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#Happy birthday to my trash boy

soov · 3 months

Text

KiSS & NO MAKEUP ㅤ. . .ㅤ﹫ yang jungwon ★

꒰ 🧾 ꒱ yang jungwon & fem reader, 500 words. ㅤg fluff, non idol au, established relationship, drabble. ㅤw kissing, pet names, reader wears makeup.ㅤlibrary

jungwon climbed up his bed with a few cotton pads and a bottle of micellar water in his hands. he sat next to you, carefully clipping your hair away with two hair clips he had grabbed earlier.

“close your eyes.” the boy commanded softly while soaking the pad. when you complied, he glided the cotton over your eyelids and lashes.

“i should’ve been the one taking off my makeup,” you said under your breath to not disrupt your boyfriend, who looked too focused on the task at hand. “especially since today is your birthday.”

he shook his head, tongue poking out of his reddish lips in concentration, “nah… you did enough for today.” jungwon countered and discarded the pad, getting another clean one to wipe your lips. “and it’s not like i haven’t done this a thousand times already.”

you would not be surprised if the number was correct. every night you crashed at his place meant that he’d be hovering on top of you and taking off all makeup you wore. even though you had recently started a meticulous skincare routine, jungwon got a pass to clean your face up with only micellar water.

it was a win-win situation: you got pampered, he admired you from up close. however, during this night in particular, you wished jungwon would just lay down and savor the last minutes of his birthday.

“did you enjoy your day, by the way?” you peeked an eye open, immediately getting a poke on the cheek from the ravenette and laughing. “sorry.”

“of course i did,” nodding, he gave you a swift peck, grinning at how the corners of your lips tugged up at the act. “loved both the party and the dinner. thank you again.”

raising a hand, you waved him off, glad that he liked it, “it’s nothing, really.”

after a few more gentle strokes, jungwon threw away the used cotton in the trash and put the items back in place. he laid down next to you with a mischievous smirk, kissing your forehead. “all done!”

“did you take everything off? i’m trusting you on it.” you blinked up at him, settling down comfortably in his embrace.

“i removed all of it, promise. no more makeup — just my baby.” he smiled, promptly noticing how corny he sounded despite his sweet tone.

pausing for a brief moment to register your boyfriend’s comment, you burst out laughing with your face in your hands, “you’re so cheesy that it’s painful to watch.” you cackled.

“hey!” the young adult scoffed playfully, pinching your side. “i’m not cheesy.”

as he took notice of your bashful reaction, jungwon began to kiss your hands that were still covering your face, slowly coaxing you to show yourself to him once again.

“let me see youuu…” he whined, arms wrapped around your midsection like a giant toddler, his nose scrunched up.

you did as he asked to — after all, he still was the owner of the night. and to that, he happily gave you one of his infamous dimpled beams that you couldn’t resist.

“thank you for today.” only briefly after muttering those words out, he was already giddy at the many cheek kisses he got from you.

with the lights off, you pressed a few more pecks on his face before getting into a mess of tangled limbs, “happy birthday, jungwon.”

⠀ ⠀ SOOV © 2O24

ㅤ𝗿𝗲𝗶’s notes ⪩⪨ HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO MY BOYFIE 💝💝

#ㅤ𝓡.#k-films #k-labels #jungwon x reader #jungwon fluff #jungwon drabbles #jungwon scenarios #jungwon #yang jungwon #yang jungwon fluff #yang jungwon x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen drabbles #enha x reader #enha fluff #enha imagines #enhypen imagines

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skzstannie · 4 months

Text

“What about Ben?”

SKZ-> ot8 x 9th member fem! reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort wc: ~4,800 cw: reader has a panic attack and depression, Ben is ur lil bro

summary: your mom isn’t happy about your absence at your brother’s birthday party, but she takes her anger a step too far this time

A/N: Happy New Year everyone! I hope everyone has a blessed 2024! Part 2s for both the Felix and the Han fic are underway, so send me an ask if you’d like to be added to the tag list for either of them!

Happy Scrolling! | Masterlist

"Mom, you know I can't just up and leave! What are you expecting me to do?"

You find yourself having the same conversation with your parents time and time again- they want you to come home, you can't come home, then they give you the silent treatment for a period of time until they want you to come home for something else.

It's mentally exhausting, having to deal with their constant negative remarks towards you job. You only do it for your little brother; him growing up without you is not in the cards for you. In fact, that's what this argument you're having with your mom is about this time.

"I expect you to put your family first for once in your life!" your mother yells back. You flinch, pulling the phone away from your ear.

"Mom, you know I wouldn't miss Ben's birthday unless I absolutely have to. I want to be there for him, I really do!" your words do little to convince her as she already has her mind made up about the type of person you are.

"This has happened one too many times. Missing the occasional family gathering is one thing, but it’s your brother's birthday." Her disgust easily wafts through the speaker of your phone, and you bite your lip to keep from absolutely lashing out at her.

Your parents were never understanding of your job. They always expected you to just pack up your bags and fly home for the smallest of things.

Your baby cousin said her first words? "Why aren't you here?"

Your little brother lost another tooth? "Why would you want to miss this important milestone?"

Your grandma got a new dog? "What kind of heartless person denies their grandparents?"

Over and over, you've been criticized for your job. You give them the same explanation each time, as it's the truth.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I want to be there; I really really do. It's just that-"

"Always with the excuses. Ya know what? I'm tired of the excuses," she pauses and your breath hitches in your throat.

"Ma?" your voice is choked up, and you find your lip wobbling from where it's pulled between your mouth.

Your mother sighs, her disappointment evident. "We're done with the excuses, Y/N. If you can't be here for us, I don't think this is going to work out."

You swear your heart stops upon hearing her words. "What do you mean?" the laugh you let out is far from humorous. It's desperate. "How could it not work out? I'm your daughter, there's nothing to work out. You're supposed to love me and care for me, unconditionally."

"You've crossed the line too many times. Don't try to spin this around and make me the bad guy. This is completely your fault, you and those stupid boys."

Your parents could talk trash about you all they want, but you never let them get away with saying stuff about your boys. "You can belittle me, argue with me, call me every name in your book, but I will not let you talk about the guys like that. They're my family, too," your almost able to catch yourself, but you realize your mistake far too late.

"Oh, yea? Well, if those guys are your family, why not spend the rest of your time with them, too. It’s not like you weren’t already planning to anyway. Spend your holidays with them, your birthdays with them. He’ll, what do you even need us for?”

Tears well in your eyes, a mix of anger and fear swelling deep in your gut. "Mom, you know that's not what I meant." You’re completely choked up, your words coming out just above a whisper in volume.

You've had fights, but they never go as far as this. Usually, your mom would've hung up by now, leaving you with nothing but radio silence for months on end.

As toxic as this is, she's your mom. You couldn't live this life without her. She's toxic now, using your vulnerability against you every chance she gets, but she wasn't always that way.

She was once a loving mother, one who packed your lunch every morning for school, sending you off with a kiss on your cheek. A mom who'd pay extra to get more of your school pictures so she could put them on her desk at work and in her car. She used to show her love for you as any mother does, but you havent felt that in so long.

The last time you were home was a little over two months ago, and not once did she hug you, kiss you, or even touch you. She was cold and emotionless towards you.

You should've seen it coming. All this tension building up for months on end, it was going to have to bottom out eventually.

As much as the above is true, the words that flew out her mouth next shocked you beyond belief, causing the tears to flow freely from your waterline.

"Don't come back home, Y/N. I'm serious. You've done too much damage to my family." There’s a beeping on the other end of the phone, and it drops from your shaking hand to the carpeted floor beneath you.

Don't come back?

You were always sorry, apology after apology leaving your lips when you had to miss something your family organized. You thought it'd be okay. Your mom would get over herself eventually, and you'd come home when the company allowed you to.

You pick up the phone, hands a trembling mess, and call back, praying for another chance to explain yourself. You’re met with an automated message, the robotic voice piercing your ear.

"I'm sorry, this customer is unavailable."

You hang up and call again. She wouldn't have blocked you. It was just a silly fight, right?

"I'm sorry, this customer is-" you hang up before the message finishes, throwing your phone onto the floor next to you.

Your sobs become audible, and your body crumbles onto the floor, your knees thankful for the soft surface the carpet provides. Your fingers claw at the skin around your eyes, looking for a relief from the emotional pain coursing through your body.

Red lines mark your face, leaving the areas tender and puffy.

Your heart constricts in betrayal.

How could she?

She raised you, gave birth to you. How was it so easy for her?

The thought of your little brother enters your jumbled thoughts, and your heart breaks further.

He’s only six years old, and he is the best little brother you could ever ask for. He loves with all his heart, and you are lucky enough to get to experience it, to be apart of that little circle he could wrap his arms around and squeeze with all his might.

The thought of never squishing his chubby cheeks again destroys you, and you're unable to express the amount of heartache you're feeling.

So you scream.

You scream loud, your emotions ripping through your throat like shards of glass through skin.

You’re too distraught to notice the door to your bedroom whipping open. Chan and Minho stand there in the doorway, their eyes wide and mouths agape.

They've never seen you like this before. They've never seen anybody like this before, actually. Your screams are manic as they bounce off the walls around you, echoing around the room.

Once their shock dies off, they rush over to you. Minho is gentle in his grip but firm as he pries your hands away from your face. He gasps when he sees the damage your nails have already done, your once soft features now blotchy with angry red streaks.

You continue to scream, your nails now digging into Minho's arm. Chan grabs you from behind, doing his best to soothe you out of your hysteria.

"Y/N, you have to calm down. Please, it's ok, shhh," he says, his hold around you tight in an attempt to give you some sense of security.

"What happened? Can you talk to us?" you ignore Minho.

They accept that you're too worked up too answer them, and they let you finish your episode, the two of them doing everything they can to try and soothe you.

The rest of the guys in the dorm stand in the doorway now, your cries too agonizing for them to ignore. Varying degrees of shock are spread across their faces as they watch.

Chan starts to mumble sweet words to you as you come out of your panic attack, your brain finally able to register your surroundings again.

“It hurts,” you whimper, chest aching. “It’s so hard to breathe.”

"It's ok, we're here," he repeats, his head pressed up against the side of yours.

"Tell us five things you can see right now," Minho says from beside you, his grip still tight around your sweaty hands.

Your voice is scratchy, your throat red and scarred from your screams, but you oblige, knowing this will help you ground yourself. "I see my alarm clock," your eyes scan your room, landing on the bright digital clock you have sitting on your bedside table.

"Good," he hums, "What else?"

Your eyes travel to the door and you see the scared faces of the rest of your members. You lock in on Felix, his hands clenched tightly in front of him as salty tears stream down his face.

"I see Felix," you whisper, the pain from your throat becoming more and more noticeable.

He nods his head. "Good, now three more things. What else do you see?"

You look to your opened closet, your eyes catching the way your clothes spill out of your messy dresser onto your floor. "I see my favorite hoodie. I see my curtains, and I see that stain on my wall."

"Perfect, Y/N. Take a few deep breaths now." You breathe with Minho, your erratic breaths eventually matching his steady ones.

Finally calmed down enough, you slump back into Chan's hold, completely exhausted from the panic attack.

The room is silent for a moment, all the guys letting you have a second to gather your bearings.

"What happened?" Changbin steps through the rest of the members, settling next to the three of you on the floor. The rest follow suit, some sitting on your bed and some sitting beside Changbin.

"It's my mom again. I don't even know, I think she like, kicked me out? Like, kicked me out of the family?" You're almost embarrassed to explain the situation. You don't know why, maybe in fear your members will think your mom's right. That maybe you have been missing too many family functions, and that you should’ve made more time for them.

"Y/N, that's awful," hums of agreeance come throughout the room, and Hyunjin's words help to reassure you. "You don't deserve that, not one bit."

"She's completely out of line. Nothing you did warranted this at all," Seungmin chimes in. He knows thoughts of uncertainty are swirling through your head, the gaslighting from your mother turning your thoughts to mush.

"What about Ben?"

"What about him? You know your mom's full of shit, and the minute you show up at her doorstep she'll welcome you in. She's bluffing," Changbin pipes up again, his shoulders tight with anger.

"I don't think she is this time."

~ ~ ~

It's another day, and you've spent it the exact same way you spent the last five- curled up in your bed with the lights off, mindlessly scrolling through your phone.

Chan's come in to check on you periodically, but you’ve been alone for the most part.

The knock at your door alerts you from your sleepy state, and you call them in.

“Hey, I brought you some soup. Minho made it earlier today, and I figured you might be hungry,” Chan says, giving you a timid smile.

“Thanks, Chan, but I’m not really hungry right now. Can you just set it there?” You point to the little table you have at the end of your bed, “I’ll eat it later, I promise.”

Your phone starts to ring, and you gasp when you see who’s calling.

Dad

You pick up immediately, and you’re met with the distant yells of your parents. Confused, you ask, “Hello, Dad?”

“Sissy,” comes through. It’s Ben. His voice is small, and fear seeps through the speaker.

“Buddy, what’s wrong?” You keep your tears at bay, knowing you need to be strong for him. Chan sits down beside you when he hears the little voice you’re talking to, and he rubs your back in comfort.

“Mom and Dad are fighting again,” he sniffles, the microphone personifying every bit of his sadness. “I miss you, Sissy.”

“I miss you, more, buddy, but I don't think we're gonna be able to see each other for a while," you choke back sobs.

“But I miss you so much,” he’s crying harder now, and it’s hard to hold yourself together knowing he’s struggling like he is.

“I know, buddy, I know. I’m so sorry I missed your birthday, I couldn’t get a day off work,” you explain. Chan brings his finger up to your cheek, catching your tear before it’s able to fall from your cheek.

You hear Ben gasp, and your heart beat picks up. “Ben, is everything ok? What happened?”

“Mommy’s coming, and I have to go. She told me I couldn’t talk to you, but I stole Dad’s phone. Love you, sissy,” and he’s gone before you can even say it back.

Chan eventually leaves your side upon your request to be alone for a while. The soup beside your bed grows cold as your sadness overwhelms you once again.

~ ~ ~ "Alright, rise and shine!" you're awoken from your slumber by the bright light shining in from your window. You groan, throwing your pillow over your head to block the light. Your curtains hadn’t been opened in weeks, and you were planning on keeping it that way for as long as possible.

"Nope," the intruder says, ripping the pillow from off your face.

"We've allowed you to wallow in this room long enough. If we're not performing or doing an interview, you're laying in the dark in bed." Your eyes open, crusty and sore from the crying you did before falling asleep the night before.

Hyunjin's face paints your irises, his features full of determination.

"Time to get up." He throws your pillow back on the bed beside you, turning to walk out your door. "Oh, and pack a bag, we're flying somewhere today."

You shoot up in bed at that. "Nothing's on the schedule for today, so where are we going?”

‘Is it something I can get out of?’ is what you really want to say, but you keep it to yourself.

"It’s a surprise. Get up and get dressed, we leave in an hour," he finishes, closing the door behind him.

You slide out of bed, your limbs dragging your covers onto the floor. You don't bother picking them up, too tired to care about the messy appearance of your room.

You quickly get ready, throwing on a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. You pull your hair up into a ponytail, attempting to hide the grease that's accumulated over the past few days.

The ride to the airport is quiet and relatively peaceful. Everyone's happy to see you up and moving again, but the facade you've been putting on for the public has been washed away in your tired state, leaving your features drowsy. The dark circles under your eyes are prominent, your cheekbones sticking out more than usual. Your hair’s thinned a little, and your lips are cracked from your lack of hydration.

Through security and the rest of the way through the airport, you grip Jisung's arm, both of you needing the other's support in the overcrowded building.

Chan had explained to you that the managers wanted to start filming for the next SKZ Code a day early, fearing it might take longer than expected.

When you see the television next to your boarding terminal, your eyes practically bug out of your head.

Why would you be filming the next SKZ Code in your hometown?

That's the last place you want to go, your fight with your mom still fresh in your mind. You've been feeling the affects of it, her harsh words and actions sending you deep into a depressive episode.

Your members have noticed, trying their best to pull you from it, but nothing they did seem to work.

They can't begin to sympathize with you, none of them ever experiencing the kind of hurt you feel deep in your heart, wreaking havoc on your sanity. All they can do is offer you words of encouragement and love, assuring you that you still have a family, a very real one. While the nine of you may not be related by blood, the bond between all of you is strong.

They decided to take their efforts one step further, however, after seeing you begin to spiral. Your naps became longer and more frequent, often taking up most of the time you were supposed to be awake. You had been neglecting your self care routine, not even having enough energy to shower and brush your teeth most days.

Chan decided that enough is enough, so he convinced the managers to book you all a flight to your hometown to try and reconcile your family. As much as they wanted your mom out of your life, you were much more sane with her in it, and you needed your dad and your brother.

~ ~ ~

The flight was a success, everything going perfectly smooth.

You're now squished into the backseat of a car on the way to the house you'll all be staying at for the remainder of the filming.

The first thing you notice when pulling up into the driveway is how beautiful the house is. The front yard has the most angelic archways leading up to the house, with flowers lining the sidewalk and little statues spread about.

The house itself is amazing. Tall glass windows cover most of the front, the sunlight easily shining through, lighting up the front room.

The five of you- Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix, I.N, and yourself- make your way into the house, and all of your previous worries disappear at the sight of the incredible interior. The walls are lined with expensive looking art, chandeliers hang from the tall ceilings, and the floors are marbled with white and gray.

Chan, Lee Know, Changbin, and Seungmin went to the store in the other van. They said they needed to pick up some last minute essentials for your stay.

Little did you know, they were actually going to your parents house. Their hopes were to get your mother to forgive you, or at least be civil so you could have a conversation with her.

Unfortunately, their visit did not go as planned, and it ended with your mother threatening to call the cops on them if they didn't leave the property immediately. This, of course, did not deter Lee Know from giving her a piece of his mind. His outburst was in Korean, and the insults he threw at her were so quick she'd never be able to recall them to look them up in a translator.

As much as they wanted to stay, to defend you and help you get your family back, they knew they couldn't. Getting law enforcement involved was the last thing they needed, knowing their managers would immediately regret sending them on this short getaway.

So, with that, they went back to the house with anger embedded in their hearts. They didn't want to have to tell you the real reason you all came here. They didn't know how you would react. Would you be thankful they tried to help? Would you feel betrayed that they'd went to your home without permission? They didn't know, but it was time to face the music; there was no SKZ Code to film, and they had no shopping bags in hand, so the truth was going to have to come out.

"Y/N," Chan sighs as he plops down next to you on the couch. You're both seated in the sunroom, looking out at the lake that sits in the backyard.

He gets your attention, and you slide your phone in your hoodie pocket, turning your body to face him. "What's up?"

He hates that he has to be the one to bring up your family again. You look so peaceful, your face no longer contorted with sorrow and pain like it'd been for weeks now, but he knows he has to tell you. It’s only fair to you. "So, please don't get mad, but this whole thing may or may not have been just a setup for you to see your family again."

Your heart beats out of your chest at the mention of seeing your family again. "Really, when can we go?" Your excitement radiates off of you, and you quickly stand to your feet.

Chan grabs ahold of your sleeve and gently guides you back down next to him, his eyes filled with pity. "Well, when we said we were going shopping earlier, we actually went to your house," he pauses, his eyes scanning your features; your face is blank, the excitement from seconds ago long gone. "Your mom wasn't exactly appreciative of our presence, and she kicked us out. Said she'd call the cops if we didn't leave. I'm so sorry, Y/N."

Your mind whirls with the information Chan just threw at you. "So, all of this," you gesture to your surroundings, "was for me? There's no SKZ Code?"

He shakes his head, his hand coming to rest on your arm, "No SKZ Code."

"And my mom still doesn't want to see me?"

He shakes his head again, slower this time. "I'm so sorry for doing this to you. I thought she'd be more open to talk to you, to us, but she wasn't. If I'd have known it'd end this way, I would've never done all this."

You sit there in silence, your gaze downcast. There's no sadness or anger in your heart, no tears welling up in your eyes. You expelled all the emotions you could over the past few weeks, and you've left yourself with nothing.

You stand, your only desire to go lay down on the plushy bed you found in one of the bedrooms when you were exploring earlier. As you walk away from Chan, he stops you.

"Where are you going?"

"To sleep."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I can come with you?"

"No thank you, I'll be fine," your voice is robotic as you decline his offer. You make your way to the room, climbing up the stairs to the second floor.

You're out like a light as soon as your head hits the feathery pillow, the day’s events catching up to you all at once.

~ ~ ~

You're rudely awoken by the sound of your phone ringing. You pull it out from your pocket, your eyes squinting at the brightness.

Your eyes widen at the contact name that appears on the screen.

Dad

You quickly press the answer button, scared if you wait too long the opportunity will disappear quicker than it showed up.

Your dad had always been a follower. He's the youngest of four siblings, so it was instinctual for him to do what they did. When he married your mom, he had been the same way. Whatever your mom said went.

Your dad loved you and your brother so much, with all his heart, but when your mom started to act up, he became distant. He was never mean to you; he just stopped calling one day, stopped texting. You knew it was because of your mom; a part of you thought he was scared of her.

The last few times you'd gone home, the tension between them was almost unbearable, but your dad always rolled with it. Essentially, he was your mom's very own punching bag. You felt bad for him, but only he had the power to do something about it. You certainly didn't want to say anything. You were already walking on eggshells with her, the last thing you wanted to do was upset her more.

You bring the phone up to your ear, a shaky 'Hello?' leaving your overly chapped lips.

"Hi, sweetie. It's Dad," his voice is as shaky as yours, and he sounds choked up.

"Dad, what's wrong?"

"I can't do it anymore, Y/N. I cannot listen to her and let her treat you this way anymore."

Your heart breaks for him. All throughout your childhood they had been a happily married couple. The love they had for each other was immense.

"I'm getting a divorce, and I'm taking your brother with me."

Your heart is so conflicted. On one hand, this is the greatest news you've ever heard. You'll get your dad and brother back! On the other hand, you'd never wish divorce on anyone. While this experience would not be exceptionally hard for you, given your nonexistent relationship with your mom and the fact that you don't even live at home, it would certainly be hard for the people you love.

"After your band mates came and tried to talk some sense into your mother, it made me realize how blind I've been these past few years. She’s been so mean and cruel to you, and I just sat by and watched."

You don't know how your little brother will take it. Your mom has spoiled him with everything under the sun. This will surely devastate him.

Your dad, too, this can't be easy for him. You know it's not easy for him from the quiet sobs you hear on the other side of the phone.

You're not sure what to say as he continues to cry. "Dad-"

"Honey, please forgive me," he pleads, his voice cracking. "I've let your mom walk all over us for years now, and I'm so sorry."

"Dad, it's ok. It's not your fault."

He's quiet for a moment. "I have Ben at Grandma's house now. Can you come? He's crying so hard. It wasn't easy to leave, your mom put up a fight and was screaming. I think it scared him a bit."

"Yes, Dad, I will be there as soon as possible. I'm leaving now. Can you send me the address so I can give it to the driver?"

He sends the address and you hang up, promising you'll see him in just a few minutes.

You hurriedly put your shoes on and run down the stairs. All your members are sat in the living room, some video game lighting up the television.

"My dad’s getting a divorce, and he has my brother at my grandma's right now. I have to go see them," you quickly ramble out, looking in your purse to make sure you have everything.

The guys are stunned at your demeanor. They haven't seen you move with such determination in weeks.

"I'm coming with you," Chan says matter-of-factly, standing from the sofa to put his shoes on.

"Chan, you don't have-"

"I want to. I just want to make sure everything's alright," he sighs at the look you give him, your eyes boring into his. "I'll even stay in the car."

You roll your eyes at that, but you don't fight him. You suppose it doesn't really matter if he's there; you just want to see your family again.

~ ~ ~

One short car ride later and you're jumping out of the car, the seatbelt flinging back against the door. Your brother waits for you on the porch, the biggest smile gracing his lips.

You sprint at him, swinging him off his feet and embracing him tightly. "I've missed you sissy!" he cheers, his little arms wound tight around your neck. His tears have dried since your phone call with your dad, leaving little streaks down his cheeks.

"I've missed you more, Bubby," you tell him, thankful to have him in your arms again. Your eyes crinkle as your mouth splits into the biggest smile.

Your dad comes outside upon your arrival and wraps the two of you in a hug, giving you a tight squeeze. His eyes meet Chan's over your shoulder, who decided to step just outside of the car.

'Thank you,' your dad mouths to Chan, giving him a grateful smile.

‘Thank you’ for what? Chan wasn’t exactly sure. Bringing you to him? He’d do it a million times over. Taking care of you? He’d never let you struggle without him by your side.

Chan gives him a thumbs up in reply, just happy to see you happy again.

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huggybearluvr · 4 months

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Birthday Girl

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lukehughes

liked by y/nkelce, traviskelce, and others...

lukehughes happy birthday to the prettiest girl in the world. I love you more than you know baby.

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y/nkelce Awww babe, you're so cute, I love you!

lukehughes happy birthday sweetheart

markestepa happy birthday y/n!!

y/nkelce thank you markie!!

taylorswift Happy birthday girl!

y/nkelce thank you!! can't wait to see you next week!

trevorzegras O. M. G.

taylorswift Trevor say happy birthday don't be rude.

trevorzegras HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N

y/nkelce I hate you trevor.

lukehughes I hate him too baby welcome to the party.

jackhughes Happy birthday you little shit

y/nkelce awww how sweet ye old geezer

jackhughes WHAT. @lukehughes come get your girl.

lukehughes dont bring me into this

user1126 Happy birthday y/n!!!

quinnhughes Happy birthda!

y/nkelce thank you quinner!

traviskelce

liked by lukehughes, jasonkelce, and others traviskelce happy 20th to my shithead of a sister.

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y/nkelce i. hate. you.

lukehughes PLEASE SEND ME MORE LITTLE Y/N PICS!!

y/nkelce absolutely fucking not.

traviskelce sending them now luke!

markestepa WHY WAS SHE DRIPPED OUT

dylanduker why is she on a trash can...

jasonkelce she saw a spider.

dylanduker I WOULD BE ON A ROOF.

y/nkelce thank god someone gets it.

donnakelce very sentimental caption trav...

y/nkelce mom he hates me.

traviskelce nah uh.

yourbestfriend

liked by y/nkelce, markestepa, and others yourbestfriend HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOVE OF MY FUCKING LIFE.

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markestepa LOVE OF YOUR LIFE?!

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y/nkelce

liked by lukehughes, yourbestfriend, and others y/nkelce thank you everyone for the birthday wishes, and HUGE HUGE THANK YOU TO THE BEST BOYFRIEND EVER FOR THE SURPRISE PARTY!!!

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lukehughes I hope today was everything you wanted and more! I love you baby.

y/nkelce it was. Thank you!! I love you so much!

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#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fic #luke hughes smut #luke hughes series #travis kelce #jason kelce #kelce

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here2bbtstrash · 2 years

Text

the shape of your body (explicit)

genre: fluffy slowburn smut

pairing: jimin x reader

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

word count: 24k 🙇‍♀️

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

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

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

read on AO3!

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just wish you knew him, too.

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

Well, you know a few things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the train stops moving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Definitely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you pay them for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You in grad school too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”

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

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

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

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

Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

“You just did,” Yoongi notes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

“Fucking asshole!”

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

“Yoongi?!”

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

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

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

“What about the coffee shop?”

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

“What about the bar?”

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

“What about the—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

“Is this about the penis?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gay together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess so.”

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

Another invitation, you realize dumbly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was fast.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

“When are you done with classes today?”

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“White and sparkling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s hear it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”

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

~*~

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Subway Boy, huh?”

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug. “I guess. It’s new to me.”

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

“I think so, yeah.”

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

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

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

“Is Joon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will,” you promise, and you do.

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Met?” he guesses, teasing.

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

“The Louvre?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hobi?”

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

“Jimin?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In a bit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looks like it’s cooperating today.” Jimin’s voice is equal parts relieved and embarrassed.

With a lazy smile, you hook a finger in his waistband, tugging playfully. “What do you want to do about it?”

He laughs hoarsely. “I would love to finally fuck you, if you’ll have me.”

“I don’t want anybody else.” The thought spills out before you can worry if it’s too soon to say it, but he just smiles and leans in to kiss you.

At Jimin’s guidance, you lay back against the pillows, a couple of which he grabs to slot under your hips. “There’s condoms in the nightstand,” you say softly, and anticipation thrums in your chest, twinning with your still-racing pulse as you watch him retrieve one, then step out of his sweatpants to roll it on.

He climbs back onto the bed to hover over you, and your breaths come shallow into each other’s mouths. You kiss quietly at the precipice of this moment, like you’re afraid it might not be real, a dream you could wake up from at any second.

“Thank you.” Jimin’s low voice sends a ripple through you. “For waiting for me.”

You press a hand to his cheek, your eyes trying to take all of him in at once. “It wasn’t waiting, Jimin. Really. I’ve loved every second with you. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing.”

“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmurs.

The head of his cock teases your entrance, and you spread your thighs wider, pulling your legs up towards your chest. Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you can’t bite back the moan that spills out of you as he sinks into your tight heat with a cock thick enough to split you open. “Fuck, Jimin.”

There’s a pause when he’s pressed all the way in, his body covering yours, your hands clutching at the broad sweep of his back. He exhales a soft, disbelieving laugh as he looks down to see himself buried in you to the hilt. “God, you’re so tight. Does it hurt?”

You shake your head— you’re so soaked from his tongue and your arousal that it all just feels like melting, a pulsating heat between your legs. When he presses another kiss to your lips, he circles his hips, and you both groan at the feeling.

Jimin’s hands grip your thighs as he shifts and starts to move, starts fucking into you with long, slow strokes that make your pussy flutter, as if to urge him in deeper.

“It’s good?” he checks in again, voice tight, clearly holding himself back.

“So good, baby,” you breathe, “please fuck me.” A smirk flashes over his mouth at your manners, so polite when you ask to take it, and then he snaps his hips into you and you keen. “Fuck, please, just like that.”

He does it again and again, hands pressing down on your thighs to keep you folded up under him as he fucks you. The angle is just right for the thick head of his cock to pound into your g-spot with every stroke, and your back arches as your walls grip tight to him.

Jimin echoes your gasps with his own, swearing under his breath as you squeeze around him. He’s thrusting deep-deep now, and your hips shove up towards him for all of it, your thighs trembling as you take every inch. You’re dripping down his length every time he pulls back, wet enough to soak the sheets beneath you.

The pleasure, the pressure as he fills you up is so overwhelming that your hands reach, clinging to anything they can find. A pillow, the bedsheets, the flexing muscles in his forearms. Your moans come unabashedly now, underscored by the slap of skin on skin, the thud of the bedframe knocking into the wall. “Jimin, Jimin, baby.”

“Yeah,” he pants, choked up like he’s close. “Love it when you say my name.”

You sit up a little, folded legs shifting to wrap over his hips, and your hands come to his face to pull his mouth down to yours. His movements stutter as you kiss him breathlessly, and the brush of your tongue over his must be just enough to make him come undone. With a grunt of effort, he thrusts hard into you one final time, and his shoulders shake as he fills up the condom.

You kiss him again and again, your lips pulled into a smile against his as you tangle a hand in his hair, made messy from sleep and sex. Jimin’s body weighs heavy on top of yours as he drops his head to your shoulder, breath coming in short heat-bursts over your collarbone.

“Fuck. Been a minute.” He presses a kiss there, another to your neck, a third to your jaw. “Do you want to keep going?”

Your eyes widen at the question. “I— can you?”

A soft flush paints color in his cheeks, and he’s suddenly a little shy. “Yeah, I can. If you want. Or we can stop.”

You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your noses bumping. “I kinda felt like I was getting close again.”

He smiles. “Then let me finish what I started.” There’s a bit of shuffling as he moves to the edge of the bed to remove and tie up the used condom, then reaches for the box to retrieve another.

As he tears open the foil and rolls it on, you watch and consider all of him. This body that you know from every angle, that you’ve studied like a textbook, that holds the boy who stepped onto the subway and changed your life and made it better. This body, made to be adored, to be respected and cherished and filled up with love. This body, chosen to be shared with you, to be held by you, to be near you.

That’s all you want, you realize as he rolls over, brown eyes blinking sweetly at you. This body, and all that it holds: the darkness and the light, the pain and the beauty, the soul that so perfectly fits with yours.

“Turn over for me?” he asks softly. “I want to spoon.”

This round is easier, slower, your bodies molding together, shaky from effort and sensitivity. You twist over your shoulder, tipping your head up for a kiss that turns into a shared gasp as he presses into you again. Your walls are swollen enough to be tender, and the stretch of him, the way he fills you up entirely, makes your eyes roll back.

As he starts to grind his hips into you, his hand snakes down between your thighs before you even have to ask. You hook a leg over his to allow him better access and gasp when his cock slides even deeper into you from the new angle.

“So good,” you manage as two of his fingers work circles into your clit, matching the same slow-stroke pace. His tongue slips into your mouth, and with his cock rubbing insistently against your front wall, it doesn’t take much. Pleasure overwhelms you in a hot rush as he so easily pulls you apart again.

“Jimin.” Your voice is nearly a whisper, your walls starting to pulse. Your head tips back against his shoulder as he fucks and rubs you through it, his hums of encouragement buzzing through your body, your hips shuddering. “Baby, oh god.”

Jimin’s strokes start to falter, and then he goes still, your cunt aftershock-fluttering around him as he comes again, groaning your name.

A brush of daylight through the blinds makes your eyes heavy, and they drop closed as you lean into him and breathe through the comedown. You don’t know how long you lay there like that until his kisses pull you back earthside, dotting over your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw. You tilt your head up and he finally finds your lips again.

With a deep grunt of post-sex effort, he rolls over, leaning off the edge of the bed to deal with the second condom. A shiver dots up your spine at the loss of his body next to yours, and you tuck into his side when he lays down again, throwing an arm over his chest to better nuzzle into the crook of his neck. The heat of his palm makes you sigh as his hand rubs gentle circles against your back.

Something cracks open inside of you, warm like his touch, like the sunlight bleeding through the window. You can feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat under your hand, and it’s everything, all of him, that makes the words rise up in your throat, undeniable.

“Jimin,” you breathe, “I l—”

A loud bang on your bedroom door makes you flinch, and you roll over with a grimace as Yoongi shouts from the other side. “If you’re finished, just so you know, you left a fucking pan on the stove. Could’ve burnt the house down while you were in there deflowering each other.”

Your jaw drops open and Jimin’s eyes go wide, and you collapse against each other in a silent rush of laughter. You’re surprised when Yoongi’s voice comes back, a little softer this time. “Also I brought some bagels back from work. If you want any, better hurry before Namjoonie eats them all.”

The charged moment has passed, and the words sink back down inside of you. Making a promise to tell him soon, you wrap yourself tighter around Jimin’s side with a smile. “What do you think?”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’ll never say no to a bagel.”

“Come on then,” you murmur, tilting up for a final hit of affection. The kiss he leaves on your lips makes your heartbeat flutter, like the shudder of a subway car.

#jimin smut #jimin fluff #jimin x reader #jimin x y/n #bts smut #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts fanfic

5K notes · View notes

cannellee · 6 months

Note

It’s 🌺anon here! If you’re okay with it, I’d love to hear about what your genius brain comes up with about the Toman boys with an omega who loves to do domestic things- such as cooking for them, maybe crocheting or knitting them cute sweaters, whatever! I’d love love to hear your take on it, if you’re comfortable! Keep taking care of yourself and keep up the good work✨

-🌺anon

TOKYO REVENGERS OMEGAVERSE ★

୨୧ alpha! Tokyo revengers x omega! Reader

— their reactions to an omega who loves to do domestic things (pairing (not in right order): mikey, draken, baji, chifuyu, taiju, sanzu, inupi, kisaki, hanma, kakucho, kazutora, takemichi)

my masterlist : ☆

(of course!! absolutely anything for you 🌺anon!!<33 (≧▽≦) I hope it isn't too repetitive!)

MIKEY

now we all know mikey would be so happy if his omega loved to cook.

he would brag about it to his friends, rubbing it in their nose that only he can have fresh homemade meals and snacks everyday.

he'll feel so lucky! he will have a clear sense of purpose and accomplishment if you tell him that you like to take care of him in this way. no because his omega is a good cook and a cutie? an absolute win.

he thinks your cooking is the best and won't eat anything else, luckily that's your hobby so it doesn't feel like a chore.

always praises you for how well you cook, he expresses his contentment in such an exaggerated way just to show that's he's really appreciative of your efforts!

thanks you after each meal and asks you if you can also cook him lunchbox. he's practically begging you, so you can't say no<3 but of course if you refuse he won't force you, he'll insist every time he sees you and will get a bit pouty for a while but that's about it.

KAKUCHO

alpha kakucho is so sweet he feels so moved by your gifts:(

like yes of course he'll wear anything his adorable omega made for him. you're so skilled he's always in awe.

buys you more stuff so you can always have materials if you want to sew or knit something.

he's scenting every single piece of work, and whenever you throw away an item you're disappointed with, he'll secretly grab it back whenever you're not around. because none of your work is worthless in his eyes!

he's very admirative of what you do in general, seeing his omega so immersed and passionate about an activity melts his heart!!

and when you shyly gift him a sweater for his birthday he's ecstatic, thanking you with wet kisses and a slight blush across his face.

SANZU

in sanzu's mind, this is the way things should be anyways.

but fuck, when he sees you cooking for the both of you he feels so great. especially if you do take into consideration his taste before yours.

he wants to marry you on the spot.

your need to take care of your alpha makes him really appreciative, although a bit cocky at times.

like, you're just so eager to please your alpha:( it's socendearing and makes him a tad bit more protective.

teases you a lot, he thinks it's really cute of you. he'll wrap his arms around your waist and give you kisses, but there are times when he'll just straight up slap your ass. he loves that you're too busy, hands full of utensils to actually hit him back or anything.

when you don't cook for him he's usually eating trash, so he actually feels really grateful (not that he'll admit it).

KISAKI

when he discovers you love cooking during your free time, he thinks that's really cute of you<3

obviously his interests are very opposed to yours and he loves to find a bit of sweetness and delicacy in his omega.

now kisaki is protective, so he's a bit restless when you start to use a knife or anything that could burn you and harm you.

kindly demands you to step back while he gets the tray of snacks out of the oven while praising you for being a good girl and listening well to what he tells you.

nothing tastes bad when it's you who cooks. but if you ever did mess up a recipe and didn't catch on it yet (because you always make kisaki taste it first) he will politely and gently tell you it probably lacks a bit of salt.

you chuckle a bit when you finally taste the food and it's just awful, kissing your alpha for being so sweet with you<3

TAIJU

taiju is just really pleased and satisfied by his omega.

like you're so perfect for him and his stereotypical lifestyle (sorry).

you cook, you clean and overall make sure your home is well maintained. taiju thinks you fit your role so well and he couldn't be any more pleased with you.

and when he sees you knit items and blankets for your nest, he can't help but think you'll make a wonderful mother for your future pups.

you'll make warm clothes for them, make sure they eat well and keep them healthy.

you just don't know how much you trigger his instincts which command him to protect and provide.

in his eyes, you only need to stay at home while he takes care of everything else. just be that sweet and submissive omega he fell in love with<3

HANMA

hanma always knew you had a thing for decoration, always buying small stuff, curtains, lamps, carpets and other furniture to embellish your home.

he knew that as an omega you liked it cozy and warm, and seeing you walk around the house with a serious and focused face always made him smile.

he likes to observe you while you replace the same vase for the ninth time. he doesn't really see the difference but you seem to take this to heart.

you're always moving things around, needing to find the perfect spot for each item. you like your home organised, you often apologise for never stopping until you're satisfied, but he waves you off saying he doesn't mind at all.

gives you his opinion once in a while about something, you think it's because he wants to take part in the process but it's actually because he knows you won't stop pacing until someone decides for you.

he'll sometimes walk across some store which sells the type of furniture he knows you like and deliver it to your place.

you give hanma a call to thank him, he acts like it's no big deal but you know he likes to spoil you.

later asks for a repay though. if he doesn't ask for something sexual, he'll force you to cuddle him. it clearly depends of your mood, he's really good at reading you.

your nest is really well adjusted and despite being an alpha he likes to spend his time here when he's over at your place.

INUPI

he's also the best!!

when you tell him you like manual activities, he's super involved and admirative of your dedication.

he can watch you for hours in silence while you do your thing.

you repair his damaged clothes, sew back buttons which have fallen off, you literally do anything and inupi feels so grateful to have you.

how could such a dedicated and loving omega fall in love with him? he's forever thankful and constantly showing you his love.

although you love to cook, he sometimes insists he does it too so you can actually rest. like, let your alpha take care of you the way you deserve it, inupi is more than happy to look after you.

whenever you're cooking, he's the first to taste and he actually gives great feedback so you can improve.

you like his honesty and praises whenever you do something for him.

KAZUTORA

kazutora is in love with whatever you do. so it's not surprising when he's the first to encourage you into doing what you want.

he'll gladly let you do his hair if it means you'll let out happy purrs.

you've recently started to craft small pins and jewelry. having long hair and the ears pierced, kazutora was the perfect guinea pig.

and of course he lets you test out your creations. you tie up his hair, adorning it with a handmade ribbon full of beads and flowers. you also decorate him with beautiful pink earrings and take countless pictures of the end result.

kazutora never complains and even asks you if you have anything you want him to try.

he loves the attention you give him but most of all he's really proud for having such a skillful omega.

DRAKEN

you always drop by draken's work place whenever it's lunchtime to give him his homemade meal.

you're quick and you're back home as soon as he thanked you but you wouldn't stop this little ritual for nothing.

you really like to do things for your alpha and turns out you love cooking, it's only natural you bake the most delicious food for him!

as for draken, he absolutely loves it. sometimes he has to fight for his food because mikey keeps trying to steal it but he's overall really thankful.

but he doesn't take your kindness for granted and really often takes you out to get icecream or to places you want to visit.

you're always so thoughtful you bring him his gloves whenever it's winter, you also bring him the wrench he forgot at home...

and when he praises you for being so good to him you feel complete and aligned with your primal instincts, that's the effect draken has on you<3

BAJI

baji likes that side of you.

even if he appears a bit grumpy, you always manage to lift his mood up.

you leave little notes all around the house and he loves it, even if they're cheesy as hell. they're all decorated, colourful and well made.

he collects them, puts some of his favourite inside his wallet and reads them sometimes when he's feeling down and you're not here.

your sweet words about how much you love him are endearing and he teases you about it.

he shows you as well how much he loves you when he gets back from work, he needs to make sure his omega feel that her love is reciprocated!

he also loves it when you give him goodbye kisses, helping him get his stuff ready and giving him a sweet smelling meal you made after waking up.

he knows your love language is act of service, so he likes it a lot when you do stuff for him. but he doesn't fail to show his appreciation even though he's not very verbal about it most of the time.

he'd rather shower you with his smell or let you choose the restaurant each time you go out!

CHIFUYU

why did his omega have to be so cute??

you absolutely love plants, always taking a look at every flower shop you see and not resisting the urge to bring some to your house.

the first time chifuyu bought you flowers was because he knew omegas liked sweet and soft smells. he was courting you and chose his gift diligently. however he didn't expect you'd be this overjoyed.

then he learnt about your absolute love for plants and that was it. he's now bringing you flowers every time he goes out, either a big bouquet of roses, tiny succulents, a bunches of dried flowers or vases that suit your tastes.

he's more than happy to do so and even helps you place them around the house, giving you his well appreciated opinion.

he will also try and learn the name of plants and flowers, especially your favourites, so he can hold a conversation about your favourite topic!

he'll take you to parks and huge glasshouses because his omega deserves the best! and he loves to make you smile<3

TAKEMICHI

it's soo calming to takemichi, he loves it.

when you're both cuddled into the warmth and safety of your nest, your hands are rapidly working on a knitted scarf without a word. it makes takemichi so sleepy, watching you so focused.

he scrutinises every expression of your face, the comfort of it all making him spread more of his pheromones so you both smell like him.

it brings him a homely feeling he can't get enough of.

he watches you silently, occasionally rubbing his scent glands all over you or your work.

once you're done, he's always admirative of your work.

he sometimes asks you to teach him the basics of knitting. he wants to get closer to you by trying out your hobby.

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k-looking-glass-house · 2 months

Text

Happy (fanon) Birthday Sam (Sammy boy!)!

Yes....it's happening, ...Did I gave fanon birthday to the twiwon's cast leftover.....Yes!

I only wanted Sam to be....a pisces...very important information....yes.... and 7 because...lucky 7 for a cursed merchant...

(When I decide to make something special about it ...tadadadadaaaa SSR Crowley popped out of nowhere....THAT BIRD THAAAAT BIIIRD!!!)

Once again this is not an edit. And I really need to work harder on line pressure... But I am such a lazy one...

....That outfit got a long history.....The coat is a Loewe x Howl's moving castle collab.... The shirt and pants are "Moschino" inspired and the shoes are the famous 80/90 brand colorful "Chanel". Kind of twisted design from a street magician... Yes he's wearing an aviator hat because blame pixiv wonderful artists and their headcanon...Sam is scarred on broom....don't ask...my brain...my fashion sense...and you wondered why models walk with "trash bag" on themself....our brain....

SAM~ SSR Birthday friends on the other side

Summon Line: “And I got friends on the other sideee~ Gneehihi everyone is ready to party right now!”

Groooovy!!: "I got things I never tried! But I got friends on the other side!"

Home: "IN STOCK NOW! Gneehihi I'm joking, I'm joking, today is a day off after all~"

Home Idle 1: "à#** Yes? Ah sorry kooni-chan, I was talking to the shadow~"

Home Idle 2: "I can't wait to go back to Jubilee port, my sisters made me a surprise party....which is no longer a surprise party *crazy grinning face* ***"

Home Idle 3:" I am still quiet young among the NRC adult crew~ *cute face*"

Home Idle - Login: "Kooni-chan look this way *stare* !!... Yes indeed my red socks are a gift from Mister Crewel. He said" Sammy-boy, to make a statement in your outfit". I enjoy them a lot gneehihi"

Home Idle - Groovy: "You reside in Ombrorio with every campus's ghosts, you must treat them properly!"

Home Tap 1: "Sam the Shadow man! I was even called Oogie Boogie back then! *shadow dancing around*"

Home Tap 2: "I am craving chicken gombo... You should definitely taste my cousin Tia' "cuisine"!"

Home tap 3: "Those necklaces pearls are gifted by our Carnaval princess, it brings good fortune!... No I didn't catch too many of them.*side eyes*"

Home Tap 4: "I have a lot of secret you know gneehihi~ If you ever need some information come to me, we'll make a good deal about it~"

Home Tap 5: "Sam...? What...Last name?...Gneehihi how bold and brave of you kooni-chan. It's Sam D. because I was born on a samedi! No more question shh shhshhh! *silent finger mouth pose*"

Home Tap - Groovy: "You're green!! Ah no I mean I'm a royal from my mother side you know *stare*"

Bonus: MAGIC DUO

Sam: Kooni-chan IN STOCK NOW 50% off!! Yuu(sona): Happy birthday Mister Sam!

*Sam's sisters are part of @evilcokito 's lore... I love them soooo much that it's canon in my head and I added them to my own lore haha (Hope you don't mind Coco...)

*Sam D is a pun word with the french word samedi which means saturday, but is also related to "Baron Samedi"

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst sam #k imeart #twst fanon birthday #last post on queue till spring #hiatus till spring #once again take care of yourself and your loved one #also 4th jp twst anniversary is coming around!!#also also also....they made a “remake” of epic mickey....rebrush...I am dying more...#oswald the lucky rabbit....finally after 100 years...the world will know

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esrwag · 9 months

Text

(EXTRA)ORDINARY LOVE

pedri gonzalez x famous!reader

summary: in which a relationship thought to last forever starts posting less of each other. will it be the end?

part 1: amigos de la infancia

sharing their friends to lovers relationship over the years through instagram posts. pedri is a professional fangirl.

warnings: language… for now.

NOVEMBER 26, 2013

liked by pedri, feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrr and 24,842 others

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NOVEMBER 25, 2018

liked by pedri, feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr and 199,192 others

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MAY 27, 2019

liked by yourusername, feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr and 31,568 others

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NOVEMBER 25, 2019

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MAY 27, 2020

liked by yourusername, andre3000 and 100,160 others

pedri just want to wish André 3000 the most special, magical birthday ever. i love you with all my heart. also, happy birthday to my y/n

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AUGUST 20, 2020

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OCTOBER 20, 2020

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yourusername 18 has looked better on others, but you'll get there 😘

rosylopez78 ❤️❤️❤️

user babe wake up new pedri pics just dropped

yourusername will drop more just for pedri nation

MAY 27, 2021

liked by yourusername, frenkiedejong and 327,742

pedri happy birthday to the love of my life, you've changed my life more than you know. i love you 🤍🩵

view all 534 comments

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr happy birthday to my biggest bully 🤥

yourusername ty.

user i'm trying to be like them

yourusername writing you a song as we speak 🥲

pedri still can’t believe i’m your muse. seriously i love you

karinadiaz lovely couple

user dead six feet under decaying gone

siramartinezc my baby's bday <333

yourusername 🥰😍😘

pedri OUR baby*

DECEMBER 13, 2021

liked by pedri, landonorris and 1,323,307 others

yourusername if there's one thing i'm infinitely proud of tonight, it's the incredible styling i did on myself. #Jokes #ProudofYou

view all 1,537 comments

user 🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢

user she always makes it about herself

user that’s their dynamic…

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr ❤️❤️❤️

pedri you’re not wrong. i am so going to devour you

yourusername 😳😳😳

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr @rosylopez78

user LMFAOOO

JANUARY 1, 2022

liked by pedri, mikkykiemeney and 2,001,332 others

yourusername 2021 adeu 2022 holAAAA :} to start off the year i have decided to release glue song early !!! my favorite love song i've written so far, i hope this makes you feel happy as much as it makes me. big shoutout to my friends and family for making me feel loved and who i am also dedicating this song to. finally, big love to my pedro, the reason as to why i wrote this song in the first place. please enjoy 🤍🏹

view all 5,932 comments

pedri i love you

yourusername me more

mikkykiemeney 2022 has been saved!! this is a masterpiece y/n ily

user i love this song (i'm stuck with seeing couples posting themsevles to it)

pablogavi 🥺🙌❤️

siramartinezc my dream girl

user need someone to make me feel the way this song sounds

yourusername you’ll find ur person <3

user who's cutting onions

landonorris goated 🫡

user ARIANA WHAT ARE U DOING HERE

FEB 14 2022

liked by pedri, zendaya and 2,325,127 others

yourusername MOTOMAMI ALBUM ❤️‍🔥 OUT NOW. madre miiiia! you asked, and we listened: after 3 years, it makes me very happy to share this precious art with you. thank you for waiting. thank you to everyone who helped bring these crazy ideas to life !! i also want to thank landonorris, who made time in his busy schedule to help shoot and photograph the music videos. lastly, i want to dedicate this album to my mother and boyfriend. thank you thank you from the bottom of my heart. i love you motomamis.

p.s. i have a special annoucment in a few weeks. it starts with t and ends with our ;)

view all 17,234 comments

pedri album of the year. beyond proud of you 🔛🔝🦋❤️‍🔥

yourusername bebe :(

user MOTHER MOTHER MOTHERRRRR

user we love you y/n ❤️‍🔥

bellahadid mamacita i love it so much 🦋🦋

pablogavi T..OUR??!?!?!

user he's so me

landonorris it was a pleasure 🦋 thank you. everything about the album is absolutely amazing

danielricciardo can i be hired next... i taught lando everything he knows about cameras

landonorris NO YOU DIDN'T

yourusername hired! i believe you

danielricciardo i won't disappoint 🫡

user i'm completely obsessed with the entire concept.

user this new era is going to slay

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr it was mid

MARCH 8 2022

liked by yourusername, pablogavi and 637,437 others

pedri always the happiest with you. happy anniversary to my person, my love, my y/n. five years and counting. here’s to growing old but never growing up 👴🏼❤️👵🏼

view all 1,845 comments

user bisexual awkwening....

user ask me if im ok

user a-are…y-y-you.

user BITCH NO.

yourusername brb. crying.

yourusername you’re my my my my lover

pedri 🥹🫶🏼🫶🏼

user IVE NEVER KNOWN SOMEONE LIKE U OHH TANGLED AND LOVED STRUCK BY YOUU

user the REAL childhood best friends to lovers

ferrantorres happy anniversary ❤️

MARCH 8 2022

liked by pedri, siramartinezc and 1,198,216 others

yourusername happy anniversary my love. thank you for always fixing everything with just a smile. it’ll be my pleasure to write you love songs for the rest of our lives 🤍🩵

view all 2,811 comments

pablogavi mama... papa...

user IMCRYING. SOMUCH.

pedri 🥹🥹🥺🥺🥺🥺🥹🥹🥺🥹🥺🥹

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr cringe

yourusername just say you’re lonely and go

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr 😔😔😔😔

pedri enough you two 🙄

user the most unproblematic and cutest couple in the game

rosylopez78 en los buenos y en los malos momentos... siempre juntos (trans: in the good and bad times... always together)

JUNE 24 2022

liked by pedri, danielricciardo and 1,323,775 others

yourusername BARCELONA T'ADORO ❤️‍🔥🦋 motomami tour has been amazing and i'm extremely grateful for the love my fans have given me. i cannot wait for what's next, latinoamerica y the states be ready. also swipe for a surprise >.< they somehow got past security

view all 7,209 comments

pedri i am motopapi #y/nhive #1fan #TopSupporter

yourusername 😅😅🤣

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr i was forced to go (i had so much fun 😭😭❤️)

landonorris i can’t wait for ur london show 😎

danielricciardo we*

aurorapaezg ❤️‍🔥🦋❤️‍🔥🦋❤️‍🔥 bellaaaaa

user HURRRRRY COME TO MEXICOOOO

NOVEMBER 22 2022

liked by aurorapaezg, pedri and 2,200,406 others

yourusername dropped by to support 🇪🇸 con aurora y fer

user ate that up

user i need them all in a way that is concerning to feminism

user ayoo????

user same

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr 3 years later and i’m still getting cropped out.

user SPAIN TRASH

user un grupo muy TOP!

user i thought she was on tour ???

user put a break in between to come support pedri

TWITTER

ale’s note 🏷️ : so… !!!! this is the end of part one. it was very fun and interesting to create my first social media au. let’s all pretend it’s in spanish only because i don’t want to go back and forth. sorry for any errors. it only goes down from here hehehehe

#esrwag #pedri gonzalez #pedri #pedri gonzalez x reader #pedri x reader #pedri x you #pedri imagine #pedri x y/n #pedri fanfic #football fic #social media au #football imagine #football x reader

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jujutsukatsuki · 2 years

Text

I got bored and listened to the song Ex-Girlfriend by Melina KB. This is the outcome <3

“Camie. It’s good to see you.” His mom squeals as she stands from the table and hugs the model sized girls.

“It’s amazing to see you too Mitsuki!” Her ruby red lips smile before she looks to you. Her head cocks to the side like a confused puppy. What you wouldn’t give to knock that pretty little head off her slender shoulders.

You shake your head a bit before you give her a smile and stand from the outdoor dining table.

“Whose this?” She looks at Mitsuki who has a genuine smile as she looks at Camie. You listen to how Mitsuki explains that you’re Bakugou’s new girlfriend, that you’ve been dating him for over a year now.

Camie Utsushimi. You envied everything about her. How pretty she was. How she was good at everything. How happy Bakugou looked in photos with her from homecoming, prom, graduation.

Though you loathed the way she broke him. She had built the man before your eyes and torn him down in the blink of an eye like he was nothing but trash under her designer kitten heels.

He told her that he wanted to marry her, she rejected him, broke up with him on the spot and said she was seeing someone else, all in the same breath.

Even though it had been three years since the two had broken up, Camie still lingered.

The scarf his mom wore that Camie bought her for her birthday last year. Her phone number being favorited in bakugou’s phone until a few months back when he asked you to call someone for him. The way her name would pop up during stories from his friends and his face twisted up into regret and sadness.

The gold bracelet you found in his bathroom when you were looking for some rubbing alcohol, love notes stashed away in random places.

You couldn’t not envy her.

“Y/n, Y/n? Sweetheart see you alright?” You jumped when you felt a warm hand on your cheek, your eyes made contact with Mitsuki’s.

“Yeah, I’m.. I’m.. I’m not okay.” You whisper as you sit back down, Camie is long gone now, leaving just you and your boyfriends mother.

“Is it Camie?”

You silently nod

“You know, I prefer you over her.”

Your head shoots up as you look at the gorgeous blonde woman.

“Yeah, I mean, she shattered Katsuki, my son and I may have our differences but I’ll still be mama bear when I need too. She was also super bossy and only ever cared about looks. She never took an interest in stuff Katsuki liked. Always got on my nerves.” She sips her coffee like nothing happened. Like she didn’t just settle your nerves in a second.

“Honestly, I’m still only friendly with her because I like the gifts she sends.” She snickers and sets her cup down.

Your mouth opens as you stare at the woman. She snickers again “Honey, close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, now come on, we have to meet our boys at the restaurant down the street.”

You stand up with her and she locks her arm with yours. “You’ll never have to compete with her, I promise, Katsuki is head over heels for you.”

“Promise?” You ask her softly.

“Promise.” She confirms.

#Katsuki Bakugo #Katsuki Bakugou #Katsuki Bakugo x reader #Katsuki Bakugou x reader #Katsuki x reader #Bakugou #bakugo #Bakugo katsuki #Bakugou katsuki #Bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #Bakugo katsuki x reader #Bakugou katsuki x reader

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jake-g-lockley · 1 year

Text

Happy Birthday, Loves (Moon Knight x reader) | MK Birthday Special

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Want to be Tagged?

Warnings: Marc being a worried lil babe :(, mentions of the boys’ past, nothing else all FLUFF

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FAVORITE, LOVELY, ANGEL BOYS <3 AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY OSCAR, thank you for bringing my babies to life :)). Moon Knight will always be my favorite superhero and I’ll love my boys till my last breath. p.s. We following the MCU timeline in this so it means that this is set in 2024 :3

Word count: 1.9k

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Marc was worried.

He had been pacing back and forth for a few minutes now as Steven and Jake watched nervously from a nearby mirror. He had nearly gnawed his whole thumb off from the constant nibbling. His mind had been racing, minutely nitpicking at all he has done over the past few days, searching for errors. Marc was sure he had been perfect, keeping all his laundry in one place, cleaning the dishes, taking out the trash and all in all, being a good boyfriend.

“You didn’t do anything wrong Marc, we’ve been through this.” Steven reassured him, although he himself was not too sure, from the way you had been acting all week, distant and quiet.

You have been everything to them, their entire world. Their lives revolved around you, since the day you waltzed into their lives, all smiles and joy. You were their lucky charm, as Jake would usually say and he would rub you down like you were a rabbit's foot until you would giggle and squeal, trying to get away from his grasp. The three of them loved you in their own special way and they’ve all come to terms with the way they felt for you a long time ago, figuring out that it was best to cave and be loved the way you loved them.

Surprisingly, Marc was the one to cave first, followed by Steven and Jake. He had rejected affection for many years of his life, turning down any form of love he was given, once even from a dog.The truth was that he guarded his heart a little too much, afraid to let loose. But when you came along, he found it easy to love, relaxing in the idea that you would not hurt him the way others did throughout his life, so he handed you his heart and watched as you mended it with your own love.

But here he was, pondering whether he should take his heart back, after how you had been behaving for the past few days. You hadn’t called as much, saying that you were busy at work and busy working on a project that had been assigned to you. You were busy before too, but you’d always find the time to call, or even just text, a small little message to let them know that you were okay and that you love them. You hadn’t come to their flat, choosing to go home after your day of work.

Marc decided that he was going to cave and call you, although Steven and Jake did object at first, saying that you would be busy, but they craved to hear your voice, to hear you say that it was all okay. Steven decided that they could use a little detour to distract you from the main reason why they were calling.

“Heya, love! Happy International Women’s Day!” Steven chimed and you couldn’t help but smile as you wiped icing away from the corner of the cake’s plate.

“Hi, baby! Thank you.”

“So, whatchu doing?” Steven cleared his throat and said, making you smirk, knowing he was stalling.

“Oh, you know, just working, you?” you licked the icing off your finger admiring your handy work before you.

“Just, umm, reading, at home. Listen, darling, we haven’t seen you for a while, is everything alright?” Steven rushed through his words and both Jake and Marc facepalmed in the mirror.

There it was, the question you had been dreading.

When it came to keeping secrets, you were the worst person on the planet. It would keep you up all night, squeezing your brain and threatening to spill out of your mouth. This time, you were determined to not let it get the best of you.

A few weeks earlier, you saw Marc’s passport lying on the kitchen counter. You sneakily wanted to take a peak, just to make fun of Marc’s passport photo, with the knowledge that no one looked good in their passport picture. You were spectacularly proven wrong, as Marc managed to look like a male model again, his chiseled jaw and cheekbones somehow popping through his passport.

But something else caught your eye, something that you hadn’t dared ask the boys in the few months you had been dating them. His date of birth read 9th March 1987, which would mean that he and the boys would be turning 37 in a few weeks. You panicked, slamming the passport close and hiding the information in your brain, before silently planning what you could do for their birthday.

You knew Marc was a little sensitive when it comes to details about his personal life. Unfortunately for him, you were now his personal life, and you decided that you were going to make the whole event as comfortable as possible for your boys. But it only made you overthink and you were nervous, choosing to distance yourself from the boys, hoping that they wouldn’t notice. A pang of guilt grumbled at the pit of your stomach at Steven’s tone and you were so relieved that this was finally going to be over.

“Yeah, everything is great. Hey, wanna come over to my place today, you know, unless you boys have your own plans.” you quickly asked before you could change your mind.

This perked them all up instantly.

“Sure! I mean, we don’t have any plans, darling, we’ll be there!” Steven said quickly, saying his byes and cutting the call.

“See, told you it's all fine.” Steven nervously chuckled, running a hand through his curls.

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Jake knocked on the front door, sniffing the bouquet of flowers in his hand that he picked up from a florist not too far away. You opened the door instantly, a huge smile on your face and a greeting on your lips. Jake handed you the bouquet and swept you off your feet making you giggle as he peppered your face with kisses.

“Has my beautiful princesa been working a little too hard?” Jake frowned, cradling you close as you tucked your face into his neck.

You enjoyed Jake’s coddling. It really made you feel like you were his princess and you knew sometimes he was doing it to show that he was the better of the three but you knew better than to pick favorites. Now he was just doing it because he missed you, missed the way you would say his name in a sing-song pattern whenever you’d see him and shower him with your kindness, a kindness he long wanted.

“Mhmm, I’m so tired, Jake.” you fake a yawn that was pretty convincing as you arched your back and pushed yourself against Jake, making him look at you with hooded eyes.

Without putting you down, Jake unwrapped the bouquet and placed the flowers in a vase, filling it with water and setting it onto the table. He then walked you straight to your bed, gently placing you down, removing his jacket and shirt before lying down next to you. You cuddled close, relishing in the feeling of your boyfriend beside you after so long. Soon, you could feel a change in the man’s grip, realizing that it was now Marc beside you.

“Hi, baby,” you said with a smile, kissing Marc’s nose as his eyes fluttered close.

He pulled you closer and you hooked a leg over his hips as he slowly kneaded your hip.

“I’ve missed you.” you slurred, genuinely feeling sleepy from the comfort they were bringing you.

“Missed you too, angel.” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

The last thing you remembered was Steven softly singing you a song before you let go of yourself and melted against you boys, succumbing to sleep.

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Pst, Marc, Steven, Jake, wake up, my loves.” you whispered, poking your sleeping boyfriends’ cheek.

They were cute like this, snoring away with their limbs all over the place, at peace with their emotions. You almost didn’t want to wake them up, your heart pounding as you watch the soft rise and fall of their chest. The body stirred a little so you quickly flicked the lighter open and lit the three candles, poking their cheek once more. Soft, sleepy brown eyes met yours and you could see Marc, his confused face making you giggle as you held the cake in front of him. You could hear the clock strike midnight as realization dawned on Marc’s face.

“Happy birthday, my loves.” you whispered and Marc stared at you as if you had grown horns.

It was completely silent for a while, except for the soft crackle of fire and the sounds of traffic from below.

“You remembered?” Marc asked softly, his eyes filling up with tears.

No one had celebrated his birthday since he was nine. It reminded him of his heartbreak, his grief and most of all, the loss of his mother’s love. A scar on his tummy was the last gift his mother ever gave him on that last birthday and looking at it reminded him that he shouldn’t be a person, that his existence was completely worthless. But now he looked at you, the candles casting a soft glow on your beautiful face and he couldn’t help but feel forgiven. You reached out and wiped his tears without a question, without a look of pity on your face as you handed him the plastic knife.

“Marc, you, Steven and Jake have been everything to me. I love all three of you with all my heart and you have no idea how special you three are to me. My beautiful boys, my days would be sad without you and my nights would be pitch darkness, nothing more than a blanket of stars to coax me to sleep. I love all three of you and you boys deserve to have the best day ever.” you whispered as tears flowed down Marc’s face.

“You didn’t have to do anything…” Marc sniffed.

“But I wanted to.” you said firmly, nodding towards the cake. “Make a wish, my love.”

Steven and Jake were wide awake now too, internally sobbing at your gesture of love and wishing the same thing that Marc wanted, to spend the rest of their days with you. Marc gently blew out the candles and kissed your forehead, looking down to admire your cake.

“Did you make this?” Marc whispered, his eyes tracing the intricately piped letters that spelled out “Happy Birthday MS, SG AND JL.”

“Yea, I had to abbreviate, your names’ wouldn’t fit.” you frowned at the cake, wondering how you hadn’t just thrown the icing bag across the room in a fit of rage when you couldn’t fit their names on the cake.

“It's beautiful.” Marc’s small smile was enough to calm you down and you curled a finger under his chin and brought his lips to yours, gently kissing him.

Marc cuts the cake and feeds you a piece and groans at how good it tastes when he takes a bite himself.

“Shit, baby, you outdid yourself.” Marc set the cake aside and pulled you into a hug.

“Do we get 37 kisses for being your boys?” Steven whispers and you smile.

“Hmm, let me do the math, there’s three of you, so 37 times three is 111, so I think one hundred and eleven kisses should seal the deal.” you said, counting with your fingers.

Suddenly you were pinned down and you squinted up to see Jake looming over you with a small smirk on his face.

“I think it's time to start paying up, princesa, the day only has 24 hours.” you giggled, pulling him down for the first kiss of a hundred and eleven.

“Happy birthday, sweethearts.” you say between kisses, satisfied that your plan worked just right.

Tagging: @fandxmslxt69 @randomnessfangirl @in-between-the-cafes @bodhisattva11 @marc-spectors-wife @nyotamalfoy @steven-grants-world @jbearre85 @whatsliferightnow @excitedcurtain864 @minigirl87 @wonderfulboiledcoldpotato @alexxavicry @autismsupermusicalassassin @flordelalunas @marygraceee @lia275 @euphoricosmo @sky-robin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sugarpunch-princess @violet-19999 @celiaswife @swiggy-needs-mental-help @ghostheartbeat @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous

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tomsretales · 9 months

Text

Retales Retold - Day Ten

-A man hands me a wad of cash. Drugs fall out from between the bills. It was a single dose pack of ibuprofen, but regardless, I believe I was just involved in a drug deal.

-A little girl ran around the front of the store shouting “Mama Mia!” I cannot tell if her life has been heavily influenced by ABBA or Mario. Either way, she made me proud.

-A man walked away with his bag, left the store, returned to my register, informed me that he did not need the bag, removed his items, gave me the bag, and left again.

-I look down. I look back up. A man appeared silently, wearing what can only be described as black cargo scrubs. Who is he.

-Cargo scrubs man purchases lighters, toilet paper, knives, a trash can, and a rug. I want to follow him to find out more, but realistically, I will be seeing him in the news after whatever he is planning.

-A girl tried to purchase a shirt, but the tag had fallen off. She went to get another shirt that I could scan to get the price. She brings back a tag. I assume she had found the tag that had fallen off. I assumed wrong. She had torn the tag off of another shirt, thus beginning the cycle anew.

-I offered a girl an orange sticker. She politely asked for the yellow one instead. I told her she could have both. I have never seen such unadulterated joy in this world.

-A boy in his mid-teens came through my line, attempting to purchase an emergency contraceptive. He found out he did not have enough cash on hand. He left the store, returned with a stack of quarters, and was able to complete the transaction. I am glad he had a plan b.

-I handed a baby a sticker. Filled with determination, the baby attempted to place the sticker directly on their mother’s nose. The mother pointed out the paper had not been removed and peeled it off for the child. The baby then looked intently at the sticker, intently at their mother’s nose, and resumed their earlier endeavors. They were successful.

-A separate old man purchased pantyhose, a toilet brush, nail polish, and Minions wrapping paper. Happy birthday to some poor, unfortunate soul out there.

-A woman’s purchase rang up at just above $20. She pulled out a stack of cash and counted off $45 of it. She then put it back in her purse and paid with her card. I respect her style.

-This is the latest shift I have had. Target after dark is a very different experience. The silence echoes. The lights glow and fade. The customers all seem dead inside. The transformation is both sudden and gradual. I am mystified.

-I overhear a burly man on the phone as he is buying chips and drinks. “It’s the $11,000 one in the back of the room,” he tells his accomplice. “We’re going to need to retrieve it.” I am left with the obvious assumption that he is on the requisite pre-jewel heist snack run.

-I gave a baby the first sticker they had ever seen in their life. I feel so honored to have introduced this happiness into their life.

-A woman waits through my line, and approaches me, telling me she has no items but only a question. I assume this is because guest services is abandoned at this point. Once more, I prove the axiom of assuming and asses. “Are you Tom? Grennell? With the posts?” I quietly admit it. “I just wanted to say that you’re hilarious, I love your posts, and you should keep writing!” This woman has approached me just to compliment me. I am now certain these posts have been a good thing. I am now elated, flattered, and only slightly anxious. Thank you for waiting next to loud girls on FaceTime for this purpose, ma’am.

-An eerie voice echoes over the loudspeaker, counting down the last fifteen minutes before the store closes. When the ten-minute warning airs, a loud humming surrounds the store. I can only assume a UFO was making a landing. It is the only way to explain so much about this store.

#target retales #retales retold

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imajinxnation · 3 months

Note

Hi! So I have two ideas for request on my mind. I will not ask you to fulfill two requests, I will be glad to read one of them.

So it’s up to you. Love your writing.

1. Constantine teaching Reader a magical skill, creating a heartwarming and intimate moment as they share knowledge and connect on a deeper level.

2. Constantine surprises Reader with a handcrafted magical charm or artifact that he created, imbued with protective and loving enchantments, symbolizing his commitment and affection.

Soft For You

John Constantine(2005) x Reader

SUMMARY // It's your birthday and your boyfriend got you a present.. What could it be??

TW // Fluff, Cussing, Slight Angst..

THIS!!!! I'M SO SOFT FOR HIM AGGGHHHHH!!!!

This is short and sweet cause I couldn't think of any other storyline..

ALL GIFS FROM PINTEREST

Unfortunately, you woke up alone in bed this morning. Great way to start your birthday! You were hoping to get some morning cuddles from your boyfriend, but only felt cold sheets beside you. Seems he had been out of bed for awhile. You went searching your apartment for him, but he was nowhere to be found, no note, no nothing.

Upset, you made yourself breakfast, suddenly not feeling very celebratory about turning a year older. You quickly eat your breakfast before deciding to go for a walk, needing some fresh air, hoping it would keep your mind off your absent boyfriend. On your walk, you noticed a stray cat on top of a trash can. You smiled and walked over cautiously, wanting to see if it was friendly and would let you pet it, luckily it was, and appreciated the pets.

"You know, one day he's gonna tell me when he leaves to do a job and NOT leave me high and dry.." You sigh, realizing you're talking to a fucking cat.

You stop petting the cat and head back to your apartment, the walk wasn't helping with your thoughts. Soon enough, you get back home and open the door.. wait. You locked the door when you left.

"John? You back?" You ask loudly as you close the door behind you.

"Yeah, just... uh, gimme a minute, I'll be right there!" He calls back.

You let out a breath of relief, glad it was just John and not someone who broke in. You set your jacket on the coat rack and left your shoes by the door. You're curious as to what he could be doing right now, and just as your about to head to your bedroom to check on him, he comes out, hands behind his back, as if hiding something.

You tilt your head, curious at what he had in his hands that he was hiding from me.

"Whatcha got there, John?" You gesture to him and what he has behind his back.

"..Nothing.." He replies.

You narrow your eyes at him and launch at him, trying to see what he has that he's acting suspitious about. He moves away and fights back, not letting you see for a second what he has.

"Baby (Girl/Boy), stop it, it's really nothing special!" He laughs, slightly nervous.

"If it's nothing special, then why are you trying so hard to hide it? Is this another one of your artifacts? You usually don't hide them here.." You reach behind him, but he avoids your grasp easily.

"Okay! Here, you can see, Jesus.." He throws the artifact to you. You catch it easily, quick reflexes tested, still working.

It's small and has the shape of a dog whistle, but with a chain and clasp to wear it. You turn it around and notice the markings on it, your thumb feeling the indents of where the metal was carved into.

"It's enchanted with a protection spell.. I enchanted it. Uh, you can also open it and put something inside if you want," he stratches the back of his neck, nervous about your reaction.

"..You made this?" You ask, your eyes flickering from the necklace to your flustered looking boyfriend.

"I just enchanted it and did the engravings, that's all.. Happy Birthday.." He says quietly, embarrassed.

You smile widely when he says those two words, eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas day. He's not paying attention when you hug him tightly, and end up making him jump from the sudden contact.

"Thank you, Babes, I love it," You tell him.

His eyes soften while you aren't looking, but still, he gives a nonchalant response.

"Yeah, yeah, you fuckin' sap," he says, facial expressions not matching his words, especially as he ruffles your hair. He rolls his eyes, but a soft smile graces his face, relieved you like his gift.

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gunilslaugh · 4 months

Note

Hi dear! Absolutely love your work!!! I see you have member specific requests open. Can I request some fluff with Seungmin? I was thinking about something like reader and Seungmin being friends, and as it slowly develops into sth else reader asks him to kiss them. No worries if not! Hope you had a lovely holiday so far! — ✨

Hey ✨Thank you so much for requesting I really enjoyed writing this! I hope you enjoy it too!.

Oh Seungmin

Summary: You and Seungmin have been friends for a while, but you’re starting to see him in a different light. Maybe you can blame it on watching too many sunrises together.

WC:1.6k

Warning:none

photo not mine credits to owner.

Seungmin lived the apartment right above yours. You first met one another at age fourteen when Seungmin came climbing in your window by mistake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Music filled your ears from your headphones as you worked on your homework. You heard some rustling on your window, but dismissed it as the wind. That was until you turned around to stretch and saw a boy climbing through your window. Naturally you screamed, startling the intruding boy as well. His eyes widened as he realized his mistake and at you picking up your heavy textbook ready to swing.

“I mean no harm!” He raised his hands in defense. “I live in the apartment above yours. I must’ve miscounted the flights. I’m sorry,” he quickly explained himself and apologized. You let out a breath, setting your textbook back down on your desk.

“You scared me,” you stated.

“I’m so-” He begins to apologize again.

“Y/n what’s wrong? I heard you scream.” He gets cut off by your mom barging into your room. Her eyes scan over you for any injuries, then scan the room, stopping when her eyes land on Seungmin.

“An intruder.” You gestured towards Seungmin. Your mom calms down after recognizing Seungmin. She has spoken with his mother a couple of times.

“I’m sorry. I meant to climb into my window, but I miscounted the floors. I’ll head out now,” he apologizes again.

“Wait, why are you climbing in through your window instead of using your front door?” your mom questions him.

“Oh, my mom is working an early shift, 4 o’clock, so she goes to bed early. I didn’t want to wake her coming back,” he explained. Your mom nodded understandingly as did you.

“Ok. Have a good night,” she told him.

“You too and you.” He pointed at you. “Sorry for scaring you again,” he apologized one final time.

“It’s ok, goodnight,” you tell him. Then Seungmin proceeded to climb back out of your window, closing it behind him. You watched as he quickly disappeared up the fire escape.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn’t really expect to see Seungmin much after your first encounter, but somehow that startling first encounter seemed to be an icebreaker between the two of you. He would wave to you through your window if he happened to see you as he was passing by. That turned into the two of you talking as you started to leave your window open. He would now pop his head in through your window throwing you a “Hi” instead of a wave.

One day you were standing by your window watching the sunrise when you were surprised by seeing Seungmin come climbing up the fire escape.

“You’re out quite late,” you noted.

“I’m up really early actually,” he corrected you. “But are you up quite early or late?” he put you to question.

“Late,” you guiltily chuckled. “I kept saying one more episode. Then I noticed the sun coming up, so I decided to watch it,” you answered. Seungmin looks out to the horizon to see the sun beginning its journey upward. “Why are you up so early?” you asked, bringing his attention back to you.

“It’s my mom’s birthday. I wanted to surprise her with breakfast before she has to go to work. I took out the trash then realized I forgot my keys, so I had to climb back up the fire escape.” he informed.

“Tell her I say happy birthday,” you smiled.

“Will do,” he nodded, but he didn’t leave yet. He stayed standing outside your window as the sun continued to rise bringing forth a new day. “Sunrises are really pretty,” he noted.

“Yeah they are,” you agreed. The both of you stayed in silence as you watched the rest of the sunrise together.

“Well you should get some rest now,” Seungmin says once the sun got rid of the darkness of the night.

“I will,” you told him. You shut your window as Seungmin disappeared up the fire escape.

It seemed like watching the sunrise together was quite bonding because now you and Seungmin began to hang out together. Usually it was you and him sitting together in the fire escape while chatting, having a meal or some snacks. Sometimes watching videos on your phone’s. It was a bit weird that you both chose to do these things while sitting on the not so comfortable metal floor/stairs of the fire escape. However it just seemed to be part of the fun. Like it was something exclusive to your friendship together.

Silently you crept through Seungmin’s window. Taking very slow steps as you walked over to his bed. You shook his shoulders to wake him up.

“Boo,” you say once he started to stir. Seungmin’s eyes widen with fear pushing you away, letting out an ah! You began laughing.

“That’s payback for scaring me when you first climbed in through my window.”

“That’s three years ago,” he groaned, throwing a pillow at you.

“I know, but I realized I never got you back,” you tell him.

“So did you just climb through my window at the crack of dawn to scare me or do you have other business here?” Seungmin asked, tiredly sitting up.

“I wanted to watch the sunrise with you,” you said. Seungmin tried to look at you unamused, but he couldn't stop the smile from forming on his face. He throws his arm up gesturing to go to the fire escape. He climbs out of his window behind you clad in his pajamas, which was just a t-shirt and sweats. You told him that you wanted to watch the sunrise with him, yet your eyes are stuck on watching him. The way he looks under the golden rays of the rising sun. Seungmin looks over at you, catching you staring.

“What?” he questions. You shook your head.

“Just pretty,” you stated. Seungmin agrees.

“Yeah pretty.” A small smile tugged his lips. Neither of you were talking about the sunrise.

Watching the sunrise together used to only occur when either one or both of you were up. One of you of course waking up the other in the first scenario. Rather now the pair of you had graduated high school and are transitioning into adult life, where watching the sunrise together had become a ritual. Both of you waking up early to watch the sunrise together then going back to bed or carrying on with your day. On busy days watching the sunrise was the only time you spent together. On other days seeing the sunrise was the beginning of your day spent together.

The more sunrises you spent with Seungmin in the tiny fire escape the stronger your feelings developed for Seungmin. Maybe it was seeing him under the glowing sun that made your heart feel warm. Maybe it was the way your elbows rested against each other. Or the fact that your eyes began to watch one another more and more compared to the glowing sun you were supposed to be watching.

It’s an early morning, both Seungmin and you clad in your pajamas standing out on the fire escape. Seungmin’s hair is messy with random strands sticking out. You bring your hand to his head, smoothing the stray hairs down. Seungmin looks at you while you do so, becoming lost in your concentrated eyes and the comforting feeling of your hands running through his hair. You look down, locking your eyes with his. Your eyes stay fixed as your heart rates pick up and breaths hitch at the short distance between you two. It’s clear that you both feel the tension. Seungmin is about to back away.

“Kiss me,” you say before he does.

“W-what?” Seungmin stutters, feeling a flush creep up his neck. Thinking he must have misheard you.

“Can you kiss me?” you repeated. He smiles, knowing that he wasn’t hallucinating.

“Glady,” he replies. Seungmin brings one hand up to cup your cheek and the other at the base of your neck. You place your arms around his neck as your lips meet. The kiss is just as warm as the glowing sun. Pulling away each of you smiles, illuminated under the orange-red hues of the sun. Seungmin pulls you back in for one more peck. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits. Truthfully anytime you came climbing in through his window to watch the sunrise with him all he wanted to do was pull you into his arms. Don’t get him wrong, he liked watching the sunrise, but he liked being with you more.

“How long?” you poked.

“I’m not quite sure. Maybe when we watched our first sunrise together on my mom’s birthday or maybe when you scared me at the crack of dawn, but I couldn’t even be mad at you cause I thought you were too cute,” he answers.

“Sounds like you have a crush on me,” you remark, bumping your shoulder with him.

“As if you don’t have a crush on me too.” He bumped you back.

“Yeah I do,” you confessed, turning to hug him.

“Since when?” he pokes you back. Your eyes shifted to the left as you thought.

“Maybe when you intruded in through my window,” you joked, making Seungmin laugh. “I think it was when I started to think you were more pretty than the sun,” you answered seriously this time. You rested your head on his shoulder.

“I think you’re prettier than the sun too,” Sungmin tells you, readjusting his arms to hold you tighter.

There the two of you stood out on the fire escape as the sun brought a new light to the day and a new meaning to yours and Seungmnin’s relationship. Shifting from friends to lovers as the outside shifted from night to day.

#xdinary heroes #xdh #xdh imagines #xdh x reader #xdinary heroes imagines #xdinary heroes x reader #xh seungmin #xh o.de #xh ode #seungmin x reader #oh seungmin x reader #o.de x reader #oh seungmin #seungmin #o.de #xdinary heroes fluff #o.de xdinary heroes #seungmin x y/n #seungmin x you

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topguncortez · 1 year

Text

Sedated

synopsis: It's Bradley's birthday and you give him the best gift he could ask for

warnings: nudity, stripping, mentions of revenge, mentions of a dark past, kidnapping, suggestive behavior, suggestive language

word count: 1.7k

Stud & Sugar masterlist | prompts list

Bradley should’ve known that the boys would have some trick up their sleeve.

Bradley used to never look forward to his birthday. For many years, he didn’t have anyone to celebrate it with. He used to go down to the corner store, buy some snack cakes and a candle, and sing himself “Happy Birthday” before blowing them out and wishing to not wake up the next day. But once he found the ragtag group that he called a family, his attitude towards his birthday slowly started to change. And it really changed when he met a certain sweet spot in his life.

The two of you weren’t sure what you were doing, it was somewhere between hating each other and fucking each other senseless. But whatever it is, neither one of you wanted it to stop. Rooster had grown used to having you all to himself. He loved having someone to come home to after late nights at the club besides the pictures on the walls. He also loved that you wanted him for him, not for the way his body looked or because of what he did for work.

Bradley had spent the better part of the afternoon and evening at the dance studio, working on a new piece for this weekend. He was ready to call it a day and go home to you. You had asked him if he wanted his favorite take out spot for dinner and told him that you got a new bath soap. The only thing on his mind was seeing your soapy tits. But, as Bradley took one step out of the studio, a black pillow case was thrown over his head. He trashed against the grip of the stranger as he felt his arms being held behind him and his feet leaving the ground. He tried to yell for his bride, but his words were muffled from the pillow case. He grunted as his kidnappers tossed him into the trunk of a car. For nearly fifteen minutes, Bradley felt his body smack against the sides of the trunk with every turn and press of the brake.

When they arrived at their destination, he tried his best to keep himself calm as his kidnappers carried him out of the trunk. Bradley knew that he had fucked up a lot before he found himself on the straight and narrow, he thought that he had made amends to all the people he had pissed off. But now as he was being carried into a building and thrown down in a chair, he was expecting to be met with his maker. However when the pillow case was ripped off his head, he was met with a smirking Jake Seresin in front of him.

“Happy birthday, bitch!”

Bradley shook his head, laughing at the sight of his friends in front of him. He should’ve known. He should’ve fucking known.

“The kidnapping was my idea, you are welcome,” Javy said, placing a hand on his chest and bowing dramatically.

“You motherfuckers,” Bradley laughed, “You brought me to a strip club?” He looked around at the various girls that were walking around in barely any clothing. The old Rooster would’ve been nearly drooling over the women, but now all he wanted to do was be home and watch his own woman strip down for him.

“Only place we could get private in such a short notice,” Bob shrugged, “Penny put in a call.”

“But don’t you worry dear Rooster boy,” Jake smirked, “We have a surprise for you.”

“Still debating if it’s a surprise or torture,” Payback said but was cut off by Fanboy elbowing him in the gut.

“Well, let’s get this shit started,” Jake said, and whistled to one of the bartenders to bring them drinks.

— — —

All of the men were several rounds in, watching the women dance on the stage in front of them. Rooster sat a bit behind them, still watching the women, but not as intrigued as he used to be. He didn’t throw any bills, he left that to all the single bachelors to do. He checked his phone often, waiting to hear from you. He wondered if the boys had let you know where he was, or if you were pacing the floor in worry. A heavy feeling settled in his stomach as he thought of you wringing your hands wondering if he was okay. But then another thought came to his mind which made him chuckle, you probably were dead asleep to the world and not worried at all. Either way, Rooster wanted to check in with you.

“Hey, I’m gonna step out for a second,” Bradley said to Bob.

“What for?” The blue eyed man asked. He was a bit tipsy and his eyes were bleary as he tried to focus on his boss. Bob hardly drank and it was a sight to see when you got him drunk.

“I gotta call Sugar,” Bradley said, and took Bob’s drink away from him and replaced it with a glass of water, “She’s probably worried sick.”

“Oh, I think she’s alright,” Bob smirked and leaned back in his chair, “Aye, Hangman, I think it’s time for that surprise.” The blonde man nodded and then looked at the DJ, giving him a thumbs up, “Sit down, brother. Enjoy the show.” Bob grabbed Rooster’s hand and pulled him down into his chair.

Bradley let out a huff as he sat in the chair, front and center to the stage. The other men around him quietly moved out of the room, going to the back or other various places in the club. Bradley folded his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes, waiting for the next girl to walk on stage.

“Can I go or-” Rooster’s words were cut off by the start of a song. He furrowed his eyebrows as he listened to the intro of the song. The guitar was slow, and sensual, nothing that was usually played in the club. The lights in the club had turned from purple to red, and Bradley shifted a bit in his spot. He sucked in a breath as he watched you walk on stage, your body clad in dark red lingerie. Your legs looked incredible showcased by the black heels she was wearing. Bradley felt himself instantly get hard as you walked to the metal pole in the middle of the stage.

You smirked as you watched his eyes on you. Bradley knew you could dance, the very first meeting post-strip club was at the dance studio. It was like deja vu watching you in front of him now. Your body moved with a beautiful fluidity as you pulled yourself up on the pole. Bradley leaned forward so his elbows were resting on his knees, giving you his undivided attention. You felt the sweet sound of Hozier’s voice in your chest as you wrapped your legs around the pole and went upside down, feeling your hair cascading down.

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster muttered watching you.

He was painfully hard, and felt like he was about to pop the zip in his pants. He looked around briefly, making sure there were no wandering eyes watching what was his.When he looked back to the stage, you were on the ground, crawling on your hands and knees towards him. Bradley sat back in chair as you climbed off the stage and walked over to him, making sure to put an extra swing in your step. He spread his legs, so you could set yourself in his lap. He bit his lip as you grind your ass against his hard on, flipping your hair back and arching her back against him. Bradley’s hands gently grazed up your fishnet clad thighs, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“Surprised?” She asked softly.

“Very,” Bradley grunted, “Didn’t know you could be so. . . naughty, sugar.”

You giggle, turning in his lap so you are facing him, your legs straddling him. One of his hands settled on your hip, the other ghosting over your back as you rolled your body into his. His eyes scanned up and down your perfect body. He could see the metal of your nipple piercings through the lace bra you were wearing. You leaned back and then into him, his hand on your back holding you in place. Your hands were cradling his face, your lips ghosting over his.

“Kiss me,” He said, sounding out of breath.

You shook your head, “You know the rules. No kissing the customers.”

“Good thing I didn’t pay for this,” Bradley said. And in an instant, he stood so your legs were wrapped around his waist. He kissed you with a certain fervor, your hands tangled in his hair, pulling on the roots. The kiss was rough, teeth clashing together, tongues fighting for dominance. He set you back in the chair, and stood in front of you. Your chest heaved as you watched him grab a stack of bills from the side table. You bit your lip and ran your hands up and down your body as he sprinkled the ones of you.

He chuckled, “Dance for me, sugar, show me what you got.”

“Only for you, stud,” Your eyes were full of lust as you guided your hands to the back of your bra. Bradley sucked in a breath as you removed the bra. He moved quickly to his knees in front of you, his lips on your breasts. You tossed your head back in a moan, holding the back of his head to your chest. He looked up at you with those brown eyes you had started to fall in love with. He pulled away from your chest with a pop, and he swore you let out a whine.

“Who told you it was my birthday?”

“Certainly wasn’t you, asshole,” You playfully kicked his thigh, “Fanboy called and asked if we had plans.”

“Sorry sugar,” Bradley said, his hands going up your thighs to the top of the black leather shorts you were wearing. You lifted your hips for him, and he slowly pulled the shorts down your legs.

“Didn’t even have time to get you a cake.”

“Oh, I’m seeing something pretty sweet that I can eat,” He’s eyes were on your glistening pussy. He ran two fingers through your folds, collecting the slick on his fingers. He held them up to your mouth and you sucked them in, tasting yourself on the digits. His jaw dropped a bit as he pulled them out of your mouth.

“Can you do something for me, sugar?”

“What?” You asked him.

“Be a good girl and keep your legs open for me.”

@bradshawseresinbabe @cherrycola27 @damrlova @phoenix1388 @mak-32 @darkcherryheart @Lilylikyyyyyy @princess76179 @thedroneranger @startrekfangirl2233 @roosterscock @cassiemitchellrecs @bioodforbiood @endofdays56 @daggerspare-standingby @je-suis-prest-rachel @xoxabs88xox @finn-dot-com @anurst

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here2bbtstrash · 1 year

Text

it's sweet (explicit)

genre: a fluffy lil sickfic

pairing: taehyung x reader

summary: you forgot to call out sick from your dick appointment, but he stays anyway.

word count: 4.3k

contains: no smut just fluff????? new year new me 😎 but as this is fuckbuddies to maybe-lovers and there are certainly a few references in here to sex, because of who i am as a person, it's enough that i'm tagging it explicit anyway lmao. but this is all fluff! reader has the flu, tae is a sweet sweet boi and takes care of her, it's all a bit sappy~ 🤧

A/N: happy new year!!! and a very happy belated birthday to my capricorn prince 💜 this soft little idea got stuck in my brain and wouldn't let go, and i had a lot more fun writing it than expected. plus i feel like i only wrote tae as a menace in 2022 (sorry to tae 👹) so i had to right my wrongs with this one lmao. it was a nice interlude before i jump into LDOMLT ch11 (the final chapter 😭) - i hope you all enjoy and that your 2023s are off to a pleasant start!!!

read on AO3!

~*~

You genuinely enjoy being single.

With your last relationship officially in the trash, you’ve found yourself settled into a comfortable peace. There’s no man in your life to mess up your plans, to force you to have to compromise or share anything, to suck up your energy and domestic labor like some kind of emotional vampire. You can do what you want, whenever you want, and you have a reliable rotation of both sex toys and fuckbuddies to keep you physically satisfied when the need arises.

Being single, you have come to learn, is fucking great.

Except when you get sick.

A knock at your apartment door drags you out of your DayQuil-induced slumber. You move to sit up with a sniffle before letting yourself drop back into your veritable nest of blankets on the couch, struck with the immediate recollection: it’s just the food you ordered. You’d specifically put in a request that they leave it at the door, but maybe the delivery person is just being nice and letting you know it’s there.

Except then they knock again.

And ring the doorbell.

“Jesus,” you groan to yourself, aggressively enough that you’re nearly sent into a fresh coughing fit, but you manage to choke down the spasm in your lungs as you drag yourself to standing. You cross the short distance from your couch to the front door, sure you look like death warmed over, and swing the door open.

At first, you’re certain it’s the DayQuil fucking with you.

“Taehyung?”

The corner of his mouth pulls up as he blinks sweetly at you, expressive almond eyes peeking out beneath untidy dark hair— extra fluffy today, like he’s just washed it and waltzed out of the house without any styling. His clothes tell the same story, a plain gray hoodie and joggers, creased a little like he’d just pulled them off his bedroom floor, though everything looks fresh off the runway on him.

As your eyes trail down his frame, you take in the container of ramen you ordered, held easily in one of his large hands, his long fingers hooking over the side.

His presence is typically a welcome one, particularly on Friday nights like tonight, but those are circumstances where you tend to be a little more… put together. So why is he here tonight?

“When did you start working for D—”

The food delivery service name dies on your tongue as your thoughts finally catch up with your mouth. He’s here tonight because it’s Friday, and this is what you do on Fridays. He’s here because you didn’t cancel. You’d had the thought in a drowsy half-awake state between naps, then had promptly rolled over and pressed your face into the pillow, telling yourself you’d remember to text Taehyung when you woke up.

Which of course, you did not. And so here he is, having clearly intercepted your delivery. And, it now occurs to you, having to witness how absolutely godawful you must look in your stained sweatpants, your hair surely a mess from a day spent napping on the couch.

“Oh fuck,” you mutter, quickly crossing your arms over your baggy t-shirt, suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re not wearing a bra. Why that matters when you’re standing in front of a man who regularly leaves hickeys all over your tits, you’re not sure, but in this moment it somehow feels like it does.

“Tae,” you take a step back, trying to keep him out of your germ radius. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to text you. I’m super sick, I think it’s the flu. You should go.”

He frowns a little, his eyes jumping from you down to the takeout container in his hands. “This is like, barely warm.”

That makes you smile a little despite yourself. A very Taehyung greeting.

“Yeah, well.” You roll your eyes. “I pay twice as much so it can take an hour and be cold by the time it gets here. Makes sense, right?”

His dazzling smile at your sarcastic remark only heightens your own self-consciousness, and you quickly extend a hand for the container.

“Sorry to make you come all this way. Hopefully next week I’ll be back to normal.”

Taehyung nods, yet makes no move to hand over the soup he’s currently holding hostage. “You should rest. Let me heat it up for you.”

You can’t help but wonder what he expects to happen when he crosses the threshold, and that makes you heave a sigh, then quickly bury the cough that chases after it into the crook of your elbow.

Thankfully your voice doesn’t give out when you manage to answer him. “I’m serious, Tae. I’m not—” you pause, considering how to phrase it: desperate to be railed? “—you know, the way I usually am on Fridays. Nothing’s gonna happen tonight. Except maybe you’ll get sick.”

He shrugs, like there are worse things. “I get it. But you shouldn’t be alone.”

At least he’s been sufficiently warned, you think to yourself, and then you relent, leaving the front door of your apartment swung wide as you step back across the living room to promptly collapse onto the couch again. You bury your face in the blankets with a muffled groan as you hear Taehyung shut the door behind him, then make his way into the kitchen.

As is typical with any man that enters your kitchen, you expect to have to walk Taehyung step-by-step through how to do everything. But, to your surprise, he asks no questions: he seems to find a good-sized pot and figure out how to work the stove all on his own, and you can hear him humming softly to himself as he goes.

Truly a credit to the male species, you think to yourself with a bitter laugh.

You collapse back against the cushions, a little too aware of the fuckbuddy in your kitchen to be able to drift off to sleep entirely. Nevertheless, you still find yourself slipping into a haze, your eyes dropping shut just to snap open again at the tap of a bowl being set down on the coffee table in front of you.

Your eyes widen as you sit up and stare down at your ramen, only to find two halves of a soft-boiled egg staring back up at you. You’d ordered from your favorite place in the city, which is easily the best ramen you’ve had in your life, but you know those fuckers charge extra for an egg. Which is why your cheap ass never orders one.

But here one is. So that means…

Taehyung drops down onto the couch next to you before you can even finish compiling the thought in your brain, but he must be able to read the look on your face. “Oh, do you not like eggs?”

“I— no,” you answer quickly. “I mean yes. I mean, I like them, I just… Thank you.”

You glance up in time to see him shrug, his mouth twisting a little, like he’s suddenly made shy by his own kindness. “Gotta get your protein in,” he offers casually, and you laugh over the steam rising up from your bowl.

He keeps a tentative cushion’s distance away from you, but you can feel his eyes watching as you take your first sip of the rich, warm broth. While you slurp it down, you tell yourself not to get greedy with Taehyung’s time: you expect this will be it, that with his act of kindness done for the day, he’ll get to his feet and be on his way. As soon as your front door slams shut behind him, he’ll probably be pulling up his text messages with one of the many other options that must be available to him.

You try to ignore the way that thought makes your stomach twist, to just eat your damn soup and not think about it. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

But to your surprise, Taehyung leans forward and snatches the TV remote off your coffee table with a triumphant sigh before slumping back against the couch, like he’s settling in. “Do you wanna watch something?”

You shake your head as you take another sip before answering. “You really don’t have to stay, Tae. I can appreciate that I’m not a lot of fun to be around tonight. And obviously you didn’t come here to watch me eat ramen.”

Already starting to scroll through your streaming services, Taehyung runs his free hand through his hair with a knowing, slightly horny smile. “Depends on what you mean by eat ramen.”

You nearly choke on a noodle, but he’s otherwise distracted, mouth dropping open a little as he clicks into one of the options.

“Oh, I know what we can watch.”

When he pulls up A Charlie Brown Christmas and promptly presses play, you can’t help smirking. “Christmas? You’re, what, five days late?”

Taehyung’s mouth opens again, like he’s going to say something, and then he just smiles that same self-conscious smile. “Ah, I just like the music.”

His long fingers splay out in front of him, miming along to the opening melody while he adopts the faux-cool expression of a jazz pianist. You hide a giggle in another sip of broth, and he quickly shrugs the impression off, crossing his arms over his chest as if to keep his limbs under control.

“And it’s cute,” he adds, voice halfway between shy and sentimental. “The little tree.”

It occurs to you now that you’ve never seen Taehyung so… your brain can’t find the right word. He’s just different tonight.

You nod as you slurp up a strand of noodles, and you can’t deny that he’s right as the movie plays on. It’s been years since you’ve seen it, not since you were a kid, but it’s just as enjoyable now, somehow timeless. You find yourself smiling softly as you finish your meal and settle back against the couch, tugging the blanket up to your chin.

All at once, Taehyung jumps up, and you watch dumbfounded as he silently scoops up your dishes and disappears off to the kitchen. When you hear the tap switch on, your jaw drops in sheer disbelief, and you sit up again, peeking over the back of the couch to get a glimpse of him: he’s pulled on the dishwashing gloves you keep tucked next to the sink and is making short work of not just the bowl and the pot, but the takeout container too, and your various other sick-person dishes you’d regrettably let pile up. Humming to himself along with Vince Guaraldi, like it’s something he does every day.

Your head spins as you drop back down against the cushion. What is happening? Did you take too much cold medicine?

That thought only reverberates louder in your brain when he returns, still humming the last few notes of the song. This time he chooses to settle in right beside you on the couch, as if entirely unconcerned about the contagious virus running rampant in your body— he just pulls you into his side, one arm wrapped over your shoulders, fingertips casually starting to play with the ends of your hair. Like it’s that easy.

You glance up at him, shaking your head a little, and Taehyung looks down to meet your gaze. “What?”

“This is just…” An incredulous laugh cuts off the end of your sentence. It’s hard to believe you’re looking at the same person. This can’t be the man who wraps his hand around your throat as he spits into your mouth, who will keep you in his bed for hours until you’re crying from overstimulation, who fucks you so good you can hardly walk the next day.

“I didn’t expect you to be like this,” you admit, pairing the words with a finger driven gently into Taehyung’s ribs. He squirms a little. “You’re… sweet.”

Taehyung’s lips part, and then he pauses, clearly considering how exactly to answer you. His mouth turns up soft at the corners, hesitant, as if he’s embarrassed to say what comes next. And then he says it. “You didn’t seem like you wanted sweet.”

The words settle over you, offered quietly in the low, rich tones of his voice, and as you keep gazing up at him, it strikes you: he’s not wrong. If he’d pulled this cozy domestic housewife act on you any earlier, on a normal Friday, you would’ve sent him packing without hesitation.

That thought makes you a little sad.

You tuck back in against Taehyung’s side, trying to refocus on the TV screen as you snuggle in under the blanket. Pressed close like this, you can feel the sturdy thud of his heartbeat in his chest, at a rhythm not dissimilar to yours.

“Well, I won’t tell anyone,” you breathe, and you swear you can hear him smile.

His touch lingers as the last few minutes of the movie play on: slipping from the ends of your hair to trace over the fabric of your shirt, then sliding further up to dip beneath the collar of it. The talented fingers you’ve become well-acquainted with work their magic in a new way, pressing firm circles into the muscles of your shoulders, muscles you didn’t realize were pinched so tight until he starts to work them open.

“Fuck,” you murmur, shifting a little to allow him better access as he continues. “That feels so good.” You can’t quite help the laugh that flutters out after your words; it’s certainly not the first time he’s made you say them.

There’s a small huff of breath from Taehyung beside you, and then his hand moves up to cup the back of your neck and give a gentle squeeze. It’s a comforting motion, and just arousing enough to make you sigh a note, your eyes briefly dropping shut. When they flutter open again, you realize the movie has ended, that he’s looking down at you, a knowing smirk toying at his lips.

“Don’t start,” you warn, unable to keep your voice entirely serious. “I meant what I said, I’m tapped out for the night.”

Taehyung raises his palms in the air, as if to claim his innocence, and you find yourself instantly missing the heat of his hand on your skin. “All I was thinking is that I kinda want dessert. Too tapped out for that?”

“I’ll never say no to dessert,” you admit with a soft smile. “I think I have ice cream in the freezer.”

Something glints in Taehyung’s eyes at your words. All at once he untangles himself from you and, rather than standing up and walking the long way around like a normal human, chooses instead to vault himself over the back of the couch, as if to get your freezer as fast as possible. You tip back against the cushions, momentarily overcome with laughter, and thankfully, it doesn’t trigger a cough attack.

After a second, you cocoon the blanket around yourself, then get up to follow after him, dropping unceremoniously down onto one of the barstools tucked on the far side of your kitchen island.

Taehyung glances up, clearly surprised, then continues trying drawers until he finds the silverware and retrieves two spoons.

“Just want to keep you company,” you say by way of explanation as he hands you one, and you reach down to pry off the lid of the pint of chocolate ice cream he’s set down on the counter. It’s only as you glance up again that you realize he’s grabbed something else, too, and is continuing to rummage through your cupboards. “Wait, what are you doing?”

There’s an innocent look on Taehyung’s face as he rights himself, the handle of a pan clutched in one hand. “I found something when I was looking for the ice cream. It’s my favorite. And I thought it might make you feel better, too.”

“Uh huh,” you intone, though your mouth is already starting to tick up, endeared. “A completely selfless act, I’m sure.”

“Of course it is,” he answers with an over-exaggerated wink, flipping the pan cooly in his grip. You squint at the bag as he thuds it down on the counter beside him, then sets the pan on the stove and flips on the burner beneath it.

Hotteok. You’d completely forgotten you’d even picked the bag of frozen sweet pancakes up a few weeks ago, that you had purposefully tucked them into the back of your fridge for a particularly good— or bad— day.

“Chef Kim,” you ask, feigning the tone of a journalist conducting an important interview as you fish your phone out of the pocket of your sweatpants. “Can I interest you in some background music, or do you prefer to cook in absolute silence?”

Taehyung glances back over his shoulder at you, his grin nearly too big for his face. “How about Sinatra?”

You raise one eyebrow at the admittedly unexpected suggestion. “Frank or Nancy?”

He pauses for a moment, as if considering. “Either.”

It’s only a few taps, and then Come Fly With Me is floating out of your Bluetooth speaker, and Taehyung is singing along to himself as he drops a frozen disc onto the heated pan, occasionally turning back to deliver lines to you with an extended hand.

You roll your eyes as you drag your spoon through the top layer of softening ice cream, sucking it into your mouth in an attempt to hide the grin that’s spread over your face.

By the third song you find yourself humming along too, trying not to put too much strain on your still-weak throat. The kitchen has started to smell of sweet, toasted dough as Taehyung works diligently at the stove, and he finally flips the burner off before turning back to you, a plate in each hand and a thick pancake stacked atop each plate.

“Sous chef, will you please apply the ice cream?” he asks, eyes wide and blinking as he sets the dishes down.

Quickly playing along, you nod as you begin to scoop a healthy amount onto each plate. “Yes, chef!”

“And sous chef, do you, uh… have any chocolate sauce?”

You bite back a laugh as his roleplay falls apart as quickly as it began. “It’s in the fridge.”

Taehyung promptly turns and pulls the door open, eyes searching the shelves before he finally spots the dark brown bottle and lets out a triumphant hum. He nudges the fridge shut again with his hip before striding back toward you.

“Plating is key,” he muses. You answer with an appreciative nod and a giggle when he uncaps the sauce, then leans down close to the plates, feigning intense focus as he drizzles each dollop of ice cream with stripes of chocolate.

Once his artful design is complete, he steps back, his tongue toying at the corner of his mouth as he spins one plate to admire his handiwork.

“What do you think, chef?” you tease, and he nods once, decisive.

“It’s perfect.” He glances up, shooting you a grin that knocks the breath from your lungs, and you try to collect yourself as he nudges a plate toward you, encouraging you to take a bite.

You carve your spoon through the pastry, right down the middle where it’s stuffed full of sweet brown sugar syrup. The flaky layers pull apart at the impact, warm enough that you can see steam rising off of the golden dough. You pair a small piece of pancake with a wedge of ice cream on your spoon, then bring both into your mouth at once, and the contrasting mixtures linger on your tongue: hot and cold, sticky sugar chased by rich chocolate. It’s so good that you can’t help but make a soft, appreciative noise as you press your hand to your mouth and chew.

“Do you want to know something?” Taehyung’s voice pulls your attention back, and you look up at him.

“What?”

“Today’s my birthday.”

There’s a split second where you wonder if this is another imagined scenario, and then your eyes widen as you take in the look on his face and realize he’s entirely serious.

“Wait, Taehyung, really?”

He nods once, bringing a spoonful of ice cream to his lips.

“I-I had no idea,” you stammer, suddenly feeling like an asshole. His birthday, and he’s here waiting on you hand and foot, while you haven’t so much as said a word of felicitations. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, he’s waving away your apology with his spoon, then proceeding to answer around his bite of food. “It’s not like I expected you to know. I don’t really make a big deal of it.” He shrugs. “I tend to… I don't know. I get sort of melancholy this time of year. The holidays, my birthday. It’s a lot all at once. A lot of pressure. To be happy. To have everything figured out.”

Nodding slowly, you let his words fully wash over you before you respond. “I get that,” you finally murmur, working off another piece of hotteok. “Nobody ever talks about it, but I feel like birthdays are kinda weird as an adult. You have enough of them and it just starts to feel like a day, you know? Not special.”

“I usually find myself just hiding out, waiting for it to be over,” Taehyung admits.

You take a second to think back. “Yeah. I didn’t even do anything on my birthday this year.” A self-pitying laugh rises up before you can stop it. “Honestly, this whole year was such a flop. I’m glad it’s nearly done.”

Taehyung makes a face like he can’t disagree. “Hey, sometimes that’s life.” He pauses, brow furrowing slightly, then reaches a palm across the table. “Can I play a song?”

“Go ahead,” you offer, pushing your phone into his hand. You scrape your spoon along your dwindling dessert, and haven’t even managed to bring the assembled bite to your mouth before the music changes— from one Frank Sinatra song to another, this one with a driving blues rhythm.

Taehyung is already on his feet, hips starting to sway. “Ah, come on. You have to dance with me.”

He’s closed the distance between you before you can even protest, his hands smoothing across the blanket still wrapped over your shoulders.

“Let me take your coat, ma’am.”

You shift off the stool and onto your feet with a smile as he unwraps the blanket from around you and tosses it toward the back of the couch, missing by at least a foot.

“Why thank you,” you tease, feigning some kind of Transatlantic lilt to your voice that makes him really laugh. “Such a gentleman.”

Taehyung turns to face you again, and then you feel his large hand pressing to the small of your back, warm even through the fabric of your shirt, and your heart stutters a little. You take his other hand in yours and let him lead, let him pull you all the way in until you can turn your head and press your cheek to the firm plane of his chest.

Frank Sinatra croons on about how you can’t let life get you down, and suddenly there’s a weight settling in the pit of your stomach.

“I feel bad, Taehyung,” you admit, and when you glance up at him, he’s looking right back down at you. “That you’re here with me tonight.”

“Why?” he asks, like he really doesn’t know.

“Because,” you shake your head. “I don’t know. There’s a million better places you could be. I can’t even give you birthday sex.”

“I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t want to,” he answers simply, then leans back, guiding you under his arm for a spin.

A little giggle bubbles up in your chest, catches on the first syllable of your reply as you twirl. “A-are you sure?”

Taehyung nods, thoughtful, when you come back to center again. “This is a good reminder that… I like taking care of people. It’s been a while since anyone’s let me.” The hand holding yours gives a gentle squeeze, and you can’t help but squeeze back.

“Well, thank you for taking care of me,” you answer softly. “You did a good job. Pretty sure I’m on the mend already.” You blink up at him through your lashes, and the way his eyes are fixed on you makes your heart squeeze, too.

It’s nearly overwhelming, taking him in like this, close enough that you can see every stray beauty mark kissed over his handsome features. Fluffy-haired, big-dicked Kim Taehyung— who would’ve thought?

Taehyung’s adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows, and you feel a sudden rush of heat all over, one you don’t quite think you can blame on a fever. It hardly even occurs to you that the two of you have come to a complete standstill now, barefoot in the middle of your kitchen, Taehyung’s palm pressed to your back, the fingers of your joined hands now shifting to lace together.

“Taehyung,” you’re breathing his name before you even realize it. “Would you… want to stay here tonight? Like, sleep together, literally?”

The smile that flashes over his face is nothing short of brilliant. “Yeah, okay.”

Your voice dips a little lower, teasing, as you smile back. “I really do think I’m feeling better, so. Maybe in the morning I can take care of you, too.”

Taehyung’s fingers brush the length of your jaw, then reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you continue.

“I’ve got this spray that makes my throat totally numb, so.”

He pauses, his mouth so close to yours that you can feel his breath ghosting over your skin, but he can’t quite keep a straight face. “Fuck, why is that so sexy?”

You’re laughing against his lips when he kisses you.

#taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #bts fluff #bts x reader

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stobinesque · 8 months

Text

held frozen like an angel to me

A birthday fic for the truly incomparable @steves-strapcollection!! Happy Birthday, Gerry, I hope you're having the best and filthiest day imaginable.

If you somehow don't know: Ger is an absolute powerhouse of smutty Steddie creation, and also one of the first people to welcome me so warmly and enthusiastically to the Steddie fandom. It's been a truly wild ride getting sucked back into the obsessive heights of fandom brainrot for the first time in years over the past few months, and Gerry is definitely at least 30% responsible for it (I would be willing to go higher).

Also if you haven't read any of Gerry's work you should absolutely go do that. He's out here writing some of the best transmasc erotic fiction in the English language (I'm intentionally leaving off the 'fan' prefix there).

This fic also has art made by the mind-bogglingly talented @sentient-trash. It's an absolutely stunning piece, and the collaboration with Simon definitely accounts for the richness of detail within the fic as a whole. This story truly wouldn't be what it is without him. Also many thanks to @scarcrossdlvrs and @inairbinad for being my cheerleaders!

A playlist for the fic can be found here.

Steddie | wc: 10.3k | Explicit | cw/tags: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Vers Dom Steve Harrington, Vers Sub Eddie Munson, Monsterfucking, Monster Steve Harrington, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Dual POV, Gothic Vibes, Referenced Non-Monogamy, Shapeshifting Genitalia, Dream Sex/Manipulation, Sleep Paralysis, Biting, Aphrodisiac Venom, Blood Kink/Blood Play, Choking, Breeding Kink, Possessiveness/Obsession, Ownership, Collars, Compulsion, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Come Play/Come Eating, Foot Kink (kind of?? including to be safe), Cock & Ball Torture, light gore?? (at least some mildly gory allusions/metaphors), Religious References and Biblical Allusions, Dacryphilia, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Tails, Wing Kink, Lactation Kink, Knotting, Good Boy Eddie Munson

[ READ ON AO3 ]

The hall echoes with silence, as it has for weeks now.

Steve stretches his limbs, and the rough sound of stone grinding against stone rends the air.

As marble gives way to skin and scale, Steve’s awareness shifts to a damp trail carving a path down his face. The arm stretched over his head falls, hand brushing over his cheek and coming back wet with the blood of his tears. He brings it to his lips. Licks it away. The taste of his pet bursts across his tongue. The source of all his tears.

At long last, his beloved has returned. He can scent it on the air.

Steve unfurls his wings, letting them open wide for the first time in what feels like ages.

Knowing a mortal has distorted his perception of time.

No matter.

Steve regards the manacle looped around his ankle with an indulgent smile before willing it away into nothingness.

His pet's desire to keep him as a pretty thing never fails to amuse.

Steve twirls the garland of his namesake flower in his hands. Considers disappearing it along with the manacle. But his beloved likes to see him adorned with pretty things.

He wreaths himself in flower and leaf, the tips of his horns holding the white blooms in place.

Steve has always imagined that shaking off his statuesque form must feel akin to waking from that slumber humans seem to love so much. It feels good to be back in his body—muscles tensing and flexing as he turns to regard his stone plinth, tail whipping around him as the stiffness in his joints dissipates.

His eyes rove the space, taking in the finery he rarely gets to see from other angles. He runs his fingers over the filigree of his alcove, careful not to scratch the wood, and smiles with the knowledge that his pet gives him pride of place amongst his collection. That he considers Steve his finest treasure.

But Steve is being too self-indulgent. It's time to welcome his lover home.

The old grandfather clock tolls the witching hour as Steve ascends the staircase. When he reaches the top it’s to find that his lover did not make it past the parlor on his return home.

Eddie is sprawled across his ornate fainting couch—splayed out in a pile of furs. He’s half-dressed in a pair of leather pants that look painted on, while his pale chest gleams in the moonlight.

Steve leans against the door frame, watching as he sleeps. And though no one is there to see it, he beams, wicked.

Oh, how he loves to toy with his food before he eats it.

Eddie is floating; suspended in æther.

Strange lights and shapes of color bend and twist and fold around him.

He chases after them—reaching out to grasp each one. Watching as they disintegrate between his fingers.

And then he’s falling.

No, not falling.

The ground is rushing up to meet him.

To cradle him like a lover.

Eddie stares up into a meaningless sky—void of all but darkness—as hands begin to grasp at his chest. Fingers trail across his torso. Grab at his side. Graze and pinch his nipples with a biting force.

He can’t count them. Can’t see them.

Can’t hear anything.

He is surrounded by disembodied touch—holding him up, pressing him down, squeezing, fondling, grappling.

And he is at sea, searching for an anchor.

He's lost.

Lost without his angel.

His lord.

Eddie casts about, searching without sense.

Stretching the boundaries of himself and pulling.

A wet warmth envelops one of his nipples. A pair of soft lips trail kisses down the line of his stomach. A ravenous mouth sucks a bruise into his neck. Still another descends down, down, and—

Eddie gasps, but still there is no sound.

No breath escaping his lungs.

It's the idea of a gasp, moan, cry sailing through him.

His blood runs hot. Muscles tense.

He’s all sensation with no grounding.

High and drunk on the hands and mouths that travel the expanse of him.

He wants a way out. To escape the sticky web he’s been trapped in.

But a part of him wants to sink.

To drop like a stone.

To drown.

To let The Lord of skies and heavens and seas come to bear him up and pluck him from the depths below.

Where is he?

Angel

His mind echoes with the cry, even while the phantom sense of his body aches and struggles to move. To break free. To fight or flee or float towards the one who loves him.

Angel. My lord.

Eddie wakes with a gasp, air bubbling in his chest. He blinks against the moonlight, sight restored. Yet he still can't move. Pinned in place by some outside force. Alone and petrified—

No, he's not alone. There's a figure in the doorway, silhouetted by the chandeliers he keeps faintly lit in the receiving hall.

Eddie sees the outline of wings. Of horns. A flowered crown.

No sooner has he had the thought to reach out than the figure is stalking towards him. Eddie still can't move, and the beat of his heart picks up its pace. Not yet pounding in terror, but racing like he's just started a chase. He wants to speak. Wants to cry out, wants to—

"Hello, my pet."

Golden-verdigris eyes flicker in the moonlight as the figure hovers over him. It's not enough to see by—not nearly enough—but he knows Steve is smiling by the way it glints off one of his fangs.

A part of Eddie relaxes at the sight of him. Close enough to touch, to kiss—finally, after weeks apart.

But his hind-brain—locked in the throes of disorientation from his dream—still perceives his angel as threat. As monster.

That's what he is, after all.

Eddie's monster.

The talon of Steve's index finger hooks through the one that dangles from the scaled collar around Eddie's neck and tugs gently. "You've been gone too long, beloved." His voice is somehow both honeyed and sibilant. "I ought to welcome you home."

Firm lips press against Eddie's own. He's starting to regain some use of his limbs—can feel his control returning to him at the edges of his consciousness—but the second Steve swipes his tongue across Eddie's lips his mouth goes numb. He lies there, slack-jawed, as Steve kisses him with diluted venom on his tongue. Eddie moans, the sound pulled from his chest like Steve had hooked his talons through his very soul and pried it loose.

He thinks that actually happened long ago.

Steve pulls away, and Eddie wants to chase after him, but he's still held in place by the sleep paralysis. Some corner of his mind still pinned down by Steve's power.

Eddie needs to touch, to feel—to have a voice to speak and beg for it.

He can’t form his mouth around words, but he can make sounds, so he pushes a whine from his throat. Needs to let Steve know how much he’s missed him. How much he ached for him while he was away. How not an hour or minute passed where he wasn't picturing himself wrapped in Steve's embrace, even when he was using someone else to fill that gaping void in him.

And Steve is toying with him. Taking his own welcome by force.

Eddie shivers, and above him, Steve chuckles darkly, eyes flashing again in the silvery light.

Steve straddles his waist, and the faint light from the hall shines through the white blooms of the stephanotis flowers that wreathe the crown of his head. Eddie’s breath catches at the sight. He wants to supplicate himself before his Angel.

Eddie wants. Not just the simple gratification of physical pleasure—though he aches to have his lover’s hands on him—but also just a scrap of light. Steve may be able to see him just fine, but Eddie is still only human, and can't make out anything beyond Steve’s eyes and the occasional glimmer of his smile.

Eddie misses the sight of his face. Wants to drink in every detail. The sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones. The inhuman shimmer of his skin. The flecks of golden scales that dot him like moles—those catch and shimmer in the moonlight when Steve turns his head just right, but it's not enough.

Eddie’s mouth is still numb, but he can feel the severed link between mind and body reforming, and with a twitch Eddie manages to drag his arm up, to press his palm to the stony texture of his angel's skin.

A scaled claw snatches his wrist up immediately, followed by a hissing reprimand. "Now who told you you could move, my pet?" Steve whispers, leaning in close.

Eddie moans, and as the air passes between his lips he realizes that feeling has returned to them. "Lights," he manages to mumble. "Want…to see you."

"Are you making demands of me, my love?" Steve drags a knuckle down the side of Eddie’s face. "I don't think you've earned the right to make such requests, pet."

Eddie closes his eyes, because it is easier to see nothing than to be deprived of the full, glorious sight of his Master. "Please…my Lord. Please, I wish to be graced with the sight of you," Eddie begs around the cotton of his mouth.

Steve hums. "Well, I suppose you do beg prettily enough, even for a creature who speaks so plainly out of turn." Steve leans in ever closer, until the shining threads of his lashes brush against Eddie's cheek. "But I'm going to need you to stay." Steve punctuates the last word with a strain of Command behind it, followed by a sharp bite, fangs plunging into the tendons of Eddie’s neck.

Eddie gasps, arching his back as he feels the burning heat of Steve's venom enter his blood stream. Warmth rushes through him, heart pumping Steve's essence into each corner and every crevice of his being. His vision blurs as his head grows fuzzy and distant.

He feels the weight on him shift. Move. Disappear. Watches as the silhouette of a demon—an angel's retreating form—moves across the room. And then the parlor is awash with a dim golden light.

Eddie's eyes blink against it, thick with tears. It hurts, almost, in spite of how low it is. But it’s worth it for the vision that greets him when Steve steps back into his line of sight.

Steve was always a vision to behold. A creature without compare.

He moves like a dancer. Like a reed on the wind. Like a snake. Even when he’s standing still—even when literally encased in living stone in Eddie’s stairwell—he looks like a piece of art in motion. Like a spirit that can’t be captured.

He is everything the gods and poets speak of when defining beauty—and not just for the sight of him.

But what a sight he is.

Muscles that ripple in the low light. Golden scales that dot his skin like starlight. Hair that flickers like flames. Like there’s a perpetual gust of wind passing through those gossamer strands. Dusky nipples pierced through with golden hoops that sparkle and shine like the wiry metallic strands of hair that carpet his chest.

His arms and legs end in iridescent scales that flicker between green and gold and sapphire when they catch the light. Fingers and toes capped with talons sharp and black as obsidian.

All except the ring finger of his left hand.

That talon is around Eddie's neck.

His love is bare of everything except the token of Eddie's he himself bears—a collar made of gold, with Eddie's first guitar pick attached to the ring that dangles above Steve’s clavicle. He wears not a stitch of clothing while in this form—an affront to its very purpose, Steve explained once—but he allows himself to be adorned with that marker of Eddie's ownership at all times.

Steve stands before him. Lets Eddie drink his fill of the sight of him. And he knows that Steve has missed seeing him as much as Eddie has missed seeing Steve.

For the next tour, Eddie will have to devise a way to bring him along.

Perhaps as a piece of set decoration.

Steve takes a loping step forward and his wings unfurl behind him.

Eddie's heart lodges in his throat. Seeing them makes him want to soar. To fly above the world while they fuck and drench it with their love. They’re unlike any wings Eddie has ever seen or dreamt up in fantasy. Some cross between bat and bird and mythical beast.

Iridescent emerald, just like his scales and eyes, and layered with feathers and scales like beetle wings that ripple and shimmer with every movement. They tinkle as they shift, like dried scarab wings.

And when Steve flies they make music.

Steve stalks forward like a beast hunting prey. His pet’s eyes are fixed on the expanse of his wings, because his lover is weak for pretty things, as all mortals are. Steve preens under the attention—Narcissus took direction from him, after all—letting them flap and flutter behind him as he crosses back to where he has Eddie trapped in his Command.

“Your gaze is covetous, my love.”

“I have no other way to look at you, Master.”

Steve’s face splits into a grin, fangs pressing into the swell of his bottom lip. His pet is flushed a pretty petal pink all over. Cheeks flaring red, blood pooling just beneath the surface of fragile, porcelain skin.

Steve aches to drink from him. He doesn’t need blood to sustain him like certain other creatures of the night. But he already knows that the taste of his lover’s lifeblood is more refined than the bouquet of the finest vintage.

Steve continues his slow approach, savoring how Eddie’s rapt gaze moves with him. Like there's a cord attaching it to Steve.

When Steve folds himself onto his lover’s lap, his pet keens as though he’s only just realized he’s been straining the front panel of his leathers from the moment Steve got his fangs in him.

“Steve…Stevie…Phan. please.” The muscles of Eddie's neck tense as he strains against the venom's paralysis to try to reach Steve.

Steve’s talons clink against the metal bars pierced through Eddie’s nipples as he twists them in rough admonishment. “You speak out of turn, Theo.”

Their private nicknames for each other are for use outside of play.

Eddie’s breath escapes his throat in pained, reedy gasps as Steve pinches, sending twin paths of blood streaming down either side of Eddie’s chest. Steve watches with fascinated delight as Eddie’s body struggles to move away from the pain, but can’t due to the venom flooding his veins.

“S-sorry, Master. Please, I’m so sorry.” Tears bead along his pet’s lashes, and Steve paws his chest with gentling touches.

“Apology accepted,” Steve says, with an impish smile, taking a bloodied nipple into his mouth with a groan, and suckling at it like it was milk pouring from it. Steve moans, letting the warm red liquid pool on his tongue before swallowing it down. His lover’s blood is sweet and fragrant as honeyed wine, and Steve is already drunk on it. His cunt gushes, wet and ready to be filled with even more of Eddie’s sticky-sweet goodness.

Steve slides back until he’s straddling the tops of Eddie’s thighs, and palms a hand over the bulge there. Eddie moans, looking half ready to die a little death with nothing more than the suggestion of Steve’s touch along his length.

His poor foolish pet always forgets how hot his blood runs when he gets a little venom in him.

“I’ve missed you, my love,” Steve says. He hooks a talon through the laces that tie Eddie’s pants shut and snicks them open. “Missed this beautiful piece of work inside me even more.” Eddie isn’t wearing anything under his pants, and the second the leather cords snap, his cock bobs up and hits his stomach, standing proudly at attention under Steve’s ravenous stare.

Steve slowly drags the curved back of a talon along the underside of it, smiling wickedly when Eddie whimpers and tries to buck his hips upwards. Steve tsks, sliding the finger down, down, down—tickling along the seam of Eddie’s sack, pressing carefully against the sensitive skin of his taint, and continuing downward until the second knuckle of that finger is nudged up against Eddie’s entrance, bearing into it.

Eddie whines, and Steve coos gently as he takes the reddening length of his dick into a loose fist with his other hand. “It’s a shame that you humans are so fixed. I’d bet you’d just love to have a tight little snatch for me to fuck.”

A glob of precome spurts from Eddie’s length and Steve tsks, shaking his head. “Messy boy. You already get so wet for me. Bet you’d love to be sopping with slick. So ready to take me inside, isn’t that right, pet?” Eddie lets out a muffled, high-pitched sound of affirmation. Steve smiles. “We’ll get there. For now I just need you to sit there while I get my fill of you.”

Steve rises up onto his knees, positioning the head of Eddie's cock at the entrance of his cunt. He presses his palms to the center of Eddie's chest as he sinks down in one fluid motion, careful not to let his talons break skin. Steve lets his eyes flutter shut as he sheathes himself on Eddie's cock with a satisfied sigh.

Steve loves to take his pet any way he can get him. But he can’t deny that there’s a particular pleasure to the fullness of his prick inside him. Steve can feel Eddie in his guts. Feels greedy as he sucks him down. Wants his cum and love spilled all over his insides.

Eddie whines—and the paralytic effects of the venom must be wearing off, because Steve feels his lover's hips twitch upward from beneath him.

Now that simply won’t do.

Steve curls his fingers so that his claws rip and rend into flesh. His talons drag down the length of Eddie’s torso—nipples to navel—and Steve relishes in the scream it elicits. Rivulets of blood rush to the surface, trickling in small tributaries over the white expanse of Eddie's skin. Steve wanted to loop each around every line of red there and hold him in his hands like they're the threads of fate. Wants to weave the strands together until he has a cerement of blood and love and viscera enshrouding them.

Steve feels the muscles of his back tense and bunch and ripple as his wings stretch wide. He yearns to take to the skies—still wrapped around his lover—and let the blood he’s pulled from Eddie’s veins spill down like rain on the parochial inhabitants below.

None else but the two of them know love and joy and ecstasy like this.

Steve shifts his gaze back to his lover's face, adoration swelling in his chest. Tears stream down Eddie's face as Steve bounces on his cock and he forces himself not to thrust up into Steve's wet heat. With each minute that passes the struggle to hold still will grow stronger. The venom pumping through Eddie's veins makes him insatiable. Even when Steve inevitably milks him dry, his body will want more. This is just the beginning, the heat in his blood driving Eddie to chase after every sensation—pleasure and pain alike heightened to the edges of perfection.

"You're trying to be so good for me, aren't you, pet?" The words fall from Steve's mouth like a challenge. Eddie moans, head tipping back at the words. "Trying to keep your composure even though I can feel the way you're struggling not to shove this beautiful cock of yours as deep as it will go. But you're just a desperate little slut for me aren't you, pet? No better than a mindless, rutting animal."

Eddie snuffles, hips rocking up to meet Steve's with stilted, half-aborted thrusts.

Steve tsks, condescension dripping from his tone. "Did you want to come for me, pet? FIll me with your seed? Get me fit to bursting with a bunch of wingėd little cambions to fly around the empty mausoleum you like to keep me trapped in? As though you are lord over me?”

Eddie sobs, fists clenching into the furs beneath him, as Steve leans in close, trailing his forked tongue over the lines of blood, drinking in everything Eddie had to offer him, and moaning as the sweet taste broke over his tongue. “I let you own me, pet. And you would do good not to forget it.”

It was a truth wrapped in a lie. Or perhaps a lie hidden in the shape of a truth. Lord Stephanotis was not a creature to be ruled by a mortal in mere letter of law. In deed, however?

Despite the irony of it all, Steve had let this curious mortal bend him to his will. Had let the sharper edges of his own power be domesticated and subsumed by Theo's will. Steve was allowed only the meals that his pet’s body provided. He could, ostensibly, leave at any time in pursuit of a wider menu—but why would he, when his Theo was satiating all on his own?

When he was there, that is.

Maybe that was why time stretched to an eternity in Eddie's absence.

Steve rolls his hips with a sinuous motion, moaning as the head of Eddie’s cock hooks behind his navel and drives him wild.

“That’s right pet, fill me up.”

“Master, please,” his pet begs.

Steve’s tail whips out to wrap around Eddie’s neck, cutting off his pleas with a choked moan. “You forget your place, pet. I’ve reminded you more than enough times not to speak out of turn." Steve squeezed his cunt around Eddie's cock on a harsh downward thrust. "If you want to go gallivanting around the world taking any random cock, or stuffing any pretty pussy that flashes your way while leaving me chained here like some common whore, the least you can do is let me use you to get my fill when you return.”

Steve slams down onto Eddie’s cock again and grinds into him, tightening his tail around Eddie's neck and watching with a sick, twisted glee as his face turns a bright red. “That was our deal was it not? You keep me locked away, and in my stead you go and sow your wild oats? If you want to change the terms of our contract, my love, you have to ask. You can’t just go around acting like this cock doesn’t belong to me once you’re back under this roof.”

Eddie let out a sound that Steve was more accustomed to hearing in muck-filled stables. A desperate whinnying sound that makes his clit throb.

“Listen to you bray for me. You’ve certainly got the cock for it, my little stallion. Go on, fill me up. Breed me.”

Sometimes Steve forgot what it meant to hunger.

No, that's not right.

Hunger has become his natural state since falling into the talons of Theodore Munson. He's forgotten what it feels like to be full. To be satiated. He hasn’t had a true feast in what feels like æons. He often finds himself wondering if perhaps Eddie himself was a creature of myth in disguise. If he’d ensnared Steve in some hidden trap and snipped his wings so he couldn’t fly past the bounds of his lover’s estate.

Deep down he knows the truth. That Steve has allowed himself to be domesticated. That he’s buried a piece of his essence in the grounds here, binding him to them as surely as he’s bound himself in his devotion to Eddie.

When they're together the time passes in glorious blips, and long, winding stretches of bliss. Beautifully long and bitterly short in equal measure. The time passes so swiftly because it costs nothing to be with his pet. And so addicting was spending time with Eddie, that time and space seemed to bend around them—create a bubble outside of the rest of the world.

But when Eddie's away?

The first time Steve had been left behind he’d tried to stay awake. He’d paced the lengths of the hall. He’d fucked himself on the toys they used together when Eddie was home. He’d even made one ill-fated trip to the town’s market. But come the third day the need to breed or be bred bowled him over. He'd attempted to have a waitress over a bartop at the restaurant up the street, but the second he so much as smiled at her, the collar around his neck had tightened, stealing away his breath. He’d ignored it. Unconvinced it could truly bring him real harm. And then he’d gone to really lay it on thick and the metal burned around him.

Enough to leave a brand around his neck.

Something that shouldn't be possible to remain imprinted on this form.

That night, Steve returned to the manor, gazing wistfully from the window overlooking the grounds, and settled into place in the small alcove Eddie had situated his plinth in.

It was lowering.

A creature of legend cowed and kept by a humans' weak and flinching hands.

Steve loved him for it.

Steve had curled there, shoved a hand through his hair, and let the ache of missing Eddie turn him to stone.

Never his heart though.

That beat beautiful and black at all times, a steady rhythm calling his lover back home. Back to his Master.

He needed to have his pet in his arms.

Eddie is going wild beneath him. Hips thrashing. Hands grappling at the tail wrapped around his neck as he struggles for breath. When he finally gives up and lets them fall away, Steve groans, throwing his head back and grinding his hips down as he chases after the building tension in his gut.

“Come on, pet. Breed your Master.”

Eddie cries, his hips bucking sharply, and Steve feels his release flood him.

Steve moans, head going fuzzy as Eddie’s cum fills his cunt.

Steve climbs off of Eddie’s lap, letting his softening cock slip out and slap back down against his stomach. Eddie watches as a trail of his cum slides down the inside of Steve’s thigh, and a strangled whine gets stuck in his throat at the image.

Eddie tingles all over. Feels lightheaded and loose-limbed. He’s a puddle on the pile of furs beneath him and doesn’t think he could move if he tried. But there’s still a fire burning in his gut and he wants more. Wants Steve’s cunt back around him. Wants his cock buried in his ass. Wants that clawed hand wrapped around him, stripping him raw. Wants his Master to bite into his chest and rip him open.

Eddie pants, staring up at the ceiling with wide, unseeing eyes. He barely registers Steve moving, arranging himself on the little couch so that he’s sitting next to Eddie’s feet, thighs spread wide. Eddie barely has a chance to consider the implications of how Steve’s arranged himself before he feels himself moving without will at Steve’s hissing Command. “Get on your knees for me, pet.”

The Command overrides any whisper of exhaustion. It blanks his mind. he isn’t Eddie anymore. he is merely the tool by which his Master’s every whim is realized.

he feels himself rise onto unsteady feet, then fall to his knees in supplication. he’s still in the leather pants he’d worn for the last tour show—sticky and uncomfortable from sweat and cum and blood; fly hanging open, framing the flaccid dick between his thighs. he settles into his place on his knees between his Master’s open legs, leather squeaking against the parlor tiles, arms hanging, head bowed towards the floor.

“Look at me.”

The Command shivers down his spine. he loves the way his Master’s commands burrow under his skin and slide through sinew to move his body before thought is known. Loves the way his muscles and bones seem to instinctively follow the exact designs of his Master’s mind. There’s no question whether or not he’s being good enough, because it’s his Master’s will arranging him like he’s the perfect puppet for His desires.

his Angel never asks for anything more than he is able to give—nor anything less than what he needs.

his head lifts, chin jutting up and out, eyes peering up through lashes clumped together with tears, and stares at his Angel. his Master stares back, but His gaze is hard to meet, pupils round and black like shining stones, with only a thin band of viridescence left shining there.

“So good for me, my pet,” his Angel murmurs, slipping His fingers into his pet’s curls. He doesn’t pull, or tug—simply weaves the strands over knuckle and claw, securing His hold. “Now—” his Master tips His head down with a smile that stokes an anticipatory curl of heat in his pet’s groin. “Clean up your mess.”

he moans, diving forward to bury his face in his Master’s cunt. The hand at the back of his head doesn’t quite guide him. Doesn’t quite hold him in place. Just sits there like a promise. If there was any chance he might move away without permission, that hand was there to correct him. If his Master wanted to inflict pain, that hand would wring it. If he tugged against its grip, the claws now grazing his scalp would tear.

“C’mon on, pet,” his Master snarls. “Eat your cum out of me.”

he mewls, tongue darting out to scoop a dollop of cum from his Angel’s pussy and swallow it down. The salty-sweet taste of his own cum mixed with his Angel’s slick drives him wild. he lets out a desperate cry, pressing his face further into his Master’s cunt.

But something niggles at the back of his mind—it feels almost wrong to eat his cum from his Angel’s cunt. Unnatural. He needs it. Needs His pet’s seed to take root. Needs His pet to shove his fingers into his Master’s cunt. Needs to have His pet’s release pushed as far up into Him as it will go. Needs His pet to bully past the tight ring of muscle of his Master’s cervix and force it to take.

he's already hard as nails between his legs again, whimpering with desperation as the pressure in his gut mounts. he can’t take it. Needs release. Needs to come. Needs to fuck. Needs to breed. Needs to fill his Angel up again and again and again until His belly is heavy and round with it. With his brood—their little cambions.

And if he can’t have that—his hand will do.

Eddie doesn’t even consciously realize he’s doing it. Doesn’t make the choice to shove a hand down the front of his pants and curl his fingers around the base of his cock. Didn’t plan to pump his fist over his dick. Doesn’t mean to circle the pad of his thumb over the glans as he slowly and thoroughly guzzles down his own spend from his Angel’s cunt.

At first, his Master doesn’t react. But then Eddie moans, loud and long into the cavern of his cunt as he twists a hand around the head of his cock on an upstroke.

A clawed foot kicks his hand away before pressing down onto his stiff length.

Eddie keens, tears slipping down his face as he sucks on his Angel’s engorged clit and bucks up against the rough texture of his sole. The edges of his Master’s scales catch at the sensitive skin of his shaft, His claws just shy of piercing the skin at the base of Eddie’s cock. The sharp pinpricks of pain white out Eddie’s brain and leave his ears ringing.

His mind goes soft and fuzzy as he drinks down his Angel’s slick, the sharp counterpoint of pain leaving him at the cliff’s edge of utter desolation. The Command keeping his mouth fixed in place does nothing to stop the unconscious rocking of his hips, and Eddie can’t help but thrust upwards as he sobs into his Angel’s cunt, chasing after release at the risk of his own destruction.

“You’re being very naughty, pet,” his Master growls, words broken up by harsh pants and grunts. his Master’s foot flexes, tightening his grip until the claws over Eddie’s cock break skin, and the pain drags a bleating sound from the depths of Eddie’s soul as thin trails of blood drip down the back of his balls.

“I should put you in a cage next time,” His Master growls—so dark and low he’s nearly subvocalizing. “You can’t be trusted to focus on anyone else when you’re this hard and gagging for it.” The hand in Eddie’s hair tightens into a fist and presses him harder into his Master’s groin, nose grinding over the engorged length of his massive clit. “You already got to come once, pet. What makes you think you’ve earned it a second time?”

Eddie wails, heart pounding in his chest as he laps desperately at his Master’s cunt, trying to get every last drop of spend that he left there down his throat. his Angel’s words from earlier flit through his head and a desperate moan escapes him as he pictures himself with his very own sopping cunt, throbbing and ready to take his Master’s swollen cock so deep it punches through his guts. Eddie’s hole twitches at the thought, head going static as sweet, sticky slick pours down his throat.

Eddie can’t control himself. Has no ability to stop the wild bucking of his hips as he chases his second release. Whatever his tongue is doing now is utterly by Command. Eddie thinks his tongue would keep slurping cum from his Master’s cunt even if Eddie were to drop dead right then. Thinks he’d have to be physically detached from this cunt for anything to get in the way of him carrying out his Master’s edict. So every glimmer of actual thought he has is aimed at driving himself over the edge—pain be damned.

Or maybe the pain is the medium and method by which he achieves it. The blood trickling down his balls is just another point of stimulation. The scales dragging along his shaft drive sparks of intoxicating heat through his nerves.

Eddie leans into it, chasing pleasure, chasing pain, even though some part of him knows that on the other side of release lies danger. he trembles and whines, images of his Master bending him over the parlor’s piano to deliver his punishment flitting through his mind. he thinks about the whip Steve keeps coiled down in the dungeon. Thinks about the barbed end of his tail curving in the air behind him. Thinks about the skin of his back breaking open as he takes twenty lashes in penance for the pleasure his Master did not permit.

Eddie wants it. Wants to tip his Master over the edge from the doling out of reactionary pain into calculated torture. Because his Angel doesn’t lose control when he gets truly angry. He sharpens it like a knife. And Eddie wants it sunk right into his heart. Through the gaps of his ribs. Wants to let his Angel cut him open and come inside. Mix His cum and spit and tears in Eddie’s guts and lungs.

Eddie sobs out at the thought, and his Angel comes apart under his tongue.

Eddie isn’t unaware of it happening—how could he be ignorant of the nectar of the gods spilling over his lips?—but he’s no longer in his body when it happens. He’s floating above it all. Or sinking beneath it. High or drowning on ecstasy and devotion, mindless with it. Tears pour down his face, and he’s no longer aware of his own arousal. There is only h,is Master and how to serve him.

To please.

Eddie collapses, unaware of whether or not he’s come.

he feels like his strings have been cut. he’s on all fours, prostrating himself before his Lord.

his Angel’s clawed foot is no longer on Eddie’s cock, but Eddie doesn’t care, doesn’t even register it beyond being able to now lean forward and press his sodden face to the top of it. his tears wash over scales and drip down the crevices between his Angel’s toes.

The hand in Eddie’s hair moves, stroking gently. From far away Eddie can make out his Angel raining praises down on him as Eddie washes His foot with his own tears. Thick translucent droplets twinkling in the dim light of the room.

Eddie uses his tongue to wipe them away, licking across the scales of his Angel’s foot, following the graceful lines of it to his ankle, up his calf. Eddie stares up at his Angel from beneath his lashes, and his Master drops his foot away from Eddie’s mouth, bringing it to rest on one of Eddie’s thighs. Pinning him in place and splaying him open like an entomologist's specimen.

Eddie no longer feels a desperate hunger clawing at him, but tears continue to fall freely from his face. Like his tear ducts know he longs to baptize his Lord in sorrow and joy. Eddie bends his face down to his Angel’s other foot, letting the tears slip free and decorate that one, too.

Steve lifts his foot, tipping his lover’s head up by the jut of his chin. The tears on Theo’s face sparkle in the moonlight, and Steve takes in a deep, steadying breath at the sight of him. His pet is so beautiful, even in greed.

But he’s docile now, seated so submissively at Steve’s feet. He’s taken the time to wash him with his tears. So Steve can’t bring himself to hold onto any tone of reprimand for acting out of turn.

Steve wraps his tail around the length of Eddie’s hair, pulling it into a loose ponytail. He uses that grip to pull Eddie back onto his haunches, and Eddie follows, moving like water under Steve’s command.

He stares up at Steve as though he’d hung the sun, moon, and stars within the heavens—and Steve smiles back. Eddie closes his eyes against it like he’s been blinded.

With a steady hand, Steve take’s Eddie’s face into his palm, brushing a thumb over Eddie’s bottom lip. His pet’s mouth parts for him, tongue lolling out, and Steve presses the talon of his thumb there until a small spurt of blood bubbles up. Eddie whines, sucking the talon into his mouth and laving over it carefully. The soft sound of a claw clacking against enamel echoes in Eddie’s mouth, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Steve unwinds his tail from Eddie’s hair, dragging the tip along Eddie’s cheek before nudging at the corner of his mouth. Eddie's throat rumbles with soft, low, and strung out sound as he turns his until Steve’s talon slips free, and the tip of his spear-capped tail is pressed along the seam of his lips. Eddie sucks the tip of into his mouth, bobbing his head as though he were sucking down the stony length of the prick rapidly growing between Steve’s legs. Eddie’s mouth is warm and wet around him, and Steve’s ears flicker as heat pools at the base of his spine. He always manages to forget how good this feels as gooseflesh raises along the back of his neck, and heat races down his spine. Steve pushes the spear-tip further in, relishing the way Eddie's lips spread wide to accommodate the intrusion, and the soft clack of metal against teeth as the charm tangling from his tail almost enters Eddie's mouth as well.

“You can touch me, pet,” Steve offers with breathy beneficence—and Eddie doesn’t hesitate—trails calloused hands along the curving line of Steve’s tail. Curls one into a fist, stroking back and forth along the shaft in a pantomime of the world’s slowest, most decadent handjob. The other reaches back to settle at his tailbone massage practiced fingers into the muscles that bunch together there.

Steve groans low in his throat, hips jerking forward—thrusting the now fully formed length of his dick into empty air.

Heat coils through him, and the scales along his arms ripple and raise like goosebumps. Steve wants to sink into Eddie’s tight heat. Wants to impale his pet on his cock. Knows that he can’t breed his pet in the way he longs to, but is driven mad by the desire to try anyway. With the urge to rut up into him and make him take and take and take everything Steve gives him until they’re tied together.

The tip of Steve’s tail withdraws from Eddie’s mouth—replaced swiftly, but gently, with Steve’s thumb—to skirt along the mountains and valleys of Eddie’s spine. Eddie shivers and nestles further into the hollow of Steve’s thighs, suckling again at Steve’s fingers. Always happiest when he’s got his mouth full.

Eddie shivers and moans as Steve continues to work his tail down the length of his back, emitting a small squeaking sound as the edge of the speared tip presses against the barbell pierced through sensitive flesh. Eddie ruts down onto it, chasing friction, and when Steve looks back down it’s to see Eddie’s eyes completely glazed over. He makes small little humming, begging sounds around Steve’s thumb, like he’s trying to ask for something without opening his mouth to form the words.

Steve scrapes his free hand through Eddie’s hair, ruffling it gently. “You’re so good for me, love. Such a beautiful pet. So well trained when you choose to be.” Steve adjusts his tail so the very tip of it is pressed against his lover’s opening. Eddie’s hand twitches and flexes against the base of Steve’s tail, almost squeezing there. Steve groans again, dick throbbing and tail twitching in a way that has it breaching just that first ring of muscle.

Eddie yells, sound muffled by the clawed talon in his mouth, and his hips jerk backwards to try to suck more of Steve’s tail into him, in spite of how dry he is.

Saliva pools in Steve’s mouth and he quickly pulls the tip of his tail from Eddie’s ass, sucking it into his mouth to slather with spit and venom. Eddie keens, staring up at Steve with wide, wet eyes, and Steve just smiles as he slips his spit-slick tail back into his lover's hole.

He doesn’t shove in very far—doesn’t want to accidentally snag Eddie’s rim with the bit of jewelry that dangles from his tail—so he shallowly fucks just the tip of it in and out of Eddie’s opening, while his pet attempts to hold himself up on shaking thighs.

“Look at how gorgeous you are for me, my love. So good, even when you can’t restrain yourself from taking whatever you want.”

Eddie’s jaw drops open, dropping Steve's finger from his mouth, tongue lolling out, as he pants and tries to work himself onto Steve’s tail with small hitching thrusts. Tears work their way down the sides of his face, and his eyes have gone glassy and cross-eyed as they fix on the heavy weight of Steve’s thick, erect cock bobbing between his legs. Eddie licks his lips. Stares up at Steve with wide imploring eyes.

“You want Master’s cock, love?”

Eddie nods desperately.

“Get up here, then,” Steve says. But he doesn’t offer a moment for Eddie to move under his own power. Instead he fists a rough hand in his hair, yanking him up onto wobbly feet, and dragging him forward until he’s straddling Steve’s open thighs.

“You look so pretty in my lap, love,” Steve murmurs, drawing Eddie down into a long, languid kiss. Eddie chirps in surprise, but leans into it, parting his lips so his tongue can twine with Steve’s. Steve holds back on mixing venom with spit this time. Wants Eddie to feel every bit of him loving him this way.

Steve flexes his wings wide. Curves them forward. Cocoons the two of them together in a pocket of solitary silence, glittering green and gold.

Steve strokes a hand along the knobs of Eddie’s spine again, carefully tracing their bumps and ridges with the tip of a talon. Along the path downward, he shifts his hand, willing talons to recede, and scales to smooth away from fingers and palm. He brings a human down to the rim of Eddie’s hole, pressing gently alongside the tip of his tail. Eddie shudders in his lap, bearing down ever so slightly, and Steve leans in to press a kiss to his neck.

“Want to take my cock, pet?” Steve whispers into his ear.

“Please, Angel. Please, please take me. I need you. Need you in me, I— “

Steve strokes a hand through Eddie’s hair, shushing him gently. “Quiet, pet. I’m going to take care of you.”

Steve raises the shifted hand up to his mouth, sucking the first three fingers inside to coat them with saliva and venom. When he's satisfied he drops it back down to Eddie’s ass, and pushes his forefinger into Eddie’s hole in one slow, smooth glide.

Eddie moans, rolling his hips in Steve’s lap, chasing the sensation. “Feels so good,” he mumbles. “Tingles.”

Steve nuzzles his nose against Eddie’s cheek and murmurs in his ear. “I know, pet. I know how much you love feeling my spit and venom in you. How drunk you get on my cum. Can’t wait to fill you up, sweetness.”

Eddie makes a high-pitched sound in the back of his throat, bucking down on Steve's hand and tail. His arms reach up to wrap around Steve’s back, laying a flat palm against the space between Steve’s wing blades and stroking along the place where his wings sprout from his back. The other trails down Steve’s back to settle at the base of his tail again, and Steve can’t help the sharp exhalation of breath the sensation punches out of him, or the way his hips rock forward into the space between Eddie’s thighs, even though it offers almost no friction.

Steve presses forward so close to Eddie that the barbells through Eddie’s nipples hook through the rings dangling from Steve’s own.

They both let out twinned cries of shock as their hooked jewelry tugs at both of their chests. Eddie drops his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, hips jerking more erratically as the jewelry in his chest pulls with a steady tension, and Steve begins to press a second finger into his opening.

“Fuck, Theo. You feel so good around me. Around my fingers. On my tail. With your hands on my back. Want to love you so hard.” Steve curls his fingers forward, brushing over the bundle of nerves buried there. Eddie grunts and thrusts forwards, pressing his weeping dick to the solid plane of Steve’s abs. “Want to blot out the sun for you,” he vows. “Stop the next day from coming—and every day after. We can stay just like this. All night. And all night can be all time. I can keep you here just like you keep me. D’you want that?” Steve feels like he’s set his heart out on a silver platter. Waits for Eddie to pick it up and devour.

Eddie nods into Steve's neck, now growing damp with tears. “Yeah. I want that, Angel. Want you to stop time for me.”

Steve makes a rumbling sound deep in his chest, desperate to be inside his lover now. But even though Eddie’s tolerance for pain is high, two fingers and some spit isn’t nearly enough to take him, and Steve doesn’t want to make his cock any smaller. He wants to split his pet open wide around him. Wants to drive him out of his mind with the perfect feeling of fullness that this cock alone can grant him.

“You’re doing so good for me, pet,” Steve gasps, pressing another spit-and-venom-slick finger to Eddie’s opening.

“Thank you, Master,” Eddie sobs.

The muscles of Eddie’s rim clench and flutter around Steve’s fingers in steady patterns. Steve pulls his hand back slowly, and as it draws back it shifts green and gold and black again, nails lengthening and thickening back into sharp claws.

“Touch me, touch me, touch me,” Eddie chants, rocking his hips in Steve’s lap as he whispers his pleas into the side of Steve's neck. A part of Steve wants to punish him for speaking out of turn. For thinking he’s earned the right to demand anything from Steve. But Steve can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing right now, so he wraps his clawed hands around his lover's hips, digging in so that his talons and fingers dig into pale flesh and leave bruises and pinpricks of blood littering the surface. Eddie gasps—the sound pulled out of him like he’s been woken from a deep sleep—as Steve bodily lifts him, positioning his stretched-out hole over Steve’s dick, and watching him sink like a stone onto it.

Eddie has lost all control of his limbs. Sits in the cradle of Steve’s arms and lap limply as Steve rolls his hips up and begins to set a slow pace between them. Their piercings are still hooked together. Every thrust that’s just a little too forceful pushes a surprised burst of air and laughter from one or the other of them.

Eddie’s hands continue their idle petting over Steve’s back, clenching against the base of his tail, stroking over the place where his wings meet his back. Steve trembles, a constant stream of soft breathy sighs that sound desperate to his own ears slipping out between his lips. He feels light all over. High on his lover’s touch. So much feeling and sensation that Steve can feel it start to leak out of him.

He pulls away from Eddie with a gasp when he feels the place where their chests meet begin to grow damp. The barbells studding Eddie's chest slip free from the hoops of Steve’s own with a painful twist. Eddie cries out, ragged and shocked. Steve echoes the sound in ecstasy.

Eddie’s head is still hidden in the side of his neck, but when Steve looks down at his own chest he can see his tits have grown heavy and swollen, nipples leaking milk all over him and the tip of his dick is forming a bulge in Eddie's belly. The sight is overwhelming, and Steve vibrates with the gravelly rumble that passes through him as he bucks up into his pet with punching thrusts.

“You’ve made another mess of me, love.” Steve whispers, low and dark, in Eddie’s ear.

Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything in response. Makes a small questioning sound into the side of Steve’s throat and pushes further into him. Steve pulls him back by the hair, forcing Eddie to look down at where he’s dripping from his chest. “You gonna clean this one up too, pet?”

Eddie answers by dipping his head down wordlessly and pulling a nipple into his mouth. His tongue pokes through the ring and tugs—pulling a yelp free from Steve's throat—before his wet mouth engulfs a dusky brown nipple. Eddie suckles at it gently, moaning as the taste hits his tongue. He swallows Steve’s milk down, and his chest aches as he feels it tugging through his ducts. His lover pulling his essence from him with greedy teeth and tongue and lip.

Steve could stay here forever. Gorging himself while he feeds his lover. Fucking his fill while his heart beats in his chest at a steady pace. A slow drumbeat of affection. All he can hear is his heartbeat in his ears, Eddie’s whining moans against his chest. Not even the crickets or the wind enter his awareness. Wings folded around them, all there is in Stephanotis’ world is himself, and his pet. His love. Greedy and divine.

Eddie’s head grows heavy against his chest, and Steve takes all of his weight into his arms. He’s still fucking into him, soft and slow. Not in any rush to chase after his release. Time passes without measure, but after a while the breast Eddie is latched to runs dry, and Steve coaxes him free to meet his gaze.

His lover's eyes are heavy-lidded and dazed. He looks like he’s floating high above and far away, and the only reason Steve wants to bring him back down to earth is to have him in his arms.

But Steve can fly. He can meet him where he’s at.

Eddie’s breaths come in shivery gasps, and he seems unaware of the way he’s rutting forward, seeking friction against his flushed red cock.

Steve takes mercy on him, reaching down to curl a scaled claw around his length. Eddie hisses at the way the scales catch along the sensitive skin of his shaft. His hands keep roaming over Steve's body—now following the curve of feather and wing. Stroking along the bones that run through the body of them. Petting carefully at the feathers that tinkle and glitter around them.

Steve strokes his hand over Eddie’s length with a tightening grip as he feels the pressure in his own groin grow tighter and tighter. He feels ready to burst apart. Explode into a cloud of gas and light and stardust. Twin stars on the way to collapse. Steve scrapes the talon of his thumb across the head of Eddie’s cock and his pet screams, long and drawn out, voice going hoarse as he comes and comes, white spunk spurting from the tip of his cock and drenching Steve’s hand. His hole tightens and clenches around Steve’s thick length, and Steve breaks, following him over the edge.

Steve bucks his hips restlessly as the knot at the base of his dick swells and ties them together, and his cum keeps pumping into his lover—making him full and bloated on Steve's love.

Steve tightens his wings around them, blocking out the moonlight. He brings the hand covered in his lover’s release to his mouth and licks it away carefully, groaning at how his love tastes on his skin; stuck in the webbing of his fingers.

Eddie stays curled against his chest, head resting over Steve’s heart.

“I missed you,” Steve murmurs into Eddie’s hair, brushing a hand through it. “The house is too quiet when you’re away.”

Eddie looks out from under the curtain of his hair, blinking up at Steve slowly. “What if you come with me next time?” His words are slow and sleep-soft.

“Oh, Theo.” A melancholic note bleeds into Steve's tone, and he drops a gentle kiss on Eddie’s temple. “Thought you didn’t want to share me?”

Eddie rubs his forehead along the crook of Steve’s shoulder, leaving two quick kisses on what Steve knows to be Eddie’s favorite scales. “You could be asleep the whole time. Could put you on display during the shows.” Eddie trails a line of kisses down Steve’s clavicle. “Everyone can see.” Noses at the pick hanging at Steve's throat. “No one can touch.”

“If you think I’m letting anyone get their hands on you while I’m right there—“

Eddie wiggles in Steve’s lap, shoots him a devilish grin. “We can find a club. Put you in a corner. You can watch as everyone has their way with me.”

Steve growls, fisting a hand in Eddie’s hair. “Careful, pet. Doesn’t look like you’re up for another round.”

Eddie whines, hips rocking restlessly in Steve’s lap. “Please, Angel.”

“Shh, settle.” Steve tucks a strand of hair behind Eddie’s ear. “Let’s get you to bed, love. You must be tired.” Steve loops his arms around Eddie’s thighs and lifts him as he rises, careful not to drop him and tug his knot free. Eddie’s head rests against his shoulder, and his arms come up to loosely circle Steve’s neck. Steve unfurls his wings from the cocoon around them, letting them hang at rest as he makes his way to the staircase that leads to the master bedroom.

When they get to the room, Steve settles at the edge of the bed, keeping Eddie tucked against him like the favored pet he is. “You’re so good for me, Theo,” Steve purrs. They both trace idle patterns into the other’s skin, Steve careful to keep his touch light so as not to break skin—especially while Eddie’s blood is thinner from the venom still working its way through his system. Steve considers switching his hands back to human form, but knows that even when they’ve finished playing, Eddie still revels in the edge of danger Steve’s touch carries.

Steve wants to ask how the tour went. Wants updates on everything the band did and saw together. A jealous corner of his heart wants to hear what he and their backup guitarist got up to on the road—Steve has suspicions of the man’s true nature that he’s chosen to keep close to the chest, but if Eddie is going to bring him along the next time around, that may be a door he has to open. The hungering instincts of his base nature want to feed on the stories of Eddie's exploits with fans and groupies. Theodore Munson has such a beguiling nature for a mere human, and Steve always sucks down recollections of his hedonistic adventures with ravenous delight.

But Eddie is close to snoring on his shoulder. Still has a thick cock shoved up and knotted inside him, and looks like he could do with a bite to eat. Catching up can happen later.

When the swell of Steve’s knot finally recedes Eddie is fully dozing on his shoulder, a thin trail of drool forming there. Steve carefully pulls his love off his softened length, watching with rapt fascination as his cum began to seep out of him. Eddie whines in complaint, eyes blinking open as Steve arranges him on the bed. “Don’ wan'you to leave, Phan,” Eddie mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion.

“Don’t worry love, I’ll be right back. You won’t even miss me.”

Eddie grumbles, turning onto his side. “Always miss you.”

Steve chuckles as he steps away, crossing the room to the cabinet where he keeps all their supplies. When he comes back he uses two human fingers to carefully scoop the cum that has started to trail down the back of Eddie’s legs back into his gaping wide hole. Eddie groans, nuzzling into the pillow underneath him.

“I know you want to stay full of me. Want me to stopper you up with my love. Wake up slick and wet and open from my cock and cum so I can just slip inside you again? Or maybe I’ll use you while you're still aslumber. You still owe me an orgasm or two to even things out, pet.”

Eddie moans. There are few things he enjoys more than the sensation of waking to Steve fucking into him.

Steve smiles and presses a soft kiss to the knob at the top of Eddie’s spine, before slipping a thick, golden plug into him. Inlaid at its base is a smaragd jewel that catches and shines like Steve’s eyes in the light.

Though Eddie says it’s impossible for any jewel to compare.

Once the plug is in place, Steve picks up the damp cloth he’d collected and wipes carefully at the trails of dried cum there. With a second cloth he cleans away any and all traces of blood on Eddie’s chest, ass, and thighs, gently smoothing antibacterial cream over them as he goes.

When all is said and done, Eddie is a soupy mess in their shared bedsheets. But it still isn’t enough for Steve. He climbs onto the bed and gathers Eddie into his arms, so his back is flush to Steve’s chest. Steve grabs the glass of water he'd deposited on the bedside table and carefully presses it to Eddie’s lips, encouraging him to take a sip.

“Go on, drink up, love.”

Eddie gulps it down with giant, greedy swigs, gasping when he gets to the end and letting out a small burp and satisfied exhale.

Steve laughs, and grabs the snack bar he’d brought from the cabinet and hands that over to Eddie as well. “You’re so good for me, Theo.”

Eddie leans his head back against Steve’s shoulder with a dopey smile. “Not doin’ anything, Phan.”

Steve drags a knuckle up and down the length of Eddie’s arms and whispers, almost to himself. “You’re letting me take care of you.” Steve sweeps the hair away from the back of Eddie’s neck and presses a kiss to his nape. “There’s a time when you wouldn’t even have let me try.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say? Hard to trust a demon.”

Steve chuckles. “Oh no, pet, it’s easy to trust a demon. You know exactly what they want. It’s hard to trust someone that loves you. They’ll surprise you every time.”

Eddie turns in the circle of Steve’s arms and stares at him intently. “You’re the best surprise I’ve ever had.”

A tear slips down Steve’s face unbidden, and he spares half a moment to wonder what color it is. To question after its source. He smiles back, wistful and fond. “And you, mine, Theo.”

The moon fades behind the clouds, and light begins to creep along the horizon. And an angel and his monster fall asleep.

A/N: I genuinely went a bit crazy while writing this, and I've got lots of ideas for other fics in this universe, so watch this space for more demon!Steve filth and devotion 😈

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #monster steve harrington #read writes #10k of some of the most haunting smut i've ever written #i'm genuinely so proud of it though <3

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