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#demi yoongi
7ndipity · 7 months
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Telling Him You're Demisexual
Yoongi x Reader
Warnings: mentions of sex and past relationshis, not proofread
A/N: Thanks to @captainorangegoose for this request! I went with coming out, just as an opener for any future topics, if you want them. (Please note that everyone's experiences and identities are different, so I'm sorry if this doesn't quite fit for you!)
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Requests are open
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"Can I talk to you for a second?" You asked, standing hesitantly in the doorway of Yoongi's home studio.
"Sure." He said, slipping off his headphones and nodding to the sofa for you to sit. "What's up?"
You and Yoongi had been dating for several months, and so far everything had been going great. But as things continued to progress between you, you knew that you needed to have a conversation with him about the fact that your were demi, ideally sooner rather than later.
You'd been trying to find a way to bring it up casually, but no such opportunity had made itself available, so you had decided to just bite the bullet and put it out there.
"So, um, there's something I've been wanting to tell you but I didn't know how to bring it up, but I think it's important that you know about me." You took a breath to steady your nerves. "I'm demisexual."
"Oh," His blinked, brows raising slightly in surprise. "Okay."
"Do you know what that means?" You asked.
"A little? I've head the term before." He said "But what does it mean, like, for you specifically?"
"Basically, it means that I don't feel sexually attracted to people unless I have a really close emotional connection with them."
"That makes sense." He nodded along as you explained.
"Are you okay with that?" You asked.
"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"
"I just- I didn't know if it would be a problem for you." You said awkwardly.
"Why would it be a problem?"
"Because it means that we might not have sex for a long time?"
"That's fine." He shrugged
"Really?" You asked, stunned by his nonchalance about the whole thing. In the past, when you'd told other people, they'd been less than understanding about the subject.
"I'm not an animal, y/n." He scoffed. "I'm not dating you for sex, I'm dating you because I like you and I like being with you. You make me happy." He took you hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "None of that changes because of this, okay?"
"Okay." You whispered, your eyes misting over at his words. "Thank you."
"Thank you for telling me." He said, smiling.
"Can I hug you?" You asked.
"Anytime." He immediately opened his arms to you.
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uarmyhopen · 7 months
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demi lovato and bts icons
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like if you use - curta se for usar
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fanyyy444 · 2 months
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I am whatever I want to be, assexual, demissexual, lesbian, btsssexual, hoseokssexual, yoongissexual, christianyussexual.
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liyonces · 2 years
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Girls icons x bts headers
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☇like and reblog. give credits ‼️☇
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colormepurplex2 · 1 year
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Dream For Us | Plagued By Nightmares
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↳  Hyung Line x f.Reader ⤜ Strangers/Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 5,981 ⚠️ Sexual banter/talk, alcohol consumption, angst, sleep paralysis, talk of nightmares
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"I need her," Hoseok murmurs to himself, absently dragging a finger through the oculus. The scrying pool ripples around his digit, distorting the scene playing out in it. It's some well-to-do, swanky bar with plush seats and twinkling fairy lights; but the main focus is the three 'friends' having a drink. He hates to think of them as friends, but that's how they've been labeled. He has peered through the pool enough times in the last few weeks to recognize the ebony-skinned fiend and the towering demon parading as a jockey ape that have attached themselves to the figure that holds his attention the most– the one that's utterly captivating to the point it's alarming for Hoseok– you. How and why those two rogue lechs latched themselves to you, he's yet to figure out.
"Ooo, is that the next one?" A bright, titillating voice asks from over his shoulder, ripping him from his thoughtful observations.
Hoseok glances back, eyes flicking over the figure behind him. The last thing he wants to deal with right now is Seokjin's over-eager bullshit. Annoyance pulls at the corners of his eyes but he forces his muscles to not flinch and give away the fact he'd rather bury his fist in Seokjin's perfect face than actually speak to him.
He turns, focusing back on the scene in the oculus. "Yes," he finally answers once he's sure his voice won't betray his inner turmoil. Not only does he wish to hit his own brother, but the fact you're now laughing at something the friend-disguised-fiend said on the oculus, stirs a green-tinged feeling deep in his belly. Jealousy is a bitter flavor on his tongue. It's one he hasn't tasted for a very, very long time. These desires should be beneath a being such as him. That's what The Rite was created for after all; to make the act of acquisition a transactional process and to remove all possible emotional conflicts. There is an order to these kinds of things, one he has no choice but to stick to.
He presses his lips into a thin line, willing the errant thoughts of familial violence and untoward bitterness away. The last thing he needs is one of his brothers picking up on his odd discomfort over the next oblation. It's not like there is anything inherently special about this one. You're merely human, not a speck of luster in your veins; he should just let one of his brothers have you. But, still, something tugs at him and makes him linger over the oculus just a moment longer, taking in the sensuous curve of your throat and the way you place a gentle hand on your demon friend's shoulder before he wills the image to disintegrate. It quickly fades away in a swirl of muddied colors until all that's left is the placid silver surface of the scrying device.
Seokjin steps up to the oculus, frowning down at the large pool. "Why'd you do that? I wanted to see more," he mutters, continuing to be oblivious to the way Hoseok is tensing beside him with barely restrained frustration.
"You'll get to see more soon enough. The Rite begins next week. We have plans to make. Call the others, we'll convene after we speak with Father." Hoseok waves a dismissive hand at Seokjin before turning and striding from the observatory and into the gloomy twilight space beyond. He disappears in a whirl of dust, not even waiting to hear if his brother offers a response.
                             ༻ஓ๑ ✧ ๑ஓ༺
Four shrouded figures gather around the gnarled stump of Ithid, the ancient soul-devouring tree that their father reaped when he formed the Kingdom of Dreams. Now, instead of unlit souls going through Ithid to the afterlife, they become a part of the Dreamscape where the God of Dreams uses them to further his Kingdom and power.
The ash-colored bark hums if anyone draws too close, remnants of the life force still clinging to the roots of the ancient gatekeeper. One false step is all it would take for Ithid to regain power. All it needs is a trickle, just enough essence to begin to thrive again. Which is why there is a permanent repulsion haze clinging to the withered remains of the once Guardian timbre. Anyone who gets closer, drawn in by the hum, succumbs to a crippling snare that will hold them in place until the God of Dreams comes to claim them.
There have only been a few unfortunate beings that have found themselves at the mercy of Morpheus in that way, weeping in the clutches of the spell. He will do anything within his power to keep Ithid from regaining the strength needed to resurrect. The Dreamscape relies on it remaining dormant. The four sons he sired were merely a means to an end, his own guardians created to help ensure that never happens.
"Hypnos sends his regards," the sudden, silken voice of the God of Dreams pierces the silence, drawing the attention of the gathered figures. Morpheus moves with grace, his black cloak floating out behind him like a gauzy shroud. "Finally, the time has come for our Kingdom to begin The Rite. Four of you means four oblations over four years, the first bestowed upon us soon. Have you decided who will receive first?"
Silence answers the God of Dreams. Finally, after a few more moments, one of the figures steps forward. "That has not been decided yet, Father. We were hoping to have more time to come to that conclusion."
Morpheus turns a curious eye on the speaker. "You all have known about this for centuries at this point. Have you not already had plenty of time for that? I expected more effort from my sons. Have I been too lax in my ways, allowing too much freedom in my realm?"
"We do as we're tasked. This is a decision we would rather not make lightly, as it does hold significant changes for the receivers," a second figure steps forward and offers.
Morpheus gives a derisive snort. "You have a week to make that decision, otherwise I'll be making it for you." With that, he coalesces into a swirl of golden sand that floats away with a sudden gust of stale, piny air.
"Well, that went well," another voice snarks.
"Shove it, Yoongi," the first figure, Namjoon, snaps. "Father is right, we should have made this decision long ago. We knew The Rite would be passed to our Kingdom after Hypnos'."
"Who do you propose, then?" Seokjin, the second figure, asks. He steps closer to Namjoon, letting the subtle glow from unseen lights highlight his features in stark relief. "Shall we draw straws?"
"I'll be the first," comes Namjoon's curt reply.
"Abso-fucking-lutely not."
Namjoon turns, taking in the last figure now stepping out of the gloom and into the light. "Hoseok, don't start. Going in order is the only way that truly makes sense and removes all responsibility of choice from our shoulders."
"No," Hoseok replies simply, drawing out the syllable in a monotone.
"Besides," Yoongi chips in, striding up alongside Hoseok, "if we went in order then Seokjin would go first, not you. Or have you been lulled away in the Dreamscape for so long that you've forgotten about our creation?"
Hoseok shakes his head. "Still not happening. I want her. I'm the one that was designated as the oculus sentinel. I'm the one that's been watching her, protecting her mind, so by rights, she should be mine."
"You're only the sentinel because the rest of us were busy actually doing our jobs." Seokjin crosses his arms over his chest, glaring at Hoseok.
The death glare that Hoseok turns on his brother would shrivel any mortal soul. Seokjin just scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You’d rather draw straws?” Hoseok mocks with his own eye roll.
“That was a joke, you jackass. Gods, act like you have some social skills. You’ve been hanging out with the quasi-deities far too much.”
Hoseok bares his teeth in a sneer, his white-blond hair ruffling across his forehead as he jerks his chin up. “Leave them out of this.” Seokjin may be his brother, but Hoseok doesn’t tolerate anyone bad-mouthing his friends like that.
Yoongi throws a hand in the air. “Shut up, the both of you. Father expects us to make this decision and you know if we don’t then he will take matters into his own hands. Now, we don’t want that, do we?”
Seokjin and Hoseok grumble in agreement, shifting their stances away from one another.
“Yoongi is right,” Namjoon says. “Instead of arguing over nonsensical bullshit, we need to come up with a solution to our problem. Preferably before Father steps in on our behalf.”
“What do you propose?” Hoseok asks, directing his question to Yoongi. “You’re the only one that hasn’t offered a suggestion or tried to stake a claim so far.”
Seokjin mutters under his breath about how his suggestion of drawing straws wasn’t truly a suggestion, but his irritated words go ignored. Yoongi glances around, eyes falling on the brittle bark of Ithid for a moment as he thinks.
Finally, he glances up, meeting the eyes of each of his brothers. “We let the oblation decide.”
Namjoon’s brow scrunches. “What? Do we just approach them and say ‘hey, I know this is weird, but you’re scheduled to die next week and one of us needs to claim your divine soul. Care to play eeny-meeny-miney-mo or maybe you can just spin around and blindly point?’ Not exactly a great idea there.”
Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head. “If it were that easy, sure. But, no. I’m talking about taking the next week and we do what we do best. Infiltrate their dreams and give them a good dose of what we have to offer. Once they pass over and come into the Dreamscape, we can have them choose based on their experience. All souls have to go through a transition period before Father accepts them into the Kingdom anyway, that’s the perfect time to let them choose.” He shrugs like it’s a solid, genius plan.
“That’s kind of fucked up.” Hoseok chews his bottom lip. “But, so fucked up that I think I like it.”
“I don’t know,” Namjoon huffs. He shifts his weight, shoving one hand in the front pocket of his black pants and adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose with the other. As a Demi-God, the glasses are completely unnecessary, but Namjoon has picked up a few mortal quirks over the centuries. “Can we consider that truly fair? We need to set some ground rules.”
Yoongi nods but before he can offer anything further, Seokjin speaks up. “No sex. Absolutely no touching of the oblation at all.” He gives a pointed look to Namjoon, who is known to frequent the mortal realm the most; hence the acquired quirks. “We only reach out to them in their dreams.”
“That’s a given,” Yoongi raises an eyebrow and smirks, “knowing what The Rite involves, we should probably bar orgasms as a whole. That includes our own.” There is a collective groan from the others. “A necessary stipulation, but you all know as well as I do that’s the dangerous territory where an oblation is involved. Forming a bond with a mortal before their soul crosses over can be detrimental to our power and even our very existence.”
“Right,” Hoseok agrees. “No sex, no orgasms on either side, we only reach out through dreams. Anything else?”
They’re all quiet for a moment as they mull it over. Seokjin finally breaks the silence, “I’m okay with this if you all are, but who goes first?”
Hoseok slaps his brother on the back, a slow smile curving his lips, letting the gesture finish fizzling the hostility in the air between them. “We draw straws, of course.”
                             ༻ஓ๑ ✧ ๑ஓ༺
The balmy summer nighttime air feels good on your bare shoulders. You trail one of your index fingers through the condensation collecting at the bottom of your glass, the ice nearly melted away. Mel is going on about something, but you’ve long since tuned out the conversation between her and Gavin.
Your friends mean the world to you, even if you’ve only known them for a few years now. Melrose and Gavin are inseparable, they have been since the last foster home they shared together at seventeen. You know their story, all the highs and lows that make them who they are today. Not for the first time do you glance between the pair and think about what it would be like to have a connection like the one they share.
“Earth to Peach, are you listening to me?” Mel snaps her fingers in front of your face. The click of the colorful beads in her long braids adds to the pop from her digits. Dark eyebrows furrow over her chestnut eyes that frame either side of a straight nose with a buttoned tip. Her plump lips are pressed down into a frown, the electric purple lipstick coating them only amplifying the expression as it contrasts against her ebon complexion. 
You jerk back in your seat, your eyes locking onto hers. “What? Sorry, I was uh- just thinking about work,” you lie, picking up your drink to cover the guilt you know is plain on your face.
“Peachy, babe, don’t be like that. We’re your friends, you can be honest and tell Melrose to shut the fuck up if you don’t want to hear about Roy-the-roidhead for the hundredth time tonight,” Gavin offers with a knowing smile in your direction. His bright blue eyes catch the glimmering lights overhead, adding even more dazzle to how ridiculously handsome he is. His blond hair is immaculate as always, perfectly styled in a way that accentuates his smooth forehead and slim nose. He’s tall, broad in the shoulder but narrow in the waist; the body of someone who spends most of their free-time striving to be a real-life Adonis. It definitely shows.
You press your lips together before setting your glass down again. The watered-down rum and coke taste too sweet in your mouth. “You know how much I hate that name,” you murmur, ignoring the rest of his statement. They took to calling you Peach about a year ago. It started out innocent enough, the pair dotting over how sweet you are but over time it’s morphed into more salacious claims than anything.
Mel scoots her chair closer to yours and throws an arm over your shoulder. Her skin is warm against yours. “But you’re so sweet, Peach,” she winks and drags her teeth over her bottom lip. The purple lipstick holds true, a testament to the formula. Maybe you should ask her what brand it is, pick some up for yourself. You can’t help but smile, a soft laugh bubbling up your throat even as a blush colors your cheeks at her implication and your silly thoughts. “Now, as I was saying, Roy invited me…”
Just like that, the atmosphere shifts like you hadn’t been called out for ignoring the conversation. Though, you’re not sure if it’s for the better or not. Slowly, the words begin to turn into a buzz instead of the coherent rant from Melrose. You don’t mean to tune her out again, but your attention drifts and you find yourself back in your own thoughts. It’s a nice night to be out, at the beginning of the weekend, and the bar is full of life. The later it gets, the louder it will be in here and the more bodies that will fill the space. One more drink and you’re certain Gavin will ask you to dance. You hope he does, at least, as you could use the distraction from your own troubles.
Ever the reliable one, Gavin downs his next dirty martini and pushes back from the table. The squeak of the wooden chair legs against the linoleum flooring cuts Melrose off from her current tirade about Roy and his latest diet obsession. “Um, excuse you, Gav. Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I’m not finished with my story.”
Gavin gives her a saccharine smile and throws a ring-covered middle finger in her direction. “You’re boring me, Mel. I’m taking our friend here to go dance.” He turns to you, his eyebrows bouncing. “What do you say, Peach, ditch this snore fest and join me on the dance floor?”
You try to suppress the smile that tugs at your lips. “Sorry, Mel,” you offer, casting a quick glance her way. “Roy sounds great, though, I’m really happy for you,” you lie, yet again, considering you’ve no idea what Roy actually sounds like since you haven’t been paying attention to a word she’s said about him.
Before Melrose can respond, Gavin is grabbing you by the hand and tugging you up from your chair. You catch a menacing look ghosting over Melrose’s face before she schools it and rolls her eyes. “Whatever, assholes, Roy wanted to hang out tonight anyway. I’ll catch you both on Monday.”
“Sometimes I’d wish she’d just go hang out with her flavor of the week before spending a few hours with us and doing nothing but yapping about them,” Gavin says, leading you toward the crowded dance floor.
You’re not sure what to say in response to that. It’s not like you can blame Melrose. Guys are…well, guys. She gets bored and likes to keep life interesting. Which is more than you think you can say about your own love life. Your eyes flick over Gavin as he spins around and gives you a sly smile.
He tugs you close, slowly running his hands down your arms and letting them land on your hips. The song playing has a soft beat to it, not quite slow but not a quick thumping rhythm either. It’s perfect for the steady sway of your hips that Gavin sets, his hands helping you move with the music. His eyes slide closed and his chin tilts back, the smile still clinging to his lips. Lips that you’ve thought about kissing more than once. You don’t, though, because you can’t. It would be too awkward.
Gavin is your friend and you’re fairly certain he doesn’t see you in any sort of romantic light. He just really likes to dance and maybe you have a little crush that keeps you from ever saying no to him when he asks you to join him. His hands on your body, innocent as it may be, are an added bonus you file away for secret, personal enjoyment.
The jewel-toned halter top that Melrose talked you into wearing, gives Gavin access to more skin than you’d typically be putting on display. His hands travel from your hips and over your shoulders to play in the hair at the nape of your neck. Goosebumps pop up along your arms and down your spine. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip in an attempt to hide your grin.
You let yourself get lost in the moment, the freedom that dancing with Gavin brings you. The music changes, the next song is an instrumental remix of one of your favorites. “Fuck yeah, I love this song,” you gush, moving your hips at a faster pace.
“Be careful, Peach. You keep moving like that and I might want to take a bite.” The words out of Gavin’s mouth have your hips stuttering to a stop. You stare at him wide-eyed until he realizes you’ve stopped moving. His chin drops and he raises an eyebrow at you. “Don’t stop,” he teases and drops his hands back to your hips, giving them a squeeze. “Unless you want to.”
Your hips automatically start back up, as if they have a mind of their own. “You’re funny,” you mutter with a shake of your head.
Gavin leans in close, his body pressing closer to yours than it’s ever been. He’s so close you can feel the tug and rub of his clothes moving across yours, the rough braid of his jeans against your thinner ones. The close proximity has a surge of heat flaming into your cheeks. “I wasn’t trying to be funny,” his voice is low, a husky whisper that tickles your ear. He chuckles when you let out a small, strangled sound instead of a response. “Oh, Peach, if you only knew,” he continues, pulling back and giving you a meaningful look.
Maybe it’s a testament to how truly desperate you are in the romantic department, but Gavin’s words stick with you. Even after you part ways outside the bar. He heads in one direction and you go in the other. Gavin and Melrose live next to each other, in quaint little townhouses that are on the other side of town.
You inherited your house from your grandparents. It’s cute in its own way, cozy and full of wonderful memories. The drive to your place is nearly double the drive to their places from your job. You all work at the same marketing firm that’s just a few blocks from the bar you’re walking away from.
It’s been hours since your last drink. Your aching feet can attest to at least four of them spent dancing with Gavin. He also practically drowned you with cup after cup of water in between songs. It’s tempting to call for an Uber, simply because exhaustion is starting to set in and the last thing you feel like doing is concentrating on the road for thirty minutes. But, you take a deep breath and slide behind the wheel anyway.
An hour later you’re pulling an oversized t-shirt on and climbing into bed. Despite the fatigue sitting heavy on your chest, you can’t bring yourself to close your eyes. There’s a reason you agreed to go out tonight even when you didn’t really want to. It’s the same reason you’ve been staying up until ridiculous hours in the morning all week while still managing to crawl into work on time. Caffeine has become a constant crutch that you cling to. The headaches and lethargy from lack of sleep can’t compare to what comes when you close your eyes; the nightmares that leave you sweaty and choking on the taste of fear.
Sleep paralysis is what the doctor called it. You prefer to think of it as your own personal demon. It’s been so long since you’ve had a peaceful night of sleep, one not plagued with thrashing and low whimpers that ultimately lead to your eyes staring at the ceiling and your body feeling like it’s at the bottom of the ocean. That’s what scares you the most, the pressure.
You slap a hand on your cheek a few times, willing the exhaustion to recede. It doesn’t. The thought of getting out of bed and fixing a cup of coffee drifts through but it slithers through your grasp as your eyes flutter shut. It’s impossible to resist the pull. A low, pained moan sounds in your throat as sleep washes in on a wave of utter darkness.
                             ༻ஓ๑ ✧ ๑ஓ༺
There aren’t many things that Hoseok enjoys more than entering someone’s dreams. It’s a seamless process, sliding into the gaps of consciousness. His brothers thought he was kidding when he suggested using Seokjin’s joke as a way to choose. They all grumbled a little when he pulled the longest straw, giving him the role of going first. Hoseok loves first impressions, they’re so impactful. Plus, he has a little surprise up his proverbial sleeve that he thinks you’ll never forget.
“Hey, Hoseok!” Speaking of, what’s that phrase, ‘speak of the devil and…’? Hoseok turns slowly from his observation of the oculus to the newcomer.
“Jimin, thanks for coming.” His eyes rove over the other being, taking in the slim cut of his suit. Always dressed to impress, he doesn’t disappoint. Jimin is perfect for what Hoseok has in mind.
Jimin sidles up beside Hoseok to gaze into the scrying pool. “The others won’t be far behind.” He gestures to the oculus, “That the one?”
Hoseok gives an affirming hum. “Like clockwork, the tall one will be asking her to dance soon. Then the fun begins.”
“Oh, good. We didn’t miss the party.” Two figures step out from one of the balconies, arms linked together. Jungkook and Taehyung look just as good as Jimin in their trim pants and button-downs.
“What Taehyung really means to say is it’s good to see you Hoseok and we’re looking forward to whatever it is you have for us to do,” Jungkook uses his elbow wrapped around the other man’s arm to bump him in the ribs.
Hoseok grins, feeling the anxiety quickly draining away just from being in their presence. Seokjin called them quasi-deities, and that may be technically correct, but they’re also his best friends and know him better than any of his brothers ever could even pretend to.
“It’s good to see you guys, too,” Hoseok agrees. “Shall we?” He turns back to the oculus, willing it to focus on you, out yet again with the two creatures he’s come to loathe.
Jungkook and Taehyung crowd in between Jimin and Hoseok. “Who’re the creeps?”
Hoseok’s lip curls in disgust. “Some sort of dream fiends. I haven’t been able to figure out where they came from or what their intentions are. None of my brothers know them and if I ask Father, he’d only give me some backward response that really isn’t a response. So, I can only assume they came from him or maybe remnants from Hypnos’ temper tantrum a few centuries ago.” He shrugs, but the fact he can’t pinpoint your two friends really bothers him. He needs first-hand information.
“Should we take care of them while we’re at it?” Jungkook asks. “Low-tier dreams like that are easy enough to dissolve.”
It’s a good thought, something Hoseok already has considered. “Get a feel for them, if you think they pose a potential threat then take them out. Otherwise, let’s just stick to the plan.” He continues, explaining in detail exactly what he wants from his three friends.
The three quasi-deities laugh. A sound that Hoseok plans to use to his advantage. You have no idea what he has in mind for you tonight. After he watched you toss and turn every night this week and crawl out of bed with tears in your eyes this morning, you deserve a little fun- and he’s the one that intends to deliver it.
                            ༻ஓ๑ ✧ ๑ஓ༺
Like a rinse and repeat cycle, you’re back at The Well House with Melrose and Gavin. It’s a Saturday night and you’re certain you’d rather be at home in bed right now. But, last night was an especially brutal one. All week has been one tortuous night after another. The nightmarish episodes seem to only be getting worse. You almost didn’t bother with functioning today because it physically hurt to drag yourself out of bed. The nightmares felt so real, the darkness that caressed your mind like a tangible thing.
“You look tired, Peach,” Melrose frowns, tilting her head to the side as she scans your face.
You grimace. “Uh, yeah, I didn't sleep great last night.”
“Maybe what you need is to wear yourself out, that always helps me sleep like a baby,” Gavin offers. You know exactly the kind of wearing out he’s thinking about. He’s almost finished with his third drink of the night meaning it’s nearly time to hit the dance floor.
As tempting as it is to lose yourself in dancing with Gavin tonight, you’re simply not sure if you can physically do that. The weight of your eyelids alone could keep you rooted to this chair for the next week if you’d let it.
“Not sure I can even stand at this point,” you mumble, knocking back a large gulp of your drink. “I probably should just call an Uber and head home, honestly.”
Melrose throws herself back in her chair, an arm dramatically draped over her eyes. “No! You can’t leave. The night is still young, come on, promise you won’t leave me with this asshole.” The arm over her eyes flings out toward Gavin who just barks a laugh, shaking his head.
“How about this, you give me one dance and if you’re still feeling like this then I’ll order you an Uber myself?” Gavin steeples his hands together in front of his chest, lips turned down in an exaggerated frown. “Please, Peach.”
You glance at Melrose who now has her arms crossed over her chest and is glaring at Gavin. She catches your eyes, her demeanor instantly changing and she gives you a smile and nods that it’s okay. “One dance,” you say, looking toward Gavin, “then you call me an Uber.”
“If that’s what you still want, then, yes.”
Melrose doesn’t usually dance. But, tonight she follows you and Gavin to the crowded expanse of polished wood that serves as a dance floor. It’s not too late into the night, so the crowd isn’t nearly as pressing as it normally is when you’re dancing with Gavin. Even so, he pulls you in close, as close as he was the other night. The music is slow, grinding with a thumping bass beat. Melrose melts into the crowd until you lose sight of her completely.
Dancing becomes mindless, just a blur of movement and the increasing beat of your heart. The song ends but you don’t stop dancing as it bleeds into the next one. Gavin’s hands migrate along your body. They trail over your arms, hips, and shoulders, offering touches that do nothing to quell the sizzle of attraction you have for him. Your exhaustion wanes with every passing beat and sway of your hips.
A throaty laugh breaks through your mental fog and draws your attention. Three men dance together to your left, their bodies meshed together so thoroughly you can’t tell where one ends and the others begin. They’re all devilishly handsome, maybe even more than Gavin which you would have once thought was impossible.
Gavin is pressed against your back, hands gripping your hips. You can feel his warm breath gusting over your ear and down your neck as he crowds in closer. The air feels thicker, charged with static energy. The dancing trio is suddenly right in front of you. You tell yourself they’re just moving with the crowd, that their shift couldn’t possibly have been deliberate; until one of them looks you in the eye and winks.
“Hi, pretty lady,” his charming voice carries to you over the thrumming bass beat. The gorgeous man might as well have spoken a spell because you’re suddenly enchanted. The two men moving along with him to the music give you heated smiles, the ones you only read about in romance novels.
Gavin’s hands on your hips tighten a fraction, bringing your attention back to your friend still dancing at your back. “Eyes on me, Peach,” Gavin sing-songs as his strong hands guide you around until you’re facing him. He pulls you close, fitting your smaller frame against his towering one. Warmth bleeds through the silk of your blouse where his large palms now rest on your lower back. You barely register the occasional flick of Gavin’s icy eyes over your shoulder until you feel a larger warmth against your back.
“Easy, friend, we just want to dance,” the same charming voice from before is so close you jerk in Gavin’s arms. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Gavin’s jaw ticks, his lips pressing into a harsh line that mirrors the one now creased between his blond brows. “Of course not,” he grinds out between clenched teeth. His eyes peer down into yours, the icy chips now full of storm clouds. “I’m going to go grab a drink, Peach, I’ll be right back.”
Before you’re able to formulate a response, Gavin is peeling himself away and disappearing through the throng of dancers. “There, that’s much better,” one of the other men chuckles. He sidesteps until he’s taking up the vacant spot Gavin just left. “Hi,” he waggles an eyebrow at you, “you’re an excellent dancer.”
The self-deprecating snort that works its way out of your throat has heat flaring through your cheeks. “Uh, thanks, I guess.”
“How adorable, she lights up like a Christmas tree when she’s embarrassed,” the third man sniggers, mischief twinkling in his dark eyes when he moves in closer to your side. All three of them press in closer, their bodies moving in time with yours.
This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gained new dance partners while out with Melrose and Gavin, but it is the first time Gavin has left you on the dance floor like this. Maybe it should be alarming, being alone with three complete strangers, but there is something about them that feels comforting.
Gavin and Melrose both appear out of nowhere, Gavin’s large hands gripping your arms and trying to tug you from the middle of the three men. “Let’s go, Peach.”
The man at your back snags Gavin’s hands and tosses them away. “Don’t put your hands on her like that. You may be her friend,” he snarls, twisting the word with disgust like it will hurt more that way, “but right now you’re being more of a nightmare than anything else.”
Gavin bares his own teeth but his eyes narrow the slightest bit and Melrose scowls. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” she offers in a tone that’s alarmingly caustic.
The man pressed to your front slowly steps away and moves into Gavin’s personal space. He leans in and whispers directly into Gavin’s ear. Your friend blanches, jerking back away from the man. Melrose steps up like she’s about to confront the man but Gavin shakes his head and pushes her behind him and out of sight. The hostility slowly dissipates from the air, draining away until you feel like you can breathe again, not realizing you had been holding your breath. Gavin turns his eyes on you. “Have a good night, Peach, we’ll see you…um, when we see you.”
His odd farewell has a weird feeling settling in your belly. Suddenly, you’re not so sure you should be dancing with these guys, considering they just ran your friends off somehow. Sure, you don’t like the way Gavin grabbed your arm, but he’s still your friend and you don’t even know these guys.
“Er, I should probably go,” you begin to try and untangle yourself from the other two men.
The man that got in Gavin’s face turns and shakes his head at you, a slow smile pulling at his plump lips. “Nonsense, we’re just getting started. I’m Jimin, and this is Jungkook,” he gestures to the man at your back, “and this is Taehyung.” Jimin places a hand on the man at your side’s shoulder.
They’re so close you can really see their features. Strong jaws, masculine builds, and perfectly styled hair above dark chocolate eyes that seem to peer right into your soul– these men are what dreams are made of.
“Let’s keep dancing,” Jungkook nudges your ass with his hips. “You look like you could use the stress reliever.”
He’s not wrong. You laugh ruefully as you let them guide you back into a sensual rhythm. Slowly, the tension from the confrontation with your friends begins to bleed away, replaced with a calming sort of lull that’s filled with music and the weighty press of their bodies against yours.
You lose track of hands, feeling strong fingers grip or caress over various parts of your form. You think it’s Jimin maybe, or could be Taehyung, who first presses lips to your neck. The sensation sends tingles down your spine and has your eyes fluttering shut. “You’re beautiful when you let go. I’m so jealous,” Jungkook murmurs in your ear. He presses in close to your front, hands secured to your waist. 
“Hmm?” you try to open your eyes but your lids are so heavy. You want to ask Jungkook what he means about being jealous. The words won’t form. All you can do is lick your lips and rub them together. Your mouth feels sticky, sweet in a way, like you just ate a bit of honey.
“Just keep dancing, pretty lady, we got you.” The words barely register before numbing darkness sweeps in and you’re floating in the one place you’ve been trying to avoid– your dreams.
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◅ Master List ©️   2022-11-24   ColorMePurplex2
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asadfangirlbitxh · 2 years
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Dynamics that give me exes vibes
This is a crackhead post. I don't think anyone on this list has dated Nor do i ship them romantically
1) Demi and Selena
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2) Yoongi and Tae
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3) Louis and Harry
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4) Louis and Zayn
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5) Jimin and Jeongyeon
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6) Millie and Finn
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7) Dianna Agron and Lea Michele
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8) Ashley Tisdale and Vanessa Hudgens
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9) Addison Rae and Dixie D'Amellio
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10) Lauren Graham and Scott Patterson
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beautifulfuckup99 · 8 months
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do you do smut too??????
I write ANYTHING! Lol. Requests are always open for whatever you're feeling.
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hollywoodfamerp · 2 years
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( UNFOLLOW (5+ DAYS OF INACTIVITY: THE FOLLOWING HAVE BEEN REOPENED)
Zendaya Coleman ( @zcolemanxo )
Demi Lovato ( @demetriadevcnne )
Leigh-Anne Pinnock ( @lcighannes )
Niall Horan ( @niallhcrans )
Nikolaj Coster Waldau ( @mrnikolajcw-hf )
Yuta Nakamoto ( @prxnceyuta ) *Reclaimed in 24 hours
Yang Jeongin ( @stryjxongin ) *Reclaimed in 24 hours
Kang Yeosang ( @yexxsang ) *Reclaimed in 24 hours
Kim Kibum ( @luckykxy ) *Reclaimed in 24 hours
Christian Yu ( @dprchristian ) *Reclaimed in 24 hours
Lee Minho (Lee Know) ( @leexknxw ) *Reclaimed in 24 hours
Kristen Stewart ( @xxkikistewsxx ) *Reclaimed in 24 hours
Louis Tomlinson ( @tomlinscn ) *Reclaimed in 24 hours
Kim Taehyung ( @kvcnte ) *Reclaimed in 24 hours
Min Yoongi ( @tvnymontana ) *Reclaimed in 24 hours
WARNING (3 - 4 DAYS OF BEING INACTIVE/INCONSISTENT ACTIVITY)
Jennie Kim ( @jcniex ) *
Takuya Terada ( @teratvku )
Paul Rudd ( @thatpaulrudd ) *
Camila Mendes ( @camiiimends )
BUBBLE WARNING (DO NOT UNFOLLOW)
Rebecca Quin (Becky Lynch) ( @bvckybalboa ) *
Demi Bennett (Rhea Ripley) ( @rhxariplxy ) *
Leati Joseph Anoa'i (Roman Reigns) ( @thxbigdog ) *
Fergal Devitt (Finn Bálor) ( @fergaliciousdxvitt ) *
* Inconsistent activity, answering memes, reblogging/posting social media and photos do not count as activity. Bubble warning is for members who fall under what HFRP considers to be bubble rping. Further explanation of bubble rping is defined in our rules.
Those who have been unfollowed are more than welcome to return! You have 24 hours to message us via ask box POLITELY if you’d like to reclaim your character before it officially gets reopened. Don’t forget, if you feel like you need to step away - you can always ask for a hiatus!
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here2bbtstrash · 1 year
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the shape of your body (explicit)
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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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ugh-yoongi · 11 months
Note
can i request Yoongi drabble? where a random member is Y/N's brother and Yoon is his best friend, but Y/N has a big fat crush on him
hiii, thank you so much for the request! it gave me an excuse to get rockstar yoongi out of my system (and make an actual banner for once), so i hope you enjoy. <3
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playing with fire
pairing: yoongi x f. reader genre: brother's best friend au, rockstar au; suggestive warnings: extreme thirsting. a moshpit and moshpit-related injury. mentions of blood, alcohol, and weed/cigarettes. swearing. an unrequited crush (or is it). tension. unedited. rating: this is slightly suggestive but not explicit so 16+ wordcount: 1k listen to: i'm on fire by bruce springsteen
with this, i am finally done with bee's birthday drabbles! a huge thank you to everyone who sent in requests. i did save a few, so if i didn't get to yours this time, hopefully some inspo strikes in the future.
see all beeday drabbles here
have a favorite? let's talk about it!
It’s been a while since your brother’s band played in a nice venue.
Been a while since your boots didn’t stick to the floor, each step feeling like a glue trap. Since you could go home at the end of the night and pull a t-shirt over your head that didn’t reek of weed and cigarettes and someone else’s body odor. Been a while since you could just exist in peace; not feel like you were taking up room in a space that didn’t belong to you.
Been a while since you’ve seen Yoongi, too.
His hair is longer—half-formed curls framing his face, some trendy kind of shag. Chipped black lacquer on his nails. Fresh ink up and down his arms. Silver hoop through his nostril. A leather jacket and heeled boots, because he doesn’t have a thing to prove to anyone who might have something to say about it.
(You, least of all.)
Somehow, you’d forgotten that some people are magnetic. Some people are meant to be looked at, put on all those impossibly high pedestals, and that Yoongi is one of them. False idols be damned, everyone in this fucking room is wrapped around his finger. Even as he screams into a mic, shoots a sleazy grin at your brother to his left, every single person in this place would drop to their knees as soon as he gave the order.
(You, most of all.)
And you know it’s dangerous; know where that particular road dead-ends. You know that if you try to reach out and touch him all you’ll do is scar, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to quell the urge. There’s still just Yoongi and you and the millions of daydreams that have played out in the dead of night and the boundless distance between you.
The haze makes him beautiful, ethereal, like some kind of demi-god. Imposing, you think, because Yoongi’s up there looking down on you, as stable and immovable as all those shrines they built centuries ago. Places where people would gather to worship, just like now.
You’re distracted. Don’t hear Yoongi when he commands the crowd to move, and there’s a split-second just before the chaos where he finds you—sets his siren gaze on you and smirks out of the corner of his mouth, presses his tongue into the fat of cheek—and then there’s a searing pain blooming in your skull.
It’s hard to say what happens after. Hard to see through the fog and the frenzy, let alone make sense of amorphic shapes. There’s just the aching in your head and the jarring, dissonant ringing in your ears, and someone’s arms wrapped tight around your shoulders.
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You come to in a bathroom.
Stinks of piss and disinfectant. Has one flickering, fluorescent light strung above the sink. Dingy tile on the floor and the walls. Paper towels overflowing from a trash can by the door.
“You with me, darlin’?”
Yoongi’s voice. He’s the only one who calls you that. Puts some exaggerated twang on it because he thinks it makes him sound cool. Doesn’t give a fuck about anything, especially what people might think, and he doesn’t have to.
“Not sure,” you answer truthfully. “What happened?”
“Some piece of shit elbowed you pretty good in the side of your head. Got a nasty gash—don’t look, doll. Got fuckin’ blood all over the fuckin’ place.”
You exhale. Nod your head as best you can. Unsteady. Find it hard to breathe when Yoongi’s fussing over you like this, calling you these little pet names. When he gently cradles your face in his ink-stained hands and says, eyes on me. Like you could look anywhere else. As if you’ve looked at anything else in years.
“Wha—what’re you doing?”
“Cleaning you up. Deep breath, darlin’, this is probably gonna sting.”
You barely react, still too dazed by the feel of his hands on you. You wish, briefly, that whoever had hit you had done so harder. Just enough to rewire a few things. Get rid of this juvenile crush you’ve let go unchecked for far too long. “Where’s Hoseok?”
“Went after that guy.”
You scoff. Roll your eyes. “Hoseok can’t fight.”
“Nah,” Yoongi agrees. Bites his lip as he concentrates. “But Jungkook can.”
Another press of an alcohol pad. This one stings, has you sucking in a breath through your teeth. “Don’t you think this is a bit much? I’m sure it was an accident.”
Yoongi is so close. Fits himself in the space between your thighs, presses you further into the sink, the faucet digging into your back. Doesn’t matter. Not when he’s close enough for you to count each individual eyelash, the scars that dot his face. Yoongi’s close enough for you to smell the nicotine that clings to his clothes, his skin, his hair. Close enough to smell the cheap beer lingering on his breath.
“Too much?” His brows knit together, head tilts like a confused puppy. “Why would it be too much?”
“S’not the first time I’ve nearly got my teeth kicked in at one of your shows. I just—is it worth all this fuss? My brother’s gonna get all fucking weird about it, and fuck knows what Jungkook’s gonna do to that guy.”
Yoongi’s close enough that you nearly speak the words against his mouth. Fuck, it’d be so easy to kiss him. So easy to give in and let the world burn down around you, the consequences be damned. It’d be so easy to be ruined by him that it has your hands twitching at your sides, wanting so badly to reach out and touch. Grab him by the belt loops and learn how he feels when he’s pressed flush against you. Learn what he sounds like when he moans, whimpers. What he looks like when he’s hurried and desperate.
"Stupid girl." But Yoongi doesn’t look hurried and desperate—he looks like he wants to devour you. “I would’ve done much worse.”
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mooniekive · 4 months
Text
Slow Burn | six [final] (preview & link)
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Pairing: min yoongi x reader 
AU: neighbors!au | producer!yooongi and teacher reader | they both identify as bi, and reader is aspec (grey-sexual/demi-romantic)
Genre: slow burn, kind of slice of life | fluff, smut
Word Count: 663 words (preview) | 14k (chapter)
Warnings: preview is safe, but in chapter you will find smut - oral m/f receiving, and penetrative sex. A lot of time jumps, sorry if it's annoying.
Synopsis: 
When one of your best friends and neighbors moves in with his partner, you’re surprised to have a quiet (and attractive) man move in next door. His protective nature intrigues you, and his looks pull you in with a magnetism so unfamiliar to you.
Min Yoongi is so used to being on his own that when he moves into a new place, and into an existing little found family, he’s forced out of his little box. He has no other choice but to finally allow himself to want. To want what he always desired — a place and people to comfortably exist with. 
Preview under cut, or read on ao3
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It’s past 10pm when you reach for the phone ringing on the bedside table. You were under the assumption that you’d find the clock striking midnight and the screen showing February 25, but to your surprise you have not slept longer than it feels you have. You groggily accept Yoongi’s call, and past the sleep still fogging your brain there’s the beginning of some nervous fear seeping through trying to reach your consciousness. 
“Oppa?” you ask, doing your best to sit up on the bed. Bokshil chirps annoyed from all the movement and sound you make, so he stands from his curled position by your feet and jumps down to head to his tree and curl up again. 
“Shit, did I wake you sweetheart?” 
He sounds exhausted, so you start pulling the covers off you, embracing the cold that meets your body as you try to sit up. 
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it, I slept earlier than I thought I would. What’s wrong?” Usually during wintertime you tend to sleep pretty early on Fridays, like the exhaustion of the week piles up until your body practically drags you to bed. 
Yoongi sighs and you can hear the uncertainty in that shaky breath, worry seeping more into you as you stand and step into slippers. “I’m sorry, but can you come over, please?” 
It’s not unusual for Yoongi to call you late at night to catch up, he’s been spending a lot of time in the studio and gets home pretty late. He’s been preparing for his second album, which will have some choreography that has him working for longer hours to prepare for it. He also started having shoulder pains because of said choreography so you often just come over to help massage some lotion onto it and sleep beside him, even if you have to leave early the next day for work. It’s been difficult to see each other for longer than a few hours awake lately. 
This, however, feels different. He sounds antsy. 
“Are you okay, is it your shoulder?” 
“No, no, not that… I mean, it does hurt a little, but it’s not that. Just come over, please, baby.” 
“I’m almost there,” you insist just as you quietly step out of the apartment so as not to wake Namjoon and Jeongguk. Namjoon has been spending a lot of time over at the apartment, which you don’t mind. On the contrary, you welcome having your friend over so often, but it does make you even more aware when you make noise that perhaps Jeongguk is used to, but he isn’t yet.   
“Thank you,” he says almost like a sigh, then hangs up. 
You’re not sure what to expect when you submit the code to the boys’ apartment. The place is quiet, with Taehyung away on some ambassador work for a brand in Europe.  You do miss the sounds of Taehyung watching an old movie or listening to music late into the night from his bedroom, and you hope he returns home safely soon. There’s some light guiding you to Yoongi’s room as it seeps into the hallway from the door frame.
Yoongi is pacing in his room when you enter. His hair is slightly damp and he wears one of his usual sleepwear outfits — black shirt and pajama pants. Clearly he was getting ready for bed but whatever is going on in his head isn’t allowing him to relax. 
“What’s wrong?” you ask as you step in and close the door behind you. 
Yoongi’s worried expression softens when he sees you. He stops pacing and walks over to you. His embrace is strong and warm, and it almost knocks the air out of you. He smells of his shampoo and that perfume with a hint of citrus that lingers in his skin and has become part of his natural scent. 
“I needed to see you,” he whispers just beside your ear. “We should talk, and I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”
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joonieskinks · 10 months
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incomprehensible - kth part two
succubus!reader x taehyung ft. yoongi | f & a | 2.2k
warnings: seggsual talk, forbidden love, no smut in this chapter but angsty, fluffy kinda loveee
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He hasn’t slept.
Taehyung hasn’t slept properly in weeks now, all in order to try and get you back into his room. The dark bags under his eyes revealing exactly what he’s been doing. Laying awake at night, whispering your name, leaving the door ajar and lighting candles reminiscent of your smell. Anything to get you to come back to him. His closest friend knew it too. He tried to help him, that being Yoongi, a demi-god of dreams and sleep. He too has walked this dark, lustful path, but he moved on before his succubus could steal his life force. 
Yoongi had never developed a love-like attachment to Ruby, but Taehyung had to you. You were different. Tae believed it to his core. You told him you loved him. No one had ever told Yoongi that before, certainly not Ruby. No, he was only told that shortly after he met his now wife.
“Tae, come on. You have gotta stop before this goes too far over the edge.” Yoongi warns, staring the younger down while he sits in a chair, mindlessly glaring at the carpet. Taehyung looks weak, worn out and exhausted. He is beginning to look like a shell of the man he used to be, and Yoongi feels tired just looking at him. 
“I mean this with all due respect, Yoongi, but you don’t get it. You never will.” Tae shrugs his friends’ warning off, rolling his eyes but keeping his head low. How could he ever understand the love he had specifically for you? Ruby wasn’t ever anything like you. 
Yoongi sighs. He remembers how hooked he was on his succubus, Ruby. Only she could ever make him cum that quickly, but it was purely for release purposes. Nothing else, just a temporary fix in the night when he was younger. Certainly not like Taehyung’s situation, certainly not with love. Which Yoongi didn’t fully believe... succubi weren’t capable of love, only lust and devouring the souls of men if they stayed too long.
“Are you sure she said that to you? Are you sure she meant it?” Yoongi questioned. 
This made Taehyung’s head shoot straight up to his elder. He looked almost angry that he would even suggest such a thing. Despite his eyes drooping and the purple crescent moons below his eyes dominating his face, Taehyung was suddenly full of life at the accusation. 
But his cheeks were slimmer now, Yoongi could now truly see the physical toll this was having on him. He felt pity and sadness for his friend. This couldn’t be healthy love, if it is indeed a form of love...
“Y/N did. She loves me. She told me first, I said it back. She meant it. Have you ever even heard of a succubi crying? Weeping because they are in love?” Taehyung suddenly stood up and made his way over to Yoongi, even he was intimated. 
“She didn’t want to leave me, she left only because she loves me and she doesn’t want to hurt me. Y/N would never try to take my soul. Never. Even if it is in her said nature, she’s never once come close. Not to me, never to me...” Taehyung began tearing up, unable to stop the liquid leaking from his eyes. He fell to his feet, both in sorrow and in exhaustion. He wants to sleep, he does. But it’s the thought of missing you in the night that keeps him awake, aching for nothing none other than you.
“You need to rest, Taehyung,” Yoongi starts. “You're falling apart over here. I can see that, and you know it too.” he sighs, kneeling towards Taehyung and putting a gentle, reassuring hand on his back. 
“You know, Y/N wouldn't want to see you like this. You need rest if you’re ever going to be healthy enough to see her again. That’s what she would want for you. You know it.” 
With this, it is enough for Taehyung to look into his hyung’s eyes, searching for sincerity. Yoongi simply nods and offers to help the younger to his feet. 
“Promise me, you’ll finally get some sleep and start looking after yourself?” Yoongi asks while taking Tae’s arm in his own.
“I promise.” Taehyung nods, and a small smile meets his lips as he stands up. He can take care of himself. If not for himself, then for you, yes. Yes, he can. 
Yoongi pats him on the shoulder, looks one more time at the husk of a person Taehyung has become, and then makes his way out of the apartment. Only Taehyung can fix this mess now, or so be it...
This succubus would take everything he is worth and more. 
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“Please, Y/N. I hope you can hear me. I just need to see you once more.” Taehyung speaks into the dark shadows of his room. He inhales the sweet scent of lavender coating his room, eyes wandering between shadow and ajar door for your presence. He whispers your name, the word escaping from his mouth like a sweet, honeyed prayer. 
“I’m falling apart over here without you, baby. Please, come to me one last time, Y/N.” He begs, tossing and turning in his sheets. His eyes fall shut in defeat as he hears nothing but white silence after a few moments. 
In his heart, he feels the hope of ever seeing you again dwindling. The one person who has ever made him feel so alive, so loved and desired. The thought of you coming to him in the night once more wracks his brain, but the comfort the idea of you brings him causes him to drift off to sleep gradually…
You watch his exhausted eyelids flutter closed, and how he holds the sheets close to his body. Imagining it was your form, laying next to his. A tear escapes your eye, sliding down your cheek and onto his carpet. You wish for nothing more than to be held by him after all these weeks as you watch him now just a couple of feet from you. You sneak yourself closer to your love, being careful with your steps as to not wake him. Taehyung’s soft snores bring a smile up to your cheeks, although it hurts he cannot see you, seeing him finally in the flesh was rewarding enough. 
You’ve been away, trying to put some distance between yourself and your love. Although it pained you, especially in the night where you could hear him aching for you, muttering your name and crying into his pillow for you - you knew you couldn’t risk harming him so soon. It has been hard staying away, you couldn’t take it yourself anymore. Even more so when you heard Taehyung asking you to come tonight one last time. It pulled at your heart and you couldn’t resist him any longer. You had to make sure he was okay, worried for what he may do. You cared for him after all, more so than anything else in your life. 
You have been sure to keep quiet about this affair when chatting with your other succubi. You are sure to brag about how many souls you have collected, and the powerful urge you feel to go and gain more... no one seems to be curious about your lies yet, but surely this cannot go on for much longer. There are only so many nights you can lock yourself in your room crying without anyone noticing. 
A strand of his hair falls into his eyes, and you subconsciously go to move it. You tuck it behind his ear and Tae’s body begins to move with the slightest of your touches. You gasp and jump back in surprise, hitting your body on the wardrobe across from his bed. The ruckus shoots Taehyung awake and he begins looking madly around the room for the source. 
You had a brief opportunity to run, to make it into the shadows and disappear but you simply couldn't. You couldn’t find it in yourself to run when you were finally making eye contact with the man you loved after weeks apart from one another. 
“Y/N? Is that really you? Or am I dreaming?” Tae mutters in disbelief, trying his best to adjust his eyes and stand up. You just nod, beginning to cry. You’ve missed him so much, you want nothing more than to be in his arms. You launch yourself onto his bed and onto his body, Taehyung instinctively wraps his arms around you. He brings you in close against his warm form, muttering your name over and over again. At just the mere touch of him again, you feel your heart racing and contentment washes over you. To smell him again, to hold him and know he is all yours - it brings you joy beyond comparison. 
And better yet, he feels the exact same way about you.
“Baby, I missed you so much, where have you been?” He cries into your neck, refusing to ease his grip as he is still afraid you’ll slip away again. 
“When I left, I was scared of my feelings for you, but I know now they are true. I don’t know how, but they are. I’m so sorry, Taehyung.” You cry into his shoulder, you can feel him nod his head in reassurance and whisper how he still feels the same too.
“And I couldn’t risk hurting you if I stayed or someone finding out that I can’t take your soul because I’m in love with you.” You claw at his back to try and bring him closer, legs wrapping and locking around his waist. His fingers gently brush over your back, trying to calm you down. 
“Are you in any trouble?” Taeyhung asks, cupping your cheeks and bringing your face to look into his. You give him a slight smile through the tears as you finally get to look into each others eyes again. He just smiles back, placing his forehead against yours. You both relish each other in the moment before continuing. 
“I don’t think so, but I had to lay low for a while. If the others find out, I don’t know what could happen. To you or me...” You bring your hands to sit on top of his own, but look away from his eyes and onto his bed. The thought of not being with him, being taken from him or forbidden to see him ever again, it sickens you. 
“We can find a way to be together, we can. I promise”, Taehyung begs. “Just don’t leave me like that, please. I can’t go through it again.” He brings your attention back to him, and the sobs that leave his mouth make your whole being ache. You hold him close and press small kisses to his cheeks. “Never again... never again...” you murmur in reassurances. “I promise, I promise”. 
It’s only after his sobs cease that you notice the sun starting to come up. You both watch as the early morning orange sunrise begins to kiss the dark blue of the night sky. 
“Please, stay with me, Y/N. Sex or no sex, it doesn’t matter to me. I just want you here.” Taehyung whispers into your ear, kissing your earlobe. You giggle at the sensation and look back into his eyes. You bite your lip as you watch him give you the softest expression basked in pure adoration. He’s truly looking at you like you are his whole world, and he is yours, so perhaps he is simply reflecting how you look at him. Each of you a beautiful mirror of each others love. 
Love. Because that is what this is. How could it be only lust? Certainly not if you cannot stand the thought of ever being apart from each others presence. Sure, it may have started out that way, but it didn’t stay that way. No, you’re sure of it. He makes you feel love, and you make him feel it too. 
“Okay”, you whisper. “But you need to actually sleep. I’ve seen you, Taehyung. I worry about you. You need proper rest.” You touch the side of his face, your thumb tracing over his dark circles lightly. He just laughs softly, and his eyebrows wiggle.
“Soooo, you have been watching me, hmm?” You roll your eyes and push him softly down onto the bed below. He places an arm around you and you cuddle into his side, and together you lay.
“Yes, if you must know. When I thought it was safe to visit, I wanted to make sure you were alright.” You hum, closing your eyes in contentment. 
“Well, I’m more than alright now with you beside me, Y/N.” He looks down at you one last time before closing his own eyes. He’s taking in your features, your beautiful eyes, soft cheeks and the shape of your lips. How he aches to kiss them properly - but he knows if he does, he could lose his soul. Still, the thought of losing everything to you doesn’t sound so bad, you own his heart anyway.
He then closes his eyes and finally lets his body relax for the first time in weeks, all thanks to your presence. 
Sure enough, Taehyung is softly snoring again in a matter of minutes - and when he wakes, your form is gone from his side for you cannot stay during the day. Yet he is content, he knows you two will find a way to be together. No matter what. For he loves you, and you love him. 
But, he calls to you in the nights to come, whispering your name into the shadows. Surely, you would not lie and abandon him after you promised to never leave him again? 
Taehyung feels his heart start to waver, yet he calls and calls for you into the night once again-
Only to hear your screams of agony and pain, echoing back to him, but are no where to be seen. 
White silence in the shadows no longer,
Someone has captured you and is now actively keeping you from him,
You, from your forbidden love.
//
82 notes · View notes
highvern · 22 days
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Snack Drawer
a collection of short head cannons that dont really belong on my master list but give you a lil sum sum. Lots a humor, a bit suggestive, and some secret third thing.
Mechanic Jihoon x Baker Reader
Cockwarming Gyu
Car guy Cheol
Cheol hard thoughts
Photographer Wonwoo
Blind Date Yoongi
Fire Bender Jungkook
Pacific Rim AU Jungkook
Bald Gyu
Fire bender Wonwoo
Earth bender Seungcheol
Biker Hoshi
Demi gods Jihoon & Mingyu
Dad Jihoon
Knight Seungcheol I, II
Jester Hoshi
Gamer BF Cheol
Sleepy Cheol
Author Wonwoo Sneakpeak
Beach Wonwoo
Mixtape Hoshi Backstory
20 notes · View notes
btsqualityy · 1 year
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Y.O.U (Years Of Us), Chapter 4: Decisions Made Out of Hurt
Jimin x half black/half Korean OC
Genre/Rating: 21+, established relationship, idol!AU, smut, angst, and fluff
Summary: Kamaria gets back to work on her upcoming album, runs into Jimin, and has her perspective (slightly) altered after a conversation with him. 
Warnings: Mention of drug addiction and a rehab visit. 
WC: 4.1K
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Song Of The Chapter: Demi Lovato ft Lil Wayne- Lonely
Two weeks later, Kamaria got out of her car at the HYBE building, making sure to lock the doors before she walked inside. After promotions for ‘Taming’ wrapped up, Kamaria was determined to get back into the studio. It had been two years since her fourth album and she had missed performing more than anything in the world. 
Well, almost anything. 
Once she had checked into the building and allowed the elevator to take her to the seventh floor, she instantly went to the fourth door on the right side of the hallway, typing the code into the keypad and waiting for the door to beep twice before pulling it open. 
“Well, well, well,” Yoongi smiled as he turned around in his chair and watched Kamaria step into his studio. “Long time, no see.”
“I just saw you in November, at MMA remember?” Kamaria chuckled. “Don’t start this dramatic shit.”
“What can I say? I have a flair for it,” he laughed, standing up and waiting until she had stepped closer to pull her into a tight hug. “How are you, kiddo?”
“I’m ok, can’t complain,” she shrugged as she hugged him back. “How are you?”
“Busy with work, as always,” he joked. “Here, have a seat.” Kamaria did as he instructed, taking a seat in the chair that had been placed next to his before she set her purse on top of the nearby table. “So, how’s the album coming along so far?”
“Well, I think I have about 50% of it done so far but as I started to think about what else I wanted to include on the album, your name popped into my mind,” she explained. “We haven’t worked on anything together since my first album and Lonely is still one of my favorites.”
“It’s one of mines too,” Yoongi smiled. “But uh, are you sure about us working together? I mean, there’s a reason why we haven’t collaborated since your first album all those years ago.”
“You just had to go and bring that shit up,” Kamaria huffed. 
.........................................................
5 Years Ago
After fulfilling her contractual obligations to SM Entertainment, Kamaria had been looking for a change. Though the company was amazing to her and had been an amazing fit for her mother, she had realized that she wanted more creative control when it came to what messages she was putting into her music. Through her friendship with Jimin, she became acquainted with Bang Sihyuk who welcomed her to BigHit Entertainment with open arms. 
“I have to say, Kamaria, I cannot wait to get into the studio with you,” Bang PD confessed as the two of them walked down one of the numerous hallways in the HYBE building together after she signed her artist contract. “I hope that doesn’t make me sound too excited.”
“It’s fine because I’m just as excited,” Kamaria laughed. “Some of my favorite KPop songs ever have been ones that you wrote.”
“I’d be lying if I didn’t say that makes me blush a bit,” he joked, making Kamaria laugh again. As the two of them walked, they heard a sudden commotion coming from the artists’ lounge and as Kamaria listened closer, she realized that one of the raised voices was coming from Jimin. 
“Um, sorry to have to end this on such short notice but I think I should go see what’s going on,” Kamaria said.
“I think so too,” Bang PD nodded. “I’ll have Nari-ssi get in touch with you with your new schedule for recording.”
“Yes, thank you,” she nodded, doing a light bow before she rushed away from her new boss and as she rushed down the hallway, she could hear the voices of the other Bangtan members getting louder and louder. By the time she made it to the open doorway, nothing could’ve prepared her for what she saw. 
Jimin and Yoongi had their arms wrapped around each other, trying to wrestle one another down onto the ground and throwing blows at whatever inches of skin that they could reach. The other members were left trying to break the two of them up although if Kamaria wasn’t mistaken, some of them looked like they wanted to let the fight take place. 
“What the fuck are you guys’ doing?!” Kamaria shouted as she rushed forwards, instantly going over to Jimin and pulling on his shirt along with Jungkook and Taehyung. At the sound of her voice, Jimin released his grip on Yoongi and allowed himself to be pulled away. “What the hell is going on?!”
“This dumb ass has decided not to resign,” Yoongi growled and Kamaria’s eyes widened because Jimin hadn’t said anything to her about that. 
“Are you serious?” She gasped before looking over at Jimin. “Why?”
“Because I wanted to do more solo work and I can’t do that with the group constantly hanging over my head,” he explained. 
“Say it like that again and I’ll kill you,” Yoongi threatened and Jin and Hobi tightened their grips on his arms just to be safe. 
“Jimin decided to tell us about his decision after we’ve already started contract negotiations as seven members,” Namjoon elaborated. “We were very clear on our plans before Jin hyung and Yoongi hyung went to the military so we’re not understanding the sudden change.”
“The sudden change came when he had his solo debut and started smelling his own shit,” Yoongi spat.
“I haven’t been smelling my own shit,” Jimin shot back.
“Actually, you have been,” Hobi interjected. “You’ve been acting every different every since ‘Here I Am’ came out and every solo comeback you’ve had since. Nothing against you personally but it’s the truth.”
“Maybe because I want to explore more of my own artistry,” Jimin explained. “I don’t want to be held back by my commitments to the fucking group, like I have been for years now.”
“We were holding you back?!” Yoongi snorted as he began to struggle against Jin and Hobi’s hold. “You wouldn’t be shit without us and you fucking know it!”
“There’s only three of us that pack in the fucking stadiums and it’s definitely not you, hyung,” Jimin said mockingly. “So I think it’s actually the other way around.”
“Ungrateful son of a bitch!” Yoongi roared before breaking free of the hold on his arms and charging towards Jimin again, literally tackling him onto the ground. This time, it took the members much longer to break the two of them apart while Kamaria was forced to do nothing but watch and call out to Jimin, hoping that he’d rein himself back in. 
“Get the fuck off of me!” Jimin hollered as he got up off of the ground once Yoongi had finally been pulled off of him. “I fucking quit!”
“Jimin hyung,” Jungkook called out but Jimin brushed him off before he stormed out of the lounge. 
“I’ll talk to him,” Kamaria said before rushing out behind her best friend. Once she caught up to him, Jimin didn’t stop to hear her out and even eight hours later, as he paced back and forth in Kamaria’s apartment, he still refused to see reason. 
“Listen, I understand where you were coming from,” Kamaria said from her place on the couch. “Bangtan has always been insular and it’s hard to go back to that once you’ve opened up more.”
“Ex-fucking-actly.”
“But couldn’t you just communicate that to them without all the extra aggressiveness?” She wondered. 
“They wouldn’t hear me out, Bubs because they never do!” Jimin exclaimed. “I don’t want to be just ‘Jiminie from BTS’ anymore. Once I started making my own music, I just saw everything that I could be and it’s so much more than I could’ve ever dreamed.”
“And you really think Bangtan is holding you back from that?” 
“I do,” he confirmed with a nod. “And I know myself. Despite what happened today, I do love my members and I’d do anything for them but I also know that my loyalty to them is holding me back. Think about it. Yoongi hyung’s been back from the military for six months and what I have done solo since then?”
“Nothing but you told me you guys had discussed that,” Kamaria pointed out. 
“More like the hyungs discussed it and I just agreed to it,” he corrected her. “I’ve grown so much as an artist in the last three years and I don’t want to lose the momentum that I have going.”
“And that’s worth you imploding a 15 year friendship?” She questioned. “Because of your fucking ego, basically?”
“Call it what you want but I’ve made my decision,” Jimin shrugged as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pill bottle. “I’m going to finish another mini album and promote that for the next six months before I go to do my military service. Once I’m out, the only thing I’ll have to worry about is myself and my music.” 
Kamaria didn’t say anything else, instead just watching worriedly as he pulled a pill out of the bottle and swallowed it down dry. 
.........................................................
“Look, the only reason why I haven’t worked with you was out of respect for my prior relationship,” Kamaria explained. “Which you can’t blame me for. I mean, you gave him a black eye and a bloodied lip.”
“Which I’d do again in a heartbeat because he fucking deserved it for being a prick,” Yoongi chuckled. “But it must feel good to get rid of the old ball and chain, huh? I never did know what you saw in his ass.”
“Anyways,” she rolled her eyes. “Let’s get to work, if you remember how to do that.”
“Oh, I have a whole folder of beats that are awaiting your gorgeous voice,” he smiled as he turned to face his desktop. “Let’s do it, kiddo.”
Once the session started, Kamaria found herself easily slipping into the routine. Making music was like therapy for her and after the last few months, she fucking needed it. 
A few hours later, Kamaria stood next to the door of Yoongi’s studio while he locked up. 
“I’d forgotten how fucking good you are,” Yoongi chuckled. “I can’t believe we wrote and laid the entire song down today.”
“Me either but I love it,” she gushed happily. “I definitely want it on the album.”
“Good, as long as you don’t try to rope me into performing it with you,” he said as he turned to face her, motioning with his hand for her to lead the way down the hall. 
“Oh come on,” she giggled. “We’ve never performed together before and it would be fun.”
“Pay me enough and we can talk,” he chuckled. 
“Pay you enough for what?” Jimin wondered as he stepped out from around a corner, smirking when Kamaria and Yoongi simultaneously rolled their eyes at the sight of him. “Hello Bubs.”
“Hi,” Kamaria deadpanned. 
“So, she’s the only person you see?” Yoongi asked. 
“Hello hyung,” Jimin smiled but Kamaria could tell that it was completely fake. “How are you?”
“Eat a dick,” Yoongi snapped before turning to glance at Kamaria. “I’m going home. Call me if you need anything, yeah?”
“Ok, and thanks for today,” Kamaria smiled softly, giving him a quick hug before he continued to walk down the hall away from them. Once he was out of earshot, Jimin narrowed his eyes at her. 
“You’re working with Yoongi now?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m no longer with you and don’t have to worry about bruising your ego anymore,” Kamaria shrugged. 
“Nice to know whose side you’re on,” he snickered. 
“I was never on anyone’s side in that and you know it. I thought all of you were being idiots,” she reminded him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She moved to walk past him but when she did, he reached out and grabbed onto her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. “You know, you’re making a really bad habit of grabbing me and my fist is just aching for a face to punch these days.”
“Can we talk?” Jimin wondered. “Like, really talk?”
“If you ask me about being your fucking surrogate again, I swear-,”
“No, not about that,” he shook his head. “I want to explain things to you from my side. About Hye-ja, why I did what I did, everything.”
“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” She chuckled in disbelief. “You made it very clear who and what you wanted when you married her.”
“But don’t act like it hasn’t always been you,” Jimin stated firmly. 
“It’s hard to believe that when you’re sporting another woman’s ring on your finger.”
“Have I ever lied to you?” He questioned and that had Kamaria pausing for thought. Jimin was a lot of things: an asshole, egotistical, somewhat clingy, and selfish. However, the man had never lied to her and she couldn’t deny that.
“No.”
“I know I’ve hurt you. I can see it in your eyes,” Jimin murmured. “The least I can do is be honest with you, if you’ll let me?” As Kamaria looked into his eyes, those brown eyes that she had found herself getting lost in so many times before, she felt that familiar feeling washing over her again. 
“Ok,” she agreed. “When and where?”
“If you’re not busy, I’d like to do it tonight,” he told her. “Say, my place, 7:00pm?”
“I’ll be there,” Kamaria agreed, her breathing hitching in her throat when Jimin suddenly leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss onto her forehead before pulling back.
“See you then, Bubs,” he smiled before turning and walking away. 
“I’m such an idiot,” Kamaria muttered to herself, grabbing her sunglasses from her bag and slipping them onto her face before making her way out of the HYBE building. 
.........................................................
Later that night, Kamaria found herself pulling her car up to the code box of Jimin’s house. His house could really be considered a mansion by modern standards, two stories with five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a home studio, a large backyard with a pool, and even a full scale movie room. 
Rolling down the driver’s side window, Kamaria reached out and quickly pressed the numbers ‘514′ onto the keypad, her eyes widening when the gate beeped before it slowly began to open. 514 was the date of their anniversary and she was somewhat, but not completely, surprised that Jimin hadn’t gotten around to changing it. 
As she pulled up the driveway and parked her car right in front of the front steps, she had barely gotten her foot out of the car when the front door to the house swung open. 
“Bubs!” Jimin called and in spite of everything, Kamaria found herself smiling as she walked up the steps. 
“Hey.”
“You look amazing,” he praised and Kamaria rolled her eyes.
“I’m wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt,” she scoffed. “Be for real.”
“I am,” he huffed, opening the door wider and allowing her to step inside. “And you have your hair in my favorite style.” Kamaria smiled at that, knowing Jimin well enough to know that he went weak in the knees anytime she had braids in her hair and especially when she put them up into a ponytail on top of her head. 
“Look, you wanted to talk so let’s talk,” Kamaria said once she had taken off her jacket and gotten her shoes off of her feet. 
“You’re not hungry?” Jimin asked as he began to walk backwards towards the kitchen. “I have food on the stove. Come on.”
“Jimin,” she whined but when he continued to walk away from her, she just sighed heavily before following behind him. Once she made it into the large kitchen, Jimin was already in front of the stove stirring something in a large pot so Kamaria walked over to him and hopped up to sit on the counter next to him. 
“So, where’s Hye-ja?” She couldn’t help but to inquire. 
“Not here.”
“Is she gonna be here? I mean, she does live here,” Kamaria pointed out.
“No, she doesn’t and she never has,” Jimin confessed, throwing her a quick glance before refocusing his gaze on the pot. 
“What? So the two of you have been living separately since you got married?”
“Yep. She said something to the effect of ‘”I’ve worked too hard to just give up my house and plus, I don’t even like the design of your house”,” he recited.
“She doesn’t like this house?” Kamaria gasped. “It’s gorgeous. I remember when you bought it.”
“I’d hope you would remember because you’re the one that convinced me to get it,” Jimin chuckled. “Pretty sure you threatened my life about it too.”
“Hey, a good piece of real estate makes me passionate,” she joked. A comfortable silence settled over them then, and Kamaria took the opportunity to look inside of the simmering pot. “Uh, Jimin? What is this?”
“Kimchi jjigae.”
“You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” he huffed. 
“It doesn’t look like it,” she observed. 
“Looks can be deceiving sometimes,” Jimin smiled. “Trust me, it’ll taste the way you taught me to make it.”
“I still don't’ know how you used to cook for me so much but had no idea how to make kimchi jjigae,” Kamaria giggled. “And it was so easy!”
“Hey, that wasn’t my fault,” he shot back. “I had my parents, you, and the hyungs so I had no need to learn.”
“You’re spoiled.”
“Loved, actually and there’s a difference.”
“Whatever,” she smiled. Not too much later, the stew was done and the two of them were sat together at the table placed in Jimin’s dining room, their full bowls, one glass of wine and one cup of water in front of them. 
“So,” Kamaria spoke up, wanting to get right down to things because she wanted answers. “How did you and Hye-ja even meet?”
“Well, I’ve always known of her,” Jimin began. “I’d see her around at different events and award shows, stuff like that. I even did an OST for a drama that she was in back before I did my enlistment. She used to flirt with me whenever she saw me but I never paid it any attention because I was in love with you, even before we officially got together three years ago.”
“When you and I broke up, I was heartbroken and I had holed myself up in this house,” he continued. “Taehyung was the one who broke me out of my funk and dragged me out to Hye-ja’s latest premiere. When I saw her again, she was just as flirty and this time, I welcomed it. She gave me her number and we ended up talking on the phone every night for weeks afterward. She gave me attention and made me feel wanted, which is the exact opposite of how I had felt when you and I ended things.”
“As we talked, it just seemed like we wanted a lot of the same things,” he told her. “She’s the same age as me and it seemed like we were on the same timeline when it came to getting married and starting a family so I thought it could work. Admittedly, I also didn’t want to miss my opportunity to have the family that I’ve always dreamed of and since it seemed like you were really done with me, I took my chance. I asked her to marry me and she accepted. We got married in Tokyo a month after her movie premiere.”
“And where does the whole surrogate thing come in at?” Kamaria wondered. 
“Once we got back to Korea and Hye-ja saw some of the bad press we got for a ‘fake and rushed marriage’, she decided that she wanted to hold off on having kids for the time being,” Jimin explained. “And after that, it seemed like everything just unraveled. We have more differences than I thought and we barely see each other because she’s obsessed with working.” 
“Wow,” Kamaria murmured, slowly dragging her spoon through her stew. Although she was still angry as hell at the way Jimin had gone about things and how he had let them play out, she still could understand his point of view. He had made a decision out of pain, only to have it all blow up in his face. 
“Tell me about it,” he chuckled. 
“I feel for you Jimin, I really do but I never told you that we were totally done,” she pointed out. 
“Can you blame me for thinking that after I woke up to all of your stuff gone and only a note left behind?” Jimin scoffed. “You said you needed space.”
“And I did need space.”
“Between that and all the times I proposed to you, only to be turned down, what was I supposed to think?”
“Your definition of asking someone to marry you changes everyday,” Kamaria responded. “Randomly asking me over cereal in the morning or over the phone or when I’m mad at you because I caught you popping pills is not a proposal.”
“....You didn’t have to throw that in my face,” Jimin grumbled. 
“And I’m not trying to but it’s the truth,” she stated firmly. “You had an addiction issue and I know you went to rehab and have been fine since you got out...right?”
“Right.”
“But it just made me rethink everything,” she finished. “I wanted everything you did Jimin and you know that. Marriage, kids, the whole shebang but I was not going to do it while you were using drugs and then fresh into recovery, especially not after what I’ve been through with my mama. I love you but I refuse to love you to death, and that’s something I’m standing on.”
“I understand Bubs,” Jimin said, reaching across the table with his hands out. Hesitantly, Kamaria set down her spoon and set her hands in Jimin’s, allowing him to squeeze them tightly. “When I came back from rehab, it seemed like everything was fine between us so I assumed that our relationship was one that I wouldn’t have to worry about mending. I guess I was wrong, huh?”
“I-” Kamaria began to say but she was cut off by the sound of the front door opening and closing followed by a loud voice calling Jimin’s name. Kamaria instantly snatched her hands out of Jimin’s, her eyes widening when she saw the person that the voice belonged to walk into the dining room. 
Kim Hye-ja was stunning and even Kamaria could admit that. She stepped into the room dressed immaculately in a light blue two piece suit, Jimmy Choo heels glistening in the light. Her long black hair was slicked back away from her face, showing off her stunning facial structure. 
“Jiminie!” Hye-ja exclaimed and Jimin stood up then, opening his arms just in time for Hye-ja to crash into him in a tight hug. Kamaria couldn’t help but to grimace and she had to physically turn her head when Hye-ja kissed her husband firmly. 
“What are you doing here, Hye?” Jimin asked. “I thought you were going to stay in Jeju after your photoshoot.”
“I was but I decided to come back to Seoul so that we could be together,” she smiled before looking over at Kamaria. “Oh my gosh, you’re Kamaria.”
“Hi,” Kamaria smiled softly and Hye-ja rushed over to her side of the table, bowing lightly and grabbing onto her hand to shake it in greeting. 
“It’s so amazing to finally meet you!” Hye-ja chirped happily. “I know you’re one of Jimin’s best friends.”
“Yeah,” Kamaria nodded. “It’s nice to meet you too, Hye-ja-ssi.”
“Please, you don’t have to be so formal with me,” she insisted. “Any friend of Jimin is a friend of mines.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Kamaria replied. 
“I wasn’t interrupting anything, was I?” Hye-ja questioned suddenly after seeing the bowls of food and Kamaria’s glass of wine. “I know you don’t get to see each other often.” 
Oh, if only she knew.
“Nah, you’re fine,” Jimin spoke up. “I ran into Bub-, Kamaria at the HYBE building when I went to record today and invited her over.”
“But I was actually just on my way out,” Kamaria announced, standing up from her chair. 
“Well, we have to plan something soon so that you and I can get to know each other more,” Hye-ja suggested. 
“Sure,” Kamaria smiled falsely. “I’ll see you around, Jimin.”
“Let me walk you out,” he offered but Kamaria shook her head. 
“I’m good, don’t worry. Stay with Hye-ja-ssi, I’m sure you guys have a lot of catching up to do.”
“That we do,” Hye-ja smiled as she wrapped her arms around Jimin. Quickly making her way to the front door, she stuffed her feet into her shoes and grabbed her jacket and purse, holding both in her hands as she rushed out of the front door. Switching on the ignition and throwing the car into drive, she fled down the driveway, flying through the gates and out onto the streets of Seoul. 
“Every time,” she muttered to herself. “Every fucking time.”
.........................................................
Tag List:  @dunixxd @namaslaylife @shabbamadapot
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bangtanwritershq · 9 months
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BangtanWritersHQ Presents: “Uncover The Mythos of Bangtan” Masterlist
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For June 2023, we put together a collection of fics that focus on the mythological, folklore, and urban legend types of alternate universes! We asked our members to share with us their mythos-themed stories so that we could share them with you! If you are in an enchanting and whimsical mood, this masterlist is for you! In this post, you’ll find fics from our network members that feature any and all members with various mystical AU types and tropes!
Browse at your leisure and ENJOY!
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KEY:
🔞 - nsfw (mature themes) ✅ - sfw (no warnings) 💖 - smut ⚠️ - other warnings
SET UP - emojis: Title (if link is to another platform) | Author [parts] pairings, genre/aus, rating, word count
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🔞 💖 ⚠️ Curse of The Serpent | @colormepurplex2 [2/2] Pairing: Perseus!Namjoon x Medusa!Jimin AU Type: Gods & Monsters | smut, angst, mild fluff Rating: MA WC: 12,046
🔞 💖 ⚠️ Dream For Us | @colormepurplex2 [2/2] Pairing: Hyung Line x f.Reader AU Type: Demi-Gods & Monsters | light smut, angst Rating: MA WC: 15,255
🔞 💖 ⚠️ Flowers of Fate | @colormepurplex2 [4/4] Pairing: Fae!Yoongi x Human!Reader (ft. x Jimin/Namjoon/Jungkook) AU Type: Beltane, Scottish Folklore | smut, angst, fluff Rating: MA WC: 56,072
🔞 💖 ⚠️ Ambrosia & Nectar | @hisunshiine [1/1] Pairing: Dionysus!Jungkook x Phanessa!Reader AU Type: Greek Mythos | angst, smut, fluff Rating: MA WC: 5,112
🔞 💖 ⚠️ Petals With Luv | @hisunshiine [1/1] Pairing: Emporer!Jungkook x PalaceWoman!Reader AU Type: fantasy au | royalty au | angst | smut | thriller/spooky | fluff Rating: MA WC: 6,241
🔞 💖 ⚠️ The Eight | @noonasto [125/125] Pairing: OT7 x OC AU Type: Soulmates | smut, fluff, angst Rating: MA WC: 153,256
🔞 💖 ⚠️ Mate | @7deadlysinsfics [7/9] Pairing: Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!Reader AU Type: A/B/O Soulmates | angst, fluff, smut Rating: MA WC: 25,920
🔞 💖 Sanguis | @7deadlysinsfics [1/2] Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook x Vampire!Reader AU Type: Vampires | smut, angst Rating: MA WC: 2,270
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All stories copywritten of the specified author. The authors provided consent for their stories to the network to be shared by submitting their stories. Stories posted in the order of submission to the event.
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yeoldontknow · 2 years
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Ataraxia On The Horizon | Masterlist
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There are tales waiting to be told across the sea, above and below it; in the sky, and beyond it. There are stories of great love and great loss, stories of great adventure and great sacrifice. If we told you we have uncovered seven of the greatest tales, would you lend us an ear? Would you, if we told you we have gathered seven adventures through love and pleasure and pain, lend us your heart? Could you do it for the love of a pirate? For the love of a god? But what if there was even more? Would you swoon for the unfathomable man who steals hearts as quickly as souls? Are you in it just for the reputation, for the glory?
Are you greedy enough to give us everything, to have all of it?
Welcome to Ataraxia On The Horizon, a collection of stories that speak of adventure, escape, and love amongst the sea and sky. Here, you will find danger as quickly as you find romance. Here, you will find hope in the same instant you find grief. If you are seeking a journey amongst the tides, a life amongst the clouds, or the splendor of a stranger’s warm hand - read on.
all banners and images produced by @jamaisjoons​
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✶ Title: Love Across Moonlit Tides ✶ Author: @jamaisjoons​ ✶ Pairing: Pirate!Namjoon x Sea Demi-Goddess!Reader ✶ Tropes: Strangers to Lovers, Fantasy, Adventure
✶ Summary: When humans began doubting their faith and the Gods' power began to fade, Mirrhea, Goddess of the Sea, left without the Ocean's Heart, her most beloved treasure. Cetoan children have grown up hearing about the Heart of the Ocean: its absence, Mirrhea, and, most of all, its immense power. Legend says the Verraine Isles hold the secret to the treasure, but no matter how hard any pirate, treasure hunter, or adventure seeker has tried, the Isles themselves remain just as lost as the Heart of the Ocean. 
When Namjoon sets foot upon the Verraine Isles, he expects to find jewels, and gold, and money, but instead he simply finds you. He finds you and is immediately thrust into an even greater adventure.
⟶ Setting Sail Soon
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✶ Title: Damned To The Depths ✶ Author: @kookdiaries​ ✶ Pairing: Pirate!Jin x Native Islander!Reader ✶ Tropes: Sinbad au, Forbidden Romance, Adventure
✶ Summary: After the announcement of your betrothal to a well-known merchant sailor is derailed by his sudden abduction, you’re tasked with trying to save his life, and yours, by finding centuries old lost gold along with a pirate you’ve heard is nothing but trouble. Captain Jin is feared by many. He lays claim to whatever he desires, and does so easily. That is until he meets you. Taken by a long, lost friend, he knows damn well you are spoken for. But that is exactly what has him so intrigued by you.
⟶ Setting Sail Soon
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✶ Title: Serpents Sea ✶ Author: @jeonjcngkook​ ✶ Pairing: Pirate!Yoongi x Commodore’s Fiance!Reader ✶ Tropes: Regency, Strangers to Lovers, Angst
✶ Summary: There is nobody more feared than the myth of the Seven Seas, captain Min Yoongi. No one has seen him with their own eyes but with tales of debauchery and violence, black magic and buried souls — it isn't hard to picture what such creature he may be. 
You didn't have to wait too long to come face to face with the captain as a transaction that goes wrong between the pirates and your fiancé throws you into the arms of a young beautiful blonde with kind eyes as a pay off for protecting the land. And yet maybe the mesmerising captain Yoongi is the reason you wish to stay.
⟶ Setting Sail Soon
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✶ Title: Ala Morn ✶ Author: @yeoldontknow​ ✶ Pairing: Archer & Bard!Hoseok x Space Pirate!Reader ✶ Tropes: Reincarnation, Space, Sci-Fi
✶ Summary: Wisperia Sirens are never meant to fall in love. 2000 years ago, you did, and you paid for it by watching him die miserably in your arms. In grief, you took his name, his ship, and his legacy, honoring him for eternity. Hoseok is the most famous bard of his era, and you are the only subject that has ever carried fascination for him. Determined to meet you, he sneaks onto your ship and plans to write the first honest song about you. But then, why are you so strikingly familiar? Why do you look at him with coldness in your jaw and warmth in your eyes? Why do the words come so easily? Why does he find it so easy to love a pirate?
⟶ Setting Sail Soon
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✶ Title: Melodies Of Your Heart ✶ Author: @jimilter​ ✶ Pairing: Pirate!Jimin x Siren Princess!Reader ✶ Tropes: Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Fantasy
✶ Summary: The kingdom of Carmen Deae which lies calmly beneath the turbulent Cantiuncula sea, is inhabited by mystical females that sing deathly Melodies. Every mermaid, on becoming of age, is sent for a human male that crosses the sea. Once with child, she returns to the kingdom a Siren. However, you – the youngest princess of Carmen Deae – refuse to have intimacy be an act of treachery committed for your species’ survival. You wish for love. 
Cutting through Cantiuncula and drifting ashore to your heart, Captain Park Jimin is beautiful, kind and enigmatic. But allowing yourself to love him – would mean partaking in the very rite you shun. 
What must you do?
⟶ Setting Sail Soon
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✶ Title: No Survivors ✶ Author: @inkedtae​ ✶ Pairing: Capricornus!Taehyung x Pirate!Reader ✶ Tropes: Strangers to Lovers, Horror, Drama
✶ Summary: The storm seemed to come from somewhere other than the sky. One moment, the stars were swallowing the sky and in the next, the sea was swallowing your ship. Every member of your crew abandoned ship and you cursed them under your breath as the gale tore apart your mainsail. You didn't think anyone heard you. But he did. The Capricornus heard, and he would like to invite you to dinner.
⟶ Setting Sail Soon
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✶ Title: Tentative Tides ✶ Author: @amourtae​ ✶ Pairing: Pirate!Jungkook x Princess!Reader ✶ Tropes: Forbidden Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Age Gap
✶ Summary:  Don’t unravel the past. Don’t contemplate the future. And don’t fall in love with a grouchy pirate.
Your family castle, Winter Hill, stands boldly on the sandy beyond, admired by all who sail past, yet never appreciated by you. A castle that stands as though it has emerged from a fairytale, instead reminds you of a lifetime that was solely full of grief. Your only escapes were the books left by your mother in her old library, and the majestic sea that your chambers overlook, the perfume of salty water lingering through your window every morning. Tired of not being able to physically revel in the beautiful blues, you sneak away onto a ship, hoping to see the wonders that lie beyond your caged home. 
Disguising yourself as a cabin boy, you manage to last 3 days until the Captain’s son catches onto your little act. In order to prevent him from revealing your secret to your father, you’re forced to give in to his 3 condition… to hide yourself from the rest of the crew, to stop gawking at him upon every chance you receive, and to tell him about the secrets that lie beyond the castle.
⟶ Setting Sail Soon
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