth spreads throughout your body until you’re filled with it. You look up at Jimin, eyes shining a little and you do your best to blink them back.

“I saw you looking at it back at the shop. Figured you’d like it.”

“I love it,” you whisper and you feel like it means so much more.

“Well…” Jimin clears his throat and steps away to a more appropriate distance. You hadn’t even realized you were practically on top of him. “I guess I should get going.”

“Yeah, you— I-I should head out, too.” You don’t want him to go, you realize, but you have nothing to convince him to stay. So you let him go.

“Bye, sweetheart.”

“Bye, Jimin.”

You both back away slowly from each other, as if to extend the moment just a bit longer. He doesn’t look away from you and so you don’t either. Eventually, you have to turn around to actually watch where you’re going. When you look back, he’s gone.

There’s a lingering emptiness in your chest as you walk home, not even bothering with a taxi this time. The feeling of something missing has only worsened, and now it’s at its peak. You’re worried that you’ve missed your chance to find it and the knowledge that it might be too late lingers like an intrusive thought.

You deflate, shoulders hunching protectively as you make your way through the city. From what you’re protecting yourself from, you’re not sure. The bracelet on your wrist feels heavy, like a shackle, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to look at it without feeling the ghost of his touch on your skin.

Just under two weeks have passed since the Eurail tour and you haven’t felt the same since.

You expected it somewhat. That’s what traveling does to you. It makes you appreciate the beauty of the world, shows you a new way of life, and changes your perspective and you never leave a new place the same as when you enter it. But the reason for this change has nothing to do with the wonders of a new country.

No, it centers on one person. Park Jimin.

It doesn’t take you long to realize what the emptiness means, to recognize the shape of the hole that has permanently taken up residence in your heart. You find yourself plagued by it at night, tossing and turning until you eventually fall into a fitful and restless sleep. 

He starts to permeate every facet of your life. It first begins with the dreams, your memories teasing you with glimpses of his round face and delicate cheeks, of warm brown eyes that seem to look right through you to your core, smoldering. Then it escalates quickly to lingering touches on the back of your hand when you know you’re alone or the bracelet on your wrist will suddenly feel too hot, like a brand, and it’s like he’s surrounding you—his arms around your waist, his scent filling your lungs, his breath cooling your feverish skin. You feel suffocated but the illusions leave you more empty each time.

Finally it gets worse; you start to see him everywhere. On your way to work, to the grocery store, to the bank—it doesn’t matter but your mind always tricks you into thinking you’ve caught sight of the familiar shock of pink hair or his signature leather jacket. Each time sends you reeling and you reach out briefly only for the haze to clear and you remember how very much alone you are. You even start to hallucinate his voice, the way sweetheart would flow so easily from his lips, a balm to your searing heart, and you think you might need to start seeing someone about this. It can’t be healthy.

Still, life goes on and so do you—for the most part anyway. You still work at the little convenience store around the corner from your apartment just to fill the time since there are no classes for you to take. You’re still waiting to hear back from schools about graduate programs but you don’t worry about it too much. You’re confident in your grades and your abilities to know you’ll be okay, it’s just a matter of time.

Your shift passes relatively quickly, time seeming even more meaningless since returning from your trip. You fiddle with your phone, shooting a quick text to Sheena confirming that you’ll see her tomorrow for dinner. You’re not really up for it but you haven’t seen much of anyone in the last two weeks and you miss her so you decide to go. 

Which reminds you, Hobi had managed to get your number and text you, asking if you wanted to go out next weekend with him and Jeongguk. You want to go but you’re not sure if you can get through an evening of them without thinking of a certain pink-haired man. Sighing, you glance at the time and note that it’s time to shut down the registers and begin closing. 

Just as you turn around the grab the money bag from underneath the counter, you hear the bell of the door tinkle open.

“Sorry,” you call, straightening as you reach for the register keys, “we’re actually clos—” Your breath catches in your throat. “Oh, god, I’m actually going insane,” is what makes it out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

Before you stands the object of your hallucinations in all his pink-haired glory. You blink several times, hoping the image will disappear quickly. When it doesn’t, your jaw goes slack.

Jimin looks just as shocked as you do but recovers faster. Of course he does. 

“___?”

You inhale sharply, trying to focus but it’s hard when he’s right in front of you and god, you’re not prepared for this—

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, are you alright?” The nickname rolls off his tongue so easily, like a gentle caress, and a strange feeling of relief fills you. Jimin approaches the register carefully, as if worried he’d scare you away if he moved too quickly. Maybe he’s right.

Your eyes drink him in greedily despite everything. He looks…good. An orange short-sleeved shirt with white and navy blue accents is tucked stylishly into a pair of black jeans that hug his legs nicely. You feel very insecure all of a sudden in your work uniform and you duck your head shyly. Finally, you find your voice as you clear your throat and tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

“H-How are you?” You wince at how small your voice sounds. Your heart flutters so fast in your chest you struggle to catch your breath but at the same time…it’s the first time you’ve been able to truly breathe. 

Jimin’s eyes soften and he smiles that smile that makes your knees weak. “I’m good. Very good. I— Are you closing up now?”

“Yeah, I’m, yeah. If you give me, like, 20 minutes, we can head out, together?” It comes out like a question but Jimin is nodding before you can even second-guess yourself and you’re running around like a madwoman trying to clear the register and finish restocking the last box from storage. After a final cursory glance and a mental run-down of your closing checklist, you deem yourself ready to leave. You spare Jimin a quick smile, motioning him to follow you out and you close up shop. 

“My, um,” you begin, unsure if it’s too forward for you to say this but you’re tired of constantly running around in circles to avoid your emotions. It’s time to face them head-on, dammit! “My apartment is just a few blocks over if you…if you wanted to stop over for some tea?”

You hold your breath for some reason as you wait for his response. His answering smile is dazzling. “Tea sounds wonderful. Lead the way.”

You don’t remember the walk to your apartment, which is literally around the corner, ever feeling so long. You’re all too aware of his proximity, can feel the faint warmth he emanates from his body, and you find yourself too preoccupied with the way his arm brushes yours as you walk side-by-side. Neither of you speak but it’s comfortable, just like it was when you parted. Though you are anxious to see him, a sense of calm pervades deep within you and you welcome instead of ignore the feeling.

As you step into your apartment, you panic slightly as you struggle to remember if you’ve cleaned up enough while toeing off your shoes. You send a surreptitious glance around, satisfied that nothing looks too out of place as you lead Jimin into your small kitchen.

“Black or green?” you ask him, gazing up at him only to find him staring unabashedly at you. He startles, seemingly embarrassed to have been caught but does not look away.

“Black would be great.” You smile, nodding before setting up a kettle to boil on the stove before turning to him. You’re not sure where to begin but it seems you don’t have to. 

“I missed you.”

Those few simple words send a pang through your heart and any resolve you had bleeds through you as you try not to melt into the floor.

“I missed you, too,” you whisper back, scared to speak too loudly and break the beautiful tension that’s building around you.

Jimin looks down at the floor, as if the knowledge that you missed him too was too much for him. “I-I thought about you. All the time.”

You soften, shuffling closer to him where he is braced against the fridge. His eyes are swimming with that familiar tenderness and you can actually recognize it. He looked at you the same way on that morning in the inn.

“I thought about you, too.” You feel more confident now. Something about knowing that he’s just as shy and uncertain makes you relax significantly. “God, I saw you everywhere. I thought I was going crazy.”

“I dreamt about you.” He says this in a rush, as if he thinks he needs to get to words out in case you stop him. With the way you’re hanging off every word, you think it’s safe to say you’re just as eager to listen as he is to speak. “About you, about us. I— I kept replaying the moment at the train station, thinking how stupid I was for letting you go—”

“Hey, hey, shh.” You close the distance between you, placing a gentle hand on his chest. “I let you go, too. We’re both a little stupid.”

Jimin breathes a laugh, tense shoulders relaxing as he fixates on your hand on his chest. “You’re still wearing it,” he breathes in wonder, bringing his own hand up to clasp yours as he inspects the bracelet still on your wrist.

“Yeah, I— It’s my favorite thing I own.” Jimin’s eyes practically melt into yours, the warm chestnut irises looking down at you with such fondness you can’t stop the swell of affection from rising within you. You think you’re going to burst from the amount of adoration and feelings swirling around inside you but it’s pleasant. You’re buzzing with excitement, no longer heavy with what ifs. 

Jimin seems to realize how close you two actually are at the same time you do because his bright smile gradually fades as his gaze flickers down to your lips. The air stills around you and your breath hitches. Anticipation swirls in the pit of your stomach, cloying and intoxicating.

“___,” he calls and you shiver a little at the sound of your name dripping from his lips like honey. “Sweetheart, may I kiss you?”

You nod, inhaling deeply. “Yes, please.”

Beaming, Jimin grasps the hand on his chest firmer and moves his other hand to cradle your cheek tenderly. He bends his head down, brushing your noses together sweetly. Your eyes slip closed of their own accord and you wait, lips parted as you feel his breath wash over you. A beat passes and suddenly you’re kissing, those plump lips that you’ve been dreaming about for days finally on yours. A tingle passes between your lips and you gasp, mouth parting more under the soft pressure of Jimin’s. He kisses you sweet and slow, as if savoring the taste of you. You feel his fingers thread their way into your hair to hold you in place more securely and you hum in satisfaction. Your other hand is gripping the material of his shirt at his waist and you shuffle a little closer, all too eager to feel his body against yours.

You melt into each other as you kiss, hardly breaking apart for air as you suck in greedy, rushed breaths from your nose. You’re content to just stay here forever but the loud screech of the kettle startles you into breaking the kiss. You both chuckle, exchanging a quick peck before you pull away gently to turn off the stove.

Jimin is not far behind you, wrapping his arms securely around your middle once the stove is off and you’re sure you won’t burn down your apartment. You smile to yourself before turning in his arms and wrapping your own around his neck, reaching up to nose along his jaw. 

“Now where were we?” You smirk lightly against his skin when you feel him shiver beneath your hands. A rush of heat flashes through you as you think of all the ways you could have him now that he’s here, finally. 

Jimin seems to be thinking the same because the hands on your waist tighten and you hiss in pleasure. “I believe I was kissing you breathless.” It’s his turn to tease this time as he grazes down the length of your neck and you bite back a moan at the soft, almost ticklish feeling of his lips against your throat.

“Hmm, I might need you to show me again. I don’t think I was breathless enough.” The words are false of course, compounded by the fact that you are currently struggling to get enough air.

“As you wish, sweetheart.” And with that, Jimin is on you again. You sigh into his mouth, reveling in the plush feel of his lips. He swallows the sound, pressing you further against him and you practically turn to jelly in his arms. He kisses you with a passion you had only just begun to feel before you were briefly interrupted and you can feel yourself getting swept up in it. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Jimin swipes his tongue along the seam of your lips in a silent question and you swear your knees buckle from underneath you. You can’t stop the moan that escapes, humming into his mouth as you open up for him. Things turn hot and heavy very quickly and you find yourself backed into your kitchen counter as Jimin positively ravages you. 

You pull back for a moment, panting and your stomach tightens as you catch a glimpse of him. Jimin looks just as wrecked as you feel, pupils blown wide in desire and chest heaving with the effort to breathe. His lips are a swollen, pretty pink mess and a desperate whine tears itself from your throat when you notice. 

Leaning his forehead against yours, Jimin closes his eyes and catches his breath. “Do you want this, sweetheart? Say the word and we can slow down. I won’t be upset.”

“It certainly doesn’t feel like you want to slow down,” you tease, rolling your hips into his where you can feel the evidence of his desire against your stomach. His answering groan has you grinning wickedly.

“Sweetheart,” he moans, panting into the skin of your shoulder as you build up a steady rhythm and you can feel him stiffen further at the stimulation. “Please, answer me.”

“Yes, Jimin, please.” You punctuate the request with a final roll of your hips, pulling his head away from your shoulder so you can look him in the eyes. “Make me yours.”

A beat. Then, Jimin lets out the most animalistic growl you’ve ever heard and your thighs clench pathetically as you feel your wetness dampen your underwear further.

“You are going to be the death of me.” Pulling you to him, he crouches slightly until his fingers are brushing the backs of your thighs. “Jump,” he grunts.

You’re hesitant but you do so anyway and he catches you, taking a moment to steady you both before busying himself with placing kisses along your jaw.

“Where are we doing this, sweetheart?” Jimin murmurs against your skin and you have to take a second to focus yourself, a haze beginning to cloud your mind.

“Second door on the left,” you manage to choke out, whining as you feel his tongue leave a wet trail along your collarbone. You hardly remember the walk to your room but you certainly feel when Jimin deposits you gently on the bed. Backing up toward the headboard, you eye him greedily as he tucks his shirt to raise it over his head. You feel your mouth run dry and you lick your lips in anticipation.

“Something the matter, sweetheart?” He’s teasing you as he crawls on the bed, stalking. 

“Not at all,” you return breezily. “Just wondering when you were gonna come over here and make me forget my name.”

“Oh, not to worry. You won’t be able to think of anything else but me.”

Lunging at you, Jimin connects your lips together once again and your hands wander over the exposed skin. You marvel at the toned muscles of his stomach, humming and running your nails lightly over them. He shudders over you, breaking the kiss to pant in your ear. You use his momentary distraction to flip you both over so you’re on top.

“My turn,” you whisper. In a surge of confidence, you grasp the ends of your shirt and practically rip it off you. Jimin stares, mouth agape, at the newly exposed skin. He seems to snap himself out of his trance because he dives in immediately, littering your chest with kisses and nips. Your hips buck against his as he moves to unclasp your bra, cupping the flesh once he’s removed the offending garment. 

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, awed. “I could look at you forever.” 

Your ears burn hotly but you try to hide your embarrassment. “You just gonna look?” 

Jimin fixes you with a look. “I plan to do a lot more than just look, sweetheart. But I am patient. Something you should learn.”

“I’ve missed you for weeks now,” you gasp as he pinches one stiff peak as punishment for your mouthing off. “So forgive me if I seem a little eager to get to it.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He presses a kiss over your heart and if you weren’t already a puddle on the floor you would’ve melted. Somehow the words seem to refer to more than just your impatience.

You choke on a moan when Jimin pulls a nipple into his mouth, fingers tweaking the neglected one. The stimulation has you arching into his mouth and you grind down onto his lap, reveling in the feel of him, hard and thick, under you. You shiver at the thought of him inside you.

Jimin switches then, his other hand sliding down your back to aid your hips in their movement against his. You’re sure you’ve soaked through your underwear at this point, fabric slippery as you move. Finally satisfied, Jimin pulls back, admiring the wet, flushed mess he’s made of your chest, and ventures lower. Kissing down your sternum, he gently guides you down onto your pillows. You don’t even fight him, too excited to slow him down for even a second.

“Won’t be needing these, now will you?” He tugs at the waistband of your jeans and you scramble to undo them, lifting your hips as you help Jimin tug them down and off your legs. You’re left in your underwear as your only defense against his gaze and you shyly close your legs. Jimin clicks his tongue in disapproval and places a hand on both knees. “No hiding, sweetheart.”

He makes quick work of your underwear until he’s staring at your glistening folds with reverence. You mewl as he swipes a finger down your slit, collecting the growing wetness. Jimin circles your clit and you groan, back arching off the bed as you seek more friction.

“Jimin, please,” you gasp. “Want your fingers.”

“Oh, sweetheart. Since you asked so nicely…” Jimin grins deviously before slipping his fingers down to your fluttering hole. Sinking one finger in, he allows you to adjust before thrusting shallowly. He adds another finger after a minute and curls them upward, massaging the soft spot with purpose. 

“Jimin, ah, please!”

“Patience, my dear,” he chuckles. “I’ll give you what you want soon.”

You want to yell at him to get on with it but then he sinks a third finger in and the stretch burns so deliciously that you’re rendered speechless. The sound that reverberates around the room is obscene, filthy, but you can’t feel embarrassed as the fire in your stomach burns bright with each curl of Jimin’s fingers. He dips down to swallow your whines and cries in a searing kiss and you wrap your arms around him to crush him to you, eager to feel him.

“Now, Jimin, now. I’m ready.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” Kissing your forehead, he pulls his fingers out of you gingerly before moving to remove his own pants and underwear. You watch as he revels each inch of perfect skin, mouth practically salivating as he removes the final layer and bares himself to you. He’s not ridiculously long but he’s thick and you can’t wait to feel him inside you.

You spread your legs in an open invitation but Jimin shakes his head with a smile before settling on the bed next to you. You’re confused until he pats his lap, beckoning you over. You move quicker than you ever thought you could and straddle him.

“Want to watch you. Use me as you need to. I’m yours.” He looks deeply into your eyes when he says this and you shiver at the conviction in his voice. You grab him by the base, making him hiss, and line him up with your entrance. 

“And I’m yours,” you sigh, sinking down fully onto his swollen length. The stretch burns wonderfully and you can’t help the drawn-out whine that rips itself from your throat. Jimin doesn’t seem to be faring much better.

“Oh, sweetheart. You feel so good.” He tips his head back, eyes glazed and unfocused. You’re not faring much better but you’re determined to give him the ride of his life.

Bracing yourself on his shoulders, you push yourself up and you can’t stop the cheshire grin from curving your lips when he moans softly. His hands grip your waist tightly as you begin to build up a rhythm, guiding your hips as best he can. 

“S-So good, Jimin. So big.” And you’re not just stroking his ego. The stretch has you groaning into his neck as you swivel your hips in a torturing motion. The hand on your hip tightens and keeps you moving steadily, no matter how much you wanna speed up.

“What did I say about patience, baby?” He clicks his tongue playfully and you want to wipe the smirk off his face. Purposefully, you slow down your hips even more and clench tightly, dragging yourself up and down. Jimin chokes on air as you do so.

“What was that?” You flutter your eyelashes prettily at him and he growls.

“Don’t test me, sweetheart.”

A twinge of arousal flashes through you at the thinly veiled threat and you wonder just how dangerous Jimin can get. But, you suppose, you can save that for another time. Sufficiently placated, you resume your pace, taking care to kiss and bite at his neck, his jaw—whatever you can reach. His breath stutters as you continue your ministrations and you take pride in yourself for making him react so strongly. 

Eventually your thighs start to feel tired and the fire in your core, while burning pleasantly, has dulled to a frustratingly low simmer. You whine into Jimin’s neck, begging him to let you go faster.

“Please, Jimin. I wanna cum.”

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he acquiesces. “I wanna see you fall apart on my cock.”

His words spur you on and you begin a desperate pace, soreness long forgotten. The blunt tip of his dick nudges against the deepest part of you and you gasp as if you’ve been shocked. The pleasure begins mounting and your hips piston faster of their own accord. You feel his pelvis bump against your bundle of nerves with each drag of your hips, sending ripples of liquid heat traveling through your body.

You lean down to kiss Jimin but you can do little more than pant into his mouth, especially as he begins to buck up into you and meet your hips with every downward stroke. “H-ah, Jimin, close.”

“Atta girl, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful.” The way he whispers into your hair, as if you’re something precious, something to be treasured, sends you into another frenzy and you let out an answering cry. “Come on, cream my cock, baby. It’s all yours.”

That in combination with a punctuated thrust has you hurtling so fast into your orgasm that you’re blindsided, mouth opening in a silent scream as the pleasure overtakes you. You hear Jimin grunt as your walls squeeze him for all he’s worth and you’re suddenly desperate to make him feel just as good.

“Y-You too, baby,” you manage to choke out. “Wanna feel you.”

Jimin groans, clutching you tighter to him. “Yeah? Sweetheart wants my cum?” You nod and that’s all he needs to buck up into you mercilessly. He lasts one stroke, then two, before he’s moaning out loud, pulling you in for a desperate kiss as he releases inside you. You swivel your hips for as long as you can stand it until the oversensitivity becomes too much and you have to stop. 

You both stay there for a moment, breathing in each other as you come down from your highs. Looking shyly into his eyes, you find him looking at you with that same adoring stare and your heart throbs in response. You’re sure you look just as smitten.

“Hi,” you whisper. 

Jimin smiles and you swear you’ve never seen anything more beautiful. “Hi.”

“We’re a little sticky.” You grimace as you shift slightly, feeling the combination of your fluids leaking from inside you and onto his skin. Not to mention the thin layer of sweat that’s left on your skin.

“That we are.” He laughs goodnaturedly, fingers trailing a soothing path down the length of your back and sending pleasant tingles down your spine. “Shall we clean up?”

“Yes, please.” You wrinkle your nose at him and he laughs, kissing it lightly as he shifts. Jimin removes you from his lap so tenderly you blush under the attention despite your previous activities. 

Cleaning up turns into a full-blown shower, the two of you crammed into your small tub and taking turns under the spray as you lather each other’s bodies with soap. It’s comfortable, you realize—almost too comfortable—but you let yourself enjoy it, relishing in the feeling of wanting and being wanted in return.

Once you are clean and dressed in a thin nightgown and some sweats that you managed to find for Jimin, the two of you make quick work of changing the sheets and soon find yourself curled up around each other in a comfortable silence. You’re lying across his chest, hand clutched in his while his other arm is wrapped securely around your shoulders, holding you to him. Your thoughts wander to the Eurail trip—the trip that changed everything. You think about what would have happened if you hadn’t hadn’t been late and reached out for his hand that first day, if you hadn’t missed the train in that small-town station. You remember what Jimin had said about wanting, about finding his soul. Everything rushes back to you all at once and you can’t help the swell of emotion that rises within you.

“Jimin, I…” you begin, but you have no idea where to start. Everything feels so intense right now, so overwhelming, but Jimin seems to know exactly what you’re trying to say. 

“I know.” He says it so calmly, like he’s had time to think about this, about you, and you realize he probably has. Just as you did. You smile softly, looking deeply into his eyes as you move to cup his cheek.

“I’m sorry it took so long for my soul to recognize yours.” 

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.” Jimin cradles your face, gazing at you fondly and you have trouble remembering how to breathe. “I found you, and I’m never letting you go again.”

© exoticarmyofcrowns 2020

[pfreadsandwrites]

Okay okay i just read your tags on that sasuke and hinata post and you said you think they'd be compatible and i think that's a v new take cause mostly people just believe that sasuke barely knows hinata exists? and that's kinda what i thought too tbh i mean ig hinata CAN be good for sasuke but will sasuke be good for hinata? I'm v curious so i wanna know your thoughts 👀

I guess it is a new take though I’ve definitely spoken to others who kinda agree with me about this over the years, but you’re right, it is basically a crack ship cuz yeah, they have never interacted ever. And i don’t even like Hinata and I’m always flip-flopping on Sasuke. In short i don’t hate him at all and I think he’s a super interesting and complex character, but I’m happy to dunk on him for the memes lol cuz god does he have his moments but I wouldn’t say he’s a character I love, but please, he is such a traumatised person, traumatised as a very young child to boot, and this is really glossed over by a lot of people. 

But please be patient with me whilst I attempt to sort this out because I don’t often verbalise my thoughts about Naruto when it’s not about Kakashi so apologies if this is not very coherent... I also wanna point out that i am not a shipper and I approach ship dynamics on how well they work/how much it makes sense in the context of the show which is why i hardly ship anything. Also I wanna point out that I’m not necessarily thinking about the Sasuke through most of Shippuden as i write this, i’m sort of taking that aside and thinking about his potential and who he was at the beginning, and who he becomes at the end. 

Will put it under a read more cuz wow! I don’t make sense but I sure don’t know how to shut up either!

Okay, so the thing about Sasuke that isn’t really touched upon by the fandom is exactly how driven by his emotions he is. He is such an intensely emotional person, despite being a relatively introverted and quiet person, and he’s obviously manipulated by it at various points throughout the series - he’s really not controlled or stoic, like, at all. 

Comparatively, though Hinata is shy and introverted, she’s actually pretty good at keeping her emotions in check. Yes she gets nervous. She doesn’t wallow in her emotions or let them dictate her behaviour, and it’s actually her that brings Naruto back down to Earth when he’s freaking out that one time during the war arc. So they balance each other out in that sense. 

I like their imagined dynamic for a few surface level reasons. In an AU where the massacre didn’t happen, or even before it happened, Sasuke and Hinata have a lot in common. They both come from these prestigious closed off clans, they both feel like they’re not measuring up, they have these overbearing and closed-off fathers. If they got to know each other they just would have related to each other very well I feel. Also, Hinata’s supposed to be quite empathetic and like... Sasuke definitely needs this. There’s a real lack from anyone in this series, Naruto included, that is actually trying to see where Sasuke is coming from that isn’t a) trying to use that to get him to do what they want b) trying to control him because they think they know what’s best for him, even if they’re acting for his sake.

I don’t see Hinata being that way with him? You could argue Sasuke needs someone more outwardly ‘tougher’ and no nonsense but I definitely think Hinata is extremely determined in her quiet way, especially when she cares about someone, but for some reason I think she’s one of the characters that I can see genuinely empathising with him and learning to see who he actually is. I don’t think she’d be passive, but she’s definitely the quiet understanding type and it’s hard because we don’t see her care about anyone other than Naruto, I do thjnk she’d be capable of calling him out when he needs it. I guess i think that in part is because she’s one of the few girls that doesn’t just thirst after him from the beginning. 

But to answer the second part, would Sasuke be good for Hinata... Honestly, I can see it? For starters, not only does Hinata have issues with anxiety, but so does Sasuke. You sort of see that in the beginning with Sasuke. He’s the one that’s freaking out when they first meet Zabuza to the point that he wants to kill himself to end his anxiety and Kakashi has to snap him out of it. He’s the one that freaks out in the forest of death during the chunin exams and just wants to hand the scroll over and end it all. He’s not really like this in the same way in shippuden, but my god if Hinata couldn’t relate to this. Also, I wanna remind everyone how he is with Juugo. He’s the one that calms him down, the one that Juugo feels safe around. I know he’s doing it with a purpose in mind, but I think he’d have patience and empathy for Hinata’s fears the way he would for him. Obviously this would take place years later once Sasuke’s resolved some of his issues. I guess more than anything i see them having chemistry, and a quite, peaceful relationship that has the potential to be healthier than SasuSaku, and even, SasuNaru. (SasuNaru works only because Naruto is SO damn resilient, and because of how deep their bond is and how much they canonically complete each other, not because it’s healthy, or at least it wouldn’t be at first)

It’s genuinely harder to talk about why Sasuke would be good for Hinata because there really isn’t that much to her character, but I basically think Hinata would do well with someone that understands her as well, and Sasuke I think is pretty damn capable of that. I think the fact that they show no interest in each other whatsoever means that they both would have to develop as people in their own right, which Hinata definitely needs, Sasuke’s aloofness would probably do her good, and idk, I just think it has the capability of blossoming into something strong. Largely because for it to work they would have to become their own people, and then they would realise just how much they have in common and I just think their personalities complement each other. Sakura’s tough with everyone else but far too passive on him, but she really can’t understand him at all, nor he her, and i just think SasuHina have more potential in that way. 

(i answered this very badly and i have some more thoughts that i’m having trouble expressing but i hope this helps)

(also to everyone who sent in requests i am working on them i promise!!!)

[angstmongertina]

hidden meanings

Mishka answered an ask about what A meant when they said that they aren’t “good at this sort of thing” and it fucking destroyed me so here we are, like a week and some 2.6k words later. (I’m sorry I’m a slow writer lol.)

Guys, I love Adam so goddamn much.

Most of the dialogue is Mishka’s. I’m just expanding out the scene with more introspection than is entirely healthy lol.

AO3 Link

Adam is not, by nature, a man of change.

Of course, living through nine centuries has done something to temper his obstinacy, and he knows that he is at least less technology-adverse than Nate, but he is also fully aware of the fact that that comparison means hardly anything. Even so, in his long life, he has also found it far easier to simply focus on the present and his duties to the Agency, the organization that, despite its own changes, has remained one of the closest things to a constant in the rapidly evolving world around him.

This world that he does not truly belong in, but that he also cannot leave, that he has simply been existing in for nearly a millennium.

Still, he has long since learned that it is easier, that it is better, to concentrate on the task at hand, to do his job without unnecessary frills and complications. He only has need of himself, his assignment, and his team, those very select few he has come to work with and trust. Those others who have proven themselves, who are also frozen in time, permanently caught in the eddies of the steady stream of life. Who, like him, have secrets and memories that lay guarded, shrouded in the past, out of sight and out of mind.

At least, that has all been the case until Unit Bravo found themselves assigned to Wayhaven and to her.

If anyone had told him, a scant few months earlier, that a human woman, still so young and inexperienced, the daughter of his unit’s handler, would have brought so much change to all of their lives, he would have called them crazy. And yet…

He glances down to his side.

It is a strange thing. At a first pass, the figure walking beside him, taking at least two steps for every one of his, is not one he would have expected to make such an impact. While he has to admit that Agent Langford herself is not of any impressive physical stature, she has an elegance, a commanding presence, that has always served her well, both on the field and behind a desk. Her daughter, on the other hand, manages to be of even smaller frame, not even reaching his shoulder in height, and so slender that she looks as though a strong wind might be able to knock her off her feet. Despite the potential dangers of their mission, her dark hair hangs in messy waves down her back, long and unbound and utterly impractical for combat. All in all, she is, at least at first glance, utterly ordinary, looking for all the world like another resident of Wayhaven that has shown up to this accursed carnival. Except…

Except, in spite of the crowds, the noise and the sights and the chaos, of everything that he loathes, everything that should be overwhelming to his senses, even in the best of times, all of it pales in comparison to her.

As if sensing his thoughts, or at least his attention, she tilts her head up, raising an eyebrow, and his chest tightens at the inquisitive look in the stormy grey eyes that lift to meet his, at the way his traitorous hand twitches in its attempt to reach out for her. Her lips part, all soft curves compared to the bright sharpness of her gaze, and he only realizes when she presses them together, a heaviness resting in their corners, that she has asked him a question.

One that he cannot for the life of him even begin to recall.

Instead, he gives his usual noncommittal grunt, at once a deflection and a response, one that has always served him well. Except this time, his typical antagonism does not appear to hide his preoccupation; for a split second, something flashes across her face, disappearing so quickly that even he, with his supernatural speed, cannot identify it. Its swift departure does not, however, prevent it from settling poorly in his stomach, a sudden storm of unease that has him looking down, unable to meet her eyes and the depths of what he might find there.

He cannot help but be thankful that it is only a few steps further to the carousel, a bright, swirling mixture of colors and music that seems to draw the attention of everyone in range. Almost as if it has been expecting them, the ride slows as they approach, and he does not fail to notice the way Surina’s face brightens as she sets foot onto the steps, the first hint of true enthusiasm he has seen from her since their disagreement in the car.

The animation in her features, highlighted by the twinkling lights of the ride, is nearly enough to make him stumble as he follows her. Climbing up with more difficulty than he cares to admit, he stiffens, clearing his throat before crossing his arms over his chest.

Given her preoccupation, he is almost surprised when it cuts through her reverie, but somehow, it does and in spite of the bustle of others climbing on around them and the general din of the park, her quiet intake of breath echoes in his mind. She turns from inspecting one of the fiberglass creatures to give him another questioning look, but this time, he is prepared for her keen gaze and instead, he glances about them, eyes narrowed. “I don’t think both of us should be seated for this ride. One of us should stay standing to cover us in case of issues.”

The words come out stilted, heavy against her excitement, and part of him finds himself regretting them when they seem to settle over her shoulders, pressing down against the cheer that had lifted them only moments earlier. For a second, he wonders if she will argue, contemplates apologizing, but she only exhales in a long breath before giving a nod, though a hint of a smirk replaces the faint frown on her face, one that is usually enough to put him on his guard, except…

Except, this time, those grey eyes lighten to a softer blue, once again dancing with her amusement, and he can feel his chest tighten in response, enough so that he almost, almost, misses her next statement.

“All right. You sit and I’ll stand.”

It is a challenge and he knows it. Her face is alight with the force of her energy, her eyebrow quirked teasingly with a hand braced on her hip. Despite his best efforts, his breath catches in his throat as the corner of her mouth curls into a smirk, and he has to actively force himself to look away, running a hand through his hair to resist the urge to wipe that cocky smile off of her face, to taste the insolence on her lips…

“Fine.”

Blindly, he reaches for the nearest creature, climbing into the fiberglass saddle before the form of his chosen steed registers to him. It isn’t until she steps closer, her grin growing wider, that the curved neck and pale white wings filter into his consciousness, and he finds himself resisting the urge to growl.

“Seems appropriate.” She chuckles, apparently too preoccupied with running a hand over the bright orange beak to notice the way he stiffens at her words, his heart pounding so loudly that it’s a small wonder everyone on the ride doesn’t notice, but, oddly, instead of mocking, her gaze is playful, a soft invitation. “You know, the whole bad-tempered part?”

She takes another step closer and he says nothing, cannot begin to form a coherent sentence in lieu of gritting his teeth as her arm brushes against his, a warmth that he can feel even through his coat, and he resists the urge to flinch.

Judging from the way she glances away, her expression falling yet again, he is not as subtle as he hopes.

He is not sure if it is perfect or horrendous timing that the ride begins then and she rocks onto her heels, her hand wrapping around the pole just under his, so close that he can feel the heat from it, can almost feel the fluttering of her heartbeat, soft and rhythmical under the cheerfully chiming music, interwoven with laughter and conversation from the other patrons. Steady and intoxicating.

He swallows once, hard, and looks away.

“Maybe we should talk… or something?” Her voice is quiet, enough so that he is certain that anyone without supernatural hearing would not have been able to hear it, and his eyebrows climb at the show of hesitance from his normally combative companion. “Help blend in with everyone else.”

In spite of his better judgment, he lets his eyes drift back over the crowds to where she stands at his side, her face tilted slightly to meet his gaze, and finds his thoughts scattering under the weight of that soft grey. “Talk?” The word comes out slightly strangled and he hastily clears his throat. “Talk of what?”

A slim shoulder rises in a shrug. “Anything, I suppose. We just stand out because we’re so silent.”

“We’re on a job. Chatting isn’t a priority.”

The reply falls out of his mouth without thinking, with the reflexes born from centuries of sidestepping and ignoring attempts at unnecessary conversations and sentiments, of focusing on his missions for the Agency, of maintaining his distance from this world that he does not quite belong in. It is the simple truth, the best, safest approach for everyone involved. And yet…

And yet the flicker of emotion in her eyes before her face smooths out stings, a keen ache in his chest that somehow hurts far more than any amount of anger would have, particularly when she only looks around before leaning closer, her voice dropping to scarcely more than a breath on the evening breeze.

“That was a little loud, Adam. People might overhear.”

The mild censure manages to filter into his consciousness, and he only barely manages to stop himself from flinching at the warning. Their investigation, their mission for the Agency… They are paramount, are the only reason why she is here with him now, playing out this little charade. They must be. Which means…

He turns to meet her gaze once more, taking a deep breath as he catches her eye, now dark and swirling with a myriad of emotions, just out of reach, that he does not dare to try and recognize, that he will not, that he cannot, lose himself in.

Not again. Never again.

Even so, his traitorous heart clenches in his chest, sharp and almost stifling, each pounding heartbeat sending a fresh pang through his entire being. Each breath is constricted, straining against the tightness that binds him, wrapping around his chest until he is drowning in the fierce ocean of his own intense reaction. In wild desperation, he arches his back, focusing on the way his muscles stretch and tighten, on the weight of his coat shifting over his shoulders, on the breath that escapes his lips, warm in the cool evening air. On the space his movement adds between them, the distance that he needs to maintain.

On anything but her.

And still, he can feel those stormy eyes watching him, unwavering, waiting. He can feel his walls cracking under that heavy gaze, feel as it seems to draw the truth from the depths of his soul, and as much as he wants to hold it all back, he cannot. Not to her.

“I’m not good at…” At maintaining appearances around her, at opening up to other people, or even himself. At vulnerability… “At this kind of thing.”

For a moment, her expression softens, and he stiffens ever so slightly at the gentleness in her gaze, at the way she leans even closer, apprehension and hope waging war in equal measure in his mind. “You don’t have to be,” she says, her voice so soft that he can scarcely hear it over the thundering of his heart. “You just have to try.”

Her words echo in his mind, quiet and patient and somehow they shake him more than  anything she has said to him before, threatening to peel back each of his painstakingly constructed layers until he is exposed, raw and bare and…

Crimson flowing in thick rivulets from the gashes in her neck, staining the concrete floor. Soft grey eyes fluttering closed over a shaky smile. Fear and desperation drowning out every rational thought, every ounce of sense in his mind—

He swallows hard.

…And dangerous.

This world is, he is, a threat to her, one he cannot let himself expose her to, no matter how desperately part of him wants to. Not if he brings naught but pain and destruction to her, as he inevitably will.

He has learned that much, at least.

His free hand clenched in an effort to not break the bar he still holds, he takes a deep breath against that persistent tightness in his chest, letting it out in a long sigh. “You are…” The ride separates them gradually, irrevocably, and he cannot be sure if it is relief or disappointment that floods his system, that has the corners of his mouth relaxing. Just as he cannot be sure whether it is fear or anticipation that quickens his heart as he returns once more to meet her gaze, still with that strange, unfathomable patience. As he bites his tongue, holding back the words he longs to say, the truths he cannot tell. “Difficult to talk to,” he finishes quietly but the words feel hollow in his mouth and he cannot hide from the way she lets out the breath she was holding, from the disappointment that streaks across her face, that finds the cracks in his already weakened defenses and cuts, deep and piercing.

“Why?”

The ride has shifted until he is level with her once more and, this close, he can feel the puff of her breath against his skin in the cool evening air, the gentle caress drawing his gaze until all he can see is the soft curve of her lips, parted and frozen, waiting. He can feel the heat of her hand curled around the pole, just below his, skin fluttering with the rapid beating of her heart, so exposed and fragile. He can feel the shape of her name in his mouth, his lips forming around each syllable, the sounds hanging heavy in the space between them, careful and hesitant and yet, somehow, right…

A small jerk throws him off balance, sending Surina stumbling a few steps to the side, and he reacts on instinct, sitting upright as she catches her balance, his muscles tensing when he realizes that he has begun to reach out a steadying hand. Her gaze is still on him, dark and inscrutable, slowly, inexorably drawing him into that pool of something deep and overwhelming and he can’t.

With an effort, he wrenches his gaze away, his hand once again tightening into a fist. Their surroundings filter back into his consciousness, the other riders dismounting, the din of their laughter and conversations crashing back over him in waves of noise and sensation. Cold. Shocking.

A reminder.

Clearing his throat, he slides off the swan, the simple action less fluid than he would like to admit, and finds himself tugging at the collar of his coat. Instead, he folds his arms across his chest, sturdy and resolute. Shielding. “We should move on.”

It is nothing more than a simple statement of truth. He knows this. And yet, he cannot quite suppress the disappointment that wells in his chest when she nods, her reply a quiet whisper, and follows him back into the crowd.

[littlepurinsesu]

V Watches MagiReco - Episode 13 Review

*Spoilers for Magia Record Anime Episode 13*

(This review will focus on Episode 13 only. I will be writing a separate review for the anime season as a whole!)

I have so many mixed feelings about this episode that I honestly don’t even know where to start LOL xD There are some parts that I hated and some that I loved, and so many reactions ranging from “WTH WAS THAT?!?” to “UH OKAY...” to “OMG YASSSSS!!!!!”

I’ll going to try my best to unpack my thoughts as coherently as possible, but this review will probably still end up being the most incoherent of them all because of all my mixed feelings for all the changes the anime made xD

To start, Mifuyu is definitely more antagonistic in the anime compared to what I remember of her in the game lol. And honestly I feel cheated that they always seem to tease us with some kind of confrontation between Yachiyo and Mifuyu, but the latter always summons that giant moon and escapes before anything can happen. It’s honestly a little anti-climactic and a bit of a waste, what with all the tension they’ve been building between these two, but then again, it doesn’t really happen in the game, either, so I guess it’s not really the anime’s fault for not “delivering” haha :P

Alright, since I’m going in chronological order, may as well get the biggest disappointment out of the way first: Iroha and Yachiyo’s argument. I don’t think I can even begin to put into words how utterly disappointed I was with this part, seeing as it was one of the most crucial plot points in the game and definitely one of Iroha’s most shining moments. Firstly, the way Yachiyo revealed her wish lacked emotion and impact for me. The music didn’t even change, and there was no sense of this being the revelation of a huge secret/mystery that the story has kept under wraps all this time. At least they added a nice flashback sequence to show Yachiyo’s past and the reasoning behind her wish, rather than having it all just come out of her mouth verbally, so props to them for that, but I was still quite unimpressed with the way they went about this pivotal moments.

Next up in my complaints is the Rumour. I was so, so, so ready to see my girl Iroha finally standing up and holding her own in a battle, especially considering how weak she’s been portrayed throughout the past 12 episodes. I was expecting an intense fight with the Rumour--some struggle, some more determination, anything. But no, another case of what I call the “one-shot curse”. Iroha literally just ran up to the Rumour, aimed her arrow, shot, and BAM it’s gone. One of the most crucial battles in the story lasted about 20 seconds in total (yes, I was so petty and pissed off that I went back and counted lmao), and the way Iroha suddenly “powered up” so drastically made no logical sense to me at all. We never even saw her gradually increase in power or fighting capability throughout the story so far. Heck, she’s hardly even done anything in the past battles, and suddenly she can one-shot a Rumour all by herself? How. Pray tell, how.

And the final major complaint that follows on from this chain of unhappy ranting: Iroha and Yachiyo solidifying their friendship. I did like the way the screen melted away to reveal Iroha standing in front of Yachiyo, almost like a mirror image. Sadly, that’s the only thing I liked about it LOL. Iroha getting angry at Yachiyo was such an important development and such a huge moment for our protagonist, but here it just... doesn’t happen? She’s still the same smiling and gentle Iroha we always knew. Which is nice and all, but in my opinion, we really needed to see kindhearted and soft-spoken Iroha truly snap. We needed to see Iroha speak up and tell Yachiyo to cut her bs and to declare herself the leader. And the way Yachiyo accepts so quickly and hardly even tries to put up an argument is just... I don’t even know what to say anymore apart from constantly question why they had to rush so many crucial moments, to the point where they had zero emotional impact. I often wonder if I’d still have these complaints if I didn’t play the game and have expectations of how I wanted/wished/expected certain things to be adapted. So I dunno, maybe I wouldn’t have a problem with these things at all if I went into the anime blind ^^;;

Oh, and another thing that made zero sense to me was how Iroha went from being perfectly normal to unable to walk or talk within the span of about two seconds. Logically, I get that she probably used up too much magic one-shot-ing that Rumour just before, but they could’ve at least had her show some signs of physical strain during her talk with Yachiyo so that the sudden transition of her physical state doesn’t feel so abrupt and out of nowhere. I guess this is a minor detail that I can let slide, but it just reminds the viewer again and again of the problems that come with rushing. And rushing for what? Well...

The second half of the episode is an obvious answer. They were clearly rushing these game-story moments to fill up the rest of the episode with anime-original content. And while I’m still bitter at what the cost was, I will ironically say that the second half of this week’s episode had some very pleasant and interesting surprises! (Apologies for all the salt and negativity so far ^^;; Finally, onto the positives!)

I’d been wondering for a while if we were going to meet Holy Mami this week, even though the anime had already established Mami as a member of the Wings of Magius earlier on. And I did genuinely like the way they portrayed Mami in this scene. She legitimately looks out of her mind at some points, and it’s clear that the truth about Magical Girls has taken a huge toll on her mentally. Her mini battle with Yachiyo was short but sweet, with lots of nice movements and imagery, especially this shot right here:

The ribbon concealing her eyes and her Soul Gem (aka her soul and her actual self) is a really, really nice way of depicting that Mami is not really in her right state of mind, and that her current actions aren’t really her. I know a lot of fans didn’t like the brainwashing thing in the game, and even though it looks like they’re still keeping that in the anime (judging by Mami’s behaviour, she definitely seems brainwashed to me), at least they’re portraying it in a nice way. By the way, I applaud Yachiyo for being able to defend herself against Mami for so long with a whole person on her back xD

Sayaka was probably my favourite thing out of the entire episode. Again, like with Holy Mami, I was really hoping we’d get to see her this week ^^ I loved how her entrance parallels the way she saved Homura from Mami in Rebellion, and I’m sure hardcore fans will pick up on that before her identity is even revealed ;) Sayaka was never my favourite character out of the Holy Quintet (even though I still liked her a lot!), but oh my gosh she was amazing in this episode. I think it’s something to do with the cape? Maybe it’s the cape LOL but gosh she really did seem like a knight-in-shining-armour askjfha;sj (♥ω♥*)

And back to Mami... that part with her losing her mind (literally) after Sayaka shows up was creepy but also perfect. I like that she seemed to temporarily regain her sense of self when talking to Sayaka, but then just the talk of her guilt and shame and everything just comes back to haunt her again, and we see her succumb and lose herself once more. I didn’t think her transformation into Holy Mami would be portrayed in this way, but this is better than what I imagined. You actually get a sense of how painful the process is, and feel how much against her will it is to fall to a point where she’d hurt her friends and other innocent people. The whole idea is disturbing, but each time I think back on her reaction to finding out the truth in the original anime, this really doesn’t seem too far-fetched at all.

That entire battle between Mami and Sayaka/Yachiyo was kind of cool and kind of weird at the same time xD Honestly I can’t imagine Sayaka and Yachiyo to be able to run around freely with that many bullets flying all over the place, much less repel all of them, which Sayaka is shown doing at one point xD Iroha using her Doppel again is another thing that I didn’t really like, though. I just really don’t like how Iroha is always shown to be utterly useless fighting in her Magical Girl form and always has to end up relying on her Doppel to do anything. (Except for that previous battle with the Rumour that I discussed just before. Let’s not get me started on that again lmao.) But it’s nice to see Yachiyo using her Doppel as well (it looked really cool!), and I really liked that minor detail about how easy it is to lose yourself when using your Doppel. It’s not something we think much about when playing the game because of the game mechanics, so it’s always interesting to think about what the Doppels entail from a story perspective :) Anyway, despite some logical inconsistencies and Iroha resorting to her Doppel yet again, I did really enjoy this battle, and it definitely made up for the lackluster “battle” that we got with Iroha and the Rumour. We can really see where the budget went this week, huh xD

I also really loved how Touka literally just sits there sipping tea and ignores all the chaos happening around her. She shows no desire to help Mami or step in just in case something happens to her (since Mami’s on their side now and all), which, to me, really goes to show how purely cold-hearted Touka is. Or has become. (Shhh game spoilers xD)

And while we’re on the topic of Touka, I’m going to talk about how much I absolutely adored that final scene. It’s hard to visualise it while playing the game, so seeing the scale of the Wings of Magius was possibly frightening. We’ve always known that there are heaps of Feathers, but just seeing them all packed together in one big creepy dark hall, all cloaked and hooded, really goes to show the immense size of this cult. It’s not just some small club created by a few girls. The scale of this cult is insane. As for Touka’s speech? Inspirational. And I say that with full knowledge of the Magius’ crimes and wrongdoings. Honestly, with the way she speaks, I can’t imagine many Magical Girls being able to say no and walk away if they knew The Truth already. Touka is one amazing and charismatic speaker, and even though we’ve always known that she had to be to some extent to get so many Feathers, seeing it in action was truly a different experience. Terrifyingly persuasive and frighteningly charismatic, that child.

And that is why I applaud Rena. She’s able to stand among so fellow Magical Girls, listen to someone preach about salvation after literally just finding out the truth and learning about her own inevitable fate, not know of the dark side of the Magius, and still be able to walk away. Rena gained a new level of respect from me with that one simple decision, and I already loved her heaps before this. And Kaede really did join the Wings of Magius, huh :O We even got a shot of Kuroe! Welcome back (?), girl! xD

I quite liked how they showed the rest of Team Mikazuki joining in such a subtle way. It’s much more impactful to tease it like this rather than straight-up showing you the process of them joining right from the get-go. The way they end the season like this leaves a very haunting and unsettling feeling, especially considering that Iroha gets taken away from Yachiyo as well! Now that definitely wasn’t in the game!!! xD I was expecting the season to finish with Iroha and Yachiyo back at Mikazuki Villa alone and swearing to save the rest of the team, so this definitely came as a HUGE surprise to me. I’m really curious as to how they’re going to go about this change, as well as the change with Kaede joining up and the obvious Kuroe thing. (Btw Sayaka literally sweeping Yachiyo away like Prince Charming almost had me swooning LOL Sayaka was seriously SO COOL in this episode!)

And finally, we have Alina. I’m honestly still pissed off at how they handled her introduction, and wonder if anime-only fans can even tell that she’s a Magius and not just a Feather or some other kind of position (like Mifuyu), but I did enjoy the final scene of her. I think it makes it quite clear that Alina is going to be one of the Biggest Bosses, even among the antagonists, and the way she name-drops Walpurgisnacht was not what I expected but a pretty good decision, in retrospect. Anime-only fans will definitely feel that sense of familiarity they want just by hearing that name. Since this Witch is so iconic to the original anime and we probably won’t be seeing her until the very end of the next season, I think it was a nice idea to drop the name here to keep those anime-fans who expect lots of explicit PMMM references happy and hooked. In fact, the combination of Holy Mami and Sayaka’s appearance and the mention of Walpurgisnacht all in one episode makes me think they packed them all into the season finale to ensure that these anime-only PMMM fans will be back again for the next season (since us game players will almost definitely be back anyway haha xD).

Oh, and that ending song is so good! I loved “Alicia”, but this song was a really nice way to end the season and had a definite kind of “season finale” feel to it.

So yeah, that basically sums up my thoughts for this jam-packed episode xD Lots of stuff I feel could have been handled A LOT better, but also a lot of stuff that was absolutely amazing. The second half was significantly better than the first; that fight with Holy Mami and the ending with Touka and Alina were definitely the best parts.

I’ll be writing up another review post for the season as a whole and posting it separately, so I’ll end this one here and save my overall impressions for that one ^^ If you’ve read to the end, thanks so much for reading and I hope to see you there as well ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡