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capricorn-season · 1 year

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Homophobia in drag

When I was a young boy, I loved spending the night at my grandmother’s house. There, I could stay up as late as I wanted, and in the morning, there would always be Cinnamon Toast Crunch for breakfast. But the best part was raiding the closet in her basement, which was full of the gowns she had worn in the 1960s and 1970s – frilly pink and purple confections made of lace, chiffon and silk. I would put them on and watch The Golden Girls, sophisticatedly sipping Coke from a wine glass.

When I was nine, my dad bought a video camera, a giant monstrosity that my siblings and I struggled to balance on our shoulders while we filmed home videos. Alone, I’d prop the camera on the coffee table and record myself modelling various outfits, explaining to the camera why this plaid shirt went with these cargo shorts, or why this teal Starter jacket complemented these acid-washed jeans so perfectly. I captured on camera the dance I had painstakingly choreographed to Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch’s ‘Good Vibrations’.

As a kid, I followed my two older sisters around like a shadow, mimicking their mannerisms – the way they tucked loose strands of hair behind their ears when they were concentrating on their maths homework; the way they jutted their hips whenever they were talking to cute boys. Like them, I was a naturally athletic kid. My favourite sport was lacrosse, but I much preferred to play with the girls instead of the boys. The boys were quick to push and shove, and they loved to whack each other with their aluminium sticks. Girls relied more on their speed, their reflexes and the skills they’d honed to keep the ball securely cradled in the shallow mesh of their wooden sticks.

I grew up in a fundamentalist Christian community – most people would call it a cult. From kindergarten to the sixth grade, I attended the community’s tiny school. Because enrollment was so low, there was no in-crowd, no separate cliques of jocks and geeks. In retrospect, I’m sure my classmates and especially my teachers noticed my gender-nonconformity – all of my home videos prove that it was glaring – but it went largely ignored. All that mattered was that we were good Christians, that we loved Jesus and evangelised God’s Word to as many people as possible. When I learned about homosexuals in Bible class, or about AIDS (which we were told God had created to punish homosexuals for their sins), I didn’t think for a moment that I was one of them. Sure, my first real crush, when I was 11, had been on a boy – Elijah Wood, an actor about my age whose performance in the 1994 B-movie, North, had captured my heart. But at the time, before sexual maturity, I mistook the longing I felt for Elijah with the more sanitised desire to simply keep his company and be his best friend. I indiscriminately absorbed all of the lessons I learned about homosexuals, as if they were and would always be irrelevant to my life.

The summer after my sixth-grade year, my family left the community and we moved to a neighbouring town. I began seventh grade in a large public school, where there was definitely an in-crowd. My new classmates wasted little time informing me how unacceptable it was for a boy like me to behave the way I did – the way I enunciated my s-words, the way I brushed my auburn hair, which I had highlighted the previous summer with Sun-In. They called me a faggot, delivered me notes that said everyone knew my ‘dirty little secret’. They asked me frequently, ‘Are you a boy or a girl?’. Well, of course I was a boy, I would respond, trembling.

Meanwhile, I was beginning to sexually mature; I was soon developing crushes that inspired more than just a desire to keep a boy’s company. With horror, I realised that I might actually be what the kids were calling me – which, I knew in my bones, guaranteed me a tragically short life and a one-way ticket to hell. That, after all, was what the old form of homophobia entailed. Self-loathing.

To survive the onslaught, I defeminised myself. I lowered my voice, started wearing baggy jeans and sweatshirts, cut the highlights out of my hair, and replaced my Mariah Carey CDs with Nirvana. Soon, the fear and the anxiety became too much to bear, and the only refuge I found was in alcohol and drugs.

In high school, with each passing year, my drug use got worse. After graduation, I lasted one semester in college before dropping out. Two months later, at the age of 19, I had my first of several stays in a local psychiatric ward. I was delusional, addicted to drugs and suicidal.

It was during my second stay in the psychiatric ward that I was introduced to a 12-step programme, which was how I would eventually get sober in my early twenties. It was slow-going in the beginning of my sobriety to accept my homosexuality. I began to reconnect with the young boy I had once been, the boy whose interests expanded beyond what was typical for males. I experimented with bronzer and mascara, and got French manicures and pedicures.

Engaging in these behaviours felt liberating for a while, but eventually the novelty wore off. In fact, they started to feel performative. I realised I didn’t need those things to be my authentic self. My ideas, my voice, the way I treat other people – these are the things that make me the person I truly am.

In 2011, when I was 28, I fell in love with a man. The following year, I joined the fight for marriage equality. After we won that campaign, I knew I wanted to become a gay activist. I wanted to help create a world in which feminine boys and butch girls could exist peacefully in society. A world in which gender-nonconforming people were accepted as natural variations of their own sex. Minorities, sure, but real and valid nonetheless.

The trans question

In 2017, at the age of 33, I enrolled at Columbia University, New York to complete my undergraduate degree. There, I was shocked to discover how gay activism had evolved since marriage equality became the law of the land. The focus was now entirely on personal pronouns and on being ‘queer’. My classmates labelled me ‘cis’, short for cisgender. I didn’t even know what it meant. All I knew was that they called me ‘cis’ in the same cadence that the seventh graders had called me ‘fag’.

Soon, I learned about nonbinary identities, and that some people – many people – were literally arguing that sex, not gender, was a social construct. I met people who evangelised a denomination of transgenderism that I had never heard of, one that included people who had never been gender dysphoric and who had no desire to medically transition. I met straight people whose ‘trans / nonbinary’ identities seemed to be defined by their haircuts, outfits and inchoate politics. I met straight women with Grindr accounts, and listened to them complain about the ‘transphobic’ gay men who didn’t want to have sex with women.

All around me, it seemed, straight people were spontaneously identifying into my community and then policing our behaviours and customs. I began to think that this broadening of the ‘trans’ and ‘queer’ umbrella was giving a hell of a lot of people a free pass to express their homophobia.

At Columbia, I took classes on LGBT history, but much of that history was delivered through the lens of queer theory. Queer theorists appropriate French philosopher Michel Foucault’s ideas about the power of language in constructing reality. They argue that homosexuality didn’t exist prior to the late 19th century, when the word ‘homosexual’ first appeared in medical discourse. Queer theorists proselytise a liberation that supposedly results from challenging the concepts of empirical reality and ‘normativity’. But their converts instead often end up adrift in a sea of nihilism. Queer theory, which has become the predominant method of discussing and analysing gender and sexuality in universities, seemed to me to be more ideological than truthful.

In my classes on gender and sexuality in the Muslim world, however, I discovered something else, too. I learned about current medical practices in Iran, where gay sex is illegal and punishable by death, and where medical transition is subsidised by the state to ‘cure’ gays and lesbians who, the theocratic elite insists, are ‘normal’ people ‘trapped in the wrong bodies’. I privately drew parallels between the anti-gay laws and practices of Iran and what I saw developing in the West, but I convinced myself I was just being paranoid.

Then, I learned about what was happening to gender-nonconforming kids – that they were being prescribed off-label drugs to halt their natural development, so that they’d have time to decide if they were really transgender. If so, they would then be more successful at passing as the opposite sex in adulthood. Even worse, I learned that these practices were being touted by LGBT-rights organisations as ‘life-saving medical care’.

It felt like I was living in an episode of The Twilight Zone. How long were these kids supposed to remain on the blockers? And what happens in a few years, if they decide they’re not ‘truly trans’ after all, and all of their peers have surpassed them? Are they seriously supposed to commence puberty at 16 or 17 years of age? These questions rattled my brain for months, until I learned the actual statistics: nearly all children who are prescribed puberty blockers go on to receive cross-sex hormones. Blockers don’t give a kid time to think. They solidify him in a trans identity and sentence him to a lifetime of very expensive, experimental medicalisation.

I wondered how different these so-called trans kids were from the little boy I had been. Obviously, I grew up to be a gay man and not a transwoman. But how could gender clinicians tell the difference between a young boy expressing his homosexuality through gender nonconformity, and someone ‘born in the wrong body’? I decided to dig deeper into the real history of medical transition.

Medicalising homosexuality

What I learned validated all of my worst fears. I learned that for decades after their invention, synthetic ‘sex hormones’ were used by doctors and scientists who sought to ‘cure’ homosexuality, and by law enforcement to chemically castrate men convicted of committing homosexual acts.

I learned about actress and singer Christine Jorgensen, one of the first people in the US to become widely known for having ‘sex-reassignment’ surgery in the early 1950s. Jorgensen may now be celebrated by the modern ‘LGBTQIA+’ community as a trans icon, but he seemed more concerned with escaping his homosexuality, which he said was ‘deeply alien to my religious attitudes’. As Jorgensen put it, ‘I identified myself as female and consequently my interests in men were normal’.

I learned that of the first adolescents to be treated for gender dysphoria (or what was then called ‘gender identity disorder’) with puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones in the 1990s and early 2000s, the vast majority were homosexual. And I learned that these studies inform current ‘gender-affirming care’ practices.

Soon, I met detransitioned gay men who had sought an escape from internalised and external homophobia in a transgender identity. They continue to suffer severe post-surgical complications, years after their vaginoplasties.

I began to fear we had reached a point of no return a couple of years ago, during a conversation I had with a supposedly ‘progressive’ friend. I told her that, if I had been a young boy now, I likely would have been prescribed puberty blockers and gone on to medically transition. ‘And you don’t think you would’ve been happy as a transwoman?’, she asked me. Her question left me speechless. I couldn’t find the words to state the obvious: that I am a gay man, not a transwoman; that statistics tell me my medical transition may not have been successful; and that I would suffer severe medical complications. In any case, if I had transitioned, I wouldn’t be living an authentic life. After all, isn’t that what this is supposed to be about? Living authentically?

Sylvester, an androgynous disco icon of the 1970s and 1980s, was once asked what gay liberation meant to him. He answered, ‘I could be the queen that I really was without having a sex change or being on hormones’. Perhaps I belong in an earlier era, when newly liberated gays and lesbians rebelled against the medical and psychiatric experiments they had long been subjected to. Perhaps my early aspiration of expanding what it means to be a boy or a girl was nothing but a pipe dream. In Europe, there is hope that these medical experiments will cease, and that gay and lesbian adolescents will be spared from a lifetime of medicalisation. But in the US, nearly eight years after same-sex marriage became the law of the land, it is full-steam ahead with these homophobic practices.

For voicing my concerns about gender-affirming care for minors, I have been called a transphobic bigot. If that’s what speaking out against the medicalisation of homosexuality makes me, then so be it.

#gender critical #jk rowling #twitter #artículo

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rosemaeridream · 9 months

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a bout of amnesia and a personality change || aespa - yjm

yu jimin x reader

warnings: high school AU, reader sorta became an OC - deal with it, reader thinks jimin is conceited - idk why she's been nothing but a sweetie, jimin likes jazz, reader is also so awkward i apologise but jimin doesnt mind, this is just fluff and gay panic, angst if u take off your glasses and read upside down

Synopsis: "The only way I’d ever see her praise Jimin was if she hit her head and woke up with a bout of amnesia and a personality change."

word count: ~6k

You don’t consider yourself popular. Everyone in your grade knew you, and you’ve spoken to almost everyone, but you weren’t part of the popular clique nor did you want to be. You preferred your mismatched gang of six. Yes, they were loud and (really) stupid most of the time, but it was out of the limelight and they felt safe; you liked it that way.

However, you were sometimes jealous of the popular group, specifically one Yu Jimin, who whispers shadowed wherever she stepped. You often watched large crowds split in the school grounds when she walked through or admirers gift large bouquets of flowers whenever she was found on campus.

Jimin wasn’t only popular with the student body though, due to her straight A grades, her pristine attendance record, and her charming fake (?) smile, she was also known as the model student with her teachers.

However when it came to first hand experience with the girl, you had none. Call yourself superficial but you didn’t think you needed to know the girl to have her whole personality written out on a blank sticky note.

Jimin was a teacher’s pet; the pretty girl who lived next door. Someone who thought of themselves so highly, they didn’t need to interact with or let anyone below their league get to know them.

At least that was the impression most people had.

To further affirm your thoughts, most of your friends had similar opinions. Chaeyoung thought she was much too withdrawn for the whole school to fawn over her. Both Yena and Yunjin were indifferent, agreeing that she was too much of a people pleaser to be interesting. And Chaewon’s small interactions had left her a little scared of the girl, saying she was cold and intimidating.

The only person who had come to her defence was Minjeong. They shared a few classes together and she often cleared the air in situations where Jimin was bad-mouthed by your friends.

Once you had asked why she defended Jimin, and the other girl just shrugged, told you that appearances aren’t everything, and that you should try talking to her for once, unlike the rest of your grade, then went back to eating the food in front of her.

But you didn’t want to get to know Jimin. Not when your eyes met across the courtyard and sickly sweet smiles were sent your way (they were fake, right?). Not when you heard her melodic voice floating around the hallways. And definitely not when you attended Yunjin’s field hockey games and spent the entire time watching the wrong person.

The only way I’d ever see her praise Jimin was if she hit her head and woke up with a bout of amnesia and a personality change. - Lee Chaeyoung.

ABOUT HOW YOU ‘HIT’ YOUR HEAD:–

You just really needed to go to the bathroom. Knocking on the door again, you yelled out. “Can you please hurry up? There’s no other bathroom free.” Your brother was inside, no doubt dying his hair another colour. “Just wait a moment, I’ve got gloves on and can’t open the door.” You waited 10 more seconds then decided to take matters into your own hands. Patiency was never your finest trait, and definitely not when your bladder was about to burst. “I’m opening the door so if you’re making out with someone in there you better stop.” You half joked. The door opened revealing your brother looking mildly embarrassed. You didn’t care what he was doing as long as you could relieve yourself. Entering the small room you started to manoeuvre over to the toilet in the corner of the room. “What colour are you dying it this time?” You peaked over your brother’s shoulder to see bleach and a bottle of toner on the sink. But before you got an answer your foot caught on the corner of the shower mat. To stop yourself from slam dunking your head into the toilet bowl, and a possible concussion, you reached out and grabbed the closest thing you could reach. Unfortunately that was your brother who had just picked up the bowl of bleach on the sink. Curse that stupid shower mat. You hadn’t hit your head on the toilet, thank god, but something, perhaps worse in your opinion, had happened. The bowl of bleach that was in your brother’s hands was emptier than it had been a moment ago. Neither you nor your brother were known for thinking long term. Usually that resulted in stupid decisions that seemed like good ones in the moment. Like unleashing your dog to let it play with a small puppy, then watching as it bolted off to chase a pigeon into the distance. Or something like bleaching the rest of your hair could definitely be one of those moments.

You were late again. You hated Tuesday mornings anyway, there was no reason to have assemblies when they had one on Friday morning too. At least you could sneak into the school without having to get a late slip. Quietly weaving through the mass of students you quickly found your friends where they usually sat.

“Have I missed anything important?” You whispered to Minjeong who was definitely not paying attention to the current staff member with the microphone droning about what you assumed to be a writing competition. Minjeong jerked out of her trance and turned to you.

It looked like she was about to say something but instead of words coming out of her mouth, a small yelp was in their place. Instantly a teacher shushed her. Minjeong covered her mouth with her hand and nodded her apologies to the teacher.

By now everyone was looking at the both of you. Knowing they would look away in a moment, you tried asking Minjeong again. “Jeongie? Did I miss anything?” You nudged her with your elbow.

Instead of Minjeong, Yunjin, who was sitting two people down the row, replied. “Clearly it’s not what you missed.”

“What do you me-” You were cut off by the teacher shushing you all again. Everyone was still watching you, the staff member still droning on about the competition.

Minjeong reached up to wrap a finger around a strand of your hair.

“It’s so...” she mumbled. “Blonde.”

“What the hell, Y/N?” Yena’s head poked out from even further down the line.

“Choi Yena.” A stern voice sounded from behind them. “Would you please be quiet!”

Yena looked like she wanted to say more, but she held back, only to not get herself into trouble.

Everyone was still staring at your head. You could feel it; beady eyes burning through the now blonde hair.

Somehow, you blame it on a stroke of luck, and maybe your (newfound) ability to escape from awkward social situations, you slipped away from the crowds after you were dismissed from assembly. Avoiding all the people looking at you (and your hair), you quickly made your way to class.

Instead of heading towards the steps that your gang usually congregated by when the lunch bell rang, you turned and made your way towards the building off to the side of the campus.

The school library was bigger than it looked. It was split into three parts; an open plan common room directly in front of the door; to the right, a maze of clustered shelves extended to the back of the room, where a door led to the study alcoves seniors had authority over.

Entering the library you immediately turned right, wanting to be hidden by the hundreds of tall shelves gathered in the room. Book spines blurred together as you quickly weaved through the room. Soon you’d be lost in the maze. Sighing in relief once you were far enough in, you slowed your pace down, occasionally taking note of the names of books surrounding you.

The further into the shelves you got the more disorientated you became. You would have scolded yourself for not paying attention to where you came from if you weren't suddenly standing in front of Yu Jimin, her nose in a book, sitting on the floor below you.

To be frank, you probably wouldn't have said anything to her, like the rest of your grade, if Jimin hadn't looked up at that very moment.

“Uh- h- uhm hi?” You uncharacteristically stuttered. “I’m sorry. I uh- just wanted to get away from the uh- outside- I mean, people watching... me…? No, you see, I ah- dyed my- Well I didn’t dye it, I actually slipped, but you don’t need to know that- but… well ah-” Pretty brown eyes watched you curiously as you stumbled through your greeting. You shut your mouth when you realised that nothing you had just said made any sense.

Mirth filled the pretty brown eyes, as her lips pulled at the corners of her mouth. “You’re Kang Y/N, right? I think we share P.E. class.” You didn’t say a word, worried that you would embarrass yourself again, though it didn’t matter, as the girl sitting in front of you kept talking.

“You know, I almost didn’t recognise you at all.” Her eyes flickering across blonde hair. “It suits you.”

“A- ah, thank you.”

Jimin gave you a warm smile and went back to her book. It was fake, you could have made a mad dash for the Bible in the library just to swear on it. However, you felt like you were missing something.

“Uhm…”

Jimin looked back up from her book. “Do you need anything?” Her smile was warm, as if she were a close friend. That made no sense, you didn’t like her and she didn’t know you.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Asking anyway, you pointed to a spot near where the other girl was sitting. “The hair dye thing is kinda giving me a lot of unwanted attention.”

Jimin’s smile turned knowing. “Sit for as long as you like.”

You arrived in the library earlier than you had the day before. Honestly, you didn’t know why you were here.

Your friends had all texted you the day before, asking you where you had been at lunch. You had been oddly defensive; instead of telling them that you were in the library sitting next to someone you had previously said you wanted nothing to do with, you told them that you were practising guitar in the music rooms.

Maybe you’re a little bit stubborn… or maybe you just didn’t like proving Minjeong right.

Making your way back through the maze you navigated yesterday, you found the spot that Jimin was sitting in empty. You frowned. Maybe I took the wrong turn? The books that lined the shelves around you were definitely the same as before. Perhaps she’s just late?

Lost, you sat down in the same spot. You couldn’t just sit here looking like you were waiting right? That would be weird. You turned to look at the wall of books behind you. Just grab one, it doesn’t matter as long as it looks like you’re doing something. You slid out a book from directly behind you. The cover was red and had a book shaped like a matchbox in the upper centre.

“Fahrenheit 451, huh?” You snapped your head to the direction of the voice. Jimin was standing there, pretty brown eyes studying you. “Good book.”

You didn’t know what to say so you just nodded your head. In that moment you cursed the universe for not letting you take a book that you had already read. Jimin walked past you to move towards her spot. The book she held in her hands was different from the one she was reading yesterday.

“What are you reading?” Jimin looked down at the book in her hands, then turned it around so you could read the title.

The book was well read. The edges of the cover were slightly peeling back to show the cream of the paper below and one of the corners had been bent back as if it had been shoved in a bag that was already too full. When you read the title you almost laughed.

“Harry Potter?”

Jimin hummed in affirmation. Pretty eyes turned into pretty crescents. She sat down in her spot, and made herself comfortable.

“What happened to the book you were reading yesterday?” You were too curious not to ask.

“I finished it.” The girl cracked open the worn book midway. The conversation felt like it had ended.

You didn’t like that.

You froze. Why didn’t you like that? Why were you here instead of with your friends outside? What did Jimin have that your friends didn't? She has those pretty brown eyes… your mind supplied. Slapping yourself mentally, you refused to let yourself think about it. If anything at all, you can unpack the thought later.

You ended up getting more comfortable where you sat, stretched out your legs and opened up the book you had picked earlier to the first page.

“What house are you in?” A voice interrupted you from reading the first sentence. You turned to see Jimin looking right at you. Her eyes are wide, like she’s genuinely curious.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your Hogwarts’ house?” Jimin slightly motioned the book in her hands towards you. “You have read Harry Potter, right?” You thought you heard the other girl mumble something like ‘or seen the movies’ but you weren't sure.

“Oh, I’m a Slytherin.” You grimaced. “What about you?”

“What do you think I am?” Jimin smiled and you weren’t sure if it was fake anymore. If you didn’t know better you thought it was said rather flirtatiously.

“Uhm, don’t take this the wrong way, but I would’ve placed you in Slytherin.”

“Would’ve?” Jimin raised one of her eyebrows.

“Well,” You avoided all eye contact. “Seeing you sit here right now, makes me think you’re more of a Gryffindor. But-that-might-be-stereotyping-Gryffindors-to-be-confident-around-people-they-don’t-know-very-well-and-I-know-it’s-more-nuanced-than-that-but-it’s-just-the-vibe-that-comes-off-you-with-the-way-you-speak-and-smile-at-me-when-I-don’t-know-you-and-you-don’t-know-me-and-you-keep-talking-to-me-like-we-do-know-each-other-and-it’s-slightly-offputting-but-not-in-a-completely-bad-way-it’s-just-strange-that-you’d-do-that-because-like-I-said-you-don’t-know-me-and-I’m-gonna-shut-up-now.”

A light giggle punctured the silence around you. Oh great, she’s laughing at me. However, when you finally gained the defiant courage to look Jimin right in the eyes, you found no malice there. Only mirth had spread through those pretty brown eyes again.

You found that - although you didn’t like embarrassing yourself in front of anyone - seeing Jimin find some enjoyment out of your socially awkward behaviour was rewarding enough for you to want to humiliate yourself over, and over again.

You mentally scoffed at the thought of it. You don’t want to be Jimin’s royal jester. Not when she smiles at you like you’re a puppy chasing its tail, and if she ever looked at you with that expression again, you would happily don a fool’s cap and prance around like an idiot, just to make it last a few moments longer.

“You’re right…. And you’re much better at reading me than other people. I’d place myself in Gryffindor.” Jimin mused. “You shouldn’t doubt your gut, Y/N. Most people guess Slytherin and leave it at that.” The way your name was formed by Jimin’s mouth was maddening. You almost sqeaked out of nervousness. Why on earth were you behaving this way? You were acting like you had a school girl crush on Jimin or something.

Instead of replying you just gave Jimin a smile that looked more like a grimace, and looked down at the open book in your lap. The words swam on the page; you wouldn’t be reading anything while the other girl was nearby. You snapped the book shut, and stood up too fast for someone trying so hard to seem casual. Jimin watched as you stuffed your book into the closest free spot you could find.

“I, uh- just realised I have to give… uhm, give… give Chaeyoung the money I owe her! You know how people get when you… ah, yeah, borrow money from them? So I’m just going to do that... Yeah.” You blurted out. Using your ability to escape from awkward social situations, which has come in rather handy lately, you gave Jimin a dorky thumbs up, a short farewell, and then practically power walked out of the library.

You didn’t visit Jimin for the rest of the week. In all honesty, you were sure that Jimin didn’t want you awkwardly rambling your way through her breaks. But you didn’t spend much time with your group either. Half embarrassed that you willingly spent one (and a half!) lunches with someone you had bad-mouthed, half stressed about an upcoming guitar solo, you ended up spending your time in the music rooms hunched over your guitar.

So when you navigate your way back through the shelves the following Monday, you refuse to ask yourself why you’re back here again. Maybe it was because people were still staring at your blonde hair, making you feel uncomfortable through all the unwanted attention. Or maybe it was because you had seen Jimin being handed a letter of confession by a tall, broad-shouldered boy who had a sharp smile earlier that morning.

The shelves themselves were comforting, looming high over you so the only thing in sight were books, the only thing you could smell was slightly musty paper, and if you put your hand out the only thing you’d touch would be-

Jimin.

She’s looking up at you with a quizzical wonky smile, eyebrows furrowed, as if to ask why you were almost stepping on her.

Eyes widening, you step back, fumbling for words. “Oh, hi! I didn’t see you there.” You sound like an idiot. Resisting the urge to hide your face in your hands, you drop down to sit next to her.

She doesn’t have a book with her today. Instead she’s got her knees to her chest, with her phone resting on top, opened to what looks like a wall of text. You point at her phone with a finger, then try to crack a joke. “Can’t get your head out of a book, huh?”

Jimin turns her head, eyebrows still furrowed. There’s something about her expression that makes your stomach do a tiny little backflip. You still yourself, forcing the sensation away. Then she takes something out of her ear. “Sorry, I was listening to music. What did you say?”

She didn't hear you.

Well, there goes trying to be confident. Staring at her, you open and close your mouth, trying to come up with something to say. You can’t even remember what you had said to her before, all your thoughts had stopped.

Forcing yourself onwards, you do the first thing that comes to mind and grab the earphone in her hand. She cocks her head, confused, and opens her mouth to say something, but you get there first. “What are you listening to?”

Her eyes flick over you, then to the shelves of the library, and that’s when you know you’ve just made things awkward. You’re about to apologise, palm flat with the earphone resting in the centre of it when she speaks up.

“Almost Blue by Chet Baker.”

Absolutely no bells were ringing in your head. You were sure you were looking at her like an idiot, so you focused on her phone screen instead. Clearing your throat, you tried to make your voice come out confident. “Oh, right. That’s a good one.”

There must have been something about the way you said it, or the position in which you’re sitting, hand stretched out with the earphone resting on it, or maybe even a combination of both, because she lets out a small laugh. It tickles your ears. You move your gaze back to find her already looking at you, smile lines perfectly wrinkled.

“It’s jazz.” She says after she gets past her laughter. Her hand moves up to yours and plucks the earphone from where it sits, then moves it to your ear. Putting an earphone in for someone has always been an awkward experience for you, but you’ve never been on the flip side of the move, and it’s different. Really different. Her fingers brush your ear, and you stop yourself from moving, whether that be from trying to help her ease the bud into your ear, or because you can feel your heart pumping erratically in your chest.

Once the earphone is in, she retracts her hand and turns up the music a couple notches. You process the soft piano complimenting the solo trumpet, creating a sound you’d expect in a noir film where the main character is sitting in a dark bar, mulling over a drink. It’s jazz. She said it was jazz, but like it’s jazz.

After a couple moments of silence she pulls you from your music induced haze. “I like this one a lot, it lets me unwind.” You watch as she twiddles with her fingers, the image of her being handed the letter this morning no longer there. Only a timid Jimin, lips twisted in a nervous smile, is left behind. The Jimin who sits in the library during lunch, reading Harry Potter. The Jimin who listens to jazz.

“It’s good. Very… detective in a slump.” You force yourself to speak, realising that she wants your opinion on the music. The way her smile brightens tells you that you said the right thing.

You spend the rest of your lunch break with Jimin rambling on about the various jazz standards that were playing, and the ways in which they affected the industry. And, honestly, you could have stayed there longer.

You decided to sit with your friends today. Yena had rung you up yesterday afternoon to pester you into having lunch, asking every question under the sun, and making sure you knew that she was being neglected. Instead of getting on your knees and apologising profusely for your misconduct, like Yena would love, you just brush her off and promise to buy her boba the next time you hang out.

It was slightly odd being around loud people again. Between spending time in the quiet library with Jimin or alone with your guitar, the sheer hecticness of your friends was overwhelming. Yena and Chaewon were loudly bickering over food like usual, resulting in Chaewon whining for Yunjin to back her up, while Chaeyoung kept prolonging the argument by adding in extra points for both of the girls. Yunjin starts to argue with Chaeyoung, telling her that she’s fueling the fire, and steals the food, holding it in the air which makes both Yena and Chaewon screech.

You sigh and block them out, suddenly wanting nothing more than the peace of the library. And maybe pretty brown ey-

“You okay?” Minjeong pokes at your arm. She has a sandwich half stuffed in her mouth which would be adorable if you didn’t know how much of a little shit she could be when she wanted.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I just forgot how annoying you guys are.” You send her a stiff smile.

Minjeong just stares you down. It’s concerning how soulless she can be sometimes. Straightening your back, you force a slightly less stiff smile, hoping to placate her. Somehow, it works, (She took pity on you.) and her expression morphs into one more resembling concern. “Wanna go to a practice room? I can play guitar with you.” She offers. The both of you had spent countless breaks alone with your instruments, picking out a vast array of rock and metal songs to learn together. You had even joked with her about starting a band together once.

However, today you weren’t feeling rock or metal or even pop.

“Nah,” You show her your hands, palms up, fingers wiggling. They were calloused and the skin at the tips of your fingers was peeling. It didn’t hurt much anymore, just small pinpricks of pain when you touched something the wrong way. “I should rest my fingers.”

She nods and draws her attention back to Yunjin being chased around the courtyard by Yena who’s screaming expletives. You silently thank the universe that she doesn’t prod any further, especially since on every occasion previously you had accepted the offer, even if your fingers were covered in bandaids.

Drifting off in your thoughts, you wondered what Jimin was doing. Did she have her head in a book today or was she listening to music? If she was, what was she listening to? Was she happy spending time alone in the library without you? At that final thought, you pulled yourself from your daze. Why would Jimin care about you enough to not be happy when you weren’t there?

There’s a shriek and you look up to see Yena on top of Yunjin, Chaewon trying to pull her off. Minjeong chuckles beside you, taking her phone out of her pocket to record. When you sigh again, she turns to look at you.

“You know you can go to the library, right? Yena might miss you for a moment, then she’d remember that Chaeyoung called her a shrimp that one time and spend the rest of the break badgering her.” There’s a slightly more worrying yelp from Yunjin and Minjeong stands up to take care of it. She takes a couple steps forwards, then spins to face you, while pacing backwards. “You don’t have to listen to rock all the time. Jazz can be good too!”

You’re left stunned as Minjeong turns back around and helps pull Yena off Yunjin. How did she know? Minjeong isn’t stupid, but no one knew you were with Jimin in the library. And how did she know that Jimin even liked jazz? There were so many questions and too little answers, so instead of sitting there dumbly till the bell rang, you shoved your things into your bag and headed towards the library.

The library was a sanctum; quiet, safe and had attendants who were as close to heaven as possible. Or at least, Jimin was as pretty as an angel. But you never interacted outside of the library. She was different when the walls of books weren’t the only other thing you could see. You felt too intimidated to talk to her when she was trailed around by admirers, or when people whispered in her wake. On too many occasions you found yourself zoned out of your friends' antics, your eyes travelling to find Jimin walking around campus, an bored smile plastered on her lips.

Sometimes you got close, brushing past her as she stood outside her classroom while waiting for her teacher. Opening your mouth to say something, anything, then meeting her eyes and seeing uninterested blackness instead of the pretty warm brown that reflected in the overhead lights of the library. Deciding to shut up and move on.

Or that one time Jimin had walked up to your group to talk to Minjeong about a class project. You stood behind Chaeyoung, using her tall figure to keep you hidden. Chaewon and Yunjin blabbering away, too focused on each other to see how intensely you were staring at her. Jimin wrapped up the conversation pretty quickly, then her eyes flicked to you poking your head around Chaeyoung. She kept her eyes on you, looking like she wanted to speak to you too. Then Yena burst your bubble, slapping your butt playfully as she joined the circle, making you break eye contact. When you looked back Jimin was long gone.

You were in the library first today, it was cold out and the heater had just been put on. So you sat with your knees to your chest trying to preserve your body heat. Jimin wandered in a couple minutes later, carrying a bouquet of flowers. She carelessly dropped them to the floor, before plopping down next to you. The way her shoulders slumped and her head drooped made it obvious that she wasn’t exactly happy.

“Did something happen?” You ask cautiously. She doesn’t meet your eyes, and reaches to grab your hand instead. Her eyes flicker to the bouquet, then she speaks up, her voice tired, mopey. “Can we not talk about it?”

“Mmkay.”

After a couple seconds, she moves her head to rest on your shoulder, not saying a word. You sit there just as quietly, not wanting to make her uncomfortable or bring up something she doesn’t want to talk about. The soft scent of the flowers lingered in the air. You couldn’t help but feel resentment towards them. One day she’d eventually accept a bouquet and your time with her in the library would be cut short.

The heater hummed in the background, generating heat that enveloped the both of you. Apart from the hum, you could only process Jimin’s slow breaths, the rise and fall of her chest relaxing you, even if you were still deeply concerned for her. You hated admitting that you were wrong, normally being one to succumb to pride and stubbornly refuse to budge. But maybe you were wrong, just this once, about her. Maybe she wasn’t the stuck up ice-princess that you had thought.

Without a word, Jimin moves again, this time pulling on your waist so that you’re in between her legs. You feel like a teddy bear, her head over your shoulder and nose tucked into your chin, while her arms encircled your torso. The position made your heart flutter, but you pushed it down. Jimin’s clearly not good right now, and you can’t be thinking of her in that way.

You just let her hold you. It was bringing her some form of comfort and that was better than any of your awkward reassurance could do. Sometimes, silence had a way of bridging gaps that words couldn't cross.

You never figured out how Minjeong knew that you were spending all your lunches with her. It hadn’t occurred to you to ask Jimin, and you knew that asking Minjeong herself was out of the picture. Instead you shamelessly spent your time with Jimin, slowly but surely warming up to her. If someone were to watch you sitting together they would observe two things. One; Jimin was completely used to your presence to the point that you could walk in complaining about being cold and flop down in her lap, whining that she was hogging all the warmth, and two; you stared a lot and Jimin was either unaware, or plainly, just didn’t care.

Staring at Jimin was your purpose, you decided. No one could be as mesmerising as her, even from underneath, looking up at her chin. That’s where you were today, your head in her lap, her book resting on your chest. You were meant to be reading along with her, nodding everytime you ‘finished’ the page so she could turn it, but in reality you found your eyes drifting to her instead.

Her eyelashes are long; they flutter every so often, whether it be from her eyes moving line to line through the book, or to look down at you, looking up at her. Whenever your eyes met you quickly flicked them back to the book, fighting against the warmth on your cheeks.

At this point she’d know, right? You had given up on indicating that you had finished a page a couple turns ago and that meant she knew… right? But Jimin never said anything and nothing about her behaviour suggested that she cared.

So you kept looking. It was your purpose to observe her in her most comfortable form.

Your train of thought chugged along in a daze, studying the curve of her bottom lip when suddenly someone switched the lever for the tracks.

Shuffling in her lap, you softly pinched her arm to grab her attention. “Jimin?”

She finished off her sentence, then looked at you questioningly, a quiet noise of curiosity forming in the space between you.

“Why do you always come to the library?” You stared up at her. The thought had popped across your mind several times in the past couple weeks, once when seeing her actively avoiding a group of the people you consider her friends; another when you accidentally eavesdropped on some girls in the bathroom gossiping about the ‘Elusive Yu Jimin’.

She closed the book and let it rest on your chest. Looking away from you, she seemed to be considering something. Then she furrowed her brows and let out a little breath. “What was your first impression of me?”

Words came to your mind. Conceited. Spoilt. Teacher’s Pet. Fake. Calculating. You couldn’t admit that to her, so instead you just kept staring, frozen. She doesn’t prompt you further though, and your train of thought wanders again.

Jimin wasn’t any of those things; you had realised that weeks ago. In fact, sometimes you had the feeling that she was a little insecure about herself; occasionally a sad sort of look flashed across her eyes, one that you wished you’d never see again.

And you wished you had just spoken to her in P.E. instead of making assumptions about her. You missed out on so many moments that you could have had if you weren’t so superficial.

Then it hit you like a truck; the answer to your question.

Everyone knows Jimin. She’s pretty, she’s popular, she gets asked out once a week, she has good grades, she’s aloof, but never outright mean..

But no one knows Jimin.

Your mouth parted slightly, guilt forming a lump in your throat. To realise that you’d fed into it too? You hadn’t tried to get to know her, you’d just put her in a box and moved on with it.

She finally makes eye contact with you. A hint of unease swirls in them. You shut your mouth.

Then you decide to stop being such a pussy and front up. “I thought you were kind of a bitch.”

Her mouth drops.

“I don’t anymore!” You clarify quickly. “I just… assumed. You’re like so…” You bring your hand up from where it rests on your stomach to motion at her. She worries at her lip. “You give off the vibe that you’d tell me to fuck off if I wasn’t up to your standards.”

Jimin only stares at the book on your chest.

You groan, thinking you’ve majorly fucked up. “Jimin… you know how much I hate admitting that I’m wrong.”

She sways her head, still keeping her eyes only on the book.

“I was wrong about you.” You force out and finally her eyes meet yours.

“You’re anything but a bitch. You’re sweet and kind and funny and stupidly gorgeous, and I get it, you know, why so many people line up for a chance with you. Why you come here with a bouquet or a box of chocolates every other day.” You reach up to hold her cheek from below. “But I also understand why you don’t like being the subject of all that attention. Everyone just assumes what they want about you, like you’re a prize to be won. Or that you’re a stuck up narcissist who thrives on all the attention. Or that you even like bouquets.” Jimin giggles softly at your words, gazing down at you softly with her pretty brown eyes.

“And I was one of those people too. I regret it, but I can’t change that.” Your voice comes out determined, like you’re trying to prove to her that you’ve changed your perspective on her.

She looks down at you, gaze unwavering as she considers her next words.

"You’re sweet," she begins, her voice gentle. "But I do like flowers… as long as they’re from the right people." Her fingers trace absentminded patterns on the cover of the book resting on your chest.

There’s a beat of silence.

“And if I gave you one?” You ask hesitantly.

Jimin’s lips pull into a smile and this time you know it’s not fake.

“It’s for Jimin, right?” Minjeong stares at the bouquet in your hands.

Both Chaeyoung and Yena whip their heads around to stare at you. “For Jimin? Yu Jimin?”

You flush brightly. Considering a couple months earlier you wanted nothing to do with the girl, you supposed it was a bit of a surprise for them.

Chaeyoung grabs you and shakes your shoulders. “Did you hit your head? Do you have amnesia?”

“No, and no.” You laugh softly. “I just never gave her a chance. You know how it is.”

Minjeong pokes your arm and points to a figure in the distance. You perk up, instantly recognising Jimin from the way she walks. About to take a step towards her, Minjeong grabs your wrist and you turn to look at her questioningly.

“Is now the time to say I told you so?”

A/N: stop putting jimin in slytherin she doesn't belong there

#!! dreamy’s pieces #aespa #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #yu jimin #kpop oneshots #kpop imagines #idol x reader #kpop x reader #aespa imagines #aespa x reader #yoo jimin x reader #yoo jimin

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milllersfae · 10 months

Text

‧₊ ⋅★ 彡 all yours I bodyguard!abby x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k I warnings: attempted sa* (*not by abby we don't play that!), intoxication, fem!reader, angst + fluff I summary: 'before you entered just a couple minutes before, her eyes grazed you well for a second before following behind you with a hand to your back, guiding you in. "you can call me abby. i'm yours for the entire night. if you need anything at all, lock eyes and I'm there."'

a/n: this takes me back to my wattpad days! this fic is a lot more intense than my other works, so i can understand if it doesn't sit well with some readers, my apologies. miiiight make a part two if my heart can handle it. thank you to @millersaurora for inspiring me to keep writing even if im struggling irl a bit. so many hugs ^^

im sending a limo for you. i sent a bodyguard to bring you here. you'll find us sitting in VIP, k? give me a call if ANYTHING happens, see u soon <3

the new blue bubble appeared, bright white screen against your face in the darkness of the car. your model-of-a-friend plus-oned you into a private party after your long hiatus from nightlife. there was an itch against the sequins of your slip dress, a sweat that built on the foot of your heel that fought between a knot in your throat. any distraction to keep your mind off her.

she sat straight, back stiff against the leather of the seat. her hair was neat in a blonde braid and fell over her shoulder, contrasted against her black button down. before you entered just a couple minutes before, her eyes grazed you well for a second before following behind you with a hand to your back, guiding you in. "you can call me abby. i'm yours for the entire night. If you need anything at all, lock eyes and i'm there."

your mind was a never-ending race that you didn't even notice the car came to a halt at the front of the venue. music loomed heavy outside the building, an echoing call that coaxed you in. you turned to abby for a sense of reassurance. she raised a curious brow, in an essence of a silent 'you ready'? and you nodded in reply. she headed out her side of the door, rushing over to open yours. she held an arm out to help you balance on your heels.

"after you."

your face flustered as you thanked the driver and stood up to hitch yourself around her, arm feeling the ridges against her bicep. you walk through the doors as the vibration of music hummed through your body. the room was full of people and personal chatter, only illuminated by the flicker of the overhead lights. the two of you searched for your vip seating, making way through cliques and crowds of people. abby caught sight of the group, pulling you in her direction. you followed with a wobble, walking up a slim set of stairs to meet at a large velvety booth.

"you made it!" your hostess exclaimed, wrapping you in a big hug as you sat next to her. "i hope abby was no issue to you. she's not a huge talker."

you sneak a look at her where she sat next to you, taking a slow sip of her drink. your stare held longer than you imagined, her eyes meeting yours as she swallowed. you turned back with a blink and nodded. "n-no, not an issue."

your friend smiled in response. "i'm so glad you could come out tonight. go order a drink, dance! get out there! i'll be here for most the night talking to my manager about my next runway show." she cocked her head towards the main floor. "abby will watch out for you if anything goes off."

you oblige, nervously getting up to make your way to the bartop. you scooted past guests with soft 'scuse me's and 'thank you''s as you finally found your way to the stools. you found an open seat and grabbed the bartender’s attention for a daiquiri.

you never against a night out, but such an atmosphere had grown unknown to you. you felt a little nervous at your presence, sitting amongst those in high-level industries—only to be a mere plus one. you try to settle your mind with the first sip of your drink, strawberry sweetness distracting you from the thought. it was long before one drink turned into three, the intoxicating feeling stirring itself into your bloodstream, slowing your anxiety into a gradual thought in the back of your head.

a broad-shouldered man found his way to the seat beside you, making notice of the glint of shimmer that coated your dress.

"you're surprisingly mellow—how'd you get into a high energy little thing like this?"

your head turned with a startle before taking the man in. he wasn't an eye sore, gaze filled with a similar drunkenness that made you open up more than you usually would.

"a friend wanted me to come. not big on the energy and unfamiliar faces here."

he nodded with an attentive assuredness that brought you an hours-long awaited peace you had been hoping for. even though the two of you didn't exchanges on names, you unfurled into conversation faster than you'd ever expected yourself to.

"how 'bout a drink or two, take it as my congratulations for getting the guts to come out tonight." the tuxed man joked, ushering over the barkeeper for a round of drinks. they soon arrived, liquor running brown over the crowd of ice in the glass. with a sequence of sips, the event felt bearable after all. you turn back to check on your friend, consequentially shooting you thumbs up of assentment on your new guest. you motion a nod of humorous disapproval before meeting his face again. it had changed now, where something more playfully arrived. he put his hand over yours, grazing the top of your knuckles slightly.

"is it too late to get out of here?"

your eyes darted nervously, unsure of your answer. before you could utter a response, abby had impatiently parted through the cluttered crowd of partygoers to meet you at your seat. her face was taunt and fixated on the new acquaintance.

"hey, let’s go talk real quick." abby muttered, grabbing the man by his collar, and rushing from the barstool to the back of the room. you worriedly followed, yelling her name haphazardly. the room had felt it grown temporarily quiet at your voice, your ears ringing and vision becoming blurrier than it had already became. you finally found the two with a turn of the corner, your hands hitting your mouth in shock.

abby laid another punch into his nose, already bloodied and stricken with fresh bruising. in your best attempt to not draw attention you struggle in separating the two with a pull, meeting absolute failure. the man had given up with a slump to the floor before abby finally turned to you, face reddened with anger.

"what the fuck is wrong with you!" you cry and try to shove her, only to find her solid as a wall. her breaths were heavy against your skin. you were dizzy and drunk, making weak punches into her stomach before she held you by the shoulders, pinning you place.

"honey, listen to me, you didn't fucking see what i saw—"

"see what? what are you, jealous?" you jokingly spat, inebriated thoughts coming to the surface. you wrestle at abby's grasp, her eyes growing pained and concerned.

"no!" she tried to hold you still, trying to hold your erratic attention. "he—he was trying to drug you."

you stopped, her words hitting you with a jarring halt. you focused on the sound of your own breathing, then the music, then eyes, cloudy and blue were pinned on you, brows wrinkled deep.

"when you turned around i saw him slip something in your drink. i had be watching him all night. i couldn't stand and watch it any longer."

her voice teetered back in forth in your head, trying to catch up with your own conscience while you tried your best to piece together the last half-hour. how easy he had gotten to you, how good it had felt.

how fake it had been.

you feel you eyes water, finally finding words to slur out.

"can we please leave. please."

abby assuredly nodded, holding her hand for you to grab as you head back towards your table.

"i'm gonna tell everyone we're leaving and explain the situation some more in the morning..."

it didn't register with you much, and abby had made notice. she looked over to you, eyes patient and empathetic.

"don't worry, i got you now."

you fluster a bit before making it to the table. you couldn't make out abby's words, only focusing on the reassuring shoulder she gave your host. the two nodded in agreement before she returned back to you. you walked back to the very entrance you came from, air hitting you in a waft after the smother that lingered in the stuffy club. abby let you into the awaiting limo.

"anywhere i can take you? home? we can go the police station if y—"

"...is ramen an option?"

abby laughs softly, relived at your reemerging composure.

"always an option."

the two of you made the safe choice of renting a room a classy hotel abby had picked herself. after the 20 minute back and forth on guilt that you had about the price, you let her pick the last room they had left, carefully escorting you to the elevator.

the silence was deafening, the incline up the floors feeling an inescapably slow pace. you looked at the floor, barely able to look her direction. your lips parted nervously to make the first statement.

"m'really sorry. i'm so naive."

she made a pensive nod, staring down at the bags of takeout she held in her hand.

it seemed like she couldn't look at you, too.

"never apologize for someone else's manipulation. that's all i ask of you."

with that, the doors parted allowing the both of you to step onto the floor you would home for the night. with a touch of the keycard, the door coaxed open. with a enter, you made a muffled gasp at the size.

it was spacious, king-sized bed sitting at the back of the wall, decorated between two sleek white nightstands. a white rug sat at-length on the ground, leading your eyes right towards the never-ending windowed sight of the cityscape-sky. you found yourself hypnotized by the sight, walking in beeline to the glass. never in your life was something like this possible, yet your mind still lingered on the cause of it all. you feel abbys' presence join you, giving you a light nudge on the arm.

"let's eat before it gets cold, right?"

you nod, making your way to the spacious bed that almost seem to await your arrival. abby hands your bowl, warmth still on your palms. she hands you your chopsticks already split and the two of you began to dig in, slurps and gulps filling the room. it was that same feeling you got before from him but unnerving. real.

abby raises her bowl to your chin, rope of noodles twirled around the wooden stick.

"you wanna try?" she prompts, raising it to your mouth.

you gave a hesitant nod before parting your lips. her eyes drift slightly to your lips before softly mumbling 'say ahhh' before you finish with a chew and swallow.

everything about her became an aphrodisiac in the moment. it was any part of her; the scent of her perfume was neutral and linen, the roll of her sleeves and the toned forearms beneath them, the slight unbutton of her shirt revealed a thin gold chain with her name written in script. you hid all the feelings in an elongated chew as she gave you a second bite. the taste of umami had a good way of derailing your sultry mind.

your buzz had begun to become endurable again as you tried to recount the moments of the night. how much had carelessly entered and left your mind, but her. she stayed. she looped and weaved and was consistent.

"i know you're not big on my apologies but i'm sorry i screamed at you. you were just doin' your job." you lazily swirled your chopsticks in your broth to avoid any stare at her upper body.

abby clicked her tongue against her teeth. "don't sweat it. wouldn't be the first time. you were scared," she started, slurping a mushroom into her mouth. she chuckled beneath her breath. "'was funny how you thought i was jealous though."

you unexpectedly yelped at her comment, eyes wide with embarrassment. you place your bowl on the bedside counter, hands gripping your dress with fervor. "i said that?"

she followed, placing hers next to yours. she shrugged her shoulders, comically shaking her head.

"yea, something like that. I wasn't offended."

"i hope not, that whole thing was far from cute." you reply, hands fiddling in your lap.

"god, never about that guy. guys like him make my job feel worth it. like i did my part." she fixes a hand in her hair, undoing the braids with a few movements of her finger. abby leaned in, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"i never said i wasn't jealous though."

your face fell hot at the tension, noses near touching. she scans your face for reaction, eyes unaware of your next move.

you battled between your intoxicated mind and inner conscience. something told you this was stupid. immature, even undiscerning.

but something stronger told you it felt just right.

you wrapped your arms around her, repositioning your body to lean in hers. you could feel the warm of her skin against yours, like a signal idling towards an impatient yes.

"thank you. so much. i wish i could find another way to say it." you hushed.

"you can."

she pressed against you, lips leaning deep into yours. the mix of whiskey and strawberry still left on your tongue only made your clamor deeper, head pressing against a tendril of hair that fell in front of her face. she pressed her hands against your hips, the indents of her rings felt cold against your skin. the felt of her touch ate you whole, made you feel blanketed in comfort, made a bliss long unfelt.

you parted, your lashes parting with a flutter, taking in the burdening desire that she had created and unfurled inside of you.

"see, that wasn't so hard." she teased, cupping a hand behind your ear as you fall into her chest to muffle your unexpected laugh.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

#cassi!writes ♡‧₊˚#abby anderson fic #abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #the last of us fanfiction #abby x y/n #abby x fem!reader

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baekhyunsbambii · 3 months

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Forbidden Waltz | Kang Yeosang

SYNOPSIS. Your university is quite well renowned for its creative and abstract programs, so it was no surprise that the majority of the students were pursuing a profession in arts. There was a focus in art, film, dance, drama, music, you could go on. These departments, however, enforced an unspoken, exclusive clique social norm. You never understood it. Thus, the student body was quite split based on their major.

PAIRING. Dance Major! Yeosang x Art Major! Reader (afab)

GENRE. enemies to lovers, mutual pining, edgy Yeosang, smut, Dom! Yeosang

WARNINGS. Profanity, NSFW, bullying themes, unprotected sex (wrap ya willy!), penetrative sex, fingering, oral (giving) semi public sex (?)

if you wanna be added to my tag list lmk! :) <3

Reqs are open!

Ever since freshman orientation, you remembered that one man’s stupid fucking face

Kang Yeosang

He was one of the most talented dancers to enter the university's program, being consistently scouted and recruited from various labels and companies

Despite this, he never paid attention to any of the offers he received

He would always gloat about how he valued the college experience more than putting himself out there for fame

You couldn't stand him. He was so full of himself.

Sure, you would admit that he was good-looking. Maybe more like exceptionally good-looking, but you would never admit that aloud

He already had the entire student body whipped for him. Not only was he phenomenal at dance but he had a charismatic personality as well

He was a magnet for people, that was for sure

quickly climbing the social hierarchy at the school, and of course, being in a completely different field of study had the two of you barely seeing one another

which was a good thing, you thought

You didn't know what it was, but something about him really bothered you

He always presented himself as a model student, he wouldn’t take anything less than perfect

In addition, he seemed to have no qualms with anyone, including departments outside of dance

He was odd, that was for sure

You swore this kid was some sort of machine from what you heard about him, it seemed too good to be true

And you were right

You have to walk past the dance department to reach your section of the art building

A practice room door is cracked open and you hear someone… punching a wall?

You poked your head in and saw none other than Yeosang slumped against the mirror, head held in his hands

“I fucking hate this goddamn school I hate all these annoying ass dickheads I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here.”

Holy shit.

Mr. Perfect wasn't so perfect anymore

You were lost in your own wave of thoughts until you noticed Yeosang looking directly at you, eyes narrowed to points

“What the fuck do you want?”

He is not having it.

Who does this art nerd think they are? invading his practice room like it's some kind of open house.

“Get the fuck out,” he pulled himself upward and took a few steps toward the door where you stood

Your lips flatten into a tight line. “Sorry, sorry I’m going—,” You pulled yourself away from the door and slammed it shut

Fuck.

He was not happy.

You knew the power he held on campus too

Anxiety hit you like a bus.

What if he told people that you were a creep?? What if he got the art department to turn on you??

You vigorously shook your head, praying that nothing would come from that interaction

boy were you wrong

You swore you never saw this man on campus and now suddenly you see him everywhere??

Wherever you go— the library, dining hall, and in the unfortunately shared building between art and dance — he is always right behind you

It got to a point where you would purposefully show up early or late to places to avoid spotting the all-too-familiar brunette.

That was until he had you cornered in your art room.

“What are you doing here?” You spun around, dropping the brush in your hands and nearly kicking your easel over

“You don’t belong here—“

Yeosang slammed the studio door behind him, rattling your art supplies on the table.

You nearly jumped a foot into the air

“What the fuck!”

He simply folded his arms over his chest and leaned his body against the doorframe.

“I thought it’d do you well to have a taste of your own actions,” He yawned, his gaze followed your movements in an almost predatory manner.

“Are you serious— it was a mistake! I never meant to go into your dumbass dance studio,” you scoffed, returning your focus to the painting in front of you.

As you swiped your brush across the textured canvas, doing your best to avoid the pair of eyes burning into the back of your head, you failed to notice a shadow looming over your figure.

“Hmm, maybe you are talented after all.” Yeosang’s breath fanned across the nape of your neck, tickling your skin softly.

You leaped out of your seat, tripping and nearly knocking everything over in front of you had you not saved yourself on a nearby counter.

“Seriously Yeosang, get out.” You hissed with disdain. “I can’t focus on getting anything done when you’re—“

He advanced toward you, step by step.

You hadn’t realized how close he had gotten to you until your back hit the edge of the counter.

shit

His hands caged you against the table and you felt him tilt his head down toward you

"Hm?" His eyes raked down your body as his head leaned to the side

“Whats wrong artsy?” He wore a shit eating grin displayed across his lips.

“Yeosang Im not playing around right now I need to—!”

You were cut short as his lips crashed against yours. His hands moved from the counter to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

You found yourself frozen, before you melted into his touch.

What has gotten into you?

He pulled away for a split second to take a breath, his gaze resting on your lips.

“I didn’t take you as a rule breaker,” He chuckled lowly, his hand traveling to the side of your waist.

You hated to admit it, but something inside of you was actually enjoying this.

A dance and art student?? getting together?? never heard of.

Let alone in the middle of an art studio.

“Yeo—“

His hands gripped your sides and he lifted you onto the counter, boxing you in with his arms.

“Hmm?” He looked up at you, his eyes flashing with mischief.

“We’re in an art atudio,” you hesitated, shifting your weight around.

“And?” He leaned forward, causing you to lean backward on your hands.

“I— Isn’t this a little much?” Your eyes darted around the room, inspecting the entrances and windows.

“Not if we make this quick,” Yeosang grins up at you.

His hands make their way down to the waistband of your bottoms. His eyes meet yours, waiting for any hesitation or uncertainty.

“Y—You can.” You managed to sputter out, turning away from his gaze.

Despite looking away you could practically feel him smirking.

His fingers dipped up under your shirt, the tips of his fingers grazing over your waist before dipping down and hooking onto your waistband.

You lift yourself up slightly, allowing him to better remove the article of clothing.

“That’s my girl,” he cooed, slipping your bottoms off your ankles before tossing it aside.

“Yeo,” you whispered in a hushed tone, squeezing your fists beside you.

What a tease.

His fingers travel down your stomach to the innermost part of your thighs, tracing delicate patterns along your skin.

You whined in response, tensing your legs together as if to create some sort of friction.

His hands continue kneading your thighs until you feel a finger graze your slit.

You let out a soft moan in response, eliciting a pleased hum from Yeosang.

He teases your entrance, spreading your arousal around before plunging a finger inside of you.

You let out a soft moan, “Yeo—“

Your voice catches in your throat when he starts pumping in and out of you, curling his finger upward with his movements.

Your hands fly to grip the table beneath you and you stifled the sounds that threatened to escape past your lips.

He slips a second finger inside you, his movements quickening with each stroke.

He grins up toward you, a seemingly sweet face in contrast to what his hands were doing to you.

“You’re gonna have to be quiet if you don’t wanna get caught,” he leaned over you before sliding his fingers out of you and guiding you off the counter.

His hand caressed the side of your face before he began to lower the waist band of his pants.

You slowly sunk to your knees, your hands over taking his to lower his pants down beneath his hips.

All that was left was his boxers, and you could practically see the outline of his hard on

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers before sliding them down his thighs

Holy fuck

You wrap your fingers around his length, stroking him a few times before you engulf him with your lips

He lets out a low groan of satisfaction, his hand traveling down to cup your cheek

You began bobbing your head down his length, and Yeosang’s head lulled back

“You’re doing so well for me,” he whispered, looking down at you to meet your gaze.

Your eyes met his as you kept up with your pace

Yeosang fisted your hair, guiding your head down his length when a sharp knock to the door alerted you both

You pulled away from him immediately, scrambling backward to put distance between the two of you

The door handle jiggled, and to your relief it had been locked

Yeosang chuckled silently, his gaze shifting from the door back to your form on the floor

“What, did you think I’d be so careless?”

“Now, let’s get back to where we left off.”

#yeosang #yeosang x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez imagines #yeosang x you #yeosang smut #kpop smut #ateez smut #yeosang imagines #kang yeosang x reader #kang yeosang smut

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slafkovskys · 4 months

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neeeed more possessive quinn and angel thots pls

luke was going because a good percentage of his friends were still going to umich and he had only left a few months before, so spotting him on the sidelines at one of the first football games of the season wouldn’t be weird. jack was going because luke was going and because she had promised to get him to a darty while he was on campus. jack would never turn down a good party.

quinn, however, had said no when she pouted her lips at him in the kitchen upon finding out he was the only one not going. he said no again as he busied himself on his phone beside her in the nail salon and she batted her eyelashes towards him as her tech made the intricate design he had chosen on her fingernails. he said no for a third time when she was between his legs. he was stronger than his brothers, she couldn’t just ask him to do whatever she wanted while he was a little cum dumb and get her way. they both knew that.

it’s when she’s modeling her game day outfits for them in the living room that he caves. her prancing around in a navy blue cheer skirt that barely covered her ass and a white tank top with a maize-colored m in the center has him feeling something. the last time that quinn remembers feeling like this, this pang in his chest, the twisting in his stomach, is when he was ten and luke was six and his youngest brother stole his favorite action figure out of his room.

he remembers seeing it sticking out of luke’s backpack as they were walking to the bus stop and ripping it away, yelling something about it being his because it was. luke had no right to take something that was so obviously his (going through a toy story phase months before, he scratched his name on the sole of the toy’s boot so there’d be no question) and now here he was, almost twenty-four years old and watching the girl he shares with his brothers strut around their living room in little outfits with his alma mater plastered on them.

he watches as jack tries to slip a hand up her skirt and she shoves his hand away while luke watches bemused, “see, angel, i’m just showing you why you need to be careful about bending over when we go out-”

“it’s a good thing we’ll all be there, then,” quinn clears his throat and her head whips around to look at him. “y’know, to make sure nobody tries anything and you get to wear your cute outfits.”

she squeals and bounds over, straddling his legs easily. his hands go to grip onto the back of her thighs as she presses a quick kiss to his lips, “oh, thank you quinny! it’s going to be so much fun!”

fun was absolutely the last thing that quinn was having.

she had made good on her promise of dragging them to a darty and he felt so out of his element. it had been over four years since quinn had been a student at the university, everyone he knew (with the exception of her) had long graduated and moved on with their lives.

luke had cliqued off with dylan, ethan, and everyone else from his year. jack had gone off with brisson somewhere and he was really hoping that wasn’t him he saw in line for the mechanical bull. quinn had been attempting to make himself invisible as he also balanced keeping her in his sights. he was always aware of her, even more so that they were in somebody's crowded backyard and she was likely immune to the eyes on her as she downed another seltzer.

there’s one guy, tall and unnaturally blonde, who had been watching her similar to how a predator watches prey. quinn stands up a lot straighter when the kid steps away from his friends at the same time that she does and he watches with narrowed eyes as she finds her way into luke’s arms. the guy stops in his tracks and his shoulders fall and quinn can’t help the smug smile that graces his lips.

he watches as she turns in luke’s arms, his brother’s hands a light weight on her stomach as she holds onto his wrist, as her eyes search the crowd for something, for someone. her eyes land on him and he sends a quick to finger wave to which she pouts. she uses the hand that wasn’t holding onto luke to beckon him over and he goes easily, leaving nico mid-conversation about some golf trip he was trying to pitch to his other clients.

“quinny,” she whines and he knows she’s tipsy. luke doesn’t say anything, only sparing his brother a glance as he approaches and loosening his grip on their girl when he realizes it’s only him before turning his attention back to mark, “what’s wrong?”

he shakes his head, “nothing-”

“it is,” she interrupts and he raises an eyebrow, “you’ve got you’re annoyed face on. c’mon, tell me.”

he wants so badly to reach out and touch her, pull her out of luke’s arms and into his just so everyone at this party knows that she’s his too, but he can’t. instead, he sighs, “it’s nothing that you need to worry about, angel. just have fun. do you want another drink?”

“i want you to tell me the truth, quinn.”

and she never called any of them by their names. it was always quinny, jacky, lukey, or some pet name. she only did that when she was mad or annoyed and he could tell that she was over him not telling her what was making him have such a sour expression. she narrowed his eyes and he sips his beer before giving into the girl, “there’s a guy that won’t stop staring at you. it’s pissing me off.”

“you’re jealous?” she sends him a playful grin and his mouth is back to being set in a hard line. she shakes it off and leans back into luke’s chest, humming at the feeling of the boy’s thumb hooking into the waistband of her skirt, “where is he?”

“over by the bouncy castle.”

“over by the- oh my god. tripp?” she looked at him like he was crazy, “he’s in my creative writing class! he’s really nice and we help each other out with assignments and things.”

“oh, he’s nice?” there’s venom coating the word as he says it, “does he know that you have a boyfriend?”

“yes, he knows that i have a boyfriend, quinny,” she rolls her eyes before something switches, “but you know what he doesn’t know?”

quinn raises an eyebrow at the almost teasing grin that stretches across her lips. she taps at luke’s arm and they immediately fall, setting her free. she closes the couple foot gap between them and quinn’s eyes go wide as she smooths her hands down his chest. he warns, “angel-”

“he doesn’t know that i have two other boyfriends, too, and that’s not fair,” her lips fall to that signature pout as she grabs onto his hands and places them so suggestively on her ass. quinn can feel the end of that stupid skirt against his fingertips as her breath fans over his jaw, “it’s okay to be jealous, quinny. i’m just as much yours as i am luke’s or jack’s.”

“we’re in public,” quinn’s jaw clicks as she presses her lips to his neck. they had never done anything like this outside of the privacy of the lake house and god, was quinn’s brain going to short-circuit any minute. luke’s not even paying attention to the two of them, but he catches dylan sparing them a glance and when his eyes find quinn’s he quickly looks away.

“i know. i’m letting tripp know that my boys take care of me,” she leans her body more into his and it’s like muscle memory when his fingers grasp her ass cheek. he knows his thumb is resting right over the red ink that reads ‘bite me’ as she giggles, “he’s watching us.”

quinn smirks when luke finally looks at them and where quinn’s hand is. he nods, raising his drink to his brother before pointing something out to ethan. quinn’s chest rumbles as she grabs onto his shirt, wondering how long they could disappear without anyone noticing before the game started, “good.”

#hughes bros x angel #quinn hughes #jess writes

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cliquemodels · 1 year

Photo

Antonie for MAME KUROGOUCHI FW23

#clique models #antonie steflova #mame kurogouchi #PFW #FW23

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nagisama · 3 months

Text

Hellooooooo

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cryptofderangedkinks · 1 year

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For any hand lovers out there ♥

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n1ghtmarelusts · 1 year

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My sexy, silky smooth, sweaty hand being rubbed in your face while you lick my palm and suck my long fingers~

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moonclade · 10 months

Note

Hey! Doing good I hope?

I’ll make this request quick, I was thinking of a Percy x Melinoe!reader? Since her mother is known as a minor goddess of nightmares and ghosts, people are either afraid of her or doesn’t care about her that much. She even hangs out with ghosts more than people, but of course, dear ol’ Percy is curious of her and tries to befriend her? You know, a good strangers to lovers. Is this good? If not, just tell me so I can fix it!

note ― i'm so rusty when it comes to writing about pjo but i really hope i did well with this! (also sorry it took so long, i wasn't able to work on it for a week). i didn't want to make this like 20k words long, so i didn't really include the bridge from acquaintances to lovers

not proofread || lowercase intended & lots of use of the word "you"

1.5k words

the sun smiles as it burns your skin, and you scowl as the blinding rays make it unbearable for you to even stare ahead. as usual, you were wandering around camp, attempting to find something to do.

you really didn't know why you bothered. considering the fact that you always reverted to your normal routine of finding a bench and reading. and if you were lucky enough to find a shaded and secluded spot, you might even have someone to talk to.

that someone being whatever spirit would bother entertaining you. obviously not any of the other demigods, as majority of them never tried befriending you or were simply scared of the fact you were the daughter of such a "dark" goddess. of course, a few of the other campers didn't mind your family and your abilities, such as nico di angelo. the two of you weren't close, but he always acknowledged you whenever you would lock eyes. he was definitely your favorite at camp.

you never understood why people were scarfed of you just because of your mom. it was laughable honestly, and it led you to have a slight resentment for everyone who actively avoided you. daughter of a goddess of nightmares and ghosts, being invisible and feared by everyone. very ironic.

being alone took a while to get used to, but you eventually made it work out, opting for the quiet whispers of the long-passed spirits. they never judged you, although a few definitely make fun of your isolation.

not finding any activity to do, you decided to read a book you were itching to finish instead of conversing with your little clique of ghosts. your eyes lit up as you found the perfect spot to sit, away from prying eyes and the harsh beams of sunlight.

making yourself comfortable, you found your marked page and started where you left off, ready to finally get this book out the way and start a new one.

suddenly, a blocky figure blocks the sparse amount of light you were using to read. you look up to see, surprisingly, percy jackson.

you were confused and a bit intrigued. you've never interacted with him, but you always admired him from afar. he was a role model to you, both socially and when it comes to slaying monsters.

you would never admit you studied him thoroughly, usually in the light of the campfire, watching as he would crack a joke and then burst into a grin and let out a hearty laugh.

you were definitely jealous of him. that's all.

"i've seen you around camp. (name), right?" he questioned.

a nod was all he received. you looked around for the inevitable group of campers laughing at this interaction, but you saw none. relaxing a little, you lock eyes with his striking sea-colored ones.

"i'm bad with words." you respond, shaking your head. you avert your gaze back to the book you were reading. a romance, and an undeniably cliche one at that.

you loved reading about things that weren't commonplace in your life, like fantasy, but especially romance. everyone was too scared of you for you to even imagine about having a relationship or a love life in general. every crush that developed in your heart was quickly stowed away until it eventually died off.

"it's alright. i never see you talking to anyone around camp." he takes a seat on the bench, a reasonable distance away from you that it wouldn't seem he was uncomfortable with you, like most campers, but not close enough to make it awkward for you.

"never have to, everyone too terrified of my "sinister aura" and prowess in war. and also, my mom." you slightly joke, not wanting him to pity you or something along those lines. he tilted his head like he was going to say something in response to your slightly self-deprecating statement.

"you talk like a book." he blurted. you didn't know if you should take that as a compliment, but even with the short time you've talked with percy, you knew he wouldn't mean it as an insult. just a weirdly phrased statement.

"y'know, in a poetic way." he sheepishly rubbed his neck as you stared at him. the corners of your lips upturned, and he calmed down a little knowing that you didn't take offense.

"you talk a lot," you counter. "but in a good way."

he returns a smile and notices the book you had been slowly inching away from his view.

"what's that about?"

oh my gods. you weren't getting out this one.

"it's just a little romance," you rub your wrists awkwardly, hoping he wouldn't ask for a more in-depth answer.

but the gods were not in your favor today.

"but what is it about?" he quirked an eyebrow at your unwillingness to elaborate on the plot.

"it's just about a boy and a girl meeting randomly and they slowly fall in love at a summer camp. really cliche and probably boring to you." the book made it into his hands as he scanned the front cover art, not bothering to open the book and attempt to read it, thankfully. you could guess why though.

"at a summer camp?"

"i like reading about stuff that could be relatable to me," you shrugged.

"well is it relatable?" he seemed interested.

"do you always ask so many questions?" you grumble. "and no, not really. do you think i have a love life here?"

every answer was turning into a question, followed by another question.

he looked you up and down and smirked. "you don't?"

you swipe your book back and roll your eyes. "yes, jackson. you do realize i have more ghost friends than living ones, right?"

"adds on to the charm. now, tell me more about what happens in the book."

you groan outwardly, but on the inside, you were giddy at finally being able to talk to someone, especially percy.

giving in, you begin to go off on the plot and major events in the story, and your opinions on characters.

before the two of you knew it, the sun was already cut in half by the horizon and the sky was a flurry of colors slowly being overtaken by the dark blues and blacks of the evening.

"how about we meet here again tomorrow?" percy asks.

you were already warming up to the son of poseidon. it could be because you haven't talked to another human in a long time, or he had that vibe to him that let you feel safe.

sometimes you would go and hang out with him and his group, but you didn't know for sure if they liked you that much. it took you months to even decide if percy himself considered you a friend or not.

majority of time you'd go back to that same bench you met him at, and if he was free, he'd meet you there and the two of you would talk about how the book you were reading was going or just how life was going.

but the bench wasn't the only place you hung out. percy would invite you to spar with him or walk around camp, or take part in events going around camp. slowly but surely, more people warmed up to you as they noticed the bond you and percy had. you were still wary and apprehensive of those people though, knowing they judged you even though they didn't know you. but it was a welcome change.

it was half past noon, and you make your way over to your and percy's rendezvous point to hang out for the day. the battered wooden bench that was now carved with quotes and drawings that spanned the seat.

you didn't have to even wait a minute, percy jogging up to you with a hand behind his back.

"what're you hiding?" you try and peer over his shoulder but he moves the object out of your sight.

"well," he looks around everywhere but you, before taking in a big breath and finally meeting your gaze. "i really like you!" he shows you the assortment of flowers most likely picked from the forest nearby.

you process his statement. the percy jackson likes you? never in a thousand years would you have thought that someone could have a crush on you, but never ever would you have dreamed of percy liking you.

it was like your life was turned upside down ever since you met him. you managed to finally have someone to talk to, and also get people to stop fearing you. and it was all because of him. he was the saint in your life.

"hey, it's alright if you don't like me bac-" you cut him off quickly by pressing your lips on his. sure you weren't an experienced kisser, but you've read enough to know how to shut him up.

he went from stiff in surprise to leaning into the kiss, the bouquet long forgotten on the ground. you couldn't get enough of him, throwing your arms around his shoulders and bringing him closer. he slipped his hands around your waist, a shiver running down your back at the touch.

he pulled away, and you clung onto him, not wanting his warmth to leave you.

after a moment of bated breath, you piped up.

"i love you too, percy."

#[🌙clade]#i LOWKEY hate this #percy jackson #x reader #percy jackson x reader #demigods #pjo #hoo #pjo x reader #riordanverse #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #hoo x reader

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