#you'll see that i am empty. a nothing person

[bredforloyalty]

i have to use tumblr less some of you are becoming like healthy stable fully realized people (or always have been) and i'm happy for you and cheering you on and acknowledging the pieces of advice that appear on my dash but tbh it makes me feel.. not good. due to my headspace these last few weeks or months or years

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: James has been persuing you for years and you've never said yes, until now?

Genre: Fluff 😇🎉 (bc i love happiness, ur welcome)

Warnings: misunderstandings, lovesick!James <3

It's not James's fault he's been head over heels in love with you for longer than he can remember. And it's really not his fault either that he's spent years acting like a complete and utter fool just to have a sliver of your attention. 

Talking the loudest in any room you're in? Easy.

"Accidentally" flying too close to where you're sitting in the Quidditch stands while he's supposed to be playing just so he can flip around obnoxiously? He's done that over three times now. 

So, when he hears you'll be at the Three Broomsticks this evening, it isn't surprising to anyone that he convinces Sirius and Remus to accompany him.

The moment they walk in, their loud demeanor makes everyone turn their heads. It's no secret James, Sirius, and Remus are the handsomest guys in your year — so no one could blame you when you look up too. 

Your friend digs her elbow into your side when James sees you looking and struts to your table. You sit up, taking a long sip of your pumpkin juice as James leans in and crosses his arms.

Sirius and Remus stand behind him, amused. "Ladies," James winks, his eyes focused only on you. "What brings you here on this lovely Friday evening?"

You turn your head, avoiding his gaze with a small smile that makes James lose his mind, "Nothing that concerns you, Potter,"

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asks, unfazed by your bluntness as he motions to your empty glass. 

When you stand, James smoothly moves out of the way and you send him a look behind your shoulder. "Mm, no thanks. But if you want you can walk with me to order my own drink," you joke, not thinking he'll actually want to.

But, if James was a puppy, he'd be your puppy. You have him wrapped around your little pinky and the only person who doesn't see it is you. 

"Gladly," The boy smirks and his arm brushes yours as he walks next to you. You frown a little but don't say anything. You've never minded James's attention, and you know he's been after you for years now, but still you can't wrap your mind around him being serious about it.

In your mind, the attention was always bound to fade with time, and you wouldn't be caught as the fool who'd fallen for it.

However, as you lean against the bar to order another pumpkin juice and you feel James's eyes glued on you, you start to wonder. 

"So, when's the expiration date for this little game?" you ask, looking at him seriously. 

James leans against the bar too and completely turns his body to you. "Hmm? What?" he asks with a smile. He tucks the loose strand of hair from in front of your eyes behind you ear, seemingly proud of himself when he can see you clearly again. 

"This," you point at him, and then throw your arms up dramatically, "Whatever it is that you're doing."

James just smiles. He's not really catching on as his hand slides closer to yours on the bar counter. "What am I doing?" he whispers, leaning in. He has that look in his eyes, the one that makes your stomach flutter. 

You move your hand away from his. You sound exhausted, "All this flirting! Aren't you done yet?" you say it a little loudly and the woman who hands you your drink sends you a glare. Your cheeks heat up and you mumble a small sorry as you slide her your money. 

James catches your other arm before you can turn around and walk away from him. "Hey wait, what do you mean am I done? Do'you want me to be done?" he sound unsure and you can see his confusion on his face. 

Now you're confused. "Are you not planning on being done?" you whisper.

James can't hear you over the loud music and chatter inside so he moves you outside gently and you don't have to time to wonder why you let him.

It's slightly dark but the air is warm and James can hear you now when you ask the question again. He looks you over, still extremely puzzled by the entire situation.

"Wait, done with what?" he asks.

You blink at him. "What?" you feel like you're losing your mind. 

"Am I done with what?" he asks camly and you roll your eyes. 

"Done with flirting with me!" you exclaim, running a hand in your hair, "I- I don't understand, James. Why haven't you moved on? Sure, it was funny for a while but it's been years, even you must find the joke stale by now?"

James mouth opens and closes like some kind of fish and then he stares at you like you have lost your mind. "Joke? What joke?" he says and walks a little closer to you. He sounds even more confused. "Y/n, do you want me to stop flirting with you?"

You bite your lip, "I mean, yes? Because, it's not really funny anymore. I didn't mind it, Potter, but —" you pause and then hold the drink in your hand tighter. "Okay, here. What if I say I like you too? Can we just have a good laugh about it and then it all be over?"

James's frown deepens and he waves his arms in the air. "Wait, you think I'm joking?"

You blink at him again. "You're not?"

James runs a hand through his hair, chuckling in disbelief, "Of course I'm not joking," he walks even closer and you feel his presence as your skin tingles. You look up as he brushes his thumb on your chin and then smiles warmly, "I'd never pursue anyone as a joke. If you said you like me, then I would say thank Merlin and then I would kiss you until you couldn't feel those gorgeous lips of yours," he says it so calmly but you almost drop your drink. 

"Wait, so you actually, no-jokes, like me?" 

"Oh yeah. Why would you think I was making that up?" James moves his thumb to brush over your lips now, a look of adoration in his eyes, "I'm not that committed to my jokes," he teases. 

He pauses to think, "you think a twelve-year-old boy would write you cheesy love notes every class and actually send them if it was a joke? Or likewise, a sixteen-year-old would spend all of 6th year reading every single book you borrowed from the library just in case he had the chance to impress you? Or lose sleep over the way you wear your hair, or know that you change your nail-polish every week but you rotate the same colors since 4th year," James blushes a little at the admission and pauses, "and now I just sound like a creep, don't I?"

You laugh and the sound makes James grin. You hesitate but touch his cheek, tilting your head, "So, you meant every over-the-top gesture and every hilariously stupid pick-up-line?" you ask, "ever since 2nd year?" 

James nods, leaning into your touch. "Mmm yeah, but we can pretend that I was joking about the pick-up-lines that way it's less embarrassing for me," he says sheepishly.

"But I liked your pick up lines," you pout with a smile, your shoulders relaxing. 

James's eyes sparkle, "Yeah? You did?"

You smile at him. "No, but now it's funnier that you were serious about them."

James looks at you and he laughs. He throws his head back with a grin and your chest tightens even more. Has he always been this handsome or have you just never let yourself fully admire him? James looks at you again and his next words almost cause a heart attack. "Merlin, I've never wanted to kiss you as much as I do now," 

Your eyes flicker to his lips unconsciously and you realiz ehow close he is. You're nervous now and James can tell. Gently, he takes the drink in your hand and sets it on the small ledge of the building. It might fall but that's the least of your worries. For now, you need to focus on remembering how to breathe. 

Something must be different in the way you're looking at him because James asks you if he can kiss you. Years and years of flirting and he's never asked you that. 

You don't answer him and just when the silence starts to become awkward you take his cheeks in your hands and pull him towards you. Your lips hit his clumsily and you gasp into his mouth when his arm swoops behind you and he pulls you closer. James kisses you hungrily and you start to wonder why you hadn't done this years earlier.

When James disconnects his lips from yours and looks at you sweetly. "I didn't think you'd say yes," he whispers, "even less that you'd say it like that," his cheeks are tainted pink and your lip-gloss stains his lips. 

"Neither did I," you admit and look away a moment. Goosebumps run across your arms and, because you don't know where to put your hands anymore, you put them in your jacket pockets. You frown and pull out the galleons you'd used to pay for your drink with your left hand. You look back at James and he looks guilty. "What's this?" you ask. 

"I paid for your drink when you weren't looking. I knew you'd most likely say no again but I couldn't resist. I'm sorry," he holds his nape and sways on his feet.

You stare at him, slightly annoyed but also impressed that he'd put the money in your pocket without you noticing. You outsrech your open palm for him to take the money. "You'know, you make it very hard for me not to fall head over heels in love with you, James Potter."

James grins and closes your hand around his. "That the point, love," he says. 

You roll your eyes, realizing if he'd gone behind your back to pay for you he'll never accept your money now. "So, are you gonna ask me out properly or what?"

James smirks, "Are you going to say yes this time?"

You grin, "You'll just have to find out now, won't you? Tenth times the charm?"

"I don't think that's the expression—"

"Just ask me already, you idiot," you giggle.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Mother, I am hungry☹️ could you please give us a list of Kinks you think Konig would have to satisfy my hunger?🙏🏾

Hooooo boy!

CW: PURE FILTH below the cut, 18+ only. Light dom/sub, disciplinary/power play, exhibitionism, light bondage, domestic servitude, somnophilia, yandere!König killing someone who saw you naked, squirting, porn, M/F/F/F

Nature lover. The blowjob in the forest fantasy wasn't a lie! König thinks it would be romantic to make love to you in the middle of a dreamy glade, rut you against a sturdy tree, or have you take him in your mouth on some picturesque beach empty of other people.

He would also love to "warm himself" during a nice little wintertime walk, perhaps push you on your belly in the snow and tug your pants down just enough for him to slide inside your wet heat. The contrast between the frigid air and your warm, wet pussy drives him over the brink in mere minutes, and it's cute to watch you pout all the way back home – he knows his cum is spilling out of you, staining your underwear. He should give you a wash when you get back to turn that frown upside down ❤️

Powerplay. König loves to be in control. He would like to set a few rules for you and punish you when you "accidentally" break them. Those rules would be nonsensical and superficial – such as that you must greet him in nothing but your underwear when he comes home, ensure he always has clean clothes in the drawer, cook his favorite meal on Sundays, things like that. "You know what this means, Schatz," he mutters on your neck upon noticing you've broken his Sacred Rules, much to his delight – because the disciplinary action is that he's allowed to take you right then and there.

It's even better if you beg him not to punish you, explaining that you're tired or that you forgot. It's too bad, because only a safeword will save you. König is already getting his leaking cock out while you're on your knees, asking him to be merciful, just this once. "You know I have to do this… It's the only way you'll learn," he says before commanding you to either open that pretty mouth or turn around and bend over.

Squirting. He would be overjoyed if he got you to squirt. König has mainly watched amateur porn because regular porn is too emotionless and unnatural in his opinion. His preference is women doing solo – that's when he learned what squirting was and immediately vowed he would make his future wife squirt one day.

Exhibitionistic tendencies. This kind of ties in with the sex in nature fantasies: König would secretly love to get caught while having sex. He would particularly love it if the one catching you was a man, so that a "rivaling male" could see 1. how a woman is supposed to be fucked 2. how much you enjoy being fucked by him 3. what they can never have, i.e. gorgeous, whimpering, devastated you.

Yandere König would also kill the one who witnessed you two (and what's worse: witnessed you in a vulnerable, naked, quivering state), and I mean kill him right away, then come back to continue the session as if nothing happened 💀 In his mind, it's all very simple: he has to get rid of the one who laid eyes on you, then give you and himself an orgasm. In that order.

For him, there's nothing odd or wrong with striking a bloodied knife on your nightstand when he returns from his quest for blood. He'll insert his still hard cock inside you while speaking sweet nonsense in your ear, cooing how tight you are in a shaky, adrenaline-filled voice. You try to ignore the fact that he now has dried blood on his muscles, but it's no use. König reminds you of what he just did when your face distorts with tight pleasure. "No one is going to see you like this and live," his voice is almost a growl when you cum around that torturingly long cock.

Dominance and prisoner play. König would love to tie you up and use you as his personal fucktoy. And not just for one session… But for a solid, good 24 hours.

He wouldn't tie you too tight, just enough to prevent you from escaping the bed while he goes about his day, drinks a beer or two, comes to you every few hours to either make sweet, slow love to you… or fuck you with pent-up lust.

You being tied and helpless like that makes König attentive and tender one minute, and needy and greedy the next. You never know how it's going to be when he walks through that door, all you know is that he's going to pump you full of his cum.

He stays to watch it ooze out of you – it's actually one of the main events of this whole show because it means he'll have to fill you up again soon. He might also give himself a fap if you look too used and miserable or if you beg for mercy and whimper that you're sore. It's no problem: he's more than happy to cover your body with his seed. He's merciful like that.

When the day is done, you're a mess – inside and out – and he's fucked you stupid more times you can count, giving you so many orgasms that you feel soft in the head. What's fun though is that the man himself is in no better shape: you notice his legs are shaking when he finally comes to release you, looking like he has lost more than a few brain cells due to breaking the Guinness record of fucking you and himself senseless.

If you ever want to fulfill this fantasy, you will receive abundant aftercare. And I mean abundant. Bathing, cooing, pampering, treats, praise, and cuddles galore!

Mirrors. Fucking you in front of a mirror is like watching the best porn ever. Anything with a reflection will do, as long as König can watch you come undone, helpless and needy for his cock while he gets to display his strength. This man will probably install a mirror to your bedroom ceiling without asking your permission, but he prefers doing you from standing, prefers to do the lifting and the work.

Ballet dancer from behind and a stand & carry variation of Nelson are his favorite positions when using mirrors. All you have to do is enjoy... and obey when he tells you to watch what he's doing to you. "Look at that... You like being fucked like this?" he pants in your ear with strain and love while you both can see just how much you like it – his cock is practically glistening from how wet you are.

I'm sorry, were you busy? God forbid if you're wearing a dress or a skirt while making an important call. It doesn't matter if you're sitting: König will approach you, gets on his knees and then starts to kiss his way under your skirt.

Good luck trying to concentrate on that call when there's a horny giant forcing his head under your cute little dress. Soon he's sniffing at your cunt and tries to pull your underwear aside with his teeth. Try keeping your voice normal when he actually succeeds and you feel the first lick sweep over your pussy, flat tongued and hot.

You don't dare to fight him or tell him to stop in the middle of your serious, official and important call, which means you can feel the smiles on your poor wet heat. Of course König notices you're starting to sound like you're half crying... It only spurs him on!

You're a bit disoriented and don't register it at first that this hulking man is already climbing on top of you. It's rare for him to beg, but as he continues to dry hump you and then forces his cock between your thighs in search of your wet heat, you can hear him whisper: "Engel? Bitte... I have to put it in. Don't say no…"

Somnophilia kink. Yep, he has it, because the more helpless you are, the more "loving" he gets. König loves to watch you sleep, safe and secure there in his bed and in his arms. He caresses you like you're the Sleeping Beauty and if you happen to sleep naked (like he always does, this guy is a bit of a nudist at home), his fingers soon drift down to tease your clit, his hips start to slowly grind against your leg until you stir.

Gangbang fantasies where he's the one doing all the banging. One of his fantasies is to have multiple women all to himself. König would never seek to fulfill these fantasies in a committed relationship, but when he was lonely and only had his hand to keep him company, König used to dream he could have a row of women waiting for him when he returned from a mission 🙄

Usually three ladies who all want to worship and touch him and tell him how big he is, how heroic he is. He will command them to all fours, and they obey happily, ready and willing to be used. He does these ladies from behind, switching between them until everyone, including him, is on the brink of an orgasm. In these fantasies he always makes those women cum first. No one can say our King lacks manners! (How cute that he's so sure of himself... Would König even have the willpower to switch from one pussy to the next, not to talk of outlasting three women? I highly doubt that.)

Or how about these girls getting on their knees to suck his cock? In König's desperate, lonesome fantasies, these cute ladies love him so much that they start to fight over who gets to take him in their sweet wet mouth. They will eventually solve the fight by forming a queue – every woman gets half a minute with their King before changing. The long seconds when his cock is bouncing there in the cold air, devoid of a warm mouth, are torture. But he would stand strong!

Our brave soldier falls asleep while imagining how these purring, warm babes would cling to him for warmth and cuddles. Everyone is happy and pleased and he has been loved and worshiped thoroughly. In truth he just came in one minute, then tries to curl into a fetal position in a bed far too small for him. Cooling down from the day's highs, this Goliath is all alone, his last thought being that if he could get just one real woman to admire and love him and hug him before they go to sleep together, he would be the happiest man in the world.

[suuuupernovaaa]

zeykoyu

zeykoyu [zɛj.ˈko.ju] n. healer

Anonymous Request: I would like to request a Neteyam x Na'vi reader with the "you'll never be her trope", where reader is promised to Neteyam, but he loves another. He is sort of a shitty asshole to her, a girl who is a quiet not very well known member of the clan; he treats reader with the coldest shoulder. However, he overhears the girl talking to her friends about how she just using Neteyam to gain status in the clan. He then sees reader for the caring person she is, and grovels for forgiveness.

I have resigned myself to my fate.

In what feels like a very short amount of time, I will be mated for life before Eywa, to a man who does not love me. In fact, he barely seems to tolerate me.

He looks at me with disappointment, and sometimes, it even looks like he feels disgusted by me.

It wasn't always this way. Neteyam used to be a friend, and someone I trusted. He was so kind and good-hearted when we were younger, but he has turned his back on me and come to resent our pairing.

As if it is my choice! I am the next Tsahik of our people, and he the next Olo'eyktan. We are promised to each other from youth, and there's nothing either of us can do that would not cause much upset in the clan, and with our families.

Though Neteyam clearly does not want to be mated to me, even more than that, he does not want to upset his family.

The change in his heart happened just a year ago, and it was slow at first. We went from friends to acquaintances to strangers, and now to near enemies, because of her.

I don't really blame her, though. He fell in love with her, and she can't control that. I felt jealous at first, but over time, as Neteyam has treated me more and more coldly, I have started to hate both of them.

If I'm being honest, I understand why he loves her; she is beautiful, and funny, and many men have had their eyes on her. I am plain, and small, and not many people speak to me. She does seem a better match for someone like Neteyam, and I almost wish we could be free of this pairing.

As much as Neteyam does not want to disappoint his family, I don't want to disappoint our people; I am a talented healer and I will serve our people well as Tsahik.

So I have resigned myself to my fate.

Our fate.

--

Neteyam watches Sa'me from a distance, as she approaches the center of home tree with her friends, dropping off a full fishing net from a day's work.

His heart swells with pride at the woman he loves, and then, he gets angry. These two feelings always accompany each other.

Love and adoration for Sa'me, and disappointment towards his fate. It doesn't matter who he loves; he's promised to Y/N, and he can't get out of it. That's just not how it works.

She is the next Tsahik and he knows, despite how he wants things to be, that she will be an excellent Tsahik for their people. He has to put the people before himself.

But he does not have to be happy about it.

He approches Sa'me and her friends, but their backs are to him as they empty their nets, and as he gets closer, he hears their conversation.

"Aren't you worried, about his upcoming mating ceremony?" one friend asks.

To his surprise, Sa'me laughs. "No! I have gotten what I wanted, and I am relieved it will end soon."

He stops in his tracks, listening closely.

"Sa'me!" a friend chastises.

"Well, I have three offers for my hand, from fine men. I owe that to Neteyam. When they knew he wanted me, that made them want me. I think I'll pick Marek - he's handsome and strong. Neteyam is nice, but too boring for me. Plus, the way he's treated Y/N since we started spending time together... I almost feel bad for her. She will have a miserable life."

The girls laugh, and Neteyam spins on his heel, charging away.

--

He expects sympathy from his sister, but earns only an eye-roll when he tells Kiri what he overheard.

"Well, she's right. You knew you were promised and pursued Sa'me anyway, even though it was kind of obvious what she was doing. And you have been an asshole to Y/N. She's really nice to still put up with you - to even speak with you. You've treated her like dirt the last year, and she's never said a mean thing about you. Even though, she would be right to do it."

Neteyam stares at his sister, slack jawed, unsure whether to feel angry or guilty. A fine mixture of both rises in his chest, and he sighs.

"You used to be friends with her, you know. She's so sweet, and so kind. She's only putting up with your behavior so she can be Tsahik, and not because she cares about the title. She wants to help the People, and knows she'll be able to if she's Tsahik. She just has to marry an asshole to do it."

"Okay, okay," Neteyam says, waving his hand in the air, begging his sister to stop.

"Well, I just don't feel bad for you, Teyam. You need to grow up and deal with what you did."

He rolls his eyes, but he can't deny it: Kiri is right.

--

Without her noticing, Neteyam starts to watch Y/N as much as he can from that day in. Her daily routine is simple. She rises early, and heads into the forest to gather supplies she can use in her healing practice. Once she's done, she begins going around to people who she knows need her help, in and out of their homes all day, gaining hugs and smiles and thanks wherever she goes.

She is soft-spoken, and kind hearted, and her small stature only serves to make her seem more gentle, more dispositioned for healing.

He sees the way people look at her as she approaches - they look at her with relief, and hope, and when she leaves, she leaves people better than she found them.

Neteyam feels sick to his stomach.

He tries to remember what it is about Sa'me that drew him in. He sees her beauty, he can't deny it still, but it's clear now that her beauty is only on the surface.

Did she ever compliment him? Support him? Offer him a kind word?

He can't even remember what they talked about... for a year.

"Neteyam?"

He turns from the tree he's leaning against and sees Y/N approaching, a large basket in her arms.

"You look ill. Are you okay?"

Neteyam wants to tell her he's fine, that she should leave, but he feels light-headed and instead, he sinks to the ground, a sweat breaking out on his brow.

"I'm... okay. My head feels light."

She kneels in front of him, rummaging through her basket. She pours a few things in a cup, and mixes them together with a powder.

"Here," she says, handing it to him. He takes it, his hands touching hers for a second, and he's struck by how small her hands are.

She's so delicate, like a flower, and he has certainly done his best to trample all over her.

The shame he feels is unlike anything he's ever felt before.

The drink is bitter, but it starts working almost immediately, and the faint feeling begins to fade.

"Thank you, Y/N," he says, handing the cup back to her. She takes it with a small smile and a nod, and rises to leave. Neteyam reaches out, grabbing her arm. "Wait."

She turns, frowning down at him. He stands up.

"I want to apologize to you, Y/N. I have been... terrible. I have neglected you, and I have been an asshole. I'm sorry. I would like to start again."

She tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes, staring deep into him. He wonders if she can see his soul.

--

Of all of the things I thought Neteyam wanted to say to me, 'I'm sorry' was not even on the list.

My instinct is to tell him to go to tell, but there is such a strange look on his face... he still looks sick, and sad, and a little bit ashamed.

Well, he should be. But also - what choice do I have? If Neteyam is offering me a chance to make the best of this situation, shouldn't I take it?

I remember how I felt about him once. Hopeful, excited, nearly in love... but that feeling is so far away now. I'm not sure if there's even a possibility of re-gaining it.

But, it seems smart to try, if we are to have any chance at a happy life.

"Okay," I reply finally. "But I don't think Sa'me will appreciate it."

Neteyam hangs his head for a moment, and then meets my eyes again. "What she appreciates does not matter. You are to be my mate. You are all that matters."

He places a hand over his heart.

I would like to trust him, but it's going to take more than one conversation where he says the right things.

--

It seems I cannot get rid of Neteyam now. When I gather supplies in the morning, he is there. When I make my rounds in the village, he is there. He is always... there.

Not silently, either. He is full of questions. Everything I do and say, he has a question about. If it wasn't endearing, it would be exhausting.

After a week of this, he asks me to take a ride on our ikrans with him - and I can't say no. I have been so busy working lately, that it sounds like a wonderful and welcome break.

Early in the morning, we head out together, and take one of the longest rides I've ever been on. In the air, we twist and turn and glide together, and all the while, Neteyam is whooping and throwing me ear-to-ear smiles.

He gestures to a nearby cave in the floating rocks, and we land together, dismounting. We are both wind-burnt, but smiling.

"I must ask you something," I say.

"Anything," Neteyam replies, chest heaving from the effort of riding.

"Why did you change your mind? About Sa'me?"

His face darkens, and he sighs. "I overheard her talking about how being seen with me has gotten her offers from many fine potential mates, and she doesn't care that I'm promised to someone else."

I wince. Even if Neteyam is a jerk, I don't think anyone deserves to be used like that.

"I'm sorry, Neteyam. Though, that does explain your sudden... interest."

He shakes his head. "No. After I heard what Sa'me said, I went to Kiri and she, uh, pointed out what an asshole I've been. She also pointed out how kind and smart and talented you are, probably to let me know, uh, what an asshole I've been. So I started kind of, uh, watching you. And I realized she was right."

"About what?"

"Well, I am an asshole but... you are the most kind-hearted woman in this clan. And you did not try to withdraw from our match because you deserve to be Tsahik. Not for the title, but because you are best suited to serve our people. You care about them more than yourself. You're selfless. And beautiful. And I was blind to think anyone could be better suited for me."

I bite my lip, and take a step back. "Neteyam, that all sounds very nice, but I..."

He steps forward, reaching out and taking both of my hands in his. "It isn't enough. I know that, Y/N. I don't expect our problems to be solved now. I just want a chance to prove to you, who I really am. What a good mate I can be for you. I can make you happy. I want to. It's all I want."

I can feel the tears gathering in my eyes, and I blink hard to keep them at bay. "I always thought so highly of you, Neteyam. I want us to be happy. I want to try."

He squeezes my hand tightly, pulling me to him.

"I will make you happy. I promise you, Y/N. Please, let me kiss you."

I hesitate for only a moment. The look in his eyes is so sincere, and his eyes fall down to my lips for just a moment, then back up to my eyes, and I can't resist. Everything I want seems to be within my grasp.

He places his hands around my waist, and pulls me in.

"Say yes," he whispers. I can't find my voice, but I nod.

The kiss is explosive. A year of anger, frustration and want packed into one kiss. My body is flush to his, and I feel the tears spilling over, but I can't stop them, and I don't want to pull away.

It feels too good.

I put my hands in his hair, gripping tightly, sighing against his lips, and he groans.

Finally, we pull away, and stare at each other, both breathless.

"I will make you happy, healer," he whispers.

I might believe him now.

[x0x0josephinex0x0]

comfort | kmg

i am feeling icky (physically and mentally and basically in all the ways, send help lol) and as always mingyu is my comfort human so i guess i was just feeling it. reader is mentioned to be an introvert. also reader is in a bad place mentally, lowkey is implied to be a depressive episode (self-insert? hi). kinda sorta from mingyu's pov. pet names used (honey, baby, my love). kinda sorta based on this song (How to Love You Today by Son of Cloud).

mingyu understands the difference between being introverted and being quiet -- after all, he's friends with hoshi, an introvert, who can blow his eardrums at a moment's notice. he's also dating you, and while you're no hoshi, you're definitely not a wonwoo, either.

more than understanding the difference between quiet and introverted, though, he knows you. so he knows that look you have in your eyes -- the hollow, dull look that steals over your features, sometimes for weeks at a time, while you struggle to feel anything at all. he sees it in you now as you stare out the window at the gloomy clouds gathering over the hills.

it's getting bad again. he knows it. you're usually so still when you sleep, and so splendidly expressive while you're awake, but recently that has switched -- your dreams are restless and your sleep-talking more vocal, and you spend more time sitting and staring than you do normally, your face blank and empty, your hands cold whenever he reaches for them. these are the kinds of days that sap you of your saturation, leaving you feeling listless and drained -- times when mingyu has to remind you in gentle tones to eat, to come to bed, to join him in the shower. your mind is not always kind to you, so mingyu has made it his personal mission to be so.

the worst part is, you've stopped singing. when you'd been "just friends", sometimes your constant humming and vocalizing would peeve mingyu when he was trying to concentrate, but after living with you for almost two years, he barely notices it anymore. in fact, he only really notices when you stop, and it's one of his first indicators that something is off about you.

he's been waiting for you to tell him what's going on. usually he can tell you're in a bad state before you can, but mingyu also knows that if he tells you he's noticed, you'll start trying to hide it from him. because you don't want to be a burden. (the thought of you ever being too much for him is laughable to mingyu. he loves you like it's breathing -- just an instinct, something he never even needs to think about, because it's just that easy. every person is heavy sometimes, so why was it so unreasonable for you, his most beloved and treasured person, to believe that he'd willingly carry you, no matter how heavy you got?)

so he waits, staying aware of you always, noting how the dark circles under your hollow eyes get more pronounced. and he worries, of course he does. but he also knows that one day, soon, you'll --

"mingyu?"

he's in the kitchen shredding lettuce for a sandwich for you when he hears it: that tiny voice you use when you're sort of kind of hoping he doesn't turn around to look at you. because you're on the verge of tears, or you look like hell, or a million other reasons that he couldn't care less about. so he turns around. "hey baby. what's up?"

"i...i don't feel good."

that's really all he needs. that's really all it takes, if he's being honest with himself. he goes to you where you hover in the doorway, afraid to take up space, and pulls you into his arms. "i know, honey. i've got you."

there's nothing like the feeling of having your tense muscles relax into him, the way your body releases all that angst as he runs a warm hand up and down your back. you lean your head against his shoulder and repeat, "you got me?" softly, almost embarrassed.

but even as mingyu's heart aches for you -- even as the tears prick the back of his eyes as he thinks of how you must've been suffering -- he feels so grateful. grateful that you trust him. grateful that you feel safe enough to do what he knows is so scary for you. grateful that you choose to do it despite everyone in the past who has made you feel inadequate for needing a hand.

he presses one, two, three kisses to your temple. "i've got you, my love. i've always got you."

[sneepseverus]

About your last post... Imagine professor!reader that sits next to him at dinner, and sees that something is wrong with him, so she casually rests her hand on his leg, worried about him. He's actually very excited - and that leads to some serious teasing 🤭

-🌶️

Yes, I love it when Snape is teased! Here’s a little something 🙈

Friends With Benefits

Snape x gn!reader

Warnings: foreshadowing of sex but nothing explicit

Word count: 500+

You try not to bother him when he's eating, but you can't help but notice his legs shaking underneath the table. He's barely touching his food, and one hand is fidgeting on his lap. Snape is not someone who willingly reveals personal information, so you know better than to ask him directly. He also is able to hide his emotions fairly easily most of the time, but some days are harder than others, understandably so.

Without thinking about how it could be received, you lightly rest your hand on his leg and look at him, letting him know you're here for him whenever he needs it.

He turns his head frantically, his eyes moving between your light touch on him and the sweet smile on your face.

"Excuse me," he mutters before suddenly getting up and leaving the Great Hall.

He attempts to escape to an empty location, pacing back and forth as a million thoughts run through his mind. He lets out a groan as his hand slowly drags down to his crotch. "No, what am I doing?" he thinks to himself. "My first mistake was letting my emotions get the best of me in front of them, but my second and biggest one was getting hard when they were simply trying to comfort me. This is embarrassing at best and highly unprofessional at worst. Shit, I'm such an—"

All of a sudden, he finds himself tripping over his feet and falling into your arms. "Y/N—I mean, Professor Y/L/N—I'm so sorry," he rambles, avoiding eye contact as he tries to collect himself. "I don't know what's gotten into me, but I think it's best I spend the rest of the evening alone."

He turns around to run away from this confrontation, but you pull him by his cloak, stopping him in his tracks. "Severus, I just want to make sure you're okay. I don't wish to overstep any boundaries, but I care about you," you admit, resting your hand on his shoulder as you wait for his response.

After a few seconds, he slowly turns back around and finally looks you in the eye.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, but we are...friends after all, no?" you continue.

"Friends? Oh yes...of course."

Remembering the other "friend" that decided to show up tonight, he looks down and covers himself with his cloak, afraid you'll notice it.

However, it was already too late. You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow and smirk at the sight. "Seriously, I'm always here for you whenever you need me. I mean it," you emphasize.

He takes a large gulp, taking a step back for every one you take forward until he finds himself trapped against the wall.

Afraid he might try to break loose again, you place your hand next to him, leaving just a few centimeters between your body. "I'm done with dinner, so I'll be in my quarters...if you'd like to take me up on the offer."

You finally pull away, leaving with a smile on your face.

Soon after, you hear a series of footsteps from behind you. You sense the gap between the two of you closing as you reach your corner of the castle.

While it may be best to keep things professional...there's nothing wrong in helping out a friend once in a while, now is there?

[norrisleclercf1]

Letter 2

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader x Charles Leclerc

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Angst, just plain Angst

Words: 677

A/N: Yes yes this part is short but it's supposed to be this way as it mainly just focused on Nico's letter

Our Boy Series Masterlist / Previous: Broken Hearts and Duct Tape / Next: Memories of Old and New

"Ducky, don't be alarmed at the empty apartment. I'm coming back," 

I swear I am. I know you're looking at the apartment and thinking I've freaked out and left. I swear I haven't. 3 days ago, you told me the most incredible news anyone could ever hear from the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. 

Not once did I think about having children, but with you? I cried. You are the first person I've ever truly loved. Who cares what people will say? I'm going to protect you, Ducky, and our unborn baby. Whenever I think about us having a baby, I cry all over again. I'm sure you're scared, I would be too, but really I can't wait. 

I keep picturing a little baby with my eyes and your gorgeous hair, their little laugh. When they say their first word, everything. I'm sure you don't care about all this, but I've returned to Germany. There's something I need there: a ring. A specific ring I want you to have. My stuff is gone because I've bought us a house. 

A pretty house boarding the line of Monaco and France. Lavender is everywhere. It's just like you told me that night. Walking the streets of that little Greek town under the stars, we talked of our future. I want to win the title, and you want nothing more than to have your dream home. Well, Ducky, I got us that dream home. 

On the back are the directions. Movers are coming tomorrow for your stuff, but forget it all. I'm here waiting, painting the nursery. I picked a soft blue, not that boyish blue, but that blue that reminds me of a cloudless sky. It's perfect, you'll love it. I even have little stincles to paint ducks on the wall. 

Ducky, I love you so much. I've retired from racing to focus on our family and build on it in the future. Fuck, I have to call your Dad and ask his permission to marry you. He doesn't like me very much, probably the age gap. I don't blame him. I'd react the same way with our little one. Oh, I forgot the house has a little nook for you. Where you can read and watch the lavender fields. 

We have our problems, Ducky, but we can work through them. We always do. So please, grab your stuff and join me here at home. We can talk more when you get here. I love you. 

God, I love you so much, Ducky. 

Nico 

"He called her Ducky," Elijah whispers, looking up to see his Dad with tears in his eyes. Elijah turns to his Pa, Charles, staring out into the garden, but the slight sniffles also let them know he was crying. "Charlie," Lando reaches out for Charles, who turns face crumbling. "He loved her. He loved her so much." Charles didn't understand why he was crying. 

Maybe it was because if Nico had reached out or Y/n read the letter, he wouldn't have had this life. Or it could be he was crying in relief because he was the one honored to raise Elijah and love you. He didn't know. "I have to make a call," Charles stands, ruffling Elijah's hair and kissing the crown. His hand slips out of Lando's, who moves to pull his little boy into his arms. 

"Is Pa okay?" Lando hums, fingers untangling those blonde locks as he watches Charles hold the phone to his ear. "No, Ducky. He's not okay. But, he will be." Lando refused to lie to his children. It's the one thing he wouldn't do. "Dad?" "Yeah?" Taking a deep breath, Elijah folds the letter back up. "We need to tell Mama what the letter said." Lando hates the anger that flares up but shuts it down quickly. 

"I know," Charles comes back into the room, flinging himself into the chair and rubbing his face hard. "They're on their way," "Who is?" Lando asks, sitting up, and Elijah leans in more. "Nico," 

--------------------------------------------

Taglist: @thomaslefteyebrow @a-stray-soul @formulas-bitch @mickslover @myescapefromthislife @glow-ish @kittyfluffypaws28 @ryntro @copper-boom @allabouthappiness @jaydaaasworld @christianpulisic10 @lyraleclerc @daddyslittlevillain @dreamerrosie @driveswiftly13 @harrysdimple05 @sueesstuff @why4anne @nataliambc @cwiphswmwasohmm @buckybarnessweetheart @makingmyway-downtown @elijahslover @kapsylia @zeusmyster

[here2bbtstrash]

the shape of your body (explicit)

genre: fluffy slowburn smut

pairing: jimin x reader

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

word count: 24k 🙇‍♀️

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

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

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

read on AO3!

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just wish you knew him, too.

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

Well, you know a few things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the train stops moving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Definitely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you pay them for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You in grad school too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”

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

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

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

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

Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

“You just did,” Yoongi notes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

“Fucking asshole!”

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

“Yoongi?!”

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

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

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

“What about the coffee shop?”

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

“What about the bar?”

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

“What about the—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

“Is this about the penis?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gay together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess so.”

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

Another invitation, you realize dumbly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was fast.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

“When are you done with classes today?”

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“White and sparkling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s hear it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”

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

~*~

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Subway Boy, huh?”

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug. “I guess. It’s new to me.”

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

“I think so, yeah.”

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

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

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

“Is Joon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will,” you promise, and you do.

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Met?” he guesses, teasing.

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

“The Louvre?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hobi?”

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

“Jimin?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In a bit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jimin,” you breathe, “I l—”

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

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

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

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

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

[sweetkpopmusings]

wonwoo boyfriend headcanons <3

a/n: i am vibrating from how much cold brew i consumed on an empty stomach so i'm writing this in hopes of wonwoo thoughts calming me down but honestly i'll just end up crying <3 pics not mine~

content: fluff | wc: 1.4k | warnings: none! | pairing: boyfriend!wonwoo x gn!reader | requests: open

wonwoo is the love of my life actually. it's scientifically proven and peer-reviewed that i love and adore him with all my heart and soul, so this post is going to be long and filled with my love for him <3

sweetest softest most loving boy in the world <3

he's the type of person to show love through small, tender gestures and actions

loves playing with your hands

i can very clearly see him lying in bed, grabbing your hand delicately, and twiddling with your fingers while you both watch tv/read/scroll on your phones

he also does this absentmindedly when he’s thinking

he may be lost in thought but that doesn’t mean he’s unaware of your presence <3

your presence actually helps him think more clearly :-(

he'll always come to you with questions or problems he needs to work through because just talking to you helps him sort out his thoughts and he knows you'll always offer support and advice

he will call you or send you voice messages about this when he's away too

you are always always always on his mind

and he never lets you forget it

wonwoo so clearly loves you with every little thing he does

even the unconscious ones

walking on the outer part of the sidewalk so you're farther away from vehicles, putting his hand over your head when you enter a car, getting two of a drink/snack so you can have some, tidying up your area of the bathroom counter, and so on

taking care of you is his second nature :-((

sometimes wonwoo just stares at you with complete wonder in his eyes because he can't believe you're real

when you catch him doing it and ask if there's something on your face he just shakes his head and says in tiny "oh no it's nothing"

he looks down to his hands and he's blushing SO much and fighting back a lil smile because he's overwhelmed by how much he loves you i'm screaming

if you push up his glasses when they start to slip or straighten the collar of his shirt or fix a loose strand of his hair he will absolutely lose it

you broke his brain like he doesn't know how to contain himself when you do kind gestures like that

he's muttering and stuttering "thank you" over and over again

he's so cute and flustered so you just give him a lil kiss or pat on the head and he goes completely silent and his eyes are literally sparkling with his love for you

no thoughts head empty except for his love for you <3

wonwoo is a big big BIG fan of quality time

he adores doing things with you, and he equally adores sharing space with you as you both do your respective things

if y'all are in the living room reading different books but cuddled together on the couch, wonwoo is genuinely in heaven

he also loves having you around while he games. like if you're in his vicinity he's so at peace even when his emotions are at an all-time high during the game

and he loves just hanging out while you're doing something you love !!

he simply loves your physical proximity (or digital if he's touring/you're traveling and y'all just facetime or call while doing your own things like cooking or working)

he will let you know when he wants your undivided attention though

often he will do this by biting your shoulder :,-)

you could be making tea in the kitchen and wonwoo will walk up and give you a backhug and gently bite your shoulder so you know that he wants you to look at him and talk to him i'm sobbing thinking about this

and he's so content talking about the smallest things with you :-(

after he bites your shoulder he hums "what're you doing?" and you know he knows what you're doing but you love him so much so you answer "i'm making tea"

he proceeds to ask you lil questions about your tea, your mood, what you plan to do while drinking your tea the correct answer is "hang out with you, wonwoo"

he could actually listen to you talk for hours i'm not even kidding

he's obsessed with the sound of your voice and all the idiosyncrasies in your speech, gestures, etc

he starts picking them up and seventeen is like ?? when did you start saying/doing that ??

and then they meet you and go OHHHHHHHHH that's what it was

after that they will point out every time he acts/speaks like you and he gets a lil embarrassed but also his heart swells because he loves that you've become such a huge part of him <33

he strikes me as the kind of guy who likes to listen to podcasts with you

hear me out

walking around outside, there's a breeze in the air, you're holding hands, sharing headphones, and listening to a podcast about your shared interests

someone hold me i'm having a breakdown

he's so good at comforting you

he becomes so in tune with your emotions that whenever you come to him sad/angry/stressed/etc he is ready

even if he doesn't know exactly what to say, he will listen to you and support you however you need

he'll hold your hands in his while you speak and maintain eye contact so you know you have his full attention

and whenever you cry he will gently wipe your tears away before grabbing tissues for you <3 and sitting with you while you settle yourself <3 and then he'll ask if you want water or anything to make you feel more at ease <3

he's also the absolute best at supporting you through all your successes

he is your BIGGEST fan

he'll always be proud of you and tells you that frequently because he thinks you're so amazing in whatever you do and he wants you to celebrate yourself as much as he celebrates you

he will be walking on cloud nine if you ever compliment a song/performance he's done

like if you like what he's doing that's more than enough for him to be satisfied with it

if he's ever insecure, you telling him all the wonderful things he does makes a world of difference

also so silly with you

he loves making comments that make you laugh

he gets the proudest smile on his face when he makes you laugh

he likes to whisper lil jokes or ad-libs to you when you're hanging out in a group

because he loves when you giggle or even laugh loudly at something he added to the conversation just for you

sometimes he'll make notes of a funny story or a joke he wants to tell you the next time he sees you :,-)

he also will keep notes (mentally or on his phone) of cool things he's learned so he can share them with you !!!

few things make him happier than the look on your face when he tells you something interesting <3

speaking of notes

wonwoo loves leaving handwritten ones for you

if he leaves before you wake up, he's putting a good morning note by your usual mug or your toothbrush so you see his encouraging message as soon as you start your day

if you're going to be apart for a while, he'll write longer notes or hide different little ones around your place so you can get surprise wonwoo words while he's away :-(

any notes you write him are kept safely with his things !!!

he keeps a special one in his wallet or phone case, so you are always with him and he takes it out and reads it when he misses you or is feeling sad even though he has it memorized

if you give him a gift based on the notes you two have written each other throughout your relationship, he WILL cry

he just loves sentiments like that <3 he's a sentimental guy and he likes to show you his love through things with meaning because he thinks it's the best way to convey how special you are to him

wonwoo loves you with everything he's got, and it's clear from the way he interacts with you on a daily basis that you are an important part of his life

no matter what, he's thinking of and caring for you because you make him feel so loved and cared for that he wants nothing more than to make you feel safe and adored <3

sorry i gotta go clutch my crocheted wonwoo plushie to my chest and cry because i love him so dearly :,-( i hope everyone gets the wonwoo they deserve <3

[blueberry-writer]

𝘉𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘪'𝘮 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴!

·˚ ༘plot: do you really think he doesn't notice how everyone seems to want to take you away from him? (aka bsd mens when they're jealous!)

·˚ ༘ft: Dazai, Chuuya, Ranpo, Nikolai, Fyodor

·˚ ༘tw:fem!reader, possessive behaviour, a bit of dark content, sfw, mention of guns and/or murder in Osamu and Nikolai's part.

·˚ ༘ a/n:okey, i'm really guilty for not posting for two months and more and i'm really sorry about it..I'll do my best to post as soon as i can but all the tests and things i have to study in this semester are really taking me a lot of time- to make up for it, here some hc!

You can see DAZAI jealous in two different ways: When he's being a drama queen or when he's really jealous.

The first, is when he notices that you are talking to a literally another male human other than him, but in a friendly way.

He knows you very well, maybe even more than you could ever think, he know that you see that guy only as a friend and nothing more.. buuut! we all know Osamu, he's still gonna by a dramatic pain in the ass

"Ohh my, belladonna! Are you cheating on me?! You're really breaking my poor heart!" Dazai interrupted the conversation between you and your friend. "whaa- Of course i'm not!" You answered him "i don't belive you! Look at you, talking with someone else other than me! Am i not your favourite anymore?!"He puts his hands on your hips and rests his head on your shoulder. "Or, am i?" he whispered. you sighed, he is always the usual dramatic, your usual drammatic boyfriend. "You are.. and what can i do to be forgiven?" "mhh, uh i know! a romantic double suic-" "do not even think about it" You cut his words "uff!..maybe.." he pointed his cheek with his forefinger "a kiss??" you smiled: "Deal!"

The second, when he's really jealous, it's really rare. Osamu's eyes glaze over with jealousy when he sees someone who could actually take you away from him.

He can see how you are really comfortable with that person and how he seems very intrested in you.

Of course, you're not gonna betray him, don't you? He's not gonna lost his angel,right?

At that point, not only Osamu Dazai is jealous, the demon prodigy is envious.

'why all that does seems so natural? is this how betrayal works? Why is this happening? Why all off that seems so...human? Is she going to leave m-... No. She's not. I can't forget that my poor angel is a human,it is obvious that she could be subjugated by tricks like this. I'll just..I'll just help her a bit to not fall in the trick'

Let's just say that, whoopsie! Oddly, Dazai's gun is suddenly out of bullets!

You heard the front door open,there was only one other person who, apart from you, had the keys to the house :"Ohhh belladonna, I'm hooome!" You got out of bed, half asleep " 'Samu, it's late! where have you been all this time?"you yawned a little as you spoke. "Aw, is my angel tired?" he chuckled. "Mh a bit, i was waiting for you" you rubbed your eye lightly to try to stay awake. "oh you'll make me feel guilty! luckily, I got you a surprise~" you were really so tired that you didn't realize that Dazai,in his left hand, was holding a bouquet of red roses. "do you like them?" he smiled. You were a bit surprised, how sweet of him, don't you think? "I love them!" This surprise really waked you up. You took a second to admire his figure, how lucky you are, he really is your type. Tall, slender, a good build, a gun in his right hand, brown hair surrounding his beautiful fac- uh oh, wait a second- "O-Osamu, why do you have..why do you have a gun in your right hand?" there was a second of silence before dazai's voice eased the tension "mh?oh!, don't worry, it's unloaded! Ya see?" he tried to fire a few shots but nothing came out of the gun, so it was definitely empty now. "I went out to buy new bullets because they ran out, and you know, for my job it's always better to have a gun in my pocket!" his smile looked so innocent, how can you not belive him? You sighed with relief: "You're right, sorry..gosh, what i was even thinking!"he put the gun on the couch and lifted you up, you wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck "don't worry your self so much bella" he took a deep breath, as if to inhale your perfume one last time, before starting to walk towards your room "shall we go to sleep now, my sleeping beauty?" You nodded while you leaned your head in the crook of his neck and closed your eyes. "i love you so much Osamu" You murmured he chuckled "i love you too, angel. i would do anything to have you by my side"

Its' really easy to understand when CHUUYA is jealous. He's visibly frustrated and gets annoyed much more easily. But if you ask him if he's jealous, he'll answer you with "Pft, me? jealous? Baby please, that's absolutely ridiculous".

Sometimes it's quite funny to see him jealous, he's like a chihuahua growling at everyone who seems interested in you, and it's adorable!

Even if there are those times, when he's cleary ensecure.

Now, don't get me wrong! He's Nakahara Chuuya, a port mafia esecutive, he's really strong and smart. he isn't ensecure about what he is. He knows his strengths and limits.

He's ensecure about other person value. No one can assure him that the person you're talking to right now, can't give you more love and attentions than he gives you. He know what he can give you, but he's 'scared' that maybe there's someone who can give you more than him. He want only the best for his love, he's scared that he can't give you what you really deserve.

Thankfully, Chuuya isn't very good at hiding what's on his mind, it doesn't take you a long time to understand what he's thinking about.

So please, remind your boyfriend that he's more than 'good enough' by cuddle him a bit more in those times. I know you can do it, dear!

you and chuuya were sitting on the sofa, or rather, he was sitting on the sofa while you were sitting on his lap. chest to chest, you had your legs wrapped around his waist and your hands were playing with his hair. "I love you" You whispered with a smile, interrupting the moment of silence that was created between you and him. "i..i love you too princess. i really, really do." He seems like he was still lost in his toughts. You sighed, "Chuuya, please, look at me" and in the moment your eyes met, you immediately understood what was on his mind. "sigh, you leave no other choice.." "mh? what do you mea—" You kissed him "I love you so much Chuuya Nakahara" You kissed him on the forehead. "You're more than enough for me" Now on his cheek. "I want nothing more than to be with you" Now on his other cheek. You kissed him once again on his lips "I wouldn't trade you for anyone in the world" his eyes were wide open as his cheeks turn in a bright red: "God..I love you so fucking much, you have no idea"

RANPO doesn't become jealous very often. Like in the case of Dazai, he knows you and he know you see that person only as a friend. He's absolutely fine with you hanging out with your friends as long as most of your attention will still be focused on him.

He understands and is totally fine with you, once or twice, refusing to go on a date with him because you have to go out with your friends but if your rejections increase..well, this man will sure get jealous— why are you giving most of your attention to them and not him?? That's not fair! not fair!

Now, i think Ranpo could have two types of reactions:

◦Being sticky:

"Ranpo, please.. I already told you that this night i'll hang out with them!" you complained as you tried to free yourself from Ranpo's embrace. "Mhh,no! you've already gone out with them three times this week" he tightened his grip a little tighter and put his head in the crook of your neck. "That's not fair! I'm your boyfriend, not them!" he snorted. You were a little confused "..Ranpo, are you jealous?" There was a moment of silent, he was looking at you with a look that seemed to want to tell you 'Are you kidding me sweety?'. "Of course i'm jealous! wasn't it obvious? You're giving me less attention because of them..Do you really don't understand that?" You were a little surprised by how he admitted to being jealous without any problems— but Ranpo is still Ranpo after all. Well now, what excuse are you going to use with your friends to explain them that you can't go out tonight anymore?

◦Avoid you,until you understand "how he felt" when you 'rejected' him:

"C'mon! Why are you ignoring me??"you said in an exasperated tone, he's been ignoring you since this morning. "mph!" he snorts as he spins the swivel chair, leaving his back to you. "Ranpo i love you, but please, can you stop being childish and tell me why are you avoid me?". He sure was childish sometimes but you love it and he knows that. "i'm not childish! Why are you even bothering? Just go out with you friends since you prefer their company to mine!"He pouted "Oh but you know it isn't true!" "alalalalala i can't hear you! Guys can you hear her? Because i cant" Not only was he ignoring you, but he was also making a scene out of you in front of the agency. "Okey okey, i'm sorry! Can you please forgive me..?" "nope, that's not how it works!" you sighed, again, this guy is gonna make you crazy one of these one day. "Mhh, will you forgive if i buy you some snaks?" He turned in your direction, finally "That's not enough dear—" Your kiss was really really was unexpected for him "Not even if i spend all this day with you and i'll promise to give you more attention?" "You'll give me more attention that you give at them?" "I will for sure!" You smiled "..You really know how to make your favourite detective forgive you,don't you hon'?" He smiled back at you, and let you those beautiful emerald eyes that fall in love with.

Is like impossible to see NIKOLAI jealous—but only bacuse you can't see his jealousy, it doesn't mean that he's not!

Actually, we all saw how Nikolai is good at acting, right? So he'll play the part of the 'never jealous boyfriend' even when he's really jealous.

You can talk about and go out with every person you want, he for sure will not be the one to stop you—He doesn't have problems with your friends!..as long as they see you only as a friend as well.

But when you start to talk about someone who winned your love once(like an ex), or would have winned your love instead of him (like an old crush)..Well, he will act all lovely and being like "oh no,don't worry dove! You can talk about them,i don't mind!" while behind his wide smile he's allready planning something.

The death of that person? a threat? both? who knows! That's for sure an idea for a quiz

However, in front of you, you will only see you wonderfull 'never jealous booyfriend' with who you can speak about everything.

"and i swear, he was like my biggest crush on higschool!" You said while chuckling and smiling remembering you when you were a student

"Oh really?" Nikolai asked as he chuckle as well "i bet you were such a a messy student in love,dove!~"

"Yeah in fact,I was!" You keep smiling, sometimes it's nice to remember the past, especially when you can talk freely about it with your boyfriend!

"But then..i never saw him again after the last year of school" you sighed softly and chuckled "you can't imagine how sad I was about that at the time!..Now i only laugh when I think about it" you smiled.

Nikolai smirks a bit "well, you have me now~ don't you?"

You looked at him with a warm smile "yeah, and i'm glad about it"

"aww! dove, your gonna make me blush!i can fell my heart melting~" Nikolai put a hand to his chest, being dramatic, as usual.. but what is life without drama? boring!

You only chuckled at his reaction

ahh, nikolai..your nikolai, your boyfriend. He's so perfect isn't he?

He's handsome, funny, silly and extremely intelligent when needed. How can you not love this guy?

he doesn't even get jealous for you to see! He's such a good boyfriend that rather than playing the boring part of 'the jealous boyfriend', he kills without your knowledge all those who tried to get your love before him.

he gets rid of that nagging emotion called jealousy and you save yourself a trauma, it's a win-win situation, isn't it?

I have the head canon that FYODOR is quite a really possessive person, so i think he can sense even the slightest advance from other people towards you.

Of course, he's not the kind of guy who shows that he's possessive, instead, he will make small moves, almost unnoticed by you, but which imply that you are his, only his.

His arm around your waist as he listens to you talk with your friend, sometimes is closer to you a few centimeters more than usual, his intention of wanting to get all your attention making you forget who you were talking to until a few minutes ago.

There are only few times when he does something maybe a little more..evident. Looking at you with the smirk that you like so much while you try to converse with someone, he becomes a little more clingy which he usually isn't,he takes your chin with his index finger and made you to look at him, before leaving you a sweet and quick kiss.. all infront of your friend.

You blushed hardly after Fyodor kissed you infront of your friend.

"I- I-" You were trying to say something, but you were too stunned to speak.

Fyodor smirked"Oh? What is it now milaya? up until a few seconds ago you seemed to have a lot to talk about with your friend. why don't you keep talking mh?"

𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙/𝙤𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙! 𝙊𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜💙

[vesora]

from ada's ask

Link

"There is no external life, there is no need to use any methods to recondition or train your mind. It is much faster and much easier and you are hundreds times happier just letting go of the mind. To not depend on anything but everything to depend on you is a top state you can grasp with no method. All those things they do are in them and they are making them up all the time.

They successfully forget about the old man & manage to go on living like the new man. But unless you understand none of the two are real, that time is in you and not you in time, you won't have the indescribable happiness, freedom, and control you do as your Self.

You'll constantly try to change what you think is you, act in 'your' interest instead of others, continue to hurt and be hurt, experience desire and fear, have things happen without your consent.

There is nothing that is 'mirroring' you, you are either conscious of one thing or the other. You are conscious of the world, that's why there is a world. You are conscious of a body and that's why there is a body. YOU COME FIRST and not the world.

There are no others without you & the only reason there is a world in which there are things to desire is because you are conscious of a world in which you are this particular body that instead of having all the things it wants, it's lacking them. You are conscious of wanting. But there is nothing to want because before you want, YOU ARE CONSCIOUS.

Realize the root of all the concepts. After you can be conscious of being a body which has or hasn't, whatever you want whenever you want. Thought is absolute and instant. "I AM" and whatever you add to that is undeniably. You see it, you don't just daydream about it. You see what you are with no waiting for it to become natural because it is natural for the person you are identified with. Unlike manifestation, your fearlessness, happiness and freedom are now permanent and independent. Perfection follows you everywhere. It is truly like nothing else, it is not being empty but being everything, it is forever love."

[bts5sosempire]

the tyrant (viii)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna ryomen x reader 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 5,852 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: old time period, mention of arranged marriage, polygamous marriages, slow-burn yandere, power imbalances, peer pressure, mentions of infertility, etc. 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: "you were the apple of Sukuna’s eyes, the one who brought him solace and everything. The only thing you were incapable of was giving him a child, an heir he wished to spoil like he did to you." 𝐚/𝐧: I AM FINALLY DONE! Went pass the word limit istg. But hope y'all are ready what y/n is planning. 👀 btw, please like ❤️, comment in the "comment" section 📝 for tagging, and reblog 🔄 if you wish. Forgot I edited some parts in different chaps too, so if you see minor changes in them then I was fixing them.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Another few more months with the year ending, and another would mark the end of five years. Despite being bedridden, it had made you uneasy since spending the luxury time doing nothing had made you naught. Yumi and the personal servants who you had personally hired for your inner circle inside the castle had been keeping you posted up about your businesses from the outside. Everything was going well.

Holding the reports over the fire, it lights up when the corner catches, "I'm gonna leave for a bit." You told Yumi, who was alarmed by you.

They started to panic, "You already received your reports saying all is well; you shouldn't move around a lot." Yumi tried to sway your mind, but you had already stood up from your bed and in front of your long mirror.

With your arms stretched out, the personal servants you hired from the outside who knew about your secret come to your aid. They swiftly took off your attire and replaced it with your pseudo outfit. You rarely snuck out, but today you feel rebellious. Staying in bed may get you sick in staying in bed.

You turn around to grab Yumi by the arms and put her in your futon, "Stay here and be good." With a soft smile, you open the door and poke your head out and look around for a particular male valet. Outside, your room was quiet; everyone was prepping for dinner now and cleaning the dining area to feast later. "Where are they?" And right on cue, their eyes met yours when appearing from a corner, and they understood immediately when you nodded at them.

With the quick perception of their view, their feet race towards you. "Everyone is busy; it should take about two hours at most." They informed you with a bow, their gaze not meeting yours.

"Good," coming out of your room, your feet glide across the polished wooden boards as they tail closely behind you. Behind every castle are secret walls; you happened to know it by accident during your research days as becoming Seijuro Hajime. It somehow comes in handy now.

After making swift turns around the halls, you stop right in the middle of a wall that is made of a stack of jagged stone slabs building on top of another; its color that was once in the shade of grey birch is now darkened with tints of green. Its gap of lines was filled with green and yellow moss and heavy, unruly vibes hanging from above. The area you'll frequent quite a lot is an abandoned wing rumored to be a gorgeous garden but is now defiled by aging neglect. The large pond that was filled with colors of Koi fish is now empty with weeds and putrid water that is left behind by the rain. Chip redwoods of a bridge leading to a roofless gazebo that represents the heart and main attraction of the pond. Overall, everything is in bad condition.

Your fingers smoothly ran along every crevice and protruding bump of each slab, and it wasn't until you reached the smaller rock with a small mark that could go unnoticed under the human eyes if no one was paying attention to it. Faintly remembering the details at the back of your head, you push the rock, which caves into your strength.

There was a low rumble from within the walls, and debris fell from above the shaking forces. The wall split into two, and faint mechanic whirring gears could be heard. Torches mounted on the wall spring into life as each illuminates the dark long descending stairs ahead of you. Red wooden beams were worn for ages, also holding the tunnel. A faint smell of wet, sticky residue lingers in the air.

Well, that's ominous. You turn around to face the valet, and they bid you a half farewell, "Stay safe." Nodding at them, they press another adjacent block to the opening block, and the doors come sliding close.

You descend the stairs and follow one pathway until you reach the middle, where it diverges to three; if you remember, you should take the one on the right. It also says in the blueprint that there is a trigger for activating traps; right in the center is a hanging bell above. If the bell is cut loose, all the mechanisms within the walls will run. You eye the old rusted bell that is darkened with a barely color of copper resembling it.

°

"Did you miss me?" Someone throws themselves and wraps their arms around your neck behind you. You place a hand on top of the table to save yourself from toppling forward face-first into the food. The cup of warm tea of amber liquid spilled over your nimble fingers. Their scent entered your nose, and it was the same person you bumped into before. "You know you're very hard to find; I scoured the whole city." Sliding their arms around, that now occupied your arm, they sat beside you as if they were your lover.

Personal space for you is also gone.

You patiently set the cup down and grabbed the rag near the portable stove that warmed the teapot. Wiping away the spilled remnant, you inch away from the clingy woman by loosening your arm, but she only tightens it with a pout. For some reason, you don't think you understand the choice a young woman like her makes to try to be cute to get their way. I mean, you're a woman. That's why you're probably immune to it.

In the first place, you only came out here to be a spectator since, within your report, there should be two high clans born male heirs trekking through the city that Sukuna rules from Yuichi. But you doubt you can complete your task today if you don't do anything.

"It's rude not to look at the person talking to you. Do you know who I am?" They tugged your arm. "My older cousin runs this city, and I could have your head, too, you know?" It looks like it will be hard to get your attention, "My cousin is Sukuna Ryomen."

Upon hearing his name, you tried to remain indifferent, but you only let out a small huff of a laugh. 'This should be interesting to pass the time.' The woman thought throwing her cousin's name around would add weight and make her cave in, but it seemed to be doing the opposite effect. Without her knowing, you decided to amp up a charming facade. "The Sukuna Ryomen?" You turn your head to face her, and the coy smile that split across your lips made the woman frown. Why aren't you scared of her? "Do you know," you stare into those pomegranate eyes that share the same color as Sukuna, "throwing your cousin's name around isn't safe too? You're making yourself a target for-" your eyes roam around the room. A few people were looking your way, and the woman noticed it too and flushed red, "-those to take advantage of."

"If only you looked at me when I asked!" Kiriko fumbles out an excuse, and her face becomes hotter and red.

This makes you decide to toy with the woman. Since she has a relation to your supposed husband, it would be easy to probably get the information right if you knew how to ask. Although you think you wouldn't be able to, it's not hard for you to play around with her. "From what I heard, he isn't a good man."

"What do you know about him?" She bites back.

"He plays favorites with certain people, and there's this special wife he's rather fond of." You quip to get a reaction from her, and it seems to hit the mark. "I saw her a few times, and she's lovely that many of these city and village folks adore her. Got to say she's a woman after my own heart if she wasn't married."

"You shouldn't like her!" Kiriko jealousy spouted, and with a tug of your arm towards her, you thought she might yank it off its socket. "She might be pretending to be nice to make people like her! You should like someone genuine like me!" She declared, and this made you snort another laugh. A woman jumping the horse, it seems. You don't know what she has heard about you, but it is pretty amusing. "What? You don't believe me?" Now she sounds offended.

"It's not that I don't believe you," wanting to tease her more, you swoop in closer to her, "but I don't believe in tarnishing another person just on baseless rumors or what they have or heard against her." Kiriko shrinks back from the sudden closeness. She was quiet, and then you turned your attention away from her. "Sir," you raise a hand to pay for your tab. Once they're near, you drop the payment into their outstretched hands.

Sliding your arm out of their hold, you lighten up your pace with the woman chasing after you. "Wait!" They shouted after you, and you made eye contact with a nearby seller who understood what you indicated. The seller grabbed a bucket of water and poured it onto the ground right after Kiriko was close enough to be after you. Kiriko shrieks out when the lower half of her attire is wet. "Watch where you throw that dirty water, you peasant!"

"Ah, I'm sorry, Miss." They awkwardly apologize.

Kiriko bites the bottom of her lip and looks at your back; you don't even turn around to check if she's alright. She watches your figure disappear into the heads of an endless crowd with a little bit of resentment. She'll make you look her way no matter what since she wants to take you back to her homeland as a spouse by the end of her stay, even if it's by force.

[at a random inn]

"So what's the deal?" You suddenly appeared by Yuichi's side, who got slightly spooked.

"You got to stop doing that," the man told you; he put a hand over his chest. You only laugh and cross your arms before looking below from the second floor. Yuichi saw you spectating two males who stood out like a sore thumb in the crowds of primary cotton colors clothing of grey, dark grey, and brown. "I thought you weren't going to come?"

"And miss this glorious sight?" You humor Yuichi but cut it short too. "I must return to the castle soon, or my covers blow. So who are they?" Motioning the two rich strangers talking lowly to one another, Yuichi tilts his head slightly toward you.

"The one in deep indigo is Totsuwa Iriyu; from my sources that I have people gathered around, his family used to serve the Emperor before they fell from grace. The funny thing is your husband was involved with their family, and there were speculations that he took them off from the Inner Circle of the Emperor Hoshu." Yuichi explains, and you thought that might be something Sukuna would do. "And the one in dark green is Mugetsu Rintoru, and he's that buddy, in the deep indigo best friend too. He also has a problem with your husband too."

"Everybody seems to have problems with Sukuna; I'm unsurprised." Amusement dances across your lips, "How long are they planning to stay?"

"Approximately up to three weeks since they did get an invitation from Sukuna." Now that made you raise an eyebrow.

"Guess invitation isn't what is going in their mind too; nobody comes here in Sukuna's land with no pure thoughts since he is the most sought after when it comes to wealth. And revenge." You then un-latch your arms and pat Yuichi's biceps. "I'll approach them in my time, but keep an eye on them."

°

Your servants all scamper away when Sukuna walks through the hall; they all refuse to look up but still greet him in acknowledgment. But the one that felt like they were getting a heart attack was the one who was your spies. Sukuna had come to pick you up for dinner quite early. They all gave each a look to see who would intercept him. There was a back-and-forth motion of 'No, you' between the servants. But it wasn't until Sukuna positioned himself in front of them they all hesitantly looked up.

"L-Lord Sukuna, Lady (Name) is still resting." One squeaks out in fear; despite being hired by you, they still fear Sukuna.

"Move aside," he commanded.

"She wishes not to be disturbed, My Lord." The same person quickly interjected.

Sukuna clicked his tongue, "Do you wish to die?" He glowers down at them, and they all shrink back. "Now. Move. Aside." Sukuna said each word with heavy and daunting syllables, and the servants sidestepped demurringly. If their heart could leap out of their chest, this would be the best time.

Before Sukuna could open the door, it slid open, and there was you. "What's with all this commotion?" You don't need to look at your servants who tried to stop Sukuna lets out breaths of relief. Sukuna peaks over your head and sees books lying on your table.

Sukuna: "Thought you were resting, no?"

You: "I did; I woke up a while ago."

Without further ado, you try to bypass Sukuna, but he takes good of your hand. You wanted to rip it from his hold without causing much fuss, but he tightened his grip. "You seem well enough now; your colors are back." He took steps with you side by side.

"You are already starting to make me sick," exasperation released from your voice when you tugged your hand again, and Sukuna tutted at you.

"There's that tone that I've missed," he purrs, and if he's successfully getting under your nerves, he's doing a great job. You were clenching your jaws. "I've got something to show you after dining too." From his tone, Sukuna was rather excited; it was only a slight pitch lighter.

[excution field]

A heavy fur coat was draped around your shoulders. You don't understand why he brought you here right after eating. Most of all, the execution ground. You got a hand to cover the smell. Sukuna leans heavily behind you with his arms encasing you; somehow, this feels familiar, like that one day. Once again, you attempted to shrug him off, but it always made him want to be closer to you.

There was fresh blood over the dried blood; even the stench of death couldn't be erased from this place. You never really visited the site; this was the first time in five years you had set foot on the ground where innocent sinners came to die by Sukuna's final resolution. "I like you to be the first to witness something that could lead me to more winning conquest." He said, leaning his head low and letting his lips touch your ears; Sukuna's breath fans over one side of your face. You silently tilt your head to look up at him; questions linger in your eyes.

Sukuna was jittering in excitement, and this was something. You rarely see him like this; he can be proud and loud within his moments. This is something new. He's barely contained.

Sukuna lets himself be away from you, which makes you inwardly happy. "Bring it out!"

It didn't take two frightening retainers to bring out a wooden craftsman box. Sukuna flipped the lid open, and inside, it was presented to be some long metal rod with wood attachments. You were observing not too far away from Sukuna. Sukuna lifts it out of its case and settles an aim. "Get the prisoners too." You recognize that black powder from anywhere when Sukuna pops the lid open and pours it into the opening of the barrel. Then he used a rod to push the powder more profoundly into the narrow tunnel before setting the breech on fire.

"What are you doing?" You ask him; somehow, dread-filled your chest when you saw three people lined up and tied to a thick wooden pool. You can hear their whimpers from where you're at.

"You'll see," was all he said; Sukuna leveled the weapon up and above over his shoulder as he aimed again, then pulled the trigger with a steady finger.

BANG!

The sound made you jump; you instinctively covered your ears in fright with your heart hammering, as did the people far and near to witness. Smoke came from the weapon, but it was pushed away and dissipated into the atmosphere by the wind. What you were looking at wasn't the weapon itself but the person tied to the wooden stake. Their head was blown clean right off, just from this distance where Sukuna stands.

Is this what he wanted to show you? The future? How it's going to be in his hand?

"Did I spook you? Sorry," Sukuna carefully put the weapon back into its case and walked toward you; he took your hands from your ears and slotted them into his own. Your eyes wouldn't move away from the headless corpse; it was stuck wide open, witnessing the scene. It wasn't until you blinked again and pulled your hands back from his hold then your curiosity overtook.

You: "What did you do to them?"

Sukuna: "It's obvious what I did, didn't it?"

You: "Yes, you did. I'm asking what kind of weapon was that."

Sukuna glances over his shoulder before covering the view by stepping to the side when you try to take another look. "I must admit, the Portuguese did come with something this time. It's a Matchlock rifle. It's one of the prototypes, not permanent yet."

"A rifle? You can kill someone from this distance?" Your furrowed brows and contorted face of confusion almost make Sukuna lose composure. This is undoubtedly the first time in a while that you have been interested in something and was willing to talk with him, without sassing back, of course.

"Even further, too," Sukuna confirm. "But like I said, this is just a prototype, not yet decided. I want to talk to the Portuguese and have a room ready for one of their men to stay behind and modify the rifle with me."

You: "Why modify it when it's already deadly enough as it is?"

Sukuna: "Not deadly enough to my liking."

°

You were back to your room and became a sitting duck again. 'If Sukuna could get that weapon, then we're screwed.' When evolution for weapons couldn't get any better or worse, you almost felt worried. Sukuna would indeed be able to conquer land much more and faster, but with that rate, even the death of others he's going to take isn't going to remain stagnant anymore.

More bloodshed and the lives of others will continue to bleed over this land of Japan.

"Get this letter to Yuichi as fast as possible tomorrow during your shift outside; we need information." You fold the letter with deft hands and give it to a male retainer. "Be careful."

"Lady (Name), you have a gift from Sultana Aida." Yumi hands you a box, and it is wrapped neatly. "It was sent earlier when you were in the...field."

You took the box and unwrapped the red sash around it. Sultana Aida has sent you self-care items, especially body oil, and cream. The scent was sweet and fresh, not overpowering enough to give you a headache. The oil inside the clear bottle was in a rich hue of gold, and the body cream was sealed tightly in a jar too. Sultana Aida had a penchant for making perfume and women's essential needs. You met them over a year ago during a foreign meeting.

"Send a gift back to her." You told Yumi, who nodded and went outside to where there is a room where you store all your possession and gifts.

[night time]

There was a fluid snap of your doors being open and closed; the person who always comes into your room as they please is Sukuna himself. Through the bronze mirror, you could see Sukuna in his loose attire, which exposed the skin of his partial chest once he was close enough to where the lantern light could reach. You applied the body cream you received today to your neck before Sukuna settled himself behind you and wrapped an arm around your waist and chin upon your shoulder.

You froze for a quick second. Sukuna closes his eyes in bliss to take in the scent. "This smells nice." Even if he notices your discomfort, he doesn't care at the moment, not right now. He nuzzles his nose closer until it presses against your neck, and the warm breath of his seeps through your skin and into the thinness of your night clothes. You close the lid over your body cream and set it aside.

"What do you want?" Your eyes remain on the mirror, which shows how relaxed Sukuna is; he got you in between his legs as they were propped up to where his knees were bending. There was a deep inhale from him.

"I can't even be here in my own home?" He inquired, "I'm here to spend the night with you." That made you decisively rip his arm off around your waist.

"No, you're not," you shot back and marched away from him to create a distance. "You have plenty of women in your harem who wanted to spend time with you," on the other side of the room, you defiantly look at the man, who gives you a lop side grin.

"I'm not bedding you, not right now." Sukuna restates your thoughts, "Just sleeping side by side." Your face was stoned, but it was enough for Sukuna to tell that you didn't believe him when your brows twitched. There was a 'huh' from you, and you were gunning for the door, and in a flash, Sukuna had you in his embrace again. Another momentarily struggle from you when you start to kick and tell him repeatedly to let you go. "Don't," he whispered huskily into your ear, "I won't do anything, I promise." The man carried you by the waist with both arms and settled down with you in a slump onto the large futon.

Sukuna loosened his arms, and you slithered away to the other side of the bed and got under the cover with your back turned to him. He wanted to push the boundaries, but he wouldn't. Getting under the surface, too, he remains still watching the slope of your curves highlighted by the sheet and your back rising and falling. Sukuna gathered your hair that was pools around the gap in between you both and played with the ends; he let them loop around his forefinger before running a thumb over the silk feeling of it. He then brings the strands to his lips and kisses them to bid good night to you.

Then the light went out.

°

You roll over in bed and bring the blanket under your chin to snuggle in deeper. But why did something feel heavy around you? There was difficulty opening your eyes, and when you did, sleep didn't completely fade away as drowsiness was still evident. If it weren't for the hand patting your back to lull you back to sleep, then you would've done so. "Go back to sleep." With a heavy grave tone that slinks into one of your senses, the haze of sleep washes away. Angling your head up, you see the fondness in Sukuna's eye and push him away in shock with an 'ack,' and Sukuna only rolls onto his back in bed. The man almost laughs at your reaction. Quickly sitting up in bed, you didn't realize how bright the room was when your face was scrunched up and brought the bed sheet up to your chest. Even outside was quiet.

Sukuna almost forgot you make so many faces during sleep and even when you wake up, although not this much. There was a yawn from you as you covered it with both hands, then you swept your hands through your hair. "It's almost near ten if you're wondering." He repositioned himself again on the futon, laying on his side with one leg propped up while he used one hand to support his head under his chin.

"Get out," voice groggy; you stood up from the bed to prepare for the day, but Sukuna reached across the bed and brought you back down.

"You should sleep in more; you look adorable when sleeping." Sukuna teases you, and by instinct, you try to tear your wrist away, but this further fuels him to bring you into his arms and lock you up. Cradling you, he brushes a few strays of hair out. The push and pull you both had is almost desirable to other women in the harem. Sukuna in the morning looks different, nearly too humane for your liking. When he brushes the hair aside, he lingers his hand on the apple of your cheek and brings his lips to kiss the top of your head. Your reaction was like a cat sprayed with water, always struggling. "I almost forgot; good morning to you too." The body scent you had acquired sticks to you so well that it is only what pheromones entirely throughout the night. Maybe this is the scent he likes, besides your natural scent.

"I took some time off from my affairs and decided to tend to you." If you look offended, you do indeed; anything he does for you sounds like an offense. The foreign topic of him trying to soften you up always seems helpless, but Sukuna has time to try everything; a man like him is never out of ideas.

"I don't need you to," glaring at Sukuna, his smiles widened even more, and you took the liberty to push his face away when he closed up again with your other free hand.

[afternoon]

He was serious when he said he wouldn't leave you alone. You wanted to be by yourself, but he made it difficult. Not only had he dismissed everyone who served under you and told them that their service wasn't needed for the day, but he was also hand-hogging you.

Sukuna grabs your hand, and you forcefully pull it away; he does it again, and you repeat it. This childish play continues until he grasps it tightly, forcing you to walk side by side. "Let go." You wiggle your hand, trying not to lose composure, and Sukuna swiftly plays with your fingers and separates them from interlocking his with yours to tighten the hold.

"No," that one-word answer from him had you wish you could disappear into the air magically. "I made a promise, and I intended to keep it." Sukuna brings you even closer as you bump into his arm.

You both were walking to nowhere, only letting your feet guide you and him around the fortress ground. It wasn't until Asuna's head appeared in your view that Danzo's tugged his mother's hand to tell his mother he wanted to visit you quickly.

"Danzo?" You call from a few feet away, and the little boy brightens. He lets go of Asuna's hand and runs toward you at full speed, and knocks himself into your legs. Danzo smiles happily at you, and you use your free hand to pat the boy's head. Asuna greeted you and Sukuna while lingering where she stood. Her eyes trail to your and Sukuna's hands which are interlocked tightly. As a spectator, the scene ahead of her almost makes it seems like a perfect family of three should be if Danzo were yours, even though you were awkward in showing affection to Danzo in front of Sukuna. She kept seeing you side-eying the taller man, who was observing every millimeter of interaction. Asuna's son was very fond of you during the first meeting, even if he had misunderstood you for being a character from a book. Although you don't mind interpretation, you were rather genuine in your exchange with Danzo.

"Have you been good?" You readjust the multiple layers of collars of Danzo's clothing, fixing any creases. Danzo nodded rapidly with a hum.

"Use your mouth," Sukuna spoke up, and you again side-eye him. Danzo's little body tensed up at the sound of his father. You pretended to wiggle your hand in Sukuna's and elbow his side purposely, and he saw a subtle disapproving eye and a frown from you. You were peeved with his tendencies. Why be a grown man picking on a child, especially his own? Even his half-brother was treated almost the same.

Before you can open your mouth to comfort the child, multiple voices enter the yard. Out and emerge from the corner is Eisha with her daughter and Sena accompanying the crown matriarch along with a few minor concubines. Everyone was locking eyes with each other and stopped their idling talking. Eisha (along with Sena) picked up on how close you were to Sukuna, and a knot formed in her chest when the apparent physical contact of hand-holding was the first thing she saw. A tight-lipped wry gambol set on her lips as she greeted Sukuna and ushered her daughter, Eri, to do the same, so the rest followed suit. But her eyes flickered to Danzo's last second; he was also close. Eisha knew that Asuna's son wasn't a thought in Sukuna's mind as he was just one of the many children he sired. Still, it tickles her interest why he was so close when her daughter wasn't granted the same physical closeness but a mere glance.

"Greetings Lord Sukuna/ Father." Then the rest greeted you, besides Eisha, due to ranking. You give the rest acknowledgment with a thin nod and adequately greet Eisha only. "What brings you all out here, Lord Sukuna?" She inquires with pique curio sitting at the back of her mind.

"Thought it would do Lady (Name) good for some fresh air." Then Sukuna turns the question to Eisha, "And what are you doing out here? You are frail and susceptible to the cold, which could worsen your health."

"I'm glad that you ask Lord Sukuna," she then pulls Eri forward in front of her by the hand gently. Almost as if she wants Sukuna to acknowledge the child. "I came out here with Eri for a walk after her studies." There was only a flat 'oh' from Sukuna, and from how he sounded, it lacked interest. Even Sena picks up on the tone, and that pricks a nerve. If Sukuna doesn't even care about her two previous children, then why would he care about Eri at all? Even in your presence, he doesn't seem to show filial affection towards them.

"I see; carry on with your walk then." Sukuna quickly dismissed them, but Eisha wasn't willing to let go.

"If I could, would Your Lordship, Lady (Name), and Concubine Asuna allow us to join your route?" Eisha wouldn't allow you and Asuna to be alone with Sukuna. And behind her back, she made a hand sign which the lower-ranking concubines understood and made a quick excuse to leave the yard. So now that only leaves her, Eri, and Sena. What Eisha did, didn't escape Sukuna's vision; that only made him take a deep and intolerable sigh inwardly.

All he asked for was one day with you without interruption.

For Asuna, she thought this timing couldn't be any worse with the visible tension brewing. She could tell that Sukuna's mood had floundered a bit since, after all, he was only out here to be with you. Then she focused on you, which she could say for once; your mood seemed to be in sync with Sukuna, although you wanted to get rid of him.

°

Two weeks later, two figures on separate horses rode up and stopped by the entrance.

"So this is Sukuna's mighty castle, huh?" Mugetsu's keen eyes search every nook and cranny of the building to see how well the fortress is built. Then there's Totsuwa, who already feels the regret setting in. He only accepted the invitation out of sheer impulsiveness and hatred for the pink hair man, and now the feelings somehow dissolved once he made it to Sukuna's Hell doorstep. It was easy for Totsuwa to imagine himself slaying the demon and reclaiming all his honor, power, and glory that Sukuna had muddled; he even talks significantly about it in his drunken stupor at an inn a week back.

"Don't be a chicken now, Iriyu," Mugetsu teases his best friend, "we might be able to learn more about our enemy." Somehow that doesn't sound comforting to Totsuwa, even when their tone is meant to lighten him up.

Getting off their horses, they handed the reins to a stable boy and looked for someone with deep pink and white hair. It wasn't hard to spot them when they were wearing their white garment. "Hello, Lord Mugetsu and Lord Totsuwa; I am Uraume, Lord Sukuna's retainer." They greet the two men with a proper bow, "If you would please follow me, I'll guide you two."

Mugetsu tapped Totsuwa's arm a few times, "They look pretty," he whispered, eyeing Uraume's back, "if only I wasn't married and they weren't your buddy's retainer, then I would've gotten them."

"Please, for the love of God, shut up!" Totsuwa whispers right back to his friend. "You always say that to every pretty woman you walk by!"

Mugetsu: "I can't help it, though."

[sukuna's office]

"Whoa..." Surprise color Mugetsu and Totsuwa when they saw not just the room but you seated a foot away from Sukuna. Rumors about the favorite wife do hold.

"Stop ogling at my wife," the pink-haired man snapped, brows drawn together into a scowl with the corner of his lip quirking up, and a tongue click could be heard. Sukuna wasn't sure why you insisted on being here; he would let you join any other meetings, but why this one? He doesn't know. There was a smidge of hesitation presenting at the back of his mind even though he tried to push it away logically; it always came back up. However, Sukuna wouldn't let it show. During the last two weeks, you and he had an on-and-off time together, the same usual push and pull. Still, you somehow had inserted yourself into his schedule willingly today with the promise of being interested in politics.

Sukuna had warned you it would be boring to dissuade you from this meeting, but you brought up a point, "You were the one who allowed me to visit your meetings, but now you won't let me?" Point taken, and now here you are. In the logical aspect, this allows Sukuna to spend time with you. Albeit not the way how he wanted it. But he couldn't brush away the nagging thought that it didn't feel right for you to be here.

Taglist: @sukunasobject​ @lilliansstuff @lucyrocks86 @ladywolf44005 @watyousayin @sandronebabyy​ @pinkrose1422​ @skepticalleo​ @please-help-therapy-needed​ @whatsonthemirror​ @krispsprite​ @loser-alert​ @saturnknows @samdric @littlemochi​ @akigoat​ @mxghostbee​ @rose4958​ @shadowywizardarcade​ @huicitawrites​ @baji-keisukes-wife @choso-wifey​ @jovialeggsbailiffsoul​ @sanderaen​ @peonnnny​ @tiredlattes​ @waytomanyhusbands​ @whatamidoing89​ @utena-akashiya​ @outrofenty​ @welcometodemonschoolfan​ @im-a-killer-queen​ @loverisa @bubera974 @sashaphantomhive​ @chaoticstrawberryland​ @onetwo123three @sxftiebee​ @bbrrose​ @gretel-gravain​ @slasherflickchick​ @floraroselaughter​ @kikis-art​ @21yumna​ @lifegosoana @sob4​ @unknown-204 @dathoe @dellalyra​ @noot-noot-noooooooot @goldenglow149​ @sukunabitch​ @guccirosegold​ @aesthetic-faye @kakeruko14 @roseki​ @levisbadbitch​ @divxnee​ @dvmekarina​

[drtyfiction]

IMAGINE [2/2]

Oliver Quick x Y/N (she/her) Saltburn spoiler alert!!

[Part 01]

- You know, Oliver, I thought you were cleverer than that. Y/N invited me because she wanted to. They want me back, after all. She wants me back in Saltburn.

- And why would she want that?

Oliver's gaze shifts from frustration to a hint of anger. Restrained, inexpressive, repressed, but still anger. His rage can't really be perceived by his facial expressions, but it subtly leaks from deep within his eyes all the way to where Farleigh's sight can reach. Oliver stares at him with a slightly frightening fervor.

Despite still not knowing it, Farleigh should, indeed, be afraid.

- I don't know, I think she misses me. No, actually, I'm sure she misses me terribly. I will eventually call her mine, you see, Oliver. She puts on a certain act and tells me she's not really interested, but later, when I leave, she calls me back, as if nothing had ever happened. I'm sure she desires me as much as I've been craving her. They want me. Oh no, even better. They need me, Oliver. She has always needed me. - Farleigh gradually approached Oliver, facing him closely, until each could smell the alcohol coming off the other's breath. Farleigh also sensed that Oliver was wearing an expensive brand of perfume, probably one that belonged to Felix. - I'm part of this house, I always have been, just like her. You're here on vacation, just for a short visit. I'm permanent in Y/N's life and I'm a resident of Saltburn. This is just a short fling you're enjoying, but it will soon end. You'll dwell on it for the rest of your life, and you'll hold on to this moment for years to come. You'll tell your children about what you lived here. But you'll never, ever have any of it back, including her. I am the one who will always go back into her arms.

On that very moment, Oliver feels a bitter taste settle on his lips, surging like an exhilarating reflux from his stomach. He wishes he could have a drink to mask the stinging taste that instantly assaults his senses. However, he can't, as his cup remains empty. He looks again at the plastic bottom, then at Farleigh, and he can no longer hide the disgust that emerges on his face. He is no longer feeling anger towards him and all his self-centeredness, but rather disgust. A disgust that crawls up his gut and which he can no longer suppress. His face twitches and his upper lip rises, and Farleigh appears surprised to see, albeit briefly, a trace of real feeling spilling out of Oliver.

How dare Farleigh assume that you want him? Or even worse, how dare he think that you need him? Oliver knows that nothing Farleigh has just said is true, but he can't stop himself from being disgusted by all that he's heard. You've always been, in every way, above all the drama. Oliver is absolutely convinced that you wouldn't have invited Farleigh to the party and he was even more certain that you had never slept with him. He has spent so much time studying your personality and behavior that he knows with great confidence that you are an emotionally independent and collected person who would not submit to Farleigh's whims, no matter how persuasive he tries to be.

Now they're so close to each other that their faces are nearly touching. Oliver tries to turn around to peer at the house, but Farleigh grabs his face with both hands, forcing him to look deep into his brown eyes.

- Catch a train to someplace far away from here. This is not my dream, Oliver. It's my home. So no matter what happens, I always come back.

Farleigh releases him, and Oliver realizes that this was the last straw. He needs to take definitive action. As Farleigh walks away, Oliver mutters between his teeth:

- We’ll see.

There is nothing, or no one, that stands in the way between Oliver and his subject of desire. Everybody should know that. What he hid from everyone is that Oliver's greatest desire is you. He was advancing gradually, building up space and gaining on the territory so that, in the end, he would have you. However, because of what Farleigh has just said, Oliver realizes that he will need to revise his entire plan and take more intense, aggressive action. If he doesn't intervene, things will soon get out of hand, and he cannot possibly imagine losing you to anyone, especially when that someone is Farleigh.

[infiniteko]

You are the only person so far who seems to know what you’re talking and is well studied so I decided to sent this ask for you. It will have a little venting, but nothing too extreme or long also if you don’t mind I’d rather speak in a not non duality way because I wouldn’t know how to formulate my sentences without giving power to the physical world in a sense, and I’m not exactly looking for enlightenment in non dualism it’s just a question about this whole thing that has been going on on tumblr and other communities about manifestation and non dualism.

I’ve been on this journey of manifestation, law of assumption, non duality etc etc for a year now and the main thing that kept popping up in my head was “is this concept true?”

The concept that I’m talking about is: “we are the creators of our reality”

Honestly, this journey has brought me a lot of suffer because I’m a natural overthinker, skeptical, a tad pessimistic and extremely self judging. So I would often feel dumb and stupid for believing I could actually change my WHOLE life and manifest things that would be seem as actually absurd and impossible.

This experience of seeing so many times people saying “we are limitless” or “everything is malleable” “you can get anything you want” has dragged me into this rabbit whole of full peace of mind and hope and then being totally ripped apart by negativity, pessimism and skepticism.

I’m honestly tired and I really, really, really need to get out of it, so you are my hope of weather I should continue my journey to get a better life or finally have a closure on this whole world of manifestation, shifting realities etc

Is it really possible? I’m asking this with my whole heart and soul. It is possible to experience this reality shiftings, changes of physical appearance, revise past and all that?

I really need to put an end on my suffering and move on with my life and I rather know the final answer now instead of wasting my life on things that won’t happen and just end up more frustrated in the future.

Can we change our 3D world (I know you said there’s no separation, but as I said I can’t speak in a non duality way I’m sorry) or we just have to accept we can only control to a certain point?

Is it true that if I’m not meant to be rich no matter what I do, I won’t? That no matter how hard I try I could never “attract” a specific person? Is it true that the only thing I can do in this life is find peace by accepting that certain things are meant to be and never changed? Is accepting that I am not limitless like as all those bloggers, teachers, Neville Goddard claimed I am?

I’m sorry if this ask is heavy or if my words were harsh somehow. I don’t want to put a responsibility on your shoulder, I just really need to find peace and I need a final answer.

Thank you!

Here's the thing Anon: No one can help you but yourself. As harsh as it sounds, IT is what IT is, i'm not sugarcoating anything, it's a bit long and wordy so read carefully.👁️📿

In tibet we have these sayings:

1. ཝ་གསུང་ཞོད་དུ་གཅིག་སྤྱོད་དུ། "You can offer a handful of grass to the cow, but you can't force it to graze."

2. མཐུད་སུམ་བསྡུས་ཀྱི་སེང་གེ་མ་དམ་ཅོ། "You can present the scriptures, but you can't enlighten the mind."

Even though i tag my stuff with "#nondualism" and a lot of people associate me with it, i don't follow any concept in particular. I only point you into the direction of "THAT". What you do with it, is your choice. You said you've been on a "journey" with lots of concepts like LoA, Manifestation, ND. Ask yourself, what exactly has been keeping you from actually turning within into silence instead of gathering one concept after another? Who decides that something is "impossible" and "absurd" like you said? I know you already told me that you'll talk in concepts but i still have to ask, are the limitations you have set for yourself REALLY fundamentally a thing? Do they exist if you aren't aware of such limitations?

Emptiness

NO concept is true, untrue or real. No words are true, untrue or real. I could tell you "no, Non Dualism or "AWARENESS" is not true. You can't change your life" but that's going to have a negative impact on you, wouldn't it? Why is that so? Those words don't prove anything to you. They are just words.

EVERY word is empty by nature, we give meaning to them. If i told you "བདག དངབ བསམ ངས་ཡང་ཡིན་གསལ" could you do anything with that sentence? No, because that sentence has no meaning to you.. you don't speak the language. Whatever I said, is meaningless to you. But if I translated it in english, you would be able to understand because you speak english and give it meaning (-> what was once meaningless and empty, now has an illusory meaning given by you). Got it?

What I'm trying to say is that it is important to understand that words have no meaning whatsoever BY NATURE and because they are meaningless BY NATURE, we can tell you whatever we want to, it is up to you alone what you're going to do with that. Does that make any sense to you? I hope i got my point across on how we give meanings to every empty word.

We do the same thing with different situations.

A stormy day can be the worst day ever for you but for someone else, it's the best thing ever.

If someone told me my content is trash, i do not care. If someone told 18 year old Koda her content is trash, i would've wasted a thought or two on that statement. If Dechen (my boyfriend, co-admin) read that we're spreading lies he would've written an essay telling that person to shut up & move along 2 years ago, but now he'd ignore it because he couldn't care any less. Now, everything is meaningless for everyone. I can decide if I want to be affected by those words, or not. If i told you "Everything's a lie" , what are you going to do then? Are you going to abandon everything just because I, someone you find "reliable", said so? If that's what you would do, why? What made you attach so much importance to a random "person"?

Is it true?

"Is it true that [...]"

"Is it true that [...]"

"Is it true that [...]"

Who are you asking? Me? Why? Do you want it to be true or untrue? Since all words are meaningless and empty by nature, is there a difference between the words "true and untrue" or is it the same "Emptiness"? You alone make your decisions. I can point you towards "IT" but 'you' are the one who's going to recognize "IT" or not. I have nothing to do with that descision.

Read whatever you want to. Practise whatever you want to or don't. At the end of the day, you alone give meaning to the meaningless. You can define emptiness but that doesn't change its Nature which is "emptiness", "nothingness" whatever-ness.

Definitions

"I'm an overthinker, skeptical and pessimistic."

What made you come to that conclusion? In order to answer that, i assume you have to think and list all moments in which you were overthinking, skeptical and pessimistic but are you able to answer that question without thinking? If you aren't thinking, WHAT or WHO are you? Are those thoughts you define yourself by, real in any way or are you just aware of different behaviors and define them as "overthinking, skepticism, pessimism" after thinking about it? Could you define yourself for me, without thinking? Try it.👀

Enlightenment?

You said you are not "looking for enlightenment" from ND , what exactly are you looking for then? Only a "person" can get enlightened, but there is no actual "person" here. What is, is. All concepts only POINT you to one direction -> "IT". Some, like advaita vedanta, are more direct than many limited & watered down versions of ND people now call "Law of Consciousness or Law of Assumption "with extra steps" on tumblr or twitter. In my humble and illusory opinion, it is nonsense but does it matter?👁️

The non-existent "I"

"Is it true that if I'm not meant to be rich no matter what I do, I won't? That no matter how hard I try I could never "attract" a specific person? Is it true that the only thing I can do in this life is find peace by accepting that certain things are meant to be and never changed? Is accepting that I am not limitless like as all those bloggers, teachers, Neville Goddard claimed I am?" -> define and show me the "i" you keep talking about. Do it without thinking. If you ponder on it long enough on a deep level, you will instantly answer your own Questions and the "i" you are talking about. Define and show me your doubts without thinking. There is no person to believe in anything, no person that is actually doubting, no person that is actually here.

「You can mold clay into a pot but that doesn't change the fact that it is clay and will always be clay」

[syneilesis]

I started something with Gabriel from What in Hell is Bad? and in a game about devils and demons, I just had to latch onto the homicidal angel 😂 I don't know if I could finish this, so I'm posting what I already have. Warnings for religious sacrilege and dubcon. This is supposed to lead to revenge/hatesex, but I ran out of steam before it even happened lol. For reference, this is how Gabriel looks like. An incentive for me is that he's voiced by Tamamo Azul Tsumugi Amano Haru. Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

There's something to be said about the pure and divine, tainted and in chains. It's the control, perhaps. The power over one that is seen as untouchable, grander. Superior. That blinding radiance—smudged into ambiguity. Doubt. Beauty in the sullied.

Gabriel looks at you with incandescent hostility in his crystal-glass eyes, and a frisson of thrill runs down your spine. You bite your lip to keep the grin threatening to escape at bay.

“Child of Solomon,” he proclaims, still proud despite his tattered armor, despite his enchained limbs. His bruise is a stark cloud on his cheek, and the blood on the corner of his mouth still drips. “The last thing you'll see before I kill you is the joy I'll feel striking you down. Remember that.”

You hum. “Just empty words from someone who can't even move his legs.”

Propped against the wall, arms raised and shackled, Gabriel remains beautifully defiant. He jerks against his restraints as if to lunge at you, but the only freedom he's afforded is the manic hatred fracturing his stubborn resistance. Almost mocking, you kneel, his hips between your legs, and trace the blood that lines his chin. When he moves to retaliate, you grab his jaw and hold him firmly, admonishing.

When he first appeared to you, long ago, Gabriel had said, in that melancholy voice of his, that your death is nothing personal. But now, his savage transformation lights the blood in your veins, the bright, acrid taste of his loathing, his current helplessness.

So you kiss him.

It's all teeth: unforgiving and merciless in the face of his rage. He attempts to bite you but your hand grips his face in warning.

He ignores it, and you growl, an iron-tang sting on your lower lip, which you lick off above his darkly crescent stare.

“The fact that you're here, captive, means that your God has abandoned you.”

He bares his bloody teeth like a beast.

That doesn't deter you; in fact, it elates you, that hot rush of satisfaction shooting through your veins. It makes you lean towards him, your lips a hair's breadth away from his own. And then you ghost along, upward, until you can whisper directly in his ear: “I am your God now.”

His fury almost destroys his chains, but you're assured of their strength, so you only move slightly backward to avoid his attempt at an attack.

You don't miss his full-body shudder before that.

He trembles under your palms, harsh twitches when your skin comes into contact with his, and you draw a line at his sternum, remembering how his weapon drew his own blood and marked you, his forever prey.

You tear at the remaining fabric of his clothing. The cacophony echoes his rasping breaths.

Between your legs, his arousal strains against his trousers.

[strawnarrries]

because im sad about the last show, here's a little imagine about y/n and harry reminiscing the past two years the night before the last show :(

warnings: mentions of sex but nothing graphic

Your eyes fluttered open and you realized it was still dark outside, a sign that it was not quite morning just yet. You're not sure why you woke up. It was like your body knew something was off because when you turned over, the bed was empty beside you.

Rubbing your eyes to clear the sleepy haze, you noticed light coming from under the closed door of the bedroom in the villa you and Harry are staying in. Getting up out of bed, you opened the door and the sudden change in lighting burned your eyes. After getting used to it, you walked towards the kitchen and spotted your husband, leaning up against the counter, sipping on something inside of a mug.

“Harry?” you hummed, walking up to him.

“Oh hey, did I wake you up? I’m sorry," he looked up at you with doe eyes and messy hair sticking up in every direction.

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t sleep.”

You popped your bottom lip out and wrapped your arms around his bare waist, his instinctively wrapping around yours after setting his mug on the counter, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just can't believe the last show's tomorrow night.”

“Aw, I know. You wanna talk about it?” you hummed, looking up at him with tired eyes.

"I'm gonna miss it. A lot," he whispered, "but at the same time I'm excited for a long break."

"It's bittersweet."

"Yeah," he nodded.

"It's gonna be weird not getting to watch you on stage every night in your sparkly outfits."

He chuckled softly, "You don't get those outfits at home, do ya?"

"No, I get you either naked or in the one stupid shirt that you refuse to throw away even though it's practically in shreds."

"Thought you loved that shirt?" he teased.

You glared up at him before changing the subject, "What'dya think you'll miss the most? Just being on stage?"

"Yeah. Performing. It's one of my favorite things in the world to do. I just get such a rush from being out there and interacting with the fans and hearing them scream my lyrics."

"And hearing them bark at you," you added.

He giggled, "Yes, that too."

"You'll be back though. It's not the end."

“You're right. I feel like this tour was just special for some reason, I dunno. I fear I’m gonna get really emotional tomorrow on stage though. I was holding back tears at the show the other night," he chuckled.

“It’s okay to get emotional. You know me and your mom will be sobbing the entire night."

He smiled softly as he cupped your jaw and rubbed his thumb back and forth across your cheek, "I've been reflecting a lot recently. So much has happened in the last two years. It's wild."

“You've done, like what, 150 shows?”

“169 tomorrow."

“Holy shit, Harry. Most of them were completely sold out too. Do you realize how incredible that is?”

“It's mad. I think this has been the most successful tour I’ve ever been on.”

“Oh, by far.”

“Gonna miss seeing everyone every day. Gonna miss the fans and being up on stage. I've had some of the best shows of my life on this tour.”

“Harryween,” you giggled fondly at the memory that popped into your head.

“That was fun as fuck,” he giggled back.

“You’ve done more than just tour though. So many award shows, Coachella, music videos, you starred in two different movies, Harry.”

“I have,” he nodded, smiling proudly at himself, "Looking back, the amount of love and support that I've gotten from everyone, the fans, my team, my friends, and family, and from you is just - it's - it's so overwhelming like I can't even explain it to you. Like my mind can't comprehend that this is my life. Been 13 years and I still can't believe it."

"'cause you deserve it, baby. With the amount of love you give out and just the type of person you are in general, you deserve everything that's come your way. Have I ever told you how proud of you I am?" you teased, being the fact that those words leave your lips multiple times after every single one of his accomplishments.

"Never. Not once," he chuckled.

“Well, I am,” you hummed pressing a sweet kiss to his sternum, just under where his cross necklace lay, "It makes me feel so prideful that I get to call you my husband."

“Thank you, my love. You know I wouldn't be here without you.”

You rested your head on his warm chest, hugging him tighter, embracing the sweet silence before breaking it, "Can I be honest with you?”

He nodded as you looked back up at him.

“I know it's selfish but a big part of me is excited that it’s over because then I get you all to myself and don’t have to share you with the world.”

“Finally don’t have to hear you nagging for my attention all the time,” he chuckled.

“Heyyyyyy,” you whined.

“I’m joking, baby.”

You rolled your eyes teasingly.

“We have a lot to look forward to.”

“Like what?” he asked, although he knew exactly what you were referencing to, he just wanted to hear you say it.

“You becoming a daddy.”

“Really lookin forward to that. I can’t wait ‘till you have a cute little baby bump.”

“Gotta get me pregnant first.”

"You don't gotta worry 'bout that. We’re gonna be goin' at it all day every day when we’re on holiday next month,” he smirked.

“I can't even explain to you how excited I am for that. Vacation Harry is my favorite Harry."

He grinned, “I love you, Y/N."

“I love you too.”

He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours for a few sweet kisses before you hummed sleepily, “Will you come back to bed with me now?”

“Yeah, c’mon.”