#been thinking about the glowing gay lately
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fever pitch - r.b.
softball player robin buckley x cheerleader fem reader
18+ ONLY MDNI
warnings: all characters are 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, public sex, thigh riding, secret relationship, allusions to sex, bullying, mean!dom robin, little bit of mean reader, jealous reader
this is a collab with the absolutely brilliant @undead-supernova !! i literally had so much fucking fun writing this with you august, and it might be my favorite robin fic i’ve ever written. i feel like our brains collided and made a gay ass baby and i’m so proud of us. we hope you enjoy xx.
word count: 3.7K
“Shhh, don’t want us getting caught like this do you?”
Robin’s voice is hushed but stern, now lifting her head from between your trembling thighs. The blonde has you spread out on a bench in the dugout, skirt shoved up around your hips as her tongue laps up everything you have to offer.
That is until a broken moan leaves your lips, unable to stop it as her fingers curl up inside you. The sound breaks through the silence, the only thing heard above the soft hum of cicadas.
“What would your little friends think, hmm?” she taunts, brow raised as she looks up at you, dirt still smeared across her cheeks from the game. “Knowing a loser is the one making you feel so good?”
In that moment you can’t find it within yourself to care anymore, gripping her hair in your fist to guide her back between your legs. “Let them.”
Robin hums, her lips drifting lower to nip at the tender skin of your thighs. The action causes another loud whimper to leave you. “You sure about that, honey?”
“I don’t care,” you admit out loud for the first time, thoughts completely overwhelmed with all things Robin.
“Fuck, I don’t care anymore,” you sigh.
Never in your wildest dreams would you think tonight would turn out like this.
You’d been watching her from the sidelines as she attempted to slide into homebase, coming up a little short. You’d never gotten to see her play before, your extracurriculars usually running at the same time. But today had been just your luck, with Chrissy spraining her ankle, immediately being rushed off to get it iced. Coach ended practice shortly after—no use continuing without the star of the squad there, right?
It gave you the perfect opportunity to watch her without raising any suspicion—two of your teammates by your side, laughing as Robin struck out. You took your lower lip between your teeth, trying not to gawk as she rose to her feet. Dusting the dirt off her thighs when she caught your eye, biting back a smirk as she made her way towards the dugout.
But not before stopping by where you were leaning against the bleachers. Right there, in front of everyone for the first time.
See, this has been going on for months. The sneaking around, the feigned rivalry.
If only they knew what was really happening behind closed doors.
You first noticed her late one afternoon, walking to your car after cheer practice. Robin hadn’t even crossed your radar, barely a glance in the hallway. Too wrapped up in your own world to notice. But there was just something about the warm glow of the sunset laying against her flushed cheek. The way she found your eyes, like she knew your secret, before she spit out the shell of a sunflower seed. Chuckling as she grabbed her bat and walked off.
All you knew after that was you desperately wanted to know more. And boy, did you.
You quickly learned through word of mouth that she had been caught hooking up with some girl in the band room after school. That confirmation prompted you to start dropping her little hints. Longing glances when no one was paying attention, nods in the hallway. Sneaking out of practice early just so she’d notice you walk by. And, sure, she noticed.
But Robin wasn’t going to come easy, was she?
No, she wanted to make you work for it. To prove to her you were serious, not just another girl looking to make out with her for the thrill of it. Or some sick joke conjured up by the cheer squad to humiliate her more.
You quickly realized that your subtle hints were not going to get you what you wanted. Her.
One day you’d finally had enough, boldly slipping a note in her locker between classes. Coaxing her to meet you in the secluded alley between the gym and the cafeteria. A place you’d only used to meet a certain super senior when you wanted to buy some weed.
A spot unknown or used by the majority of the students of Hawkins High, knowing you wouldn’t be seen or heard by any curious passersby.
Part of you was worried she wouldn't show, becoming increasingly more nervous as time passed. Any lingering qualms were squashed when you saw her striding down the narrow path towards you. She looked good, her dark jeans hugging her hips just right. A button-up shirt tucked loosely into them, the top few buttons left open.
You wanted nothing more than to lean forward, closing the short distance between your bodies. Leave a trail of blues and purples along her exposed skin. And that terrified you, to know that one girl could mess you up in such a monumental way.
“So,” you mumbled, kicking a pebble with the tip of your sneaker.
“So,” she answered, crossing her arms over her chest.
Without hesitation, you introduced yourself but Robin gave you a confused look.
“Yeah, I already know who you are.”
“You do?”
“Well, we’ve gone to school together our whole lives…” she paused, running a hand through her hair, “and when a girl is practically eye-fucking you in the halls, it’s hard not to notice.”
“Oh, right,” you replied, looking down. Embarrassment washed over you. “Sorry, I guess I misinterpreted this whole thing.”
You carefully pushed off the wall, ready to walk away and pretend like this whole thing never happened. Save yourself the humiliation.
But her soft voice stopped you in your tracks.
“I wouldn't say that.”
“Then what would you say?” you asked, more confident now.
“You’re the one who asked me here,” Robin pointed out, turning the focus back to you.
And just as quickly as your confidence had risen, it fell. So you looked down again, now fiddling with the hem of your skirt.
“I don’t, um,” you struggled. “I don’t really know how to say it. I just…I…”
“Oh, just spit it out already.”
You looked up at her exasperated expression, narrowing your eyes. “Fine! Fine. Whatever. I like you, okay?”
“Like me? We’ve never spoken.”
“Don’t give me that when I’ve seen the way you look at me too.”
Robin’s hardened expression fell. “Touché.”
Silence fell between you, Robin lifting her head to look at the sky. You couldn’t help but squirm again, feeling a desperate urge to breathe in her scent.
You sighed. “So, what do we do now?”
“Hell if I know,” she replied, looking back at you. “I thought you were stuck up like the rest of your prissy friends.”
“Not when I’m around you,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “You make me feel…different, somehow.”
“I could make it much worse for you, you know,” Robin replied, a smug grin reaching her lips as she stepped closer to you. “All you have to do is ask.”
“Please—”
“Actually, no,” Robin interrupted, fingers inching towards your hip. “You should beg.”
“Please,” you said without hesitation. “Please, Robin. I need you.”
Robin knew she shouldn’t. And so did you. But there was just something there, pressing against your chests as Robin pressed you against the brick. And when she kissed you the first time, you nearly whined in contentment, mewling softly against her mouth.
That kiss left you feeling desperate, eager for her to show you more. However, Robin wasn’t going to chase you, forcing you to take matters into your own hands. You sought her out one night after practice, pulling her into the equipment room outside the gym. Backing her body against the door, lips meeting once you heard the lock click into place.
“Just couldn’t stay away now, could you, baby?” she mumbled against your mouth, pulling a soft whine from you as she nipped at your lower lip. The noise caused her to laugh softly.
“I want you, Robs.”
She hummed in response, letting her lips trail across your jaw. “Want me how?” she prodded as the tip of her nose skimmed along your collarbone, rendering you utterly speechless.
“Show me,” she breathed, further stealing the breath from your lungs as she kissed you deeply. Taking control as she flipped your positions, enclosing you against the door.
You’re pliable under her soft touch, guiding her fingers up and underneath your pleated skirt. The blue of her irises nearly swallowed whole by her pupils as she gazed at you hungrily. That look ignited something within you, feeling emboldened as you reached forward to undo her pants. Exploring each other in a way that was unfamiliar to you, her skilled fingers helping to guide you with ease.
After that, it was just your little secret, with no one being the wiser. Why would they? You were on the opposite ends of the food chain, fractured by the Hawkins High hierarchy. Leaving little glances across the cafeteria, brushes of your fingertips in the hallway as a secret reminder of what you two had. It didn’t hurt that you could sit in class, practice, or even the shower and think about how they’d brush against your breasts later.
Of course, you couldn’t help but wind her up whenever you could be overheard. As she would gladly put you in your place in private.
But you knew as she approached you on the field with that familiar glint in her eye— you were really in for it this time.
“What’s so funny?” Robin asked, removing her gloves. You let your eyes linger on her fingers for a moment as she gripped the leather. Quickly shifting your gaze elsewhere as you pressed your thighs together.
Something the blonde didn’t miss. Holding back a smug smile as she looked between the three of you.
“You’re just such a loser,” Carol snickered, snapping her gum between her teeth.
Heather joined in with a giggle. “Yeah, maybe you should look into joining the t-ball team. Seems like a much better fit for you.”
Heather knew she struck a nerve, pleased with herself as Robin’s jaw clenched in anger.
“Oh, yeah?” Robin said, ready to egg her on. “And what do you know, Holloway? I’d like to see you do something other than shake your ass at Billy Hargrove during games. Don’t you find it pathetic how desperate you are for his attention?”
“Oh, fuck you,” Heather snapped back. “As if you are getting any. No one even knows your name.”
“You’d be surprised,” Robin replied, her eyes shifting towards you as if on instinct. “You know, I don’t recall ever seeing this one with a guy.”
“You better get back to that pitch before you strike out, Buckley,” you bit back, shooting her a warning look. “Again.”
With a shake of her head, Robin glanced behind you at your “friends” before scoffing and turning. But not before she took her cleat and scuffed up dirt onto your shiny white sneakers.
“Oops.” She laughed, giving you one last look before walking away.
Not missing a beat, Heather turned to you with a bewildered expression. “You know her name?”
You raised an eyebrow. “It’s on her uniform.”
“Oh— right,” she murmured, the conversation quickly forgotten as they discussed their plans for the night: yet another kegger at the Harrington residence. It was something you definitely weren’t interested in attending.
Though they begged you to join them, you merely shrugged and told them to go without you. They didn’t even blink before heading off, their laughter fading as quickly as it started. But you soon found yourself lost in the chatter of the crowd and the roar of the umpire.
You decided to move up, leaning against the chain-link fence, pom-poms thrown to the dirt as you watched your girl stepping up to bat again. The score had been tied, this being Hawkins High’s last chance to win the game.
As always, Robin found you again. She gave you a wink before you heard the sharp crack of the bat. You gasped along with the crowd at the sight of the ball shooting through the sky and into the parking lot.
You couldn’t help the loud cheer erupting from your lips, clapping along with the crowd as she sprinted through each base with ease. And as she slid into home and was declared safe, her eyes met yours. They followed you as she picked herself up, sweat dripping as she removed her helmet. Shaking her dampened hair out with a wide grin.
There was no longer anything inside you that beckoned you to be malicious. You could feel a swell of pride inside you, wanting nothing more than to show her just how incredible she was. How much you cared about her…and you planned on it.
Her teammates were quick to surround her, lifting her up onto their shoulders as the crowd continued to cheer. Robin was clearly embarrassed by the sudden swarm of attention, her cheeks beautifully flushed as they carried her across the field. Soaking in the glory for a few more moments before they were called to line up, shaking hands with the opposing team.
But as everyone began to clear out, you noticed Beth Wildfire hanging back, laughing near the dugout with Robin. As you moved closer, you could make out the way Beth was checking out Robin’s ass as she bent over to grab her glove.
Robin lifted her head slightly, noticing you making your way over.
“Nice win, Buckley,” Beth said, popping in a piece of gum. “We should go out and celebrate.”
“Oh, yeah?” Robin asked, a devious smile on her lips as she rose. You couldn’t stop the jealousy beginning to surface. “You think we should invite the team?”
She was making you work for it, wasn’t she?
“Actually, I thought maybe you and I could—”
“Hey, Robin,” you said, directly in Beth’s line of sight now.
Beth gave you a look, clearly annoyed by your interruption.
Good.
“Hey,” Robin greeted. “What’s up?”
“You still need that ride?” you asked, clutching your pom poms tighter in your fists.
“I’d almost forgotten,” Robin replied smugly.
“Well, uh,” Beth said, taking a step closer to Robin. “I could always take her home after heading to Benny’s.”
“No, that’s alright,” you said curtly, faking a smile as you also took a step forward. “I think I’ve got it from here.”
You and Beth exchanged glances before her eyes widened, flickering between you and Robin who was only looking at you. Beth said nothing, opting instead to give you both a quick nod. But the clear disappointment on her face brought you more joy than you cared to admit.
“I’ll see you later, then,” she said. “Again, nice win, Buckley.”
Even as she walked away, Robin never broke eye contact. “Thanks, Beth,” she called out, a grin widening on her lips.
“Ready to go, mon chéri? I’m starving.”
Hook, line, and sinker.
And that’s how you ended up here, your legs draped over Robin’s shoulders as her tongue circles over your clit. One hand buried in her hair and the other clutching onto the chain link fence behind you. Her blue hues never leave your face, taking in each and every reaction she pulls from you.
“You know, you’re pretty cute when you’re jealous.” She grins, flicking the tip of her tongue over your swollen clit. Enjoying the way your body twitches with every motion.
“I wasn’t jealous.”
You breathlessly try to deny it, but you both know you’re lying. Once again letting your pride get in the way, prompting Robin to remove her tongue from your center.
“No— Robbie, please,” you whine as she pulls away fully, resting her cheek against your inner thigh as she continues to slowly thrust her fingers inside you.
She revels in the way your walls grip tightly around the digits, almost as if you’re trying to keep them trapped inside. And as much as she loves feeling you, she loves making you beg even more.
So she slips her fingers out of your dripping cunt completely. Standing up to hover over you as she brings them to your lips.
“Please what, princess?” she taunts, her fingers now slipping into your mouth. Your tongue eagerly swirling around the digits until they’re devoid of any trace of you.
Robin removes them just as fast, trailing the saliva-coated digits down your jaw until they wrap around the base of your throat. “Answer me,” her harsh tone only further dampening the area between your thighs.
“Please don’t stop,” you plead without hesitation, rocking your hips up against her thigh. A look of desperation flitting across your features as you clutch onto her shoulders.
“Aww, you wanna cum, pretty thing?” Her tone is laced with condescension, finding yourself nodding almost frantically as you gaze up at her.
“I don’t know, baby… you were pretty mean earlier.” She paused, a small pout forming on your lips as she traced over them with her thumb. “You think you deserve it?”
You nod as if on instinct, whining as she pulls away from you completely. Rising to her feet once again, grabbing your hands and pulling you up off the bench. Your breasts press together as she whispers softly in your ear, “Prove it to me, then.”
You eagerly reach for the buttons on her uniform, tugging the zipper down. Impatiently yanking her pants down over the curve of her ass as you take back control.
“Sit,” you demand, resting your hands on her shoulders. Coaxing her to take your previous position on the worn bench.
“So bossy,” she teases, gripping your hips as you swing your leg over her thigh.
Taking a seat as you slip your fingers past the elastic of her underwear, moaning at the wetness you find there.
“This all for me?” you muse, your thumb brushing over her bundle of nerves with ease now. Having become quite familiar with every inch of her body over the last three months.
“I mean… Beth was looking good tonight—”
You cut her off with your mouth before she has a chance to finish her sentence. That surge of jealousy coursing through your veins as you kiss her deeply.
“She can’t have you,” you mumble against her mouth, before taking her lower lip between your teeth and tugging. “You're all mine.”
Robin curses softly as you begin to grind your hips against her thigh, slipping two fingers into her awaiting heat. Pumping them in tandem with each rock of your hips, as she mewls against your mouth.
“Please.” Now she's the one doing the begging, despite your hips continuing to grind down against her thigh. The mixture of her saliva and your juices making a mess on her bare skin.
You giggle softly as you increase the pressure on her clit with your thumb, burying your fingers deeper inside her. “Say it again.” She moans as you attach your lips to the base of her throat.
The blonde tilts her head back to expose more of her neck as you greedily suck on her flushed skin. A feeling of pride washes over you as you leave blotches of red and purple in your wake.
“You’re mine, Robin.” Your tone is overly possessive, enjoying how her body trembles beneath you. Your words being the thing to finally send her over the edge as she pulls your face back up to crash her lips against yours.
Her fingers dig harshly into the skin of your hips, encouraging you to keep grinding on her thigh. Lifting her leg to increase the pressure on your core. “That’s it… such a good girl.”
She pulls back slightly to watch you with hooded eyes, lips lifting in a genuine smile.
“My good girl.”
Her words elicit a bigger response than either of you expected, your thighs tightening around her own as you loudly cry out her name. Her hands continue to guide you along her thigh, working you through each wave of euphoria that crashes over you.
You’re both panting as you begin to come down from your highs, nuzzling your face in the crook of her neck. “Wow,” you breathe out, lightly tracing over the darkening love bites on her neck.
“Jeez, I think the whole town heard you,” Robin teases, running her fingers along your back.
“Well,” you start, pulling back to look at her. “I’m just trying to congratulate my girl on her big win.”
“Your girl?” she teases.
You bite your lip, trying to hide your smile. “Mhm.”
“Admit it,” Robin says, lifting her eyebrows, eyes tracing the lines of your face. “You were jealous.”
“Maybe I was,” you finally admit, earning an amused smile from her. “But I don’t think I have to worry about anyone else.”
“No?”
“Mm-mm.”
You press a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth before standing, helping her to her feet. Leaning back against the fence as she wiggles her pants back up over her hips.
Robin is still fastening the buttons as you walk out onto the field. Her eyes follow your figure as you reach the pitcher's mound. A fond look falls over her features as your eyes flutter shut, letting the last glow of the setting sun soak into your pores.
Feeling the weight of her stare, you turn back around. Flashing her a beaming smile as she finally reaches you on the field.
“So… Benny’s?” you ask, twisting your skirt back into place. “I’m actually starving now.”
Robin looks at you in utter disbelief as she places her hat back on her head, the brim facing the opposite direction. “Wait, you’re serious? What if someone sees us together?”
You can’t stop the giggle that leaves you, now closing the few feet separating you from her. Cupping her face in between your palms as you press another kiss to her lips.
Right in the middle of the open field.
“I told you,” you say, louder this time. “Let them see us. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”
You slip your hand into hers, lacing your fingers as you begin leading her towards your car. A sight to see, her bat and glove in her unoccupied hand. Your pom-poms in yours.
“You were still an asshole earlier, you know that?” Robin says.
As you share a laugh, you swing your intertwined hands back-and-forth. You’re practically skipping as you pull her along, light-hearted and winded.
“And you ruined my sneakers,” you counter. “Are you gonna clean them for me?”
“Only if you’re good, mon chéri.”
“I think I can manage that,” you reply as you venture further into the twilight. “At least for a little bit.”
tagging some moots 💕
@xxbimbobunnyxx @babygorewhore @impmunson @voyeurmunson @eddiesxangel @taintedcigs @strangerstilinski
#the freak writes 🫧#robin buckley x reader#robin buckley x you#robin buckley x female reader#robin buckley x y/n#robin buckley smut#robin buckley fanfic#robin buckley fic#softball player!robin buckley#robin buckley x cheerleader!reader
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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.
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Propaganda
Elizabeth Taylor (Cleopatra, Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof)—iconic actress with purple eyes and a double row of eyelashes, the real ebony dementia ravenway of old hollywood. known for her stunning tastes when it comes to jewelry and her incredible, incredible advocacy during the AIDS crisis.
Setsuko Hara (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, The Idiot)— "'The only time I saw Susan Sontag cry,' a writer once told me, his voice hushed, 'was at a screening of a Setsuko film.' What Setsuko had wasn’t glamour—she was just too sensible for that—it was glow, one that ebbed away and left you concerned, involved. You got the sense that this glow, like that of dawn, couldn’t be bought. But her smiles were human and held minute-long acts, ones with important intermissions. When she looked away, she absented herself; you felt that she’d dimmed a fire and clapped a lid on something about to spill. Over the last decade, whenever anyone brought up her lips—'Setsuko’s eternal smile,' critics said, that day we learned that she’d died—I thought instead of the thing she made us feel when she let it fall." - Moeko Fujii
This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]
Elizabeth Taylor:
I've been trying to steer clear of the absurdly-big names, but damnit, those violet eyes got me. The *talent*, the *presence*, the string of marriages and (temporally out-of-bounds) work in combating AIDS and pioneering in the concept of the celebrity fragrance line.
Not only did she have gorgeous violet eyes and lashes for days and one of the hottest voices ever, she was also a big supporter of the gay community
Child actress turned starlet, Liz dominated films as one of the greatest screen legends of classic hollywood. If your protagonist has violet eyes, they're imitating hers.
A Legend. She was serving milf rage in Whos Afraid Of Virginia Woolf. A Star in every sense of the word.
She was renowned for the beauty of her eyes; they were a dark blue but could look violet in certain lighting, something that photographers would actually touch up to look even more so in pictures. But even more striking was a genetic mutation that gave her a double row of eyelashes. She was also famed for her string of husbands -- 8 marriages to 7 men. Two-time hubby Richard Burton once said she was “a wildly exciting love-mistress… beautiful beyond the dreams of pornography.”
Her EYES. Early and loud support for gay rights and AIDS victims. Married a bunch of hot dudes, Burton twice!
just look at her. she's gorgeous. there's a video somewhere of her applying her eyeliner in the mirror and I think about it all the time
THE Hollywood actress of all time. Not only was she known for her long dark locks and blue-violet eyes, she also had one of the wildest life stories ever….. She’s Carrie Fisher’s stepmother because her father Eddie Fisher cheated on Debbie Reynolds with Liz. She was knighted as a dame of England. She was married to seven different men, one of them twice. She was also very kindhearted and did a lot of charity activism.
Asides from being an iconic actor, she did a lot of philanthropy and co founded the American Foundation for AIDS research. She’s sometimes considered one of the last great stars of old hollywood
Setsuko Hara:
One of the best Japanese actresses of all time; a symbol of the golden era of Japanese cinema of the 1950s After seeing a Setsuko Hara film, the novelist Shūsaku Endō wrote: "We would sigh or let out a great breath from the depths of our hearts, for what we felt was precisely this: Can it be possible that there is such a woman in this world?"
One of the greatest Japanese actresses of all time!! Best known for acting in many of Yasujiro Ozu's films of the 40s and 50s. Also she has a stunning smile and beautiful charm!
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She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.
She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.
"No other actor has ever mastered the art of the smile to the same extent as Setsuko Hara (1920–2015), a celebrated star and highly regarded idol who was one of the outstanding actors of 40s and 50s Japanese cinema. Her radiant smile floods whole scenes and at times cautiously undermines the expectations made of her in coy, ironic fashion. Yet her smile's impressive range also encompasses its darker shades: Hara's delicate, dignified, melancholy smile with which she responds to disappointments, papers over the emotions churning under the surface, and flanks life's sobering realizations. Her smiles don't just function as a condensed version of her ever-precise, expressive, yet understated acting ability, they also allow the very essence of the films they appear in to shine through for a brief moment, often studies of the everyday, post-war dramas which revolve around the break-up of family structures or the failure of marriages. Her performances tread a fine line between social expectation and personal desire in post-war Japan, as Hara attempts to lay claim to the autonomy of the female characters she plays – frequently with a smile." [link]
Leading lady of classic Japanese cinema with a million dollar smile
Maybe the most iconic Japanese actress ever? She rose to fame making films with Yasujiro Ozu, becoming one of the most well-known and beloved actresses in Japan, working from the 30s through the 60s in over 100 hundred. She is still considered one of the greatest Japanese actresses ever, and in my opinion, just one of the greatest actresses of all time. And she was HOT! Satoshi Kon's film Millennium Actress was largely based on her life and her career.
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Say Anything Part 2 - Virginity is a Social Construct
You x Zibby (Elizabeth ‘Zibby” Liberal Arts - Elizabeth Olsen)
SMUT 18+
Read Part 1
Summary: This is a sequel to my little story “Say Anything”. I just feel like Zibby deserves to have sex and like a glorious and beautiful first time.
TW: SMUT 18+
Here is the title song: Say Anything by Girl in Red
Read on Ao3
AN: Zibby is way too precious not to get a sweet and romantic first time while also breaking social constructs down because virginity is fucked and that was the only beef I had with Liberal Arts like yes he was older (like way older… too old to be playing with her like that) and I didn’t really want them to have sex but the way he went about it freaking out on her when she told him it would be her first time was shit. I also really wanted to write this for all you girlies who are stuck in your heads about your own virginity, especially the baby gays who are worried about the first time. I promise women are understanding and patient and if they are not then you don’t want to be doing anything with them. Communication is key. Let me start by saying it is your business if you even want to share that information with someone. But if you do share that information it should not be a huge deal like society makes it out to be you don’t lose anything.
Word Count: 3,186
Imagine This:
The kiss you two shared poolside at that party changed your life for the better. You have never been so happy. Dating Zibby was like nothing else. You didn’t even have to think about it. You wanted her and only her. You knew her past experience was limited in both the male and female dating departments. So, you wanted to do things right, you wanted to sweep her off her feet. You wanted to make sure she never felt bad about her lack of experience. She told you about this older guy who freaked out when she told him she was a virgin. You told her that virginity is a bullshit social construct made to make women feel bad about sex. You told her that it was shitty for him to make her feel bad about it even if he thought it was coming from a caring place. You were determined then to make sure she always felt comfortable and to do things on her terms. After a while of dating she hinted at making things official so you planned the perfect date to ask her.
>>>>
Zibby looked at you in awe. Her emerald eyes were full of love for you. Zibby was at a loss for words. The view in front of her was so sweet. A blanket was laid out under a tree, your secret tree. The tree the two of you had found together to hide from the rest of the world and slow down. It was off an old practically abandoned trial on campus. It was hidden from the path and the perfect place for privacy. You studied here, shared sweet kisses, and picnics and it warmed Zibby’s heart. The fake candles illuminated her sweet face and gave her golden skin a beautiful glow.
“Y/N, this is beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you.”
“Okay, okay charmer.”
“It’s just the honest truth. I wish I could afford to take you to a fancy restaurant like at a private beach or something but here we are on a college budget.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I would hate that. This however is so us and I love it.”
She leaned in and kissed you softly and instantly your anxiety eased.
“That’s true. I just think you deserve the best.”
“You are the best, y/n.”
You didn’t have a good response as you blushed so you just kissed her again. As per usual Zibby deepened the kiss.
Lately, she had been showing you all the signs that she was ready for more. She had shared with you that she had never had sex before and was nervous. You had asked her if she ever touched herself and she had said yes. At the time it half melted your brain the way she blushed and admitted she had thought of you while touching herself. Somehow you had managed not to go feral in that moment and you explained that she had more than enough experience if she touched herself she already knew some things she liked and what could feel good to do to someone else. That didn’t fully convince her but it gave her reassurance. You had promised that day that there would be open communication the first time and that you would help each other feel good because it is always a learning curve. Everyone likes different things. You told her that you know how you felt with your first time and you were lucky it had been with a girl who was more experienced and who took her time with you. Now you wanted to be that for Zibby.
You slowly disconnected your lips from the kiss and she leaned towards you following and trying to reconnect your lips. You giggled “don’t you want to see what all I made for you?”
She shook her head with a smirk “huh-uh”, she licked her lips “I want more kisses.”
“You can have as many as you want in just a little bit.”
Her gaze studied you and she sighed with defeat knowing you had a plan for the night and that her begging wouldn’t break you. You smiled seeing her defeat and pulled her down to sit on the blanket with you.
Light conversation and sharing of food and drinks had you both on cloud nine. It never gets old with her. Anything with her feels like the best thing. Studying together made studying fun and doing nothing together filled you with peace. She felt like your person and you were happy to just soak up her presence.
As much as you loved enjoying the light night with her you had a plan to stick to. You wanted to ask her to be yours officially but that was easier said than done. She is so distracting with her soft smile, lips, skin, hair! Her green vibrant eyes and the way she looked at you with such light in them. She filled you with butterflies and made your head feel light. You stared at her preparing to ask her.
Her short dirty blonde hair fell on her bare shoulders. The tank top and shorts she was wearing were killing you. Her legs were crossed out in front of her as she tilted her head back and looked up at the sky full of stars with a soft smile. “It’s so beautiful.”
You smiled, gaze never leaving her as you breathlessly said “yes it is.”
She turned her gaze landing on you, her green eyes were deep under the glow of fake candlelight. She smiled as she realized you had been staring and talking about her and not the sky.
You bit your bottom lip lightly trying to quiet your nerves and decided it was now or never. “Zibby, will you be my girlfriend?”
Her smile took over her entire face reaching her eyes and filling them with light. “God yes! It took you long enough to ask!”
She quickly shot up onto her knees and faced you. You caressed her cheek softly with a smile so wide your cheeks hurt. “I wanted things to be perfect.”
“Everything with you is perfect. Now can I have those aforementioned and promised kisses, my beautiful perfect girlfriend?”
You smiled wider as you nodded before leaning in and capturing her soft plump lips. She sucked your bottom lip between hers the instant she could and licked it. You opened your mouth and met her tongue softly. You then sucked her tongue lightly as your hands tangled in her hair. She let out a soft moan that vibrated into your mouth. She moved her lips and tongue trying desperately to get more. Her hands grabbed at the back of your neck and shoulders, tugging you closer to her.
She quickly found her way into your lap one leg on each side of you wrapping you up in her long legs. Your hands naturally landed on her hips steadying her against your body. She moved her hips urgently making your hands slip to her ass. She broke the kiss with a groan “please!”
You pulled back and studied her face asking with your eyes and she smiled softly before nodding “Please I want everything with you.”
“I want everything with you too, Zibby.”
She bit her bottom lip and moved her hands to the hem of your shirt. She tugged on it softly, gaze focused on your face, asking permission. You gave her a nod and she lifted your shirt up and over your head.
She ran her hands softly up your abs and palmed your breasts over the fabric of your sports bra. You sighed showing her you liked what she was doing. She pulled on the band of your bra and you nodded again. She made quick work pulling it over your head.
Her gaze fell to your exposed skin and she licked her lips before she started to kiss your neck. She kissed lower and you leaned back to give her room to explore. She kissed down the center of your chest and then across your chest softly.
A hum vibrated in your throat. She explored your chest so softly just like your first kiss. She hovered over a hard nibble and kissed it softly before licking it. She tested out different ways to lick you and listened to how you responded. Her teeth grazed your nipple and you moaned. She lightly trapped the stiff bud between her teeth and tugged. Your hands flew into her short hair and tugged.
She hummed against you and then began to lightly suck on your sensitive bud. You moaned breathily. She moved a hand to your other breast and just tested holding it. Then she squeezed it. You softly encouraged her, “pinch that one,” she pinched your hard nipple and sucked on the other one, “AH! Yes, just like that!”
You let her switch her mouth and hand and explore a little longer before you pulled her up to kiss her lips. You could cum just from her learning all the ways to play with your boobs but you want to show her how good what she just did feels.
You kissed down her neck and slid your fingers under her shirt just teasing your thumbs against her hip bones. She moved to take her own shirt off but you stopped her and slowly pulled it over her head. Your gaze fell down her neck to her exposed cleavage and you took note of each adorable freckle. You found several on her neck that you kissed but when you found one on her left breast it instantly became your favorite. You latched onto it making sure to leave a mark. She sighed as she pulled at the back of your neck to keep you close.
You ran your hands around and up her back and found the hooks to her bra. You made quick work of unhooking it. You pulled back slightly as you moved your hands to the straps. You pulled down the straps softly slowly admiring the goosebumps left in your wake before kissing her bare shoulders. You kissed her collar bones and moved both of your hands to squeeze her perky breasts. You rubbed your thumbs over her nipples making them harder. You moved your kisses down her chest and kissed the freckle on her left breast softly before enveloping her nipple in your mouth. You sucked on it and ran your tongue over it before biting lightly. You pinched her other nipple with your fingers and then switched breasts. She threw her head back “Ah! Fuck that feels so good!”
Her hips rutted against you searching for friction as you worshiped her chest. She leaned back forcing your mouth to release her nipple with a pop. She smiled and leaned back more. You got the hint and helped to lay her softly on the blanket.
She moved her hands to your shorts and tugged on the button before quickly undoing it. You helped her push your shorts and underwear down then leaned over her so you could shimmy them off. You got back to your knees and ran your hands up her thighs and unbuttoned her shorts. She lifted herself up and you removed the last of the clothing between you.
You looked down at her in awe. Her soft belly curved at her hips and made your mouth water. She didn’t let you stare for long. She needed you now. She pulled you down on top of her and kissed you hard as she wrapped her long legs around you. She forced you to press your bodyweight down on her and your breath caught in your throat at the feel of her skin against yours. Hard nipples and smooth soft warm skin brushed and then she angled her hips and you felt just how wet she was for you.
A breathy moan left her lips as she moved her hips to get the friction you know she is desperate for. You pecked her lips and pulled yourself up slightly and that instantly got her attention. Her gaze was desperate like she would die if you stopped this now. You smiled reassuringly “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here but I need you to tell me what you like, okay remember we said we’d help each other.”
You wanted to make sure she knew you were not a master of sex and that you too get nervous about pleasing someone else. She nodded “yes I remember,” she licked her lips as her gaze fell to your breasts that were now just barely grazing against hers, “I um it’s so hard to concentrate with you looking like that.”
You smiled down at her “gawd you are so cute and sexy it is unreal. I’m just going to go slowly okay?”
She quickly nodded “Just touch me please!”
You scooted back on your knees and kissed down her soft belly leaving your marks all over her soft skin. Your dominant hand trailed further down her body and rubbed at her inner thighs. Her hips bucked up and she whined. You wasted no time finally giving in. You pressed your palm flat against her clit firmly and just moved in slow circles at first then slowly down and back up coating your hand and fingers with her slick heat. She moaned softly and you knew she needed more.
You moved a finger to her entrance and slowly slid into her tight center. You kissed her thigh and waited for her hips to move before sliding in and out slowly. You slowly trailed your kisses up from her thigh to her hips down to just under the slight curve of her belly and then pressed your lips softly to her clit. “OH fuck please more of that!”
You hummed against her before you pulled your finger out and added another. You simultaneously parted your lips and slid your tongue flat against her clit. Her back arched and her legs squeezed your head. With your free hand you moved one of her legs to rest on your back and the other you pressed down so you had more access to her center. You curled your fingers finding that sweet spot and then sucked on her clit. “FUCK oh MY Fucking AH! Y/N!”
You tested different pressures of sucking on her clit and soothing it with your tongue while testing different pressure and motions to stimulate her G spot. It’s a hard one to get on your own and you are determined to give her the pleasure of experiencing a G spot and clitoral orgasm as her first with you.
Her hips squirm and her heel digs into your back. The sound of her moans has your clit throbbing. She tastes so fucking good and feels so warm and soft and tight. She tangled her fingers through your hair and you looked up at her with just your eyes to see her watching you. Her mouth was open as she breathed out moaning but her emerald eyes were locked on you. You moved your free hand up and squeezed her breast. She untangled one of her hands from your hair to cup your hand over her breast and lace her fingers with yours. She squeezed your hand hard as her muscles began to tighten. You could feel her approaching that crescendo. The leg that was on your back flexed out and the other began to tremble and press against your head again now that you were not holding it down. You sucked herder on her clit and kept pressing your finger against her G spot, even as her walls tightened around your fingers and made it hard to move.
“Fuck I AH I AH! Ah ah ah AH!”
You felt your own clit throb as you felt her contract around your fingers. You helped her ride out the high until her body went limp and slowly removed yourself from her to crawl up her body and kiss her lips softly. “Are you okay?”
She ran her hands from your cheeks into your hair and pulled you in for a kiss. “I’m fantastic! Wow you are really good at that!”
You smiled, “I just paid attention to how your body reacted.”
“I want to make you feel like this. Seriously, that was incredible!”
You couldn’t stop the soft laughter that escaped your lips at her enthusiasm. I almost came, making you cum, baby it won’t take much for me to feel incredible. I already feel amazing just having you here like this.”
She rolled her eyes before quickly flipping your positions. She pecked your lips before she moved to get on her knees between your legs. She’s so pretty covered in your marks, hair a mess and skin glowing.
Her gaze traveled over your body. Up and down. Her hands caressed you up and down. Heating your skin as she touched you softly. You watched in awe as she leaned down and began to kiss your heated skin. She trailed kisses down your chest and abdomen and back up. She took her time being gentle then marking you as hers on every inch of skin she could get. You sigh and moan when she bites your skin and sucks another mark into your skin. You are already so worked up that you think you might cum from this. “Please, Zibby!”
A smirk formed on her face as she bit her bottom lip. She pressed her palm flat against your heated center and you whimpered at the contact. She spreads your wet heat by rubbing her palm up then down. You need her so badly that you feel like you are going to explode. “Please baby I need please! MORE!”
She leaned down again and kissed your clit softly before slowly tasting you with her tongue. “Oh fuck! Fingers please!”
She moves her hand and you feel her press two fingers against your entrance and then as she slides into you she sucks on your clit and you can’t contain your moans. She curls her fingers inside you and begins to build the pressure. You can feel yourself tighten around her as your legs tremble “AH! There! Yes Oh FUCK YES!”
Zibby is a natural. She pays attention to the hitch in your breath how your hips buck and legs tremble. She loves the way you tighten around her and get wetter. She is filled with confidence as she watches you unravel and feels the effect she has on you. She sucks harder on your clit and presses her tongue to it to sooth it as she moves to hit the spot that is making you tremble faster with more pressure. She can feel you contract and is amazed by it as she watches your back arch. “Im cuming oh Im I cuming AAHHH ZIB!”
You unravel in a beautiful mess and she mimics how you let her ride out her pleasure earlier. You smile at her when you finally recover and pull her down to kiss her soft lips. “That was incredible, baby.”
AN: I hope you guys like this cute little thing. I just felt it was a great opportunity to talk about how ridiculous society is about virginity. I love talking about women and the pleasure they deserve to embrace fully without shame. Here’s to celebrating female pleasure!
#ELIZABETH OLSEN#ZIBBY#FEMALE READER X ZIBBY#FILM: LIBERAL ARTS#LIBERAL ARTS 2012#FLUFF#HAPPY BIRTHDAY LIZZIE#LIZZIE OLSEN#CUTE#GAY#QUEER#LESBIAN#WLW#FANFICTION#IMAGINE#AO3#virginity is a social construct#smut
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soo i’m writing a marcmarc fanfiction and Im going to make it multi chapter, it’s going to explore a bit Bez’s internalised homophobia and his path towards the light (fucking with Marc)
and i’m going to upload it both here and on Ao3, if you like it i’d love for you to leave kudos, no pressure tho obv <3
I took a bit of inspiration by @anitalianfrie and some ideas from @yeastinfectionvale because the two of you are the most dangerous marcmarc psychosexual supporters I relate with
Below you can find the fic, if u enjoy reading on Tumblr more than on Ao3❤️
2024 pre-season
It was cold, but still, Marco was sitting outside the ranch, it was around 3 in the morning he supposed, thoughts clouded by the joint he was still finishing up.
He was trying to reflect on something that had been seriously affecting his life lately, or rather much someone.
Marc Marquez.
Since he had signed with Gresini the Spaniard just seemed to continuously pop up into his life, whether it was on track or not, like last week for example, he was out with a group of his friends and who did he meet at the club he went to? Marc Marquez, drinking with a guy he thought was a friend of the man, but the more he thought about it, the more he remembered strange details, like a hand lingering a bit too much or a few glances casted in a very lustful way.
He archived the memory as a made up one, a result of the not so little amount of alcohol he consumed that night.
Plus, Marc had a girlfriend, and even if he didn't, everyone on the grid was straight.
All the jokes, flirty ones even, were always platonic and between friends, he did that too with Pecco, and it wasn’t like he was…gay.
He had had a girlfriend until a few weeks prior, when she decided it would’ve been a good idea to cheat on him and dump him via text of all things.
The joint was coming to an end, and with it all his will to stay outside and freeze, looking for a warm blanket and a snack instead.
Memories grew along with his hunger, and the frames of his mind ran back to the night he saw Marquez at the club.
Shirt buttoned just halfway, a silver necklace adorning his neck and bouncing slightly every time he moved.
His smile, a painfully magnetic one, drawing people to him like moths to a flame, like his eyes, profound and deep.
But what Bez remembered the best were his shoulders.
Broad, muscled, tanned and glowing with sweat, moving up and down rhythmically when he laughed.
If he focused enough, he could remember peeking the outline of one of Marc’s scars from the hem of his shirt, and something similar to a hickey on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, sinfully on display.
Fuck, why did he remember those things? He was pretty sure that a blonde flirted with him that night, he was sure she was hot even, but he couldn’t remember a single detail from her, just from that small fucking bastard
As his mind stopped wandering Bez realized he was back into his room, an half finished protein bar in hand and an obviously painful bulge in his pants.
Fuckfuckfuckfuck how did that happen? was it the blonde? it couldn’t have been Marquez, could it?
The answer came when his dick twitched at the mention of Marc’s name.
cazzo
He was conflicted: should he let it go away on its own or act on it? because he knew the moment he would’ve touched himself thinking of his rival it would’ve been over for him.
Seeing him in the paddock, on insta or at one of the clubs would’ve meant remembering this.
No no no he hated Marquez, this was just the smoke speaking for him, he always got a bit horny after smoking, it wasn’t different from other times.
Except it was. It was so much different, this longing he felt for the older guy, the need he had to just lick his lips and bite down on those delicious looking shoulders, grabbing his neck and crushing their lips together.
Bez also remembered the cologne he was wearing; it smelled like woods and fresh, he didn’t know much about perfumes but that was surely a smell he wasn’t going to forget it easily.
“Maybe it’s not that bad. Just once, one time and then I’ll forget about him”
he thought while sliding into bed and slowly slipping his hand into his pants.
It was embarrassing how quickly he became vocal about it, softly of course because he didn’t want the other guys or worst, Vale, to hear him moan out Marc Marquez’s name and finding him like that.
He stroked his cock with growing speed, twisting his wrist when he came close to the tip, gritting his teeth and grabbing the sheets with his free hand.
“Marc-“ a suffocated plea leaving the boy's mouth, but remaining painfully present in his room, floating around as a curse.
The more he thought about the Spaniard the harder he got, he wanted more more more.
He wanted Marc, in all his stupid perfection, he wanted him to choke on his cock, or bouncing on it, he wanted Marc to be as desperate for him as Bez was for the man.
“Si si si” a trail of words left the boy’s mouth to get lost into the silent and cold night in Tavullia, alongside with Marco’s orgasm, which hit him hard and fast, ropes of white liquid staining his abdomen and part of the sheets.
He went to the bathroom to wash his hands and getting cleaned up, being extra careful not to wake anyone up.
He looked at himself in the mirror, cheeks red, puffy lips and glassy eyes, pupils still blown wide from the smoke and the excitement of the recent jerk off session.
He knows he will have to face what he just did, because what if it wasn’t just Marc? What if it was men in general? Could have he been bisexual? To be fair he was a bit scared to know, what if Vale or one of the guys found it disgusting? what if his family did?
Could’ve he kept that secret for long?
He doesn’t think so, honestly he’s scared of loosing both families at once for something like that.
No no, he ultimately decided.
If he understands he likes guys he’s going to keep it for himself.
It’s going to be better for everyone that way
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Regulus hadn't even wanted to attend the party. It was the end of year celebration held annually for the seventh year students. The staff liked to pretend that they had no idea the sixth and seventh year students were slipping out into the grounds to drink, dance, and sometimes have sex under the last full moon before summer holidays. They looked the other way and ignored as the sixth years gathered whatever they could from the feast and secreted it into waiting bags. They turned a blind eye to the seventh years slipping out into Hogsmeade and returning with sweets, fireworks, and alcohol. Completely neglectful on the staff's part and absolutely ridiculous, he thought as his friends strong armed him out of the dorm and onto the grounds.
He had better things to be worried about. He had an entire summer of coming out balls and various luncheons and teas that he would be required to attend, ending with his betrothal to some chit for the future of the great and noble house of Black, Regulus reminded himself with an eyeroll. His parents didn’t care that he was gay just like his brother who had been blasted off the family tree the year prior. They just cared that he married and fucked some girl to make an heir and then he was free to have his “dalliance's” as long as he was discreet.
The same concession would be offered to his betrothal, despite his parents disapproval of it. But Regulus refused to saddle some poor girl in a loveless and sexless marriage without any option to seek that in someone as long as she kept it quiet and didn't bring any children from them into their home. And Regulus had his service to the Dark Lord to complete for the betterment of the wizarding world, or so he was told. He didn't actually believe that either, but he had seen what had happened to Sirius when he disagreed. Thus Regulus bowed and bared his arm like the good little puppet he was.
Regulus had given up his arguments and had decided if he had to be there, he was going to get plastered. The group was tastefully late; arriving after the fire had been lit, the booze had already been poured, and the music started. Those not dancing or sneaking off into the shadows were settled onto the lawn with food and a mixture of liquors. The bonfire blazed in the centre, casting a luminous golden hue in the radius of the crowd. Barty pressed a bottle into Regulus’ hands and he swallowed the burning liquid down as fast as he could. Barty howled with laughter and handed him his own drink before dragging Evan off. Likely to skip the preamble and go snog in a secluded spot, Regulus determined.
The more Regulus drank, the more maudlin he became. At some point even Pandora had disappeared into the crowd and left him with his thoughts. Regulus knew he was going to die. The darkness that was quickly consuming him and a small hopeful part of him thought that nothing could save him from hell, except maybe love and Regulus was too realistic to think that was an option for him.
The music switched to something he’d never heard before. The guitar and the drums worked together to create a fast paced rhythm. Cheering sounded as the space by the fire emptied of people, save for one person, James Potter.
The music filled the air as James started to dance, his hips moving and arms flowing around his body and over his head. Regulus’ breath caught in his throat as he watched. Regulus had never been a religious person, but if anyone could save him from the devil inside himself, it would be James. James danced with a passion, like a fire consumed him and his entire soul was dancing along. The crowd started to keep time with their hands, clapping and patting their legs as James spun in circles and the firelight glowing behind him.
Regulus has no idea how he got there, but somehow he was on the edge of the circle surrounding the empty space James was dancing in. It seemed every soul in the area was singing along to the song that he had never heard before and all Regulus could see was James, sensually moving with the moon in his eyes. James didn’t dance like an angel, oh no. James was not from Heaven, James was a siren and the way his body moved was his song. A call to his soul, pulling at him until he found himself in front of the devil himself.
James laughed and his teeth captured his bottom lip in a teasing manner, before he reached out and pulled Regulus close. There was no room left to move in between them and Regulus’ body began to sing in the same way James’ was. They sang to the fire, the wind, the moon, and to each other as they danced. One song turned into many and Regulus forgot where and when he was as his soul reached out tentatively to James’.
Something clicked in Regulus, like the missing piece of a puzzle slotting into place, and Regulus could swear the darkness was ripped from his soul as they danced into the night.
#mauraders#fanfiction#james x regulus#jegulus#latino james potter#james potter#regulus black#890 words#first lines of 2024#mauraders fanfiction#sunseeker#starchaser#regulus x james
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025. Vermillion Dreams
wc: 1.5k (warning!! Long post ahead)
"Hey." A voice catches your attention. You look in front of you and see a black car with its window rolled down, Scaramouche in the driver's seat.
"Hi, Scara!" You smile at him innocently, walking closer to the car.
"Get inside, we'll be late if we don't go right now." He demands of you.
"Ah, that's not how you treat your date." You tease, snickering silently.
He groans, "Fine, stay there for me, alright?" Without a second thought, he rushes out of the car with a bouquet of roses in his hand.
"Would this suffice?" He shows you red roses, hiding his red face behind them.
"You're adorable, Scara." You say as you open your camera app and swiftly taking a picture of him.
"Wh- hey! Delete that." He says, the blush on his face increasing.
"No! You're very very cute." You say, opening twitter to flex your very very cute date.
"Here." Scaramouche utters as he opens the door of his car, inviting you in.
"Why, thank you, my charming knight." You say some pet name dramatically, he shouldn't be even blushing about, yet he finds himself as red as a tomato. You chuckle at his expression, why so red, hmm?
"Say, Scara. How far is Liyue?" You ask. From what you know, Liyue's not that far from where you live.
"An hour or so." He answers you, keeping his eyes on the road.
"Oh, alright." As you look at your surroundings, you take an interest at the sunset view that can be found in the sky, more specifically, the one behind Scaramouche. You couldn't lie, he was breathtaking. His features are adorned by the sky's soft glow. Entrancing.
"Take a picture, it lasts longer." He snaps you out of your daydream.
"Alright." Within seconds, you take a picture of the alluring driver and the sunset.
"What- I meant that as a joke." He clears up.
"Well, I don't."
"Woah." You say out of surprise.
"What?" He asks, still looking at the road.
"Kaveh and Alhaitham are gay and dating." You tell him.
"Really?" He's taken aback. From what he sees on his timeliness, Kaveh wants to date you. Was that some practical joke?
"Yeah… I feel embarrassed." You confess. You genuinely didn't know they were dating.
"Why?"
"Scara, have you SEEN my tweets? It's literally me wanting to date Alhaitham." You hide your face in the bouquet He gave you.
"It's fine, get over it." He tries to comfort you.
"Well, that's fine, I guess."
For the rest of the car ride to Liyue, you were both silent. It wasn't awkward though. The car was wrapped in a comfortable atmosphere, you didn't feel the need to talk or do anything. You felt like you could sleep.
(timeskip; 6:04 PM, Liyue Harbour)
Turns out, you did sleep.
"Hey, wake up. We're here." Scaramouche gently sways you awake, your eyes fluttering open as you hear the many citizens of the Harbour chatting away.
"Oh, wow! It's beautiful at night here. I wonder what they did for the Lantern rite this year." You say.
"I heard they're doing a music festival." He informs you, straightening his jacket.
"Ohh, cool." You quickly get out of the car, leaving your roses in your seat. You're excited to go into the Harbour, it’s been quite a while since you've last visited.
"Hey, wait, [Name]." Scaramouche says, catching your attention once again.
"Yes?" He comes closer to you and fixes your collar and such because it was messed up while you were sleeping. You couldn't help but notice the close proximity of you two, inches away from each other's face.
"There, you're more presentable." So cocky.
"Shut up, Raiden." You were annoyed, but didn't care so much. You didn't care, you were used to his antics.
"Ah, last name basis now, are we? You hurt me." Was he an actor or something? If so, he'd better quit his job 'cause his skills were second to anyone.
"You suck at being dramatic." You say, trying to hide your already obvious laughter.
"Whatever. Do you know where we're going?" He asks.
"No?"
"Well then, keep your pretty eyes open and try not to fall behind."
"Hmm, you think my eyes are pretty?" You ask mischievously.
"You're a nuisance." He insults you. He grabs your hand and pulls you into the crowds of people on Lantern rite.
-
To say that the music festival was amazing is an understatement. You met Aether and Yun Jin among the many people watching Xinyan and Hu Tao's performance. It was spectacular.
The person from Fontaine was magnificent as well. The sweet melody the people played, along with a zither from nowhere, worked with perfect harmony. It was a night unforgettable to all.
"The fireworks were beautiful! It was like seeing the prettiest person alive for the first time. So colorful and lively." You describe the alluring fireworks in the sky, still sprouting out arrays of color.
"It sure does. Let's explore Liyue for a bit, yes?" He invites you to roam the city of lanterns. You accept, wanting to see more.
Liyue is at its finest this year. Kids running around the streets, vendors selling Xiao lanterns, and the aroma of food in the air. An extraordinary sight to see, really.
"Scara, let's buy a lantern. We write our names on it!" You suggest, already pulling out money from your wallet.
"Alright." With a simple answer such as that, you drag him to the other side of the street where they sell lanterns.
"Hello!" You greet the vendor.
"Ah, hello, dear. Would you like to buy a lantern? It will give you and your boyfriend prosperity and luck." She says with a smile while both you and Scaramouche turn red. How could she make such an assumption?
"Yes, we'd like to buy a lantern. We're not dating though, haha." You awkwardly say, scratching your head.
"Oh? I'm sorry, dear. It's just that friends don't hold each other’s hands so much around here." She explains, giving you your Xiao lantern. You didn't realize your hand was still intertwined with his. You remove yours from his embrace, giving the money to the vendor.
"It's quite alright. Thank you!" You get your lantern and wave goodbye.
"She was nice." You say, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable atmosphere.
"Here." Scaramouche says, handing you a permanent marker. Why the hell does he have this?
"Oh, thanks." You thank him, getting the marker from his hand, brushing it in the process. You write both of your names on the lantern, making sure it's readable.
"...Alright. We can- uhm, set it free?" You stutter, having a hard time phrasing what you want to say. Though, you managed to make Scaramouche laugh, so that was good.
You go to a secluded area where you can freely set your lantern out. "1…2…3…go." You let go of the flaming light. It floats up, your names quite visible on the lantern.
You and Scaramouche have tired yourselves out, running around Liyue and trying out splendid food. You both sit down on an empty bench.
"...Hey, Scara?" You call for his attention.
"Yes?" He turns to look at you, giving you his undivided attention.
"Why did you leave before?" Oh.
"..." He stayed silent. He felt guilty, leaving you with no goodbye, no reason. It was wrong and he knew, yet he didn't do anything about it.
"It's alright if you don't want to say anything, the last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfy." You reassure him, even though it meant not getting your wanted answers.
“No, it’s ok. We moved away to Snezhnaya because Ei thought it would give us a better life there. It did the complete opposite, it was a hellsite. Always snowed, even if it was summer. And the people there don’t come close to the weather. There was always going to be someone fighting because of something stupid like parking their cars a foot from their house… Ah, sorry for rambling, haha.” He quickly apologized. You didn’t care though, you got your answer.
“No, it’s alright. So, why didn’t you say anything to me?” You ask another question once more.
“I didn’t want to upset you or anything. I know how sad you’d be if I told you I’d be moving, I wasn’t thinking then.” He explains, his voice getting quieter, as if he was ashamed. He looked at his shoes, afraid to look at you. Why was he scared? Just then, he felt your arms wrap around him.
“Scara, it’s not your fault.”
“I know, but-”
“No buts. It’s not your fault and it will never be, alright? You were young, you didn’t know what you were thinking.”
“You didn’t deserve thinking that I left you for no reason.” He says.
“I might have not, but I also don’t like seeing you saying it’s your fault for leaving. You were a kid, you had no choice but to follow your mother, alright?” You whisper, pulling apart.
"Ok…" Thank you, [Name].
------------------------
previous :: MASTERLIST :: next
Of All People… - scaramouche x fem!reader smau
SYNOPSIS When you, a student who finds her best friend admits the terrors of high school. A best friend who’ve you’d hated ever since he left. Of all people, why was he the one to make you swoon, a person you swore to hate?
Fun facts!
Characters in this story study in Sumeru Akademiya
All characters can drive
Kavetham for the win!!!
Scaramouche is very very cute :)
Taglist; Open!
@viridescent-ivy @sakiimeo @ttoshiiroz @lxry-chxn @stopandget-help @r0ttenhearts @h-8chi @thenightsflower @killuixz @linn-a-a @vodkistt @raideneiari @yuyan @layla240 @barbatosfavouritenun @plinkuro @taikabae @beriiov @ghostxrism @rifran @elakari @kairxse @belovedxiao @alwaysmentallyill @mellowknightcolorfarm @xingyunclouds @scooofyaei @nambii @scaraapologist @samyayaya @kunikuzushisbeloved @dee-zbignuts @kaekazuha04 @monochromaticelliot @erosdevil @wisteriarain @kaoyamamegami @dazaiswifenicole @phoenix-eclipses @vivinsoul @vuvulia @r4yyyyy @cinnamontimecrunch @whatamidoing89 @aludicpoet @cindywasneverhere @vvasant @st0pthatsgay @kxr0mi @divinechicha @sketcheeee @wonderful-worlds
#jas writes#genshin x reader#genshin#genshin impact#genshin imagines#scaramouche#scaramouche x reader#scaramouche x y/n#scaramouche x you#kunikuzushi#kunikuzushi x reader#kunikuzushi x you#kunikuzushi x y/n#scaramouche fluff#scaramouche angst#scara x reader#scaramouche smau#genshin smau#genshin x you#wanderer#wanderer x reader#wanderer x you#wanderer x y/n#the wanderer#wanderer smau#genshin impact wanderer#genshin wanderer#genshin scaramouche#genshin scara#🥇 - of all people...
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well, kids. i've done it. i've written tales of erathia fanfic. original fic? who even knows at this point
@sweepy-stringbean had the absolutely brilliant idea of not only making Vecna the villain of the fictional fourth movie in this franchise, but also having a flayed Moss/Max "betray" the group by quite literally stabbing Tenar in the back
and, well, it's all just kinda grown from there
(this is also the backstory to that incredible, soft tenlark art that i've been staring at for like three weeks straight. Rae, I adore your work and your mind and everything you've come up with in regards to these beautiful gay fantasy losers)
anyway
-
Tenar’s chambers always seem bigger at night. The bed is too wide, making her feel too small. The windows stand taller, darker, far more imposing than they feel when they’re letting the sun in. The air seems heavier, full of the grief she can never shake, the responsibility she’ll always carry, the doubt that fills every day.
And tonight—and most nights, recently—an inescapable sense of longing.
Tenar is no fool. She might avoid it, might do all she can to deny it in the light of day, but she knows precisely who she longs for, and why. How can she not, when Lark is the one who makes the grief and the responsibility and the doubt a little lighter? Lark can step into the room and fill it effortlessly, without even saying a word. She can bring the light through the windows, can sit beside Tenar and hold her hand and make her feel far from small.
And all Tenar can do is lay awake at night, thinking of her.
Maybe she is a fool. Or a coward, because despite all that they’ve been through, she still shies away from telling Lark the truth.
But in her defense, she really does think Lark should know by now. Everyone in the kingdom has spent the last few years questioning why Tenar chooses Lark again and again—to travel with her everywhere she goes, to sit at her right hand during meetings and ceremonies and decrees, to protect her and accompany her and advise her and challenge her in ways no one has ever managed before. Surely, surely, Lark has figured out by now why she is, consistently, Tenar’s first choice.
Though perhaps that is unfair. If Tenar cannot be brave enough to speak directly, why should Lark have to be bold enough to make assumptions?
Tenar rolls over, tangling the sheets further around her legs. She curls her arm beneath her pillow and tilts her head up to look for the moon through the window. It’s faint, nothing but a barely-there glow behind a screen of clouds.
She is a fool, but she doesn’t have to be. And maybe, just maybe, her room doesn’t have to seem so empty. Tenar pushes herself upright and kicks away the sheets.
Two guards stand outside her door—a precaution of her own doing, but one that she hates. They stiffen to attention when she steps out, then relax with a wave of her hand. She beckons one to come with her and starts down the halls.
Lark’s room isn’t far from her own, but the walk is cold in the castle’s drafty corridors. The guard following her holds his lantern aloft, causing shadows to flicker around the edges of the light. They pass no one.
There is no light seeping through the cracks of Lark’s door when they arrive. Tenar steels herself. It won’t be the first time she’s woken Lark from sleep, and she’s certain it won’t be the last. She can only hope it will be worth it.
But when she raps on the door, no one answers. Tenar waits and listens for any sound of movement on the other side. After a moment, she turns over her shoulder and looks at her guard.
“Have you seen her about tonight?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
Tenar frowns and turns back to the door. She raises her hand to knock again, but the sound of footsteps behind them stops her. The light moves as her guard spins to face the newcomer. Tenar turns, too, and relaxes when she sees who it is.
“Moss,” she says. “What are you doing up so late?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.” Moss’s grin is cheeky, if not a little stiff.
Tenar smiles back. “Looking for Lark, actually. Have you seen her?”
“Not tonight. But I’d be happy to walk with you until we find her. Save you from having to hang out with a stuffy soldier.” Moss smirks as the guard frowns and shuffles self-consciously.
“Be nice,” Tenar scolds her, no bite to her voice whatsoever. She turns to her guard. “You can return to your post. Thank you.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He leaves without another word. The hallway darkens as he turns the corner, taking the lanternlight with him, but Tenar and Moss are both comfortable enough with the dark by now.
“Shall we?” Moss asks, tilting her head down the hall. Tenar nods, and together, they walk away from Lark’s room.
-
Lark leans against the wall across from Moss’s room, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at the closed door. There is no light coming from beneath it. No answer to her soft knock. No sound or movement at all from within.
It’s not unusual for Moss to wander the halls, even this late at night. Just like it’s not unusual for Moss to snap at her friends when she’s frustrated, or avoid people when she’s overwhelmed, or hide what she’s really thinking when she believes her own thoughts to be too weak or vulnerable to share.
Logically, none of it is unusual. But Lark has never really been one for logic. That’s Tenar’s job, and even Tenar has been urging her to just talk to Moss lately, if she’s so worried.
And she is worried. So is Tenar. So are Arren and Ged.
“Fuck this,” Lark mutters to herself.
She adjusts the bow on her back and crosses the hall. The door is locked, but only for a moment. She and Moss told Tenar years ago most of the castle’s chambers were child’s play to break into. They’re working on it, but considering the fact that most of the threats they’ve faced wouldn’t be deterred by a locked door, it’s pretty low on the priority list.
Lark swings the door open just enough for her to slip inside and close it again behind her. Moss is nowhere to be seen, but there are still embers glowing faintly in her fireplace. Lark sighs and walks further into the room.
The desk is a mess of discarded books and crumpled papers. A jar of ink has spilled onto its side, seeping into a stack of blank parchment. The wardrobe is a mess, the door hanging open, clothes spilling out of it. None of this is unusual.
The bed is made—that part is unusual. The sheets are stiff, tucked in neatly. Lark frowns and walks over. The nightstand is empty, the lantern sitting on top of it dark and cool. She turns and walks over to the fireplace instead.
Heat still hovers around the hearth. The coals must have been recently scattered. Lark kneels before them and reaches a hand out. Very recently, she thinks.
She grabs the poker hanging by the fireplace and sifts absently through the embers. She needs to find Moss. She just—has no idea where to start.
She pulls the poker back, and it catches on something in the corner of the fireplace. Lark tilts her head and leans forward a little. A page—crumpled into a ball, half-burnt, but still solid enough for her to scrape out. She picks it up and smooths it out with shaking hands. Ink blots cover most of what hasn’t burnt away, but there’s enough to recognize Moss’s handwriting. Enough to make out a few phrases.
Sorry, jumps out at her. Then, darkness and I’m scared.
I don’t know what’s happening to me.
Lark scrambles to her feet. She stuffs the page into her pocket and runs from the room. Her hand goes to her bow as she starts down the hallway.
She still has no idea how to find Moss, but she has to be here somewhere. The embers are still warm. She can’t have gone far. Lark can still find her. She can still stop whatever this is. She can still help her, before it’s too late.
-
Moss and Tenar don’t speak much as they walk. Moss trails a few feet behind her, her steps so quiet Tenar keeps looking over her shoulder just to make sure she’s still there. She looks pale in the dark halls. Her hair is dull, washed out in the shadows.
“I’m not sure where to look for her,” Tenar admits. Lark has followed Tenar’s lead during most of their nighttime wanderings; she doesn’t know where Lark would go if left to her own devices.
“Perhaps she’s out looking at the stars somewhere,” says Moss.
But Tenar shakes her head. “It’s too dark tonight. All she’d see is clouds.” And she wouldn’t go sit and look at clouds—not when it’s so dark, and there isn’t even the glow of the moon to keep her company.
“She could still be looking for fresh air,” suggests Moss.
Tenar doesn’t think that’s the case, but she also doesn’t have any other ideas. Besides, Moss knows Lark just as well as she does, if not more. Maybe she knows something Tenar doesn’t.
Or maybe she’s looking for an excuse to step outside and have a quiet moment of her own. Something has been troubling Moss, lately. It’s been worrying Lark. It’s been worrying Tenar, too. Maybe, if they have a moment to themselves, Tenar can try to talk to her.
“Alright,” she says. She takes the next left, making her way to one of the balconies overlooking the gardens.
They don’t meet anyone else along the way. Everything is quiet as Tenar leads them through the double stained glass doors and out onto the balcony. The air is cold, biting even for the late autumn night. Tenar shivers as the chill seeps immediately through her nightgown, but beside her—covered only in simple clothes and a thin, hooded cloak—Moss seems entirely unaffected.
It’s obvious that Lark isn’t out here, but Moss doesn’t make any moves to leave. She stands in front of the doors and stares out past the balcony’s railings. It’s too dark to see the gardens. Too dark to see much of anything at all.
“Moss?” Tenar asks softly.
Moss shakes her head. That distant look lingers in her eyes. “I don’t know where she is.”
“That’s okay.” Tenar continues to watch her watch the night. “Is there…something else you want to talk about?”
This time, Moss’s eyes flicker toward hers. Only for a moment, though. Then she drops her chin and looks away again.
“What do you mean?”
Tenar shrugs and turns away. She walks toward the railing, giving Moss space to gather her thoughts, or her words. Or her courage.
“A lot has been going on lately,” she says, keeping her voice light. Behind her, Moss stays silent. “Farmers reporting decay in their fields. Sightings of strange creatures in the forests. Disappearances, in the border villages. I think everyone is a little uneasy because of it.”
“Are you afraid, Tenar?” There’s something almost mocking in Moss’s voice. Tenar almost looks back at her over her shoulder, but then she stops and sighs, letting her head hang.
“I would be a fool not to be, wouldn’t I? After everything we’ve been through…I know better than to doubt my own instincts.” She pauses, then, “You do, too.”
Moss stays silent.
“Moss?” she asks again. No response. Tenar lifts her head. “Please talk to me. I know something has been bothering you lately.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
Her voice is dark—not angry, but furious. Tenar turns and sees Moss directly behind her, eyes dark, a shadow hanging over her face. A blade in her hand.
Their eyes meet, and Moss flinches, her arm jerking to the side even as it thrusts forward.
The whole world shrinks down to that balcony, to just the two of them—to the sharp, blinding pain in her back, and the overwhelming sorrow in Moss’s eyes.
Tenar’s hand moves of its own accord, finding the dagger at her waist and swinging up. Moss’s eyes widen as she stumbles back. She pulls her own knife with her, and Tenar screams as the blade tears through her again on the way out. She feels blood running down her back, soaking her gown. She shoves Moss away with another cry and throws the dagger—not at her, but past her. It crashes through the closed doors, shattering one of the stained glass windows.
They hear voices almost immediately, calling out in alarm. Moss bares her teeth.
“Moss,” Tenar whispers.
It’s like something breaks between them. Moss falters. Fear fills her gaze. Her arm falls, holding the knife loosely at her side. For the first time, Tenar sees tears streaming down her cheeks.
They hear footsteps, light and quick, then, “Tenar!”
Lark’s voice. Tenar could sob. She’s shaking, her legs trembling beneath her. She reaches out for Moss, but that dark, furious expression fills her face again—a look of hatred so cold that she doesn’t even look like herself. Moss backs away toward the railing just as Lark bursts through the doors.
She sees Tenar first. Terror crosses her face.
And then she looks at Moss.
Her eyes dart down to the bloody knife in Moss’s hand.
“Moss,” she breathes.
Moss shakes her head. She takes another step back. Lark starts after her, but she bolts and hops over the railing before she can reach her.
“Moss!”
Lark sprints forward. The balcony catches against her hips, stopping her even as she leans dangerously far over it, reaching for someone who is no longer there. Lark pulls her bow and starts to aim, but she lets out a frustrated growl and lowers it again before she even has the arrow nocked.
Tenar’s legs give out. She catches herself on the railing. She can hear her own harsh, broken breaths in her ears.
“Tenar!”
Lark grabs her and eases her down to the floor, but Tenar shakes her head.
“Moss—you need to help Moss.”
Lark ignores her. Her hand slips toward Tenar’s back, and burning pain courses through her veins. Tenar bites back a whimper.
“We need to get you a healer.”
“Lark, it wasn’t her. There’s something wrong, something—”
“I know,” Lark says through her teeth. “I know, she—but this looks bad, Tenar, we gotta get you help.”
“She’s in danger—”
“So are you.”
“I’ll be fine, I—”
“Tenar—”
“Lark,” Tenar says in the same voice that addresses her people, that orders her council, that leads knights onto the battlefield. “Go after your sister.”
Lark looks toward the railing where Moss disappeared, then squeezes her eyes shut. A tear slips down her cheek. Tenar wants to reach up and brush it away.
Lark’s grip on Tenar tightens. “No,” she says. “Not until you’re safe.”
She looks down again and meets Tenar’s eyes, and Tenar can’t resist it anymore. It hurts. Everything hurts. She can feel the blood on her gown, clinging to her skin. The night is already growing colder around them. Lark is moving against her now, stripping her overshirt and bunching it to press against Tenar’s back, and that hurts, too—enough to make darkness seep in on the edges of her vision.
Moss is gone, disappeared into the night. Something is wrong with her. She’s not herself. Lark knows, and Ged and Arren will believe her, but will anyone else? The guard who escorted her to Lark’s door—he’ll know Moss was the last one with Tenar. Will he think Moss was acting of her own accord? Will everyone else?
Lark is shouting something, her voice cracking as she cries out for help. If the council blames Moss, will they even listen to Lark? Or will they try to stop her from finding Moss and helping her?
“Lark,” Tenar whispers. Lark turns to her immediately, holding her a little closer. “My dagger—by the door.”
“Ten—”
“Please,” she says, because she knows it will work. And it does. Lark gently lays her down, then scrambles across the balcony to grab her dagger.
She returns within seconds. One arm wraps around Tenar again while the other offers her the hilt of her blade. Tenar takes it, then grabs Lark’s wrist.
“What are you—”
“Listen to me,” Tenar says, and Lark does. She always does. It makes Tenar want to apologize. But she can’t. She turns the blade and passes it back to Lark, pressing the seal that rests in the center of the cross-guard into her palm. “Moss needs you, okay? You—you have to protect her. You have to protect your family.”
Lark nods. “I will. You know I will. But Tenar—”
“And you have to protect this kingdom. Promise me you will.”
“I’ve already sworn that oath to you,” Lark says, her voice rough. “Stop talking like this. You’re going to be fine, and we’re going to find Moss, and we’re going to fix this. We are.”
“Lark, I…”
But whatever she wants to say—the words she was finally brave enough to share—fades away as darkness clouds more of her vision. She hears Lark call her name. She hears others, too, people finally running out onto the balcony to help, crying out when they see the two of them lying there in a growing pool of her blood.
Tenar wraps Lark’s fingers around the hilt of the blade and lets go.
“Tenar!” Lark catches her hand before it can hit the stone. Tenar doesn’t respond. She looks over her shoulder at the guards who stand frozen, now, staring at the scene. “She needs a healer! Now!”
It snaps them back into action.
“Sound the alarm,” one of them barks, sending someone else running back down the hall. “And you, run ahead to the ward, tell them what’s happened. You two, help me carry her.”
They all start moving at once. Lark forces herself to let go of Tenar as they lift her and start carrying her away. In the distance, she hears the ringing of the alarm bell, followed almost immediately by the cries of more guards. Torches and lanterns start blinking to life across the grounds.
“Lark!” It’s Arren’s voice, and Ged’s. Lark turns as they appear down the hall, running toward her.
They falter as they pass the guards carrying Tenar away. Ged stumbles a little, but Arren grabs him and keeps pulling him along toward the balcony.
“What happened?” Arren asks. “Tenar, is she—”
Lark closes her eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Where’s Moss?” asks Ged. Lark can feel the weight of Moss’s writing in her pocket. Maybe she’s still on the grounds. Maybe she’s tearing through the woods, running for her life. Maybe she’s already met up with whatever force has taken her from them.
Ged and Arren understand her silence enough to know not to ask anything else. Not yet, at least. Not here. Guards still hover around them, scanning the balcony for some hint as to what happened, or just standing there staring at the pool of Tenar’s blood.
Blood that is soaking into the knees of Lark’s pants, still. She pushes to her feet, feeling sick.
“What do we do now?” Ged asks instead.
Lark opens her eyes again, but before she can respond, one of the guards walks up to her.
“I was about to ask the same thing,” he says.
Lark stiffens. She doesn’t want to sit through their questioning now—not when she doesn’t know if Tenar is okay, or where Moss is, or—
“What would you have us do, Your Highness?”
Lark stares. Arren stares.
It’s Ged who breaks the silence.
“Oh, shit,” he whispers, looking down at Lark’s hand. “Tenar’s blade.”
Lark looks down, too. She is indeed still holding Tenar’s dagger in a white-knuckled grip. She hadn’t even realized it.
“What—”
“She put it in your hands, didn’t she?” the guard asks.
Lark forces herself to look up at him. “Yes, but—”
“Then she placed the fate of the kingdom in your hands, as well.”
“I—that’s not—it’s just a blade.” Lark stares at it in her hands. She will her fingers to uncurl and let it drop, but they don’t. She can’t.
“It’s tradition,” Ged says quietly. She turns to stare at him instead. “Especially during wartime. A quick way of establishing succession when a monarch is—”
“Tenar’s not dead,” Lark snaps.
“And if she wakes again,” the guard starts. Lark glares at him, and he holds his hands up. “When she wakes again, she will resume power. But until then…”
He steps forward, then lowers himself to kneel in front of her. Lark shakes her head. Behind him, the rest of the guards lingering on the balcony follow suit, bowing their heads. Ged kneels, too, elbowing Arren in the thigh on the way down so he takes a knee, too.
“Queen Regent,” the guard says to her. “What would you have us do?”
#i regret nothingggg#tenlark#erathia#writing things#sweepy-stringbean#celebrity fake dating au#(not really but i want it in the tag anyway)#can you believe#just. like. any of this#because i can't#i wrote this instead of writing max and nancy scenes in the cfdau lmao#for a niche audience of like. maybe 7 on a good day#which is 7 more than i ever would've expected <3 <3 <3
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HI DO YOU THINK YOU COULD WRITW A JANE FOSTER X READER OR VALKRYE X READER STORY PLEASE
you’re in luck! i had this in my docs unfinished and finished it finally lolz
includes. SMUT 16+, riding, throne sex, dildos, gays
word count. 1.1k+ words
Late at night, when darkness fell upon New Asgard, Valkyrie liked to take you like this.
Sitting on her throne in the center of the town hall, her legs spread with you perched upon them.
Everyone within the small city would’ve been asleep, yet just to be safe, you two only had a few lamps connected on the wall lit, barely illuminating the room with a low, yellow glow.
It casted a shadow against Valkyrie’s face, and you’re sure it did the same for you too.
Your hands gently cupped her cheeks, one palm on each side, bright and dark.
Her dark eyes stare up at you, and the whites around it emphasizes the orbs. She admires you, marvels at your beauty.
And you do the same.
As you sink your hips back down, your mouth opens, a soft groan leaving your swollen lips. Valkyrie turns her head, her eyes staying fixated on you, and she presses her lips into the palm of your hand. The force of her kiss against your hand is strong, yet weak when put into perspective of everything else about her.
Still, the cushion of her pink lips against the light inside of your hand is heavy, feeling like a stamp with the pressure and weight she puts behind it.
Once her cock is stuffed to the hilt inside of you, you sigh, the sound constricted and tight as it forces itself up your throat and at your lover.
She nods, eyes soft as she reorients her head to face you completely. Her hand is warm as it sneaks up the Phantom of the Opera crewneck you wore (which was definitely not yours), warm as it glides up your thigh and around your waist, hot as it situates itself at the curve of your back and pushes your chest into hers.
“There you go, love.” Valkyrie coaxes, thumb rubbing at your back. Her hips shift, pushing up and furthering her cock into you, even when you thought that wasn’t possible.
You flinch with the movement, muscles tensing then relaxing almost instantly.
Your eyebrows are pinched together, showing your slight discomfort.
“Relax,” She tells you.
As if your body relied on her word, you follow her command. Every muscle relaxes until you’re able to take Valkyrie better than you were able to a minute ago. She nods when she notices your discomfort fading, a gentle smile coming to her lips.
“So big.” You whisper, more so to yourself than her.
“I know.” Valkyrie agrees, her nose scrunching as her other hand comes up behind your head, urging you forward so your forehead can meet hers with a small thud. “But you can take it, can’t you?”
You’re quick to nod, eager to prove yourself.
To make her believe you, you roll your hips once, and then raise yourself slightly only to bring yourself back down. The small movement brings you satisfaction, and an unexpected moan comes tumbling from your mouth and into hers when Valkyrie forces her lips against yours.
She kisses you messily, no real organization to the way her lips move with yours. When you pull back, your lips are wet, as are hers, and you both lick them with accidental synchronization. All the while, Valkyrie starts moving her hips, both of her hands gripping your waist to keep her steady.
“Good girl.” She coos, the praise sounding like heaven coming from her.
You gasp, head throwing back as your hands find hers, holding onto her as you start to try and move your own hips.
Valkyrie’s grip turns strong against your skin and she tuts. When you bring your head back down to look at her, she has a stern look on her face. One she only uses in meetings.
“Let me do all the work.” She says. There’s no room for argument, so you don’t bother. Instead, you nod and keep yourself still, one hand finding Valkyrie’s shoulder while the other stays atop hers on your waist.
She moves slowly, thrusting in you deep, hitting a spot that has a soft gasp coming from your lips every single time.
You nod, not for any reason in particular, yet desiring to show Valkyrie just how good she was making you feel. She takes your nod as the reaction it was intended to be–positive—and drives her hips harder, faster.
When you accidentally shuffle your hips to the side, Valkyrie’s cock hits an angle you hadn’t expected, and the moan you let out is loud.
“Norns, Val.”
“Good?” She asks, as if your physicality didn’t show just that.
“So good, Val. You always make me feel so good.” You manage to tell her, surprising yourself with your own vocality.
“No one can make you feel this good, right?” She tilts her head, unphased. You nod, tongue darting out to lick your lips which have started to dry out from your panting.
“No one.”
Valkyrie’s hand comes to your face, her thumb inching closer to your lips until it sits along the bottom one. You don’t have to be told to open, nor do you have to be told to suck.
When Valkyrie’s thumb is coated in your spit, she lets her hand travel under your crewneck again, careful to keep her finger slick so that she can rub it along your hardened nipple.
She watches your reaction as she pinches the bud, and when you give her the one she’s looking for, she smiles crudely.
Your fingers wrap around her wrist, and you plead. “Val, lemme take over, please.”
She ponders over it, hips still going at the same pace, as her fingers just casually rest around your nipple.
“Sure. Prove yourself.”
And you do, hips working like they never had before.
Eventually, your eyes close, yet you can still feel Valkyrie’s on you.
It doesn’t take long for your stomach to churn, your brain picking up on an itch that desperately needs scratching till satisfaction. And that satisfaction reaches you easily whenever Valkyrie takes her hand from your nipple to bring it between your legs and to your slickened clit.
She only had to rub a few times and then your muscles are tensing, your head collapsing onto her shoulder as you bite onto your lip to stifle your moans.
You’re paused, so Valkyrie takes over again, her hips slowly pistoning into you to guide you through your orgasm.
When you come down and have enough strength to face her again, she smiles softly. “Wanna go at it on my desk? Good view from there.”
You chuckle a bit, eyelids becoming heavy but not heavy enough.
“Of me or New Asgard?”
“A bit of both.”
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What your favorite Lupin The Third Character says about you
When people make these they always just say nice things and traits of the character and it’s dumb so here’s me being right
Anyway my reputation for misogyny is legendary
Ok this largely depends on if you like edgy Jigen or goofy ah Jigen but
You desperately need to stop getting into arguments online, both in general and on whether Jigen is deep and emo or a silly guy
Gay Gay homosexual gay 🫵
You took one look at him and Lupin and said “Damn these bitches gay!” In a half joking way but the show itself proved you right in 10 seconds
Lol emo
Ok but actually seek psychiatric care
You either write porn about him in your head or you’re extremely asexual
There’s something weird going on with your gender but that’s kinda true if you watch this show in general
You’re too broke to get that next piercing don’t do it
You’re either as devastated about them whitewashing our boy as I am or you should be
Hey remember they whitewashed Goemon too you should be equally as mad about that
You head canon he speaks Spanish
Go to bed
He’s a nice man
Seek help brother
You play with jpegs like dolls
Beneath your eyes is a deep dark hole of information on this show’s lore
You also hate him so much and you want to see him die painfully <3
You want that twink OBLITERATED
You should really raise the price on your art it is so much better than you think it is
Some of you have only seen the first and it shows
“Brother,,,,, help me,,,,,,”
“Long live the king……”
Lol you thought I’m not letting you off that easy you’re deeply traumatized You’ve never felt safe in your life and the most inner hurt part of you desperately needed an adult to help you at a time in your life when you should’ve been worried about learning your times tables not whether you’d survive another day and one of the reasons you’re drawn to characters like this and collect fictional fathers is because you see a glowing smile and an infallible hero who could’ve saved you when you needed it the most
Or you’re Japanese native but like
Autism 👿
Woah dude are you like… autistic???
Stop looking at his tits
A small but significant subsection of you people are just racist and cannot be normal about Japan
If someone asked your thoughts on him you’d just be like :)))) the silly
You have way too many screenshots of him looking weird in the background
You def hate part 5 and twcfm
Whenever tms forgets he exists for a while you still watch it but you look like a wet kitten
You’re def short
You need to stop coping and accept it he looked fully insane in part 3 the hair is so so bad
You’re probably transmasc
I just wanna say I’m so sorry
She’s an ugly bitch there I said it
STROP BEING HORNY
You’re probably a girl
And definitely bi
Y’all probably know the least about the show as a whole
Good for you!! You actually touch grass
Or again you’re in the racist subgroup
The titles for each character confuse you but you only realized this one’s Fujiko because either I just said it or you saw the “stop being horny” and knew
You probably have insanely hot takes on the show
They did your girl dirty im so sorry
You’d die on the hill of whichever of her hair colors you think is best but at least you’re dead
I’m scared of you
Hey you should watch the first if you haven’t already
Zemigamna 🥺
You cry every time someone says Yata was boring and didn’t need to be in the show
Miyazaki studio gibli ass 🫵
Please you still have time left you can get out before you become obsessed you’re not in too deep yet RUN RUN SAVE YOURSEL
Or this show is all you have left and it’s infinitely too late for you no in between
Again probably a girl
You’re definitely not normal about fujiko either
You hate that one movie where he’s a dick with a burning passion and you would write 20 page essays on it
If you’re obsessed with him you probably have a chronic illness (same bestie) or major physical disability
Anyway if I fully clocked you let me know I think it’s funny to see you guys suffer
#lupin iii#lupin the third#lupin the 3rd#lupin gang#lupin iii part 3#lupin the iii#lupin the first#lupin 3rd#arsene lupin iii#lupin the iiird#lupin the third castle of cagliostro#jigen lupin the third#pink jacket lupin#lupin part 3#jigen#jigen x lupin#jigen daisuke#gay jigen#jiglup#lupjig#fujiko#fujiko mine#goemon ishikawa xiii#goemon ishikawa#goemon#ishikawa goemon xiii#zenigata#zenigata koichi#koichi zenigata#inspector zenigata
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Souyo + Yu having a gay panic, mostly since it's always Yosuke having it
Sorry this took a few days to get out. I've been playing Persona 2 for the first time so I've gotten really distracted with that lmao.
Anyway, I think this fic is really cute. It's more of a pre-relationship fic, but I think that works well for this sort of thing.
Yu took a deep breath, turning over in bed, his mind racing.
Earlier that day, he had gone up to the hill overlooking the town with Yosuke and they had just talked for a while. It had been really nice, but one thing that he had said was stuck in his head and no matter what he did, it wouldn’t go away.
“Yeah… Like you… You’re special to me, you know?”
They were best friends. It made sense that he considered him special to him in some way - he definitely considered Yosuke special to him too - but then why did it make his heart race in his chest and his stomach to flutter to hear him say that?
They were friends - and they were both guys. He shouldn’t be feeling like that.
Because he wasn’t into guys… was he?
He rubbed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about that. He and Yosuke were just friends. That was all. There was nothing else there.
Yeah, he was his best friend. He was always there for him. He always asked him how he was doing. He always wanted to hang out with him. He would always look at him with a smile that would light up the room. He would always ask if he wanted to do something after school, hope so strong in his eyes - brown and loving, so warm and safe. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to sit there and run his hands through his hair. It was probably just so wonderfully soft. He would also sometimes wonder just how many freckles there were dappling his cheeks. What would it be like if, while they were talking, he just leaned forward and pressed his lips down onto his cheek-
He cut his thoughts off, groaning, and turning to face the wall.
Why was he thinking like that? He could tell that his heart was pounding. If that was just by thinking about it, then what would it be like if something like that actually happened? He kind of wanted to find out.
He took a deep breath. No. He needed to stop having those thoughts.
All of a sudden, his phone went off with a text. It was late. Who could that be?
He grabbed his phone, opening it, his heart racing as he saw who it was - Yosuke.
Yosuke
Dude how do you do 6 on the math worksheet? Im so confused
Yu sat up, rubbing his eyes. He sent a text back before he could even think about it.
Yu
Do you want to meet up? I can show you.
Yosuke
Now? Partner its like 11
He was on edge now, his whole body filled with anxiety. Why had he suggested that? He just wanted to see him. He needed to stick with it though, otherwise he might figure out that something was up.
Yu
So?
He took a few seconds to reply.
Yosuke
Ok
His breathing hitched. He wanted to hang out? What did that mean? Did he just want to see him too?
Yu
All right. Let’s meet at the floodplain.
That was right in between their two houses.
Yosuke
See you soon
Yu took a deep breath, getting out of bed. He needed to get to the floodplain then. He didn’t want to keep Yosuke waiting.
He grabbed a coat, pulling it on, then slowly opened the door to his room. He needed to be as quiet as possible; Dojima was home and would definitely react badly to him trying to leave.
He tiptoed down the hallway and down the stairs, making it to the front door. He stopped, slipping on his shoes before heading to the door, making sure to open it very carefully. He stepped outside, closing it gingerly behind him. Hopefully no one had heard him.
The coast clear, he started the familiar walk to the floodplain.
It didn’t take long before he made it there. He walked down to the riverbank, looking out at the Samegawa. It was really pretty there at night - the moon high in the sky, reflecting off the water, casting everything in a silvery glow.
He turned as he heard footsteps approaching him.
“Geez, Partner, it’s cold out here,” Yosuke said, rubbing his arms as he walked up to him.
“It’s not that bad.”
“If you say so.”
Seeing him now made all his wants so much more intense. He was so close to him now. He wanted to just reach over and hug him tightly against his chest. He wanted to press soft kisses against the top of his head. He wanted to run his fingers gently through his hair.
He couldn’t though.
“So, what did you need help on?”
“It’s just part of the math homework. I didn’t know how to do part of it.”
Yu waited as he reached into the bag that he had brought, pulling out a piece of paper.
“It’s this problem.” He pointed at part of the sheet.
Yu took the paper, humming. The way to do that problem was a little bit tricky.
He sat down on the ground, Yosuke moving to sit beside him.
He started explaining how to do the problem, his heart pounding as Yosuke leaned a little bit onto him in order to see better. Could he hear just how loud it was?
After he was done with his explanation, he nodded slowly. “All right. I think I kinda get it.”
“Are there any other parts you don’t understand?”
“Not right now, I don’t think.” He paused for a second. “Hey, do you want to just hang out for a little while?”
His stomach fluttered as he nodded. Really, it wasn’t such an odd request seeing as they had both snuck out to see each other, but it still made him so unbelievably happy.
Yosuke flashed him a warm smile, putting the paper away in his bag.
“It’s nice here at night, isn’t it?” Yosuke said, stretching his arms up.
“Yeah.” Yu nodded, at the same time, seeing an opportunity. He leaned onto him while his arms were still outstretched.
Yosuke hesitated for a second, but slowly laid his arm back down, letting it fall around his shoulders.
He was so unbelievably nervous, but this somehow felt so right. He wanted to stay like this forever, pressed up against him, his comforting scent washing over him.
Yosuke let out a small laugh - something that he felt more than heard. “So, you weren’t cold, huh?”
So that’s what he thought this was. That was fine. It was probably for the best. “It’s only a little bit.”
“Uh-huh.”
Yosuke gently squeezed his arm around him. That was nice.
He moved, burying his face against the side of his chest, closing his eyes.
There was nothing but the sound of the Samegawa flowing in front of them and their quiet breathing. He was so warm and comfortable and content. He wanted every day to be like this.
For the time being though, this was fine.
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Propaganda
Barbara Stanwyck (Ball of Fire, The Lady Eve, Double Indemnity)—I hope someone else has submitted better propaganda than I because I don't want my girl's prospects to rest on me just yelling PLEASE VOTE FOR MY TERRIBLE HOT GIRLFRIEND. She is a delight in everything! She is often a sexy jerk! (It's most of the plot of Baby Face!) Even when she plays a "good girl" (as an example, Christmas in Connecticut, which more people should see) she's still kind of a jerk and I love her for it! She won't take men's shit and she sure wouldn't take mine!
Mae Clarke (The Public Enemy, Frankenstein)—she was in frankenstein. which i think is neat
This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]
Mae Clarke propaganda:
Barbara Stanwyck propaganda:
"THE queen of screwball comedies. I adore her, I'd kill for her, I will cry if she's not gonna win this poll."
"listen ok she had awful politics she was a mccarthyist right wing wacko BUT she's so incredibly hot that i've deluded myself into believing i could fix her. if you see her onscreen she carries herself in a way that's just so effortlessly sexy AND she has just a stunning face. imo she was at her hottest in the 1940s but even as early as the late 1920s she had a rly captivating screen presence and just a beautiful face, and then post-1950 she was just irresistibly milfy so really she was just always incredibly hot. she was also an incredibly talented actress who was equally stellar in melodrama, film noir, and unhinged screwball comedy. the blonde wig they made her wear in double indemnity is notoriously silly looking but she still looks sexy in it so that's gotta count for something. i've watched so many terrible movies just for a chance at seeing her that i think her estate should be paying me damages."
"Not often thought of for her sultriness, Barbara Stanwyck was incredible in that she could actually choose to be hot if the role called for it, and then have a glow-down to look ordinary for another role. She wasn't the most beautiful or effervescent, but damn did she have rizz. Watch her with Gary Cooper in Ball of Fire teaching him about "yum-yum" or with Henry Fonda in The Lady Eve whispering huskily into his ear."
youtube
"THE leading lady of the golden age of hollywood. One of the only actresses to work independent of a studio, making short-term contracts that enabled her to make movies wherever she wanted. She had so much range, and could act in basically any genre. She's been rumored to be a lesbian literally since she was active in Hollywood; most notable is the rumor that she had a long time on-and-off relationship with famously bi Joan Crawford, her "best friend" for decades (They lived right next door to one another). She also lived with Helen Ferguson, her "live-in publicist" for many years. She was the quintessential femme fatale in Double Indemnity, and really pushed sexual boundaries in her pre-code films like Baby Face, and the famous screwball The Lady Eve, where she plays basically a downlow domme. Allegedly, when a journalist asked her if she was a lesbian, she straight up threw him out of her house. She even played a lesbian in Walk on the Wild Side"
"She is always the smartest woman in the room. Watching her play Henry Fonda like a befuddled fiddle in The Lady Eve was a highlight of my life. Femme fatale in Double Indemnity, comedy queen in Ball of Fire. She can do anything."
"She was part of my gay awakening"
"SHE'S A PRE-CODE QUEEN. She did everything, drama, comedy. The most beautiful woman in the world to watch weep. Beg for to step on you with those legs. Fun Babs story: Ginger Rogers was offered the role in Ball of Fire but said, “Oh, I would never play that part, she’s too common.” So they called Barbara Stanwyck and they said “We offered this to Ginger Rogers but she’s turned it down, would you be interested?” And she read the script and she said; “You bet! I LOVE playing common broads.” (Source: https://misstanwyck.tumblr.com/post/72996544180/barbara-stanwyck-photographed-for-ball-of-fire)"
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Top Surgery Journey Part 1
16 was the worst age of my life. My mother was diagnosed with stage-three breast cancer. We were evicted from our house and had to move again, this time to a shitty thin-walled apartment with drug-dealers for neighbours. I was half-way through my first year of high school, where I was bulled for what might as well have been a glowing neon “I have autism” sign strapped to my back. And I realized I liked girls—that terrified me almost as much as the threat of losing my mom.
My father used to tell me and my brother that the two things we were not allowed to be were gay or clergy. He said things like “all gay people should be put on an island” – your typical homophobic rhetoric. As an autistic child, I took him literally, and thought that if I was gay, he would discard me on an island to die. Living in Nova Scotia, it’s not like there’s a lack of islands around where he could have done so, in my mind. That probably sounds ridiculous to read if you’re neurotypical, but it’s what I genuinely thought at the time.
It wasn’t until my early 20’s that I started coming out to people as liking women. By that time my parents had divorced and I started looking after my mother and brother. I became more accepting of my sexuality, especially thanks to the encouragement from online queer spaces. And when I became more accepting of my sexuality, I started to question my gender as well. There were so many things that trans/non-binary people spoke of that I could identify within myself; things I never questioned before, or just assumed everyone felt that way. It prompted me to think about all the things that made me feel outside of my gender growing up, such as the intense jealousy I felt over my mother’s double mastectomy.
I know, right? It’s true though. She survived cancer, and all I could think of was how much I wished I could be rid of my breasts, too.
I was late in puberty. It didn’t start to hit until about age 15, so I was very new to the developing breasts I hated so very much, at the same time my mother was getting rid of hers. But when they came, they came in heavy. I was genetically cursed with a large chest, and it made shopping suddenly a nightmare for me, because I preferred the men’s section. I started the habit of buying clothing twice my size to hide my body. I hated looking at myself in the mirror, because I felt disgusted with what I saw at best, or like I didn’t want a body at all at worst. I stopped going swimming; something I used to enjoy. Despite my family history, I never did breast exams because I couldn’t stand to think about them in such detail. One of the reasons I hate exercise in general is because I hate the sensation of my breasts moving so much, even when packed in sports bras. All because I know now, having been professionally diagnosed over a decade later, I have gender dysphoria.
(Insert here a reminder that not all transgender people have gender dysphoria, and that doesn’t make them any less trans. I am purely speaking about my own experiences!)
It’s only been a few years that I’ve opened up about my nonconformity to the western gender binary to the people I know in real life. Most of my close co-workers are 50+ years old cishet white women, who while mean well, are quite ignorant of gender diversity. I’ve been fortunate to only have to deal with one co-worker who did not respond well to my request to stop calling me “yes missy”, “yes girl”, “yes ma’am”, insisting it was just what they were taught from their generation and that I needed to respect that. But my manager has been very supportive, and made it very clear that it’s expected I be treated with respect, too. (She also added a rainbow flag to her email signature with the line “I respect inclusion”, which I thought was cute.)
My top surgery is two weeks away now, and I’m so excited to get it done that I think about it before bed every night. Knowing that soon I will be going to sleep on a table and then waking up with a flat chest is thrilling. Thinking about how much this is going to change my life is thrilling. I have worries about the surgery itself of course—I’ve only been under anaesthesia once when I was very little; too little to remember. I’ve never been on high pain-killers before. I worry about the drainage tubes and looking after them. But I figure these concerns are probably very normal, and I have to remind myself that people every day are going through the same surgery I’m about to go through. The surgeon who will be operating on me has almost two decades of experience. The clinic I’m going to in Montréal has a good reputation, from what I’ve been able to hear from others. There’s reason to believe things will go well.
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begging for a bi charles snippet 🙏🏻🙏🏻
signed, monegasque 💕
Hi bestie!! ❤️
Okay so....I won't spoil my whole idea for this fic, but I will say that it involves a closeted bi Charles, a secret relationship, a dash of voyeurism, gay panic on Carlos' part, and eventual charlos endgame...
The first time he catches Charles returning to his hotel room late into the night, it’s in Imola.
They’re new teammates - it’s only their second race together with Ferrari. But Carlos still feels like he knows Charles pretty well. Charles has been racing in Formula One now for three years, this year his fourth, and they’ve always been friendly, if not proper friends until recently.
But he’s learning all kinds of new things about the other driver now that they’re together nearly every hour of the day, Friday through Sunday of a race weekend. Including, apparently, how Charles sometimes returns to the hotel late into the night.
Struggling to sleep, Carlos goes for a late-night gym session, and is returning to his room when he runs into Charles in the hallway. The other man looks freshly showered, hair still wet and curling at the ends, which seems odd in and of itself. Where’s he been that there’s a shower or a need to shower, if not the gym or the track? And there’s no way he’s been at the track. There’s a strict curfew now to prevent teams from working on the car late into the night.
Carlos would think he’s showered in his room and has just stepped out to get something for some reason, except that he’s clearly dressed like he’s been out somewhere, not in sweats like he’s about to climb in bed.
His eyes widen when he sees Carlos, but it’s quickly replaced with a polite smile.
“Hello, mate,” Charles says, pausing in his efforts to find which pocket his room key is in (another sign that he hasn’t just stepped out of his room briefly). Carlos gives him a nod, trying not to raise his brows too much and betray his own curiosity.
“Have a good evening?” Carlos asks, and he can’t help the way his tone rises at the end, suggestively. Charles flushes even more, which pretty much confirms his suspicions. “It’s okay, mate,” he says, as he passes Charles. He winks and pats him on the shoulder. “Good for you.”
He continues into his own room without another glance, giving the guy a break. Charles doesn’t have a girlfriend (that Carlos knows of), so if he wants to go out and get some action during the weekend, it’s really none of Carlos’ business.
But it’s not the last time he catches Charles in a similar situation.
The next time it happens, they’re in France and they’re staying in their motorhomes at the track, instead of in a hotel. Carlos is on the phone with his father, deciding to take the call outside in the clear night air, when he sees Charles entering his hospitality. His hair is a mess, and he has a certain flush to his skin that usually only points to a couple things.
Their eyes meet as Charles turns back to shut his door, and they end up exchanging awkward waves, as Carlos still holds the phone to his ear. It’s the night before the race, and Carlos isn’t judging Charles, but it does seem like an odd habit to get into by oneself. Although, he supposes Charles could be meeting some of the other drivers at a club or a bar, but then Carlos feels like he would’ve heard about it. For Charles to be going out alone and picking up girls...it’s just a little bit weird.
But then again, it’s only the second time he’s caught him sneaking back to his room with that post-sex glow. Two times does not a habit make. Or however the saying goes.
So then, of course, he runs into Charles for a third time, when they’re in Italy again - Monza. It’s a surprising race for Charles to be anything but laser-focused, with the pressure of the Italian fans and media on the two of them to somehow pull off a miracle, even though their car hasn’t been competing for wins this season. Not to mention the fact that it’s a sprint race weekend, so every session on the track has more stakes than usual.
Or maybe that’s why Charles feels like he needs to let loose and relax. Regardless, it’s the third time he’s catching Charles surreptitiously sneaking back into his room, and there could be countless other times that Carlos didn’t catch prior. Carlos is starting to think that either Charles is a bit of a slut or he has some secret relationship he’s trying to keep discreet.
Neither option is any of his business, yet neither changes the fact that Carlos is finding himself a little curious. If it’s the latter, there’s only two situations he can think of where a relationship needs to be discreet - if Charles is seeing someone high profile, or if the other person is averse to the whole celebrity athlete relationship thing.
But if anything, it’s a peripheral curiosity that’s easy for him to put at the back of his mind. And when he continues not to question Charles about it, it’s almost as though Charles gives up any and all pretense of discretion. He starts catching Charles more and more, returning to his room late at night, looking like the cat that caught the canary. Carlos thinks one time, he even sees a hickey on the back of Charles’ neck, near his ear. But he doesn’t let his gaze linger long enough to confirm.
It becomes just another part of the race weekend - Thursday media, Friday practice, Charles out late somewhere, Saturday qualifying, Sunday race...etc. He could almost be jealous of all the sex Charles is getting, if it didn’t also come with an undercurrent of concern.
The two of them are around the same age, but Carlos doesn’t feel the need to be going out every night. And if it really is different people Charles is always hooking up with, that could be unsafe for a regular person, let alone someone as high profile as a Formula One driver. Charles could find himself exploited by a stranger - robbed, even. He could find himself a year down the road, accused of getting a girl pregnant, and caught up in a legal situation. It’s not unheard of. With their salaries and spotlight, it’s hard to know who to trust.
Not that Charles isn’t charming or handsome enough to pull ladies on his own merit - Carlos is certain that he’s not lacking in that area. But he’s been through his own fair share of fake friends to be guarded when it comes to who he chooses to spend his time with. Charles just seems a little too naive, too trusting.
And it would be one thing if it seemed to calm down after the end of their first season together. But when they return to racing in March the following year, Carlos finds that nothing has changed at all. He’s still catching Charles sneaking back into hotels and motorhomes, to the point that he avoids staying out late himself for fear of Charles thinking Carlos wants to catch him.
It’s a little different than last year, though. Because sometimes, Charles doesn’t look all that happy when Carlos sees him returning at late hours, his shoulders tense and raised up near his ears. He always smiles at Carlos, but it doesn't always reach his eyes.
But he doesn’t want to insert his opinion where it’s unwelcome. He and Charles are friends, but they’re not that close. If Charles wants his advice, he’ll ask.
~ ~
He maintains that what happens in Spain is not his fault.
And that's literally all I have written so far! A 1.2K preview, in all it's glory, just for y'all 😜
#i essentially have the idea that Carlos catches charles and his boytoy ya know....and has a gay crisis/awakening about it#tag game#rpf#charlos#monagasque#ask#bi charles au
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First of the Febuwhump stories has arrived!!
For @natsora, CPR featuring Cassandra/F!Inquisitor. I hope you like it!! It's been so long since I've played around in Dragon Age and this was very fun to write (and ended up way longer than intended lol).
Words: 2,012
Tags: near-drowning, hypothermia, hurt/comfort, Cassandra's gay panic
ao3 link
when is a kiss not truly a kiss?
The Emprise du Lion is always cold. Cassandra has been through a handful of times in the past, and those few times only because it lies on one of the main routes from Orlais to Ferelden. There is not much of anything here, aside from some stunning mountain vistas. Of course, the cold did lend itself to nights in the tent spent huddled for warmth, just her and the Inquisitor. Not that Cassandra thought of it like that. It was simply nice to be able to cuddle with a warm body and try very hard not to think about all the books where the heroine got lost in the snow with her handsome love interest and they needed to keep each other warm. The Inquisitor is the Inquisitor. She is fearsome and strong and above all else, untouchable.
Cassandra shakes her head to clear it and follows after said Inquisitor. Among the snow Lavellan’s armour shines bright as her smile as she laughs at something Dorian has said. She watches them, jealous of the easy camaraderie between the two. And with her eyes forward she can ignore the glances from Varric. He has been exceptionally annoying of late, making crude innuendos about the sleeping arrangements whenever Lavellan is just out of earshot or raising his eyebrows suggestively whenever Cassandra’s eyes linger too long. She has tried pointing out that she is not about to let the Inquisitor share a tent with a man she is not in a relationship with, and that she must keep an eye on Lavellan as one of her guards. Yet as always Varric never listens. Ugh.
Today the cold in their boots is for getting rid of the rift over the lake. Lavellan had been trying to put it off during the colder months, but now that spring is on its way they needed to get rid of it before they end up fighting demons in rowboats. Maker knows that Lavellan would try.
The rift is visible from the edge of the lake as a distant green glow. Sahrnia sits behind them, its people still present despite the red lyrium and red Templars and all the evil conjured in the valley. At least with the rift gone there will be no more demons wandering close to town. Lavellan is in agreement as she strides across the frozen lake with a sense of purpose that has Varric struggling to keep pace.
“Inquisitor, slow down. We should face them together,” Cassandra calls.
It is not the first time she has made such a request of Lavellan, and with her luck it will not be the last. The words fall on deaf ears as Lavellan only moves faster, unsheathing her greatsword as she closes in on the demons wandering below the rift. Cassandra sighs, and chases after her.
The battle is quick and messy. While Cassandra and Lavellan lay waste to the demons with their swords Dorian picks them off at a distance while Varric times careful shots. It is a dance they have perfected on the battlefield. And while Cassandra never did get used to the ballgowns and flowing movements of a nobleman’s soiree, here she thrives. She slashes at a shade and uses her shield to bash it towards Lavellan. The Inquisitor does not hesitate, barely finishing parrying a blow from a terror demon before spinning to hack the shade in two with her massive blade. The rest of the fight continues much the same way and only minutes later Lavellan has her hand raised to the rift to close it. The air hums with a low rumble as the rift pulses once, twice, then slams closed. As it does Lavellan deflates, shaking out her arm and trying to regain steady legs. Cassandra hovers close at her side but doesn’t touch her. Just close, so that the Inquisitor knows she is there if she needs someone to hold on to.
“Well, what say you we head back to Sahrnia and see what kind of food they can scrounge up for their saviour. The rest of the weird shit in this valley can wait until tomorrow,” says Varric lightly as he hefts his absurd crossbow onto his back.
Cassandra glares at him. He is not the leader of this party, and if it were not the Inquisitor, it would be Cassandra who made the calls.
“Sounds great,” says Lavellan in a tired voice.
“It is far too cold out here, and I would like to be back by a fire sooner rather than later,” agrees Dorian.
“At least we don’t have too far to go,” says Varric as he takes up the lead.
Walking while staring at the dwarf’s broad back is aggravating, but Cassandra will not let herself move too far from the Inquisitor. Just in case. This is why, as they reach the bank nearest the town, Cassandra is the only one to hear the ice cracking.
She pauses first as the low, snapping sound meets her ears. Her eyes scan for potential enemies sneaking up on their flank before she realizes that the Inquisitor is no longer moving behind her. That the sound came from below.
Cassandra turns slowly to see Lavellan frozen on the ice. A crack spiderwebs below Lavellan’s boot and Cassandra is suddenly aware of how much weight the armour and sword that grace the Inquisitor must weigh.
“Stay very still,” says Cassandra in a calm, commanding tone. “You will be fine.”
The panic on Lavellan’s face says that she very much doubts the veracity of that statement, but the trust in her eyes nearly undoes all the calm resolve Cassandra’s trying to cling to. She nods, muscles tense and frozen. They are only mere feet from the shore, Cassandra could reach and grab her and lunge the rest of the ten feet or so to solid ground. But that might send both of them through the ice. No, she needs to be more cautious about this, and it doesn’t help that Lavellan is staring her down with those big, trusting, beautiful eyes.
“Very slowly slide your foot forward. Don’t take steps, just shift your weight across the ice. Slowly.”
Lavellan follows her orders. Cassandra can hardly breathe as she shifts her weight slowly across the ice. Though she cannot reach the Inquisitor she holds her hand out like she might spontaneously gain magic and pull her to safety. Lavellan’s hand reaches back for her, the distance between them so close and yet altogether too far.
A low twanging sound echoes from the ice. There is a pause like a deep breath, before Lavellan disappears under the broken ice.
“Lavellan!”
Three voices chorus in their fear. Cassandra goes to surge forward, to dive in after Lavellan if she must, to get her out of the water but finds Varric’s strong hands holding her back. Instead it is Dorian who sprints towards the hole through which the Inquisitor disappeared.
“Let me go,” Cassandra all but growls at Varric as she struggles against him.
“No way, Seeker. Your muscles plus your armour would mean you’d go straight to the bottom too.”
Straight to the bottom too. Lavellan, straight to the bottom of the lake. Maker, she doesn’t even know if the Inquisitor can swim. Something bitter and fearful claws its way up Cassandra’s throat but she cannot act on it. She must be strong. Instead she digs in her pouch for potions. The town is not far, but too far for whatever healing Lavellan might need. She stands at the ready, watching as Dorian kneels carefully at the edge of the ice and plunges a hand into the water. He searches around for a moment before his face lights up with determination and he begins trying to pull something.
“Some help would be nice,” he shouts back at them, voice strained with more than just effort.
“Help him, Varric,” says Cassandra.
For once there isn’t some kind of sarcastic remark as Varric carefully eases himself onto the ice and dunks his arms in the water too. Together he and Dorian manage to heave a boneless, fully armoured Lavellan out of the water. She lies limp on the ice as Dorian and Varric drag her to shore. As soon as she’s in reach Cassandra rips her out of their hands and kneels beside her.
The Inquisitor’s lips are blue. Her eyes closed and the lids are darkened to purple. Yet the most concerning thing is that Cassandra cannot tell if she is breathing. She unsheathes her dagger and holds it under Lavellan’s nose. Seconds pass but no air mists the blade. They did not have much time. Cassandra uses her dagger to slice the leather straps of Lavellan’s armour and tosses it aside. Without it she seems so small, but Cassandra cannot stop to think on it. Instead she tries to remember every bit of her training for such a scenario as she folds her hands together over Lavellan’s breastbone and presses down in what she hopes is the correct rhythm.
“What are you doing?” asks Dorian. He sounds on the edge of hysterical but if this is going to work Cassandra cannot stop.
Instead she murmurs to Lavellan. “Breathe, Lavellan. By the Maker you are not meant to die here. Please, breathe.”
Lavellan, ever ignoring Cassandra’s suggestions, only moves in small jolts as Cassandra presses down on her. After what she hopes is the correct amount of presses Cassandra leans down to breathe for her. Lavellan’s lips are icy cold against her own and Cassandra tries to ignore every thought in her brain that isn’t about trying to save her life. The world shrinks down to her, Lavellan, and the count of compressions and breaths. Varric and Dorian could be yelling blasphemy or dancing naked in the snow for all she knows. All that matters is trying to bring back Lavellan.
The cycle continues. For how long Cassandra cannot say. She cannot stop, she cannot let Lavellan die. The hope that Lavellan will breathe again fades with every compression, yet she will not stop. Then, at last, there is a tiny gasp before the body under her hands is suddenly alive and convulsing with coughs. Cassandra quickly rolls her onto her side and pats her back in a hopefully soothing manner. As she does the world comes back into sharp focus. Her hands are icy cold, and her knees are stiff against the snow. Both Varric and Dorian have swooped down upon Lavellan, potion bottles in hand and cloaks ready to wrap around her. Cassandra practically snatches the cloak from Dorians grip to gently tuck it around Lavellan. She isn’t shivering, and Cassandra knows this is not a good sign. She presses Lavellan as close to herself as she can and tries to haul them both upright. It doesn’t work. Lavellan can’t get her feet under herself no matter the effort she puts in.
So Cassandra simply shifts so she can put her arm under Lavellan’s knees and pull her up into her arms and against her chest. Her knees protest, but she can ignore them. The Inquisitor is her highest priority, and right now she needs to get her somewhere warm, and preferably with a healer.
“Dorian, run ahead and find us a place to stay in Sahrnia and get a fire going,” orders Cassandra.
To his credit, Dorian obeys without any witty remarks. He takes off towards the buildings as fast as he can though the snow.
Unfortunately, Cassandra cannot think of anything to get Varric to stop his worried hovering at her side as she strides towards Sahrnia. She does her best to ignore him, instead focusing on Lavellan. Her cheeks are pink with cold, even as her lips remain more purple. She’s far too cold. Cassandra tries holding her tighter, closer, and is rewarded by a cold nose against her neck. Feeling the Inquisitor’s skin against her own brings an odd heat to Cassandra’s cheeks. Yet she cannot let herself think on it. For now, she must take care of Lavellan.
(I intend to post this one to ao3 @natsora, if you want to give me your ao3 handle i will gift this to you there!)
#dragon age inquisition#dai#da:i#fanfic#fanfiction#febuwhump#cassandra pentaghast#female inquisitor#f!inquisitor#lavellan
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i have finally finished my only 12% and if you saw me curled up crying on the floor no you didn't. some of the choices made in the show were so absolutely phenomenal i just have to talk about them (no matter how incoherent i may be)
i loved that the storytelling wasn't rushed. like desis like to say, itmenaan se batao, tell it with patience! it's very easy to make the show dragged out, especially when it's a slowburn romance, but i was still at the edge of my seat all the time! (except maybe last 2 eps but that says more about me than the show lol, if i start to rant about the father I'll never really stop)
in continuation of the above point, the choice to let the scenes linger a little bit longer after the plot point/conversation was over was so good! for example, literally every scene with the friends doing their basic kids nonsense! (bestest friend groups really <3)
that terrifying Eminem poster that gave me a jump scare everytime it was in shot ☠️ also the fleabag poster for some reason, in a show set in late 2000s/early 2010s!!! (i.e. make a show so good that even bizzare mistakes seem negligible)
speaking of the show's setting, oh such a core memory to see MSN, the flip phones, skype, that box windows computer, adding relationship statuses on Facebook, peak 2012. (im a sucker for nostalgia!)
i don't think i have to talk about how beautifully written CakeEiw's friendship was! them cuddling to sleep and Cake just spreading his arms for 'HUG! 😁', yeah. adorable
Eiw's discovery of his sexuality (with Love of Siam) and Hom being so supportive of him! im so glad Eiw had such a supportive family and friends! no matter how much of an 'other' Eiw felt like, no one near & dear to him let him feel like that and its SO important (snickering at the fact that Earth is older than Prem).
the entire America plot, omg, bawling. who hasn't had that friend who moved away, or who hasn't been the one to move away at some point? it was so well done, and all the scenes between CakeEiw post Cake telling Eiw that he's moving had such a bittersweetness to it, especially on the last day when they're promising each other sweet nothings! (kudos to the actors!)
Eiw saying that he's sad that he discovered his love for Cake but now he has to move away? KNIFE IN MY HEART! Eiw sniff kissing Cake and Cake coming back from the car to hug Eiw even tighter? NO PAIN
the letter/email style story telling in ep9 🤌 i love that they didn't go for the "they grew apart in the 3 years" or "one of them isn't replying" etc etc tropes because not only i don't like them but also it would be so out of character for them! and correct use of emerging tech!
love the confidence and the glow up for Eiw! he joined so many activities, making new friends, becoming part of the drama club, dresses like a fkn model, also got his hair dyed, GOOD FOR HIM
Cake in Blonde™! Him immediately begging his mum to let him see Eiw after getting back (in the middle of the night!). him crying and wiping his tears when Eiw hugged him at the bus stop. he's everything to me. Eiw repeating Cake's name on repeat and asking him to always respond? 😭
the enitre subplot of Pu & Tal wanting to be with Eiw was so funny to me skskskskks because have they seen CakeEiw together? one could be with their partners but would still feel like a third wheel in front of them. (and that's BEOFRE they officially got together) INSUFFERABLE
oh the post-show CakeEiw fight, & Eiw saying "Have you ever had to be the one who waits?" holt saying PAIN.gif. that entire confrontation/confession was so intense that i understand the choice to spread it out in between two episodes. and finally Cake saying "then i will be gay with you" had me laughing in the middle of all these tears he's such a best boy i love him dearly. (i was lowkey scared of the 'im not gay i just like you' making a comeback lol)
CakeEiw's relationship being written just as good (if not better) than their friendship!!!! the scene with "i love everything about you"? crying screaming shaking. Cake being basically a puppy? love that for Eiw
in conclusion, CakeEiw best boys and i miss them dearly and i want them back already
#vi.txt#my only 12%#i don't say this but im so glad i binged this show for some reason#there's something so PatPran about them but i won't say it for the sake of my sanity#im gonna spam with the show's gif i apologise in advance
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