#a bit on the short side but I loved the art and thought the character development wasgreat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

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

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the-s1lly-corner · 6 months

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Dude, imagine something like: TADC x Mime! Reader. Reader usually stays quiet most of the time, but sometimes they suddenly talk startling everyone around them. At the same time, they are like, very expressive, using exaggerated gestures and facial expressions, and usually communicates solely through their miming skills. And if you wanna go extra crazy THEY COULD ALSO HAVE SOMETHING LIKE MR. MIME FROM POKEMON, where they like, do a mimic of a wall, and then a invisible wall appears out of nowhere or something like that

I hope you understood what i meant, sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language 💖💖

TADC cast x mime!reader !

eueueu i totally understand what youre saying and i love the idea sm!! i love it when mime characters have mime physics, or when clown characters have clown physics!! love it so so so much!! sorry if this is a little short, ive been writing personal stuff all day and the back aches are starting to creep back in already </3

CAINE:

his jaw drops the first time you speak, he genuinely thought you were totally incapable of speech thanks to your whole theme going on... i think he would love your little mime tricks with the invisible walls and barriers and... did you just no clip through the floor while pretending to walk down some stairs...? where did you go?? where? was there another no clip glitch issue thing going on? he thought he fixed that...!

POMNI:

ah, a jester and her mime.... not the weirdest pairing... though granted pomni doesnt commit to the bit of being a jester and doesnt do tricks or jokes.. while you do commit... i think she would grow frustrated if you put a barrier up and made her slow down... calm down.. chill.. sure you understand the whole "finding the exit" thing going on with her, but rushing things probably wont help.... to time out she goes... probably gives you a side eye if she sees you just randomly walking on some invisible platform to just. leave in the middle of an IHA

JAX:

tries to coax you into using your powers for evil... i have a feeling jax doesnt like people who arent talkers... like being incapable of speak is one thing, i think at most is that he would make decisions for you (ie wrap an arm around your shoulder and be like "oh well me and (reader) were just thinking about......." yk? like in a joking way) but i dont think he likes quiet people... tries to coax you into speaking more... imagine you never spoke before in front of anyone and you finally reveal that you can talk, to jax, and he tries to tell everyone but no one believes him. psychological torment 101

RAGATHA:

i like to think she plays along with your mime antics, pretending to also be putting up invisible props and such... though her actions and movements are noticeably more sloppy and not as... fluid...? afterall, ragatha hasnt spent time practicing to be anywhere near your level! is a little surprised when she finds out your stuff is at least somewhat tangible within the digital world... thinks your emoting is cute..

KINGER:

so you know how he gets startled by gangle simply standing next to him? its like that with you, but he jumps when you randomly start talking next to him.. ponders... invisible safe square/cube/whatever... though i think part of the comfort of a pillow fort is that hes out of sight... but i think he would enjoy it at least a little if you created something like that for him

ZOOBLE:

enjoys that you dont talk much, zooble doesnt like chatty people i dont think... though they are willing to listen to you on days where you do feel like striking up a conversation... you actually get a laugh out of them when you banish jax to time out (aka putting up 4 see through walls around him for whatever length of time to atone for whatever crime he committed that day)

"he took my arm off.. give him an hour.."

GANGLE:

art kid meets art kid, you guys are both a little silly... okay sure your stuff is more performative, and while gangle does have a comedy and tragedy mask her thing is more so in drawing and painting imo, i love me artistic gangle... loves doing your makeup, if its not just a permanent part of your digital face, and can be customized... not much to be said here... theres comfortable silence between the two of you when you hang out since you dont talk often and gangle doesnt know what to talk about and may or may not fear ruining the dynamic between the two of you

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #pomni x reader #jax x reader #ragatha x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader

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cochart · 4 months

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Some SMT5 Characters in P5T style because it’s cute

I’ve been enjoying P5T during my little self-assigned winter break. I haven’t cleared the game yet, but it’s been a nice distraction.

Below is some of my thoughts on P5T if you’re interested or if you’re trying to decide whether or not to buy.

Overall, the game has been pretty enjoyable. It’s nice to see the characters you’re familiar with again and the story is decent. The art style is cute and the battles are enjoyable. The game is definitely more on the casual side and might be a tad bit disappointing for people who want a proper SRPG. On the flip side, even if you hate SRPG, you’d be able to pick this game up easily. I’d definitely recommend the game for P5 fans.

On the other hand, compared to P5S, the game does feel a little short for the price. I don’t regret preordering the game at all, but if your finances aren’t doing so well at the moment, I’d say wait till it goes on a sale.

1. As a Persona 5 spinoff

As a spinoff, I think it’s a pretty nice game. It’s nice to see the characters you love again in a different context, and the new characters are fun and likable. I’m actually quite impressed by the new characters as it can sometimes be difficult to insert new characters into a well-established franchise without making them overpowered or otherwise upsetting to the existing fans. Both Toshiro and Elle are likable, fun characters with decent stories of their own.

It’s also nice to see your favorite Phantom Thieves again. Overall, the tone of the game is more playful, so you can’t expect an in-depth character exploration you get in P5R, but it still feels like a treat.

2. As an SRPG

I think the game translated the elements of Persona franchise well into an SRPG genre. With 1 MORE and Tribangle system, you really do feel like you’re playing a Persona game. While it might be a tad bit disappointing that you can only use three characters per battle, trying to find the most efficient way to exterminate the enemies with Tribangle is pretty fun.

That said, for people coming from a more traditional SRPG like Final Fantasy Tactics or the Fire Emblem series, P5T can be a little lacking. Part of the fun in an SRPG is customizing units and building your army. In P5T, you level up the Phantom Thieves as a whole instead of individually. I think this was necessary to prevent users having to grind to level up different units, but it also makes it harder for you as a player to customize each unit meaningfully. In FE3H, for example, you can decide whether you want Felix to be a sword master or a wyvern lord. You can also decide whether you’d want your army to be sturdier with a lot of armored units or whether you’d take your chances by raising your units’ agility and hoping that they’d dodge enemy attacks. That you can’t do such customization can be a huge disappointment for people who enjoy SRPG.

On the other hand, adopting such traditional job/class system might have turned P5T into a poor man’s FE. I feel like the developers had to choose between a traditional approach at the risk of making the game look like a FE ripoff and trying to make use of Persona-typical systems at the expense of being a solid SRPG.

Overall, the game plays more like a fun puzzle game than an SRPG. If I were to compare P5T to any game, I’d actually compare it to some of the puzzle maps in FEH. My advice is if you’re looking for a solid SRPG like Fire Emblem, you should pick up a Fire Emblem game.

3. Others

While the game doesn’t feel unfinished—like Crimson Flower route in FE3H in which you feel cheated out of Edel’s story—it does feel a little short. I haven’t gotten to the final boss, but I can look at the level and guess where I am. I’ve been playing this game in bits and pieces, but I’m already 60% finished with the game. I think at this rate, I’d finish at about 35~40ish hours. Keep in mind that when I play games, I eat and drink, so it takes a little longer than it would if I were to focus completely on the game.

One thing that shortens the game is that there isn’t anything to do aside from battling. I know some people hate it when games involve little side activity like walking around and talking to characters—though you can technically talk to characters in P5T when there’s a Talk event—or farming, but I do wish there was something to do. The quests are fun, but there aren’t that many of them.

On the other hand, because you don’t have anything to work for besides getting on with the story, I’m not sure if the developers could have made the game longer without making the battles feel too repetitive. If there were job/class systems or any unit customization available, there would be something to work for, but there isn’t.

I do think there is more potential to the premise of the game though. The Kingdoms of P5T is sort of set up like Silent Hill in that the bosses are incarnations of one’s fear. I think the developers could definitely have expanded on that.

I’ve also seen some complaints that the game is too easy. The game is definitely easier than some SRPG I played. But then, I don’t think this game was made with hardcore SRPG players in mind. Also, despite the game being a bit more casual, I didn’t feel bored playing the battles. So I think the difficulty level might actually be more suitable for the general public. Aside from something like Dark Souls, games of all genres have been getting easier over the years. I know it might be disappointing to people who want more challenging games, but I don’t see the trend reversing soon. I think the best course of action if you want more challenge is to try looking into some indie games.

#megaten #smt5 #shin megami tensei #p5t #persona 5 #persona 5 tactica #nahobino

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dontmixpaintinyourcoffee · 7 months

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My favorite Conduit Of The Horrors 🩵

Rambles and art stuff under the cut

I love thinking about the primary trio post-nmpd, and there have been some really cool headcanons floating around, and long story short I rewatched Yellow Jacket and I have some ideas in the works. I don't know if this is post-Yellow Jacket or in the middle of it or what, I'm not actually thinking that deep about it I'm just having fun lol. For reasons I needed to have a finalized design for Hannah soooo-

I managed to seriously screw myself over by deciding to try and draw 2 characters I adore that are played by four extremely different looking actors. It was frustrating, but interesting to try and pick out what I thought the most important features of each version was.

So like, for BF Hannah I just used Kendall Nicole as the reference, easy peasy. But aging her up was a bit of a juggle. Eventually I ended up kind of grafting Lauren's expressions onto her face shape, which I also referenced Angela Giarratana for. Just to get that familial connection in there. It really helps that they both have that distinct chiseled chin, it's really fun to draw and fairly easy to replicate. (Side note, Lauren has an incredible ability to suddenly look like a deer in the headlights out of nowhere. The nervous energy that rang through her performance as Hannah was amazing, and I couldn't get over how damn expressive her eyes were)

I was gonna have a more detailed drawing of Ethan in there, because I absolutely love their relationship, but I chickened out. I ended up basically just drawing Joey's version with slightly shorter hair that is longer on one side, like a half-mullet thing. This is partially to try and synthesize the two versions in my head aesthetically, but mostly it's to differentiate him from Pete. Pete is a little difficult too, I actually really like how Nick Lang played him and wanted to incorporate some features from there, but I decided to save it for another day because I was giving myself a headache. Honestly a lot of the stuff is just hair texture, cause one of the most defining traits for their designs in my head was the way their curly hair was styled. But at the same time Joey's current haircut is damn iconic and I love being able to swing it around for the drama Ghibli-style

#arachnophobia #arachnophobia tw #spider tw #spiders tw #hatchetfield #hatchetfield fanart #starkid #starkid fanart #yellow jacket #nightmare time 2 #nightmare time #black friday musical #hannah foster #ethan greene #coffeepaintart #wow there was a lot of jazz hands during that murder

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grandeoatmilklatte · 28 days

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Fellow oat-and-omi-lover,

I have a request. It's loosely thought out and entirely up to you for interpretation.

But basically, I'd love to see a very touch-starved Ominis (you know, never been hugged or kissed in his family, the other students are wary of him, his only touchy friend was Sebastian and that's gotten tense recently) with a touch-shy MC.

Ominis is so tactile, and his main experience with close friends (the twins) is something MC is just... incredibly skittish about for whatever reason. Like he grew up having them grab his hand or sling an arm around his shoulder or greeted him with hugs, and now he's just got this singular friend available to him and there's so much adjustment on both sides???

He takes their hand to show them something, and they just freeze or startle or something? And somehow, this is reconciled? I'm a sucker for romance as well.

I DON'T KNOW!

Basically touchy Omi and big personal space bubble MC in whatever capacity strikes you.

Maybe.

If you want!

I love you, and thank you for reading my request. 😭💖

@applinsandoranges my love!! I tweaked your idea a bit and turned touchy Omi and touch nervous MC into a brand new couple and made this short little one shot from there! I hope I made you proud!

Getting To Know You In A New Way ❤️ - (Ominis Gaunt x F!MC)

Warnings: Fluff! || Slight NSFW (brief mention of touching) || mention of Sebastian slipping Ominis some liquid courage potion to ask a girl out || characters are 18 and in their seventh year || implications of trauma || aversion to touch || some negative self talk from MC || (1346 words)

Ominis loved everything about his girlfriend. He loved her from the moment he met her in fifth year, long before she even was his girlfriend. Her kind and gentle nature towards him, despite his lineage, and her alignment with wanting to pull Sebastian away from the Dark Arts drew him to her. As time went on, his love for her only grew stronger, reaching a peak during the first week of their seventh year. After being slipped some liquid courage in his morning tea, courtesy of Sebastian, the boy confessed his feelings for the girl, feelings which were thankfully returned by her. After years of pining, they were finally a couple, and he loved everything about her. But there was one small problem.

Early on in the relationship, Ominis discovered she had a severe aversion to being touched, something he somehow never picked up on in their time as friends. Her aversion was so severe that he wasn’t even allowed to hold her hand for more than a few minutes before she’d pull away, although she did allow him to kiss her, but only with brief pecks on her lips.

It wasn’t a matter of her being ashamed of Ominis, this theory being easily debunked by the way she gushed about “my boyfriend, Omins” to anyone who would listen, their frequent dates, and her general love of being in his presence. She was just exclusively afraid of physical contact. Ominis never pushed for an explanation, feeling like it was still too early in the relationship to do so. Although he knew from the early days of their friendship that she didn’t have the best upbringing, growing up in an unaffectionate home, something Ominis was all too familiar with.

Her aversion to touch created some difficulties for Ominis, his own love language being physical touch. He was desperate to feel the skin he couldn’t see, to know her in a new way, and he cursed anyone and everything that hurt her in life that created this trauma response. But nevertheless, he accepted her fully, never pressuring her, or touching her without her consent, hoping that there would come a day where his love and support could heal her.

—

It had been a particularly rough week for the two of them, having been partnered and assigned an enormous project for their History of Magic class. They had spent countless hours in the library working on this project, and were incredibly nervous about their grade, grades being exceptionally important in their final year of school. Upon receiving their project back, they refrained from checking their grade until they had a moment alone together in The Undercroft, wanting to either celebrate their passing grade together or wallow in sorrow at their failing grade together. When they opened their stack of parchments to see a passing score, she pulled Ominis into a rare, but absolutely welcomed embrace. Ominis inhaled deeply, the smell of her hair flooding his nose and making his heart flutter. He felt her body begin to pull away, wishing the moment could have been longer. But as soon as she pulled away, she leaned right back in, hands coming up to hold his face as she kissed him.

When she didn’t immediately pull away, Ominis kissed her back, deepening the kiss, but reminding himself to keep his hands away from her. His mind was racing, reveling in the intimacy. But his thoughts were halted and his mind went completely blank when she slowly worked her tongue past his lips. Ominis had completely forgotten his note to self, bringing his hands to rest on her hips as his tongue mingled with hers. She let out a squeak against his lips, but continued to kiss him for another few seconds before she quickly pulled away from Ominis, breathing heavily as she caught her breath.

“I…I’m so sorry…” Her voice was small and sad, and it was clear to Ominis that she was on the verge of tears. He couldn’t make sense of her sadness, realizing that he should be the one apologizing, not her.

“No, darling, I’m sorry. I know you don’t like to be touched. I got carried away. It won’t-”

“No. It’s not you, it's me. I’m sorry I’m such an awful girlfriend. My boyfriend can’t even hold me without me panicking.” she had begun to cry, Ominis hearing the breaks in her words. “You deserve better than me. I’m so sorry.”

Ominis’s body reacted almost involuntarily as he immediately pulled her into his arms. He stroked her hair as he spoke, his heart shattering at her words.

“You are not an awful girlfriend. At all. Please don’t ever say that again. I love you, and it hurts to hear you say such things about yourself. Come, sit with me.”

Ominis led her over to the sofa they had placed in the corner of The Undercroft some time ago. He took hold of her hands once they were seated and he continued.

“I know physical touch is hard for you. You grew up in a loveless home. I did too. Physical touch made me feel vulnerable, as I imagine it does for you as well. It used to scare me too. But once I got to Hogwarts and found myself with friends who love me, affection was no longer scary. I don’t want you to be afraid of affection. I want to help you heal from your pain. I want you to realize that you are worthy of love, and I want to be the one to love you. And, if I’m being honest, I would love nothing more than to be able to touch you, to feel you, to know your entire body inside and out. But I can be patient until you’re ready. Your comfort matters more to me than anything.”

Her tears were falling even harder now, but they were no longer tears of sadness. “Oh Ominis! What did I do to deserve a boyfriend as kind and understanding as you? I know I haven’t made things easy for you. I know it’s hard to not be able to touch me, especially with you not being able to see. But I want to get over this fear I have. I want to overcome this trauma, and I want to do it with your help. I love you, Ominis.”

She pulled him into another kiss, this kiss being softer than the first. Without breaking the kiss, she moved Ominis’s hands so that they could be wrapped around her waist before bringing her own arms around his neck. He could feel the tension melting from her body as they kissed. Already she was welcoming the idea of a more physical relationship with him.

In a move that took Ominis by surprise, she began to lay back on to the couch, pulling Ominis down with her until he was lying on top of her. He had a moment of panic, unsure what to do, but as she began to kiss him with more passion in this new position, Ominis became the one with the tension melting from his body, adjusting so that they were both lying comfortably on the couch.

Ominis slowly ran his hands up and down her arms, familiarizing himself with her skin, goosebumps forming in the wake of his touch. He then brought his hand up, his fingertips grazing her neck, which earned himself a soft moan. Finally, his hand came up to her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. Reluctantly, he pulled his lips away from hers to catch his breath, his thumb still stroking her cheek.

“That wasn’t so bad!” she said breathlessly. “I think I really like it when you touch me. I can’t wait for you to touch me more!”

There was a hint of sultriness to her words, which sent a tingle through Ominis’s body. He ignored it, knowing that there would be plenty of time to touch her that way later. For now, he was excited to get to know the love of his life in a new way.

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x mc

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islayhawkin · 3 months

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Sleep

Ominis gaunt x reader

Based on my headcanon: At home ominis had to sleep on the floor as a punishment so he still feels safest sleeping on the floor.

Hurt/comfort

A/N: maybe part 2 is coming. Requests are in the making but struggeling rn so please have patience.

Art by @SHIMAUMAko_BH

You had witnessed ominis sleeping in unusual places on multiple occasions. There even were some rumours from younger students that 'the gaunt boy is a vampire'.

Though you were always quick to shut them up if you came to hear one of the remarks, sometimes you wondered what he did at night to be so tired during the day. Or rather- you worried. Sometimes you found him crouch his long limps into a armchair in the common room and you always picked up a blanket to drape over him. A lot of the times he was sleeping in the back of the class or fell asleep on top of a library table while you were studying.

You kind of whished you could carry him to bed at those moments. And if it was night and no one was around you did levioso him at least onto a more comfortable place.

Ominis relished the feeling of a blanket over him every time he woke up. The thought that you tucked him into a blanket while he slept made him feel safe when he woke up. It was wonderful that you cared for him in such small actions. He never experienced it throughout his childhood.

It's not as if his mother would look out that he was comfortable.

You were just finished with your classes and walked into the undercroft when you noticed Ominis on the side of the room. You stopped short a bit startled at the sight. From what you saw ominis was sleeping. Or he wasn't feeling well at all.

You quickly made your way over to him and dropped to your knees in front of the rolled in ominis. After seeing him breath with a relaxed expression on his face you sighed in relief. He always looked oddly vulnerable when he slept. His hair slightly more unruly , his eyebrows not creased together, his lips slightly open.

"Ominis..." you whispered softly and caressed his cheek gently.

His eyelids fluttered open slowly and his unseeing eyes darted from left to right to see something he'd never be able to register. Even though he lived with the blindness his whole life it was still a natural habit of his body he always did, especially when he hadn't had the situation under control or he didn't know what was going on.

"Hey it's me. No worries." You stroked your hand over his head before pulling away as he sat up.

"Hi. What are you doing here?" He muttered, still a bit out of it.

"What am I doing here? You were sleeping on the floor. I thought you were hurt." You smiled amused.

"Oh right. Apologies. It seems I've fallen asleep." He swiftly stood up and you followed.

Ominis combed a hand through his hair to check if it was still decent. "Let me do that." You chuckled as you rearranged his hair to look like it normally did.

"How can you accidently fall asleep on the floor?" He muttered a thanks but stayed silent otherwise. You raised your eyes to his. Your brows raised questioningly.

"I was...tired." he said quietly after the moment of silence. There was that frown on his face again. You knew there was more to that but you didn't want to press him.

"Okay." You scanned his face as the flickering light of the fire in the room illuminted the side of his face.

"I was just about to take a restful afternoon. You can gladly join if you're not too busy sleeping."

He smiled softly and joined you on the couch. You packed your book out and made yourself comfy next to him. Ominis relaxed on the couch too and let himself fall against the armrest.

He heard your pages turning. "Can you read aloud?" He asked.

You grinned. "Of course. I'm in the middle of the book though."

"Mhm. Doesn't matter." He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. He just wanted to hear your voice.

You read aloud for him and sometimes made different voices with different characters. Ominis loved these moments. Listening to you and not having to worry about anything. Relishing the warmth and familiarity of it. He thought that this was probably what most people felt at home.

***

You had a sleepover at the boys dorm that day. Actually it wasn't planned. But you had a lot of last minute work to do with sebastian (ominis had finished already but enjoyed laughing at his friends frustration) so it got late and you decided to stay.

Gladly the two boys were the only ones in their dorm at the moment so that you could easily take on of the beds.

You stirred awake in the middle of the night, the only sound in the room was Sebastian snoring quite loudly. Your gaze wandered to the bed beside you where Ominis should slumber too but you didn't see his silhouette in the moonlight.

You sat groggily up and searched the room for the blond slytherin. A frown made it's way on your face as you didn't see him anywhere else in the room either. You quietly got up with the intention to go to the common room in search for him but were stopped short when you almost stumbled over the ground.

Ominis figure lay cowered on the floor in front of his bed. His form trembled a bit on the cold ground and if you weren't mistaken small whimpers left his mouth, which made him almost look like a hurt puppy.

You presumed he had been sleepwalking though you never heard Sebastian complain. On the other hand Sebastian was still sleeping soundly in his bed.

You kneeled slowly down in front of him and gently touched his shoulder. A flinch went through his body and he cowered even more into a fetal position. You quickly took your hand back.

"Ominis..." you whispered.

His eyes flew open. He tried to feel on the ground where he was but didn't dare move with his body. His eyes darted nervously from left to right.

"Ominis." You gently lay a hand on his messy hair. His whole body tensed up and he curled in on himself. His hands shot up to cling to his head as if to protect it.

"I apologize. Please. I will behave better." He begged with a strained voice.

You frowned deeply. "Ominis. It's me. I don't understand- you don't have to apologize."

His limps loosened slightly. "Y/N?"

"Yes. Yes it's me. I'm here." Your hand twitched to touch him but you didn't dare after his last reactions.

He slowly uncurled himself out of his position and sat up slowly. His hands searched his surroundings.

"Are you hurt? Wh-what are you doing here? Did they hurt you?" He asked slightly panicked.

"I'm not hurt. I'm perfectly alright. I was just sleeping in the bed next to you."

"You need to go. She'll come back. There is a window somewhere." He quickly stumbled up in search of the window but you pulled him back before he could bump into Sebastians bed.

"Ominis what are you doing? What's wrong with you?" You whisper softly. Your hand still holding onto his arm. It was now in the moonlight that you could see tears brimming in Ominis' eyes.

"She'll come back. They're going to hurt you. They're going to make me hurt you. I'm sure of it. You need to go immediately."

You firmly took his hand in yours. "Ominis. Listen to me. Nobody is going to come. We're safe here. You probably had a bad dream."

He shook his head and went through his hair. He stilled at the feeling of his messy hair hanging down into his face.

"It's not supposed to be messy...I need to get it straight..." he muttered hectically as he desperately tried to pull his hair back into it's usual slicked back position.

"Stop it." You grapped his hand and held both of them in yours.

"Ominis you are at hogwarts. In your dorm. Sebastian is still snoring in his sleep as always. Your wand is laying on your bedside table. Your hair can look messy. You were sleeping."

He blinked confused. "I am at hogwarts?" He asked meakly. You guide his hand to his familiar bedpost.

"Yes love. See, that's your bed. What is going on? Did you have a bad dream? You were sleeping on the floor."

He relaxed at the feeling of the familiar surroundings. "Is Sebastian alright?" Even if he knew he was at hogwarts now he still couldn't shake the feeling of fear.

"He definitely is. Listen." It was silent for a moment before a small snore came from Sebastian.

Ominis sighed out in relief and swallowed. "I- I'm sorry. I just had a bad dream I suppose."

"Did you think you were at the gaunt mansion?" you whispered.

He lowered his head. "Yes."

"Oh ominis." You guided him to sit onto his bed with him.

He was quiet for a moment but you could see his mind reeling. You on the other hand thought back to last time were you caught him sleeping on the floor in the undercroft.

"Why were you sleeping on the floor?" You asked quietly.

He turned his head slightly away from you.

"I- I don't see how that's any of your business..." he snapped but the guilt was immediately visible on his face.

You recoiled slightly from his tone. You knew not to take it personal, it was ominis way of defending himself, but it still didn't feel nice.

"If you don't want to tell me it's alright. I don't want to push you. I just...worry you know." you muttered.

He sighed and pinched his nose in frustration. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"You don't want to tell me?"

"You'd think me pathetic." Ominis frowned.

"I won't. Never. You know that."

He did know that. He still didn't want to tell you because he felt pathetic.

"At home, they- they'd use it as a punishment. To let me sleep on the floor. The ground was always cold stone. But when I slept on the floor it was safer for me. The possibility that they'd do something was less. So I did it out of free will often. The cold floor meant safety. I seem to have held that habit."

It took you a moment to register those horrible images in your mind.

"Merlin, ominis that's terrible. Does Seb know?"

"Mhm yeah most of it."

"No wonder he's always dragging you with him to feldcroft." You muttered and looked up at the side of Ominis again. The moles on his face now evident to your view.

"May I hug you?"

Ominis stiffned a bit but gave a nod. It wasn't as if you hadn't hugged him before but you knew he was sensitive with touch so especially in such situations you at least allerted him to your actions.

You gently placed your arms around him and rested your head against his shoulder. You squeezed him slightly against you and though he sat stiff at first, he relaxed into the touch after some time.

"There no need for you to be afraid anymore. You're safe now. You'll never have to go back there ever again. I'll make sure of that." You rubbed your hand against his waist. He felt even skinnier when you held him so closely. Ominis smiled sadly.

"Thank you. But you can't know that. You wouldn't stand a chance against them. And I wouldn't want you to...I'm still grateful that you're here though."

"I cannot make promises. But I will do everything in my power to prevent it. And I know I'm not even pureblooded but believe me if your safety is at stake I can make things happen." You gave him a playful nudge to lighten the mood.

"Thank you." His head was tilted to you. It was his way of showing that he was listening while his eyes stared at a spot to the right of you.

You both sat like that for a moment, leaning against eachother. Your arms around his waist holding him close. With every breath he took your arms moved a bit too.

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep again?" You whispered.

"Yes..." his quiet voice was barely audible.

"Okay. If you need anything I'm right next to you. And Sebastian is on the other side of you." You gave his cheek a kiss and left him alone on his bed as you snuck under your own covers again.

He sat there for a moment and listened to your shuffles but got in his own bed when silence settled over the room. You watched his silhouette before closing your eyes and falling into sleep again.

#ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #fanfiction #the gaunts hc #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis x mc

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shakingparadigm · 7 days

Note

Hiiii!!! I’m relatively new to ALNST (as in I watched it all in one go in one night and cried) and I was wondering if you have any opinions or information about this,

What do you think about Till and Sua’s relationship? Do you think they’d share anything in common? Do you think they’d like each other? I’d like to think there’s at least one thing they share in common that’s led to be on good terms.

Sorry this is a bit long, thank you!

First of all, thank you anon. I've had thoughts on this for a while! Thanks for giving me a chance to talk about it!

Till and Sua don't often interact in canon, so it's pretty easy to assume that Sua would hate Till's guts because of his crush on Mizi (especially since that art of Mizi playing with Till includes Sua looking jealous on the side, sulking in the next page).

But something to note about the characters in ALNST is that they're actually quite respectful of each other despite the crush conflict (further seen by Ivan and Mizi being very friendly despite Ivan knowing Till loves Mizi). Everyone in the garden knew Till had a crush on Mizi, the goodbye notes state that it was very obvious.

Yet despite that one instance of Sua pouting at Mizi and Till together, Sua is never shown to dislike Till. In fact, she seems to be more conflicted with Ivan instead. In the few official arts we have of them together, they seem pretty neutral.

(Sua's collar is green, showing she's comfortable/doesn't mind Till. Till's collar is orange most likely because he's a little nervous/awkward.)

In the official Anakt Kit goodbye letters, Till and Sua write messages to each other. They're short and seem more of a polite gesture than an actual goodbye between friends, but nothenless it shows that they're pretty amicable. Till writes that Sua has a nice voice and that he hopes she gets a high score in Alien Stage, while Sua tells him to take care and that she'll see him there.

I think that Sua and Till actually have the potential to be pretty good friends, strangely enough.

As for similarities, there are quite a few!

The most significant similarity I see between Till and Sua is that they're both deeply sensitive. Due to this, they've developed different defense mechanisms in order to protect their feelings.

Till is actually known to be timid, rather closed off and "cold" to others. In an early stream, he's even stated to be the most timid character of the cast. He only reveals his energetic and fiery side when he's putting his full passion into something like performing his music, when he's provoked, or whenever Mizi is involved (she makes him "strong", the creators say). Of course this standoffish and aggressive behavior is a front for his softer, more vulnerable feelings. He was heavily mistreated as a child, which led him to become distrustful of most people. This plus other factors regarding his rebellious nature and more eccentric personality result in him being a "friendless idiot". Of course, once people get to know him they'll find that Till is actually quite the sweetheart, albeit a bit awkward.

Sua is quite similar in this way. The creators describe her as soft-hearted, which is why she tears up so quickly in the IvanSua comic and the aforementioned art of Till and Mizi playing together.

Sua, just like Till, seems to be mistreated by her alien guardian. Although to a less violent extent than Guardian Urak, Sua's parent is seen to aggressively handle her without care, grabbing her by the head and shoving her forward. She's also placed in uncomfortable clothing and neglected without consideration for her own feelings. It may be due to this cold and lonely upbringing that Sua learned to hide her emotions as a coping mechanism.

It's been said that getting to know more about Sua is very difficult, as she's closed off and only ever opens up to Mizi. She seems cold on the surface, but the truth is she is hiding her sensitivity so that she won't get hurt. Sua is also very timid in nature, seen in how she only writes in the corners of people's yearbook pages with small font, putting in extra effort to not take up too much space.

But just like Till, Sua has her bolder side. Occasionally she's known to say very blunt and suprising things that other people would not expect of her, and she feels very deeply for the people she cares about. Sua may be the more cool and collected half of MiziSua, but we must not forget that she was tender-hearted to the point where she could not imagine living a life without Mizi in it, thus her sacrifice.

Both Sua and Till's original colors are white, and both are the only characters in the main cast who have ear piercings/earrings. They're both prone to tears and play the role of "god" in their respective relationships.

Something I really like about the ALNST offrec/actor AU is that among all the characters, Till and Sua were chosen to be the seniors!! I found it really cute! Sua, who is the most petite and smallest of the cast + Till, who in canon is the youngest in age. These two are actually the experienced seniors of the actor AU! It's so fun to me lol

Anyways, sorry for all of this, maybe it was a bit much, haha. Till and Sua are my two favorites, and I've always seen similarities between the two of them. I think there's similarities across several of the characters in ALNST, actually, which I hope to talk about in the future!

Thank you for the ask!!

#ANYWAYS THIS IS THE START OF MY IVANMIZI/TILLSUA BESTIES AGENDA #alnst #alien stage #alien stage till #alien stage sua #asks

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

Don't Speak 35

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: we got that xmas hangover.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You get to the bottom of your glass before you’re even done your sides. You pick at the white meat and smear it into the puddle of gravy that floods the plate. Each bite is better than the last, easing that tenuous knot in your stomach. You haven’t eaten like this in weeks.

“More wine?” Steve offers as he grabs the bottle again, topping up his own glass before gesturing to your own.

Andy clears his throat as you look up. For a moment, there was only you and the plate. A soft fog limns the edges of your vision and dampens your worries. You peek around as Amber leans in from your other side.

“I’ll take some more if there’s enough,” Amber shifts her glass over, a mouthful still in the belly, “it’s so good. I’ll have to take a picture of the label.”

Her arm touches yours. She’s giving you permission, more so encouraging you. Is it so bad to enjoy yourself? Even Andy said today is special. A little bit of wine isn’t so bad. You barely feel any different.

“Sure, I’ll… I’ll have a bit more, please.”

Andy sniffs but you refuse to look at him again. You caught the glint of his disapproval before. He’s never happy with anything you do unless it’s… that. Steve pours the golden wine into your glass, then Amber’s, only a small amount left in the bottom as he sets the bottle down.

You chew on a gristly portion of meat, the clink of cutlery filling the strained silence. Amber sighs and takes a drink, carefully placing the flat base of her glass on the table. She swallow as stirs her mashed potatoes.

“So, you said you were almost done your painting?” She begins, “I’ll have to check it out after dinner.”

“Mm,” Andy grumbles, “garage gets pretty cold this time of year.”

“I’ll put a coat on,” Amber shrugs, “I’d love to see what you’ve been working on. You know I always love your art. Actually…” you can tell she’s rambling, out of nervousness, but more to fill the lull, “I was hoping you might make me something, if you have the time.”

“I could…” you begin.

“She can give you a quote,” Andy intones curtly. Your eyes flick over to him, surprised. “Can’t make much off a hobby.”

“Oh, of course, I wouldn’t presume,” Amber says, “materials plus work.”

“I hate to overstep but I’d love to have a look as well,” Steve says.

Your eyes round and you nod, cheeks hot at the prospect of showing them. Your work is always so personal and this piece feels even more so. Your first major commission and it’s almost done. It’s a real accomplishment, how did you not see that before?

“Sure,” you gulp.

“After the banana pudding of course,” Amber insists, “save some room, bub.”

You smile as your stomach squeezes tight. If you eat much more, you won’t have room for dessert. You reach for your glass to wash down the stuffing. The wine makes you feel hollow, it gives you room for more.

“Lot of sugar,” Andy comments.

“It’s Thanksgiving,” Amber shrugs, “what’s a few extra calories? Besides, it's tradition.”

“Your tradition,” Andy snips.

“Well, if you don’t want any, more for us, right, bub?” She nudges you gently with her elbow.

You nod, “it’s my favourite.”

“Bub?” Andy scoffs, “she’s an adult.”

Amber sits back sharply and hovers her fork over her plate. She stares at Andy as he glares back. Tension roils between them.

“And I’m so proud of her,” her words drip with venom, "she’s come so far. Steve,” she looks at the therapist as he watches with arched brows, “thank you so much for all you’ve done for my sister. I see how far she’s come.”

“She’s a strong woman,” Steve leans on an elbow and lifts his glass, “she’s doing all the heavy lifting.”

Your chest flutters as you kick your legs in giddiness. The smile he aims at you takes your breath away. It feels good to have someone proud of you, but him? It’s amazing. You feel like you could do anything, that he truly believes that you can.

“Thanks,” you squeak and take another drink.

Andy huffs and sits back. Your gaze meets his as you swallow and pull the crystal rim away from your lip. You lick away the glisten of wine as he watches you. Your glee quickly dissipates as the heat of the alcohol mingles with the blaze of his chagrin. You’re almost annoyed by it.

Why can’t he just be happy? Everyone else is.

🕊️

“Good job,” Amber preens as you slice fresh banana, “whipped cream is ready.”

She lines up the four clear bowls on the counter as she stands beside you. She pulls close the bowl of banana pudding and spoons it into each. You can smell the banana-ey goodness. It makes your wine-coated stomach growl.

“Then some cream,” she dollops some of the whipped cream onto each, “and then,” she slides a bowl your way, “you can add as many slices as you like.”

You arrange five slices on the first bowl; one in the center and four around the edge. She passes the next bowl and you do the same. She adds a spoon to each and spins one in admiration.

“Alright, we’ll get it on the tray,” she declares.

You nod, stifling a yawn. Your eyes are itchy as the large meal weighs down your stomach. You could nap right then and there. The wine’s glimmery effect doesn’t help your state as you feel slightly off kilter after two and a half glasses.

She loads up the rectangle tray with the bowls, then pulls over a round one. She places the full teapot beside the coffee urn, then stacks four cups on it, alongside some spoons, the sugar bowl, and a small jug of dairy.

“You got that,” she gestures to the pudding.

You grab the tray and slide it to the edge of the counter. Your fingers loop through the slots in the side and you lift it, focusing on keeping it all steady. You smile as Amber balances the tray of drinks.

“You feeling okay?” She asks.

“Yes,” you chirp, “I’m excited for the pudding.”

She laughs and shakes her head, “always were easy to please.”

She leads you into the front room. The football game buzzes on as Andy sits with his chin in his hand, elbow on the armrest, and Steve stands by the mantel, playing with the signed baseball. It’s stolidly silent beneath the drone of sport commentators.

“Coffee, tea,” Amber places her tray on the low table, “and my famous banana pudding. Well, she did most of the work.”

She turns and smiles at you. You look around as you falter. You just stare dumbly, unsure of what to do next.

Steve makes you flinch as he approaches, “may I?” He waves a hand towards the tray in your arms. You nod and he takes one with a thanks. “Mmm, smells and looks delicious.”

He backs away, cradling the bowl with one hand as he stirs the spoon around. You turn awkwardly and march over to Andy. You offer the tray and his dull gaze drifts to you. He sits back and lets his arm fall straight over the armrest.

“I’m full,” he says.

You wince and look down. Oh. You just stand there.

“Here,” Amber comes up and touches your elbow, “let me get this.”

You spin, startled, and the bowls slide over the tray. One flips over the edge as Amber catches the tray and the pudding splatters onto the carpet around your feet. You squeak and look down as your sister takes the tray from your grasp. She sets it by the coffee and tea as you step back and gape at the mess.

“Jesus…” Andy sighs as he leans forward to take in the mess.

“Accidents happen,” Amber takes your hand and guides you away from the pudding, “no big loss…” she gets down to scoop up the globs with her bare hand back into the bowl, “you’re not having any and nothing broke.”

You look between them. Andy scowls as Amber is unbothered. She gathers up the sticky mess and stands.

“I’ll go grab some paper towel,” she says.

“That’s gonna be hard to get out,” Andy glowers at the carpet.

“I can get it out,” Amber assures, “don’t let me ruin dessert.”

She strolls out and you hear her clinking in the kitchen. She appears again with the roll of paper towel and a bowl of water. She gets down and starts her tedious work of trying to sop up the remnants.

“You know, it didn’t get too deep,” Amber says as she works.

You watch her and sway, putting a heel back to keep yourself steady. You cover your mouth and swallow a burp. Your sister looks up at your looming figure.

“Have some pudding, bub.”

You murmur, something indiscernible. It’s hard to move as you feel Andy watching you. You know you messed up again. That he’s upset. He won’t eat the pudding and now you’ve gone and made a mess.

You tremble as you feel an ache inside. For an instant, you feel smothered, as if you're being held down.

“It’s good,” Steve encourages as he shows half a banana slice on his spoon, “thanks, girls.”

You try to smile at him but can’t. Instead, you claim a bowl but your excitement is gone. You flop onto the couch, catching your spoon before it can tip over the edge, and rest the bowl in your lap. You’re going to be good and eat your pudding. You can’t get in trouble if you focus on that.

“She’s drunk,” Andy accuses as your spoon clacks loudly on the side of the bowl.

“She’s fine,” Amber insists as she wets the paper towel, “really, she had two glasses, she’ll survive.”

“She doesn’t drink,” he retorts.

“What number is that?” She glances at the green bottle by his elbow, “three? Four? You said it yourself, she’s an adult.”

He snarls, “do you always come into people’s houses and argue with them?”

She tuts and shakes her head. She says nothing though you see her response clenched in her jaw. She continues her work, drying up the patch with a folded square of paper towel before standing. She disappears into the kitchen and returns.

She grabs a bowl and sits between you and Andy. She leans over as you stir your pudding but don’t taste it. You’re embarrassed and your appetite is gone.

“Come on, bub, it’s your favourite,” she coaxes.

You sniffle, only then feeling the prick in your eyes. Andy’s right, you’re drunk. You don’t feel good. You’re dizzy and tired and you just want to hide.

“I’m sorry…” you babble.

“Aw, bub, it’s okay. You can always save it for later,” she assures you, “do you need some water?”

“I told you, you gave her too much wine–”

“Andrew,” Amber snaps as she whips her head around, “she’s fine. We’re fine. I got it.”

“Don’t talk to me like that. In my home,” Andy girds.

“Everyone, chill out,” Steve puts his empty bowl on the tray, “you’re both stressing her out. That’s all. She’s fine,” he nears the couch, “how about we get some fresh air, huh?”

Amber looks up at Steve, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t meaning to–”

“No, don’t be,” he assures as he gently takes the bowl from your hands, “it’s part of therapy. One of her exercises. She gets overstimulated.”

“Oh?” Amber looks at you and back to the doctor, “yeah, she… does.”

“I suggest the both of you take a few breaths as well,” he chuckles as he helps you stand, “we’ll be a couple minutes.” He touches your arm as you get to your feet, barely feeling your own body move, “hey, how about we get your coat on and go outside?”

Your eyes flick up and you nod blankly. You don’t really understand what he’s saying, you just know he wants to get you away from this. You wish they could just get along. You wish you didn’t cause all this trouble.

“I’m sorry, bub,” Amber says.

“You two,” Steve points at your sister then Andy, “talk this out.”

Silence, sweltering and suffocating pervades the room as the doctor leads you out. Only the television continues to blare as he stops you in the entryway and pulls a coat onto your shoulders. He gets down to lead your feet into your boots and then puts on his own.

He opens the front door and shuffles you outside. The autumnal air sweeps around you and you pull the coat snug against the shiver that rolls through you. You look down as a swell of woodsy scent tickles your nostrils. It’s his coat. It’s loose on you but warm.

You look up at Steve as he stands, unaffected in the thick wool of his sweater. He puts his hand on your shoulder and squeezes, “tough day.”

“I… I am drunk,” you admit.

“That’s fine,” his hand trails down your arm, “you’re allowed to indulge, sweetheart. And a day like this, who wouldn’t?”

“He’s mad,” you say.

“Let him be.”

“But…”

“The both of them are too stubborn for their own good. They both love you but they can’t see past that. They shouldn’t be fighting for your love, they need to share it,” he runs his hand back up as you teethe your lip. He touches your cheek, the warmth of his fingertips making you shudder, “but I can’t blame them. You’re a special girl, who wouldn’t want all of you?”

You bat your lashes up at him. Huh? You don’t know what he means, but it feels good. Everything he says is just so wonderful.

He smiles at you, his fingertips dancing along your jaw. You gaze up at him, hypnotized by his deep blue eyes. In that moment, you feel drawn to him, magnetized by his touch. He steps closer and you quiver again. His eyes fall to your legs as you rub them together, the cold wind gusting up your short skirt.

“Oh, you must be freezing,” he drops his hand back to your shoulders, “you’d be much cozier in one of your cute little sweaters huh?”

You nod, dumbly. You can’t speak. You can only think about the weight of his large hand on his shoulder. You think about the vibrator in your drawer…

“Here, you need this,” he surprises you as he pulls you close, embracing you against the chill, “it’s amazing what a good hug can do.”

You stand stiff and stunned. His scent rises from his sweater and from the coat around your shoulders. You’re consumed by it and the heat rippling off of him. You let yourself sink into him, bending your arms slowly to hug him back. Something you’ve never really done with anyone but Amber.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart,” he coos as he rocks you, “you’re doing really good. Don’t let them ruin all your hard work.” He pets your head and nuzzles your hair, “you’re a very good girl,” he purrs, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Dr. Kemp,” you press your cheek against his chest and close your eyes, a smile dimpling into your cheeks.

“Alright, so you keep being good for me, sweetheart,” he strokes down the back of your neck, “when we go back in, you’re going to be strong, right?”

“Yes, doctor,” you murmur.

“Good girl,” he praises again, gently releasing you and leaving you even colder than before, “I know you care about both of them but remember, you can tell them no.” He drags his hand around you frame your face, “I think they need to hear it.” He drops his hand, turning his palm up as he turns halfway back to the door, “ready?”

You reach for his hand and squeeze it, facing the suburban facade, “I’m strong,” you repeat, “I’m gonna be good.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #steve kemp #defending jacob #fresh #au #library au #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #don't speak #series

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sloshr · 3 months

Text

After watching through Side Order... I have a Few Thoughts.

[Spoilers ahead]

My Review of the Side Order DLC - Its little more than Gameplay.

Initial Opinion

- - - - - - - - - -

Overall; I like the gameplay mechanics initially, but the story absolutely feels lacking to me, imo. It feels like they were really banking on Side Order being Hard but... multiple of my friends finished it on their 2nd or 3rd run through the Spire.

That in itself isnt a problem! But... everyone felt sort of unsatisfied? There were no developments in the story, as we, Agent 8, were just assigned the task to Get to The Top of the Spire -> The Player Does That -> You beat a Boss -> Credits Roll (?)

On my watchthrough I literally said Please Say Sike 😭 because, dont take this poorly, but they were advertising Side Order as;

• Difficult (stated Multiple Times in basically every Trailer)

• Story Driven (You Uncover things as You Climb)

• Character and Lore Intensive (as shown by the trailers with all the concept art as well as promo art)

I dont feel like it was wrong to expect more based on how it was advertised.

But... if you complete the DLC in 1-2 runs, which is Very Much Possible, no buildup happens at all. The story was banking on the player struggling, and putting all the content behind repeat runs, which falls through and Doesnt really work/feel satisfying if the main goal is achieved in such a short time. I Feel like anyone who regularly plays Salmon Run will likely have a similar experience. And I feel kind of cheated? Because what we got was something that was Tell Not Show rather than the Show, Not Tell formula. And in my opinion, it really doesn't work as well at all. It puts all the major lore that the game has set up behind repetetive climbs (which never change btw, despite each climb being generated differently, its the same after a while) and you get about 1 Sentence of Exposition, with a Modlog from Marina if you are Lucky.

Side Order was (to me), after watching it all;

• Not Difficult, But Repetetive Gameplay (This easily runs people down, which would be fine if the tower had more than 1 setup or phase)

• Inital Story Setup with no complexities or stages. You climb the first Tower, Save Marina, Climb the Second Tower, Beat Order, and the credits Roll. In its most complex, you could fit what Side Order's Story is in 2-3 Sentences. Rather than Lore being revealed During the story, it feels Pushed to the Side as all of it is either in Text the player may never see (different climbs) or care to read (Marina's Mod Log)

• Use of Character Drops with no explaination / mention (The Agent 4 Boss, Anyone?) (This felt very Bait-y, with No Payoff)

Rating

- - - - -

If I had to give Side Order a Rating

4/10. At Best.

I am a bit disappointed with this as I feel like I was promised more, Storywise, and honestly a bit gameplay wise. I think it fails where other DLC has succeeded Due to being Built in such a way where anything engaging is stuck behind barely changing gameplay. It is not built in a way where the experience cant fail to show you whats important to the characters and the worldbuilding. It relies too much on telling you whats happening rather than the world showing you. Its too Simple, and It Doesnt Work, personally, in a series that contains Octo Expansion.

Which is Sad to me!! It had so much wasted potential and I really hope this isn't the last we're going to see of the concept, we get to see ideas actually built into the story, and... maybe find Agent 4.

Conclusion

- - - - - - - -

Tldr; Side Order had a good concept, but failed in execution for being simple and gameplay dependent, which was ultimately disappointing due to it being advertised as something more for all involved.

It was an alright attempt. The experience will just be known to me as... well. Baby's First Rouge-like. Nothing worldbreaking.

(PS, this isnt meant to be mean spirited or overly critical, I just love the Splatoon Series so I give it Tough Love. This is just my personal view on the DLC)

Thank you for Reading! Feel free to share or add any thoughts!

#This is Just my opinion but Ive seen a couple people with similar experiences to me and wanted to make a post to see if anyone else #feels the same about the whole DLC #if anyone has any experiences to share feel free! id love to hear #sorry if this seems mean spirited or overly critical - i really do love the splatoon series with all my heart #its tough love #splatoon #review #Side Order #Side Order Spoilers #Splatoon 3 #Nintendo

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calmcoldevening · 4 months

Note

hello!! was wondering if i could send in a bo sinclair x reader request? maybe where reader gets injured because of another slasher (maybe the hewitts)? like, the hewitts stumble upon ambrose for some reason, and thought getting the reader and sinclairs would be easy food, but the sinclairs and reader (who doesn’t take apart in the sinclair’s… hobbies, but does so this time cause it had to) do manage to defeat them and stay alive

Bo Sinclair x reader

Tw: blood, minor injury, murder, a little bit of cruelty

Getting along with Bo has always been quite difficult, and loving him is even more difficult. The character of this man could be compared to a restless volcano that could explode literally at any moment. But somehow you managed to subdue him. Every time there was a conflict between the brothers, you just grabbed Bo by the ear and pulled him aside, scolding him. A man will swear at you and call you unflattering words, but you know that he really doesn't mean it. That evening, when you are getting ready for bed, he will come into the room and climb onto the bed, comfortably settling between your legs. His face is on your stomach, his eyes are closed, and you gently stroke his hair. Only a short "Sorry" will come out of his mouth, but this is already a great success. Bo didn't like to admit that he was wrong, but you managed to deal with that stubborn side of him. You're special to him.

You spent most of your time at home. The boys didn't know how to do much on their own, for which, of course, you scolded them, but in the end you accepted it. Although you managed to teach Lester to clean floors and carpets on his own, it was already a great success. In general, almost all the housework was on you. But you didn't complain. After all, you didn't like to participate in the bloody games of this family, so you preferred to clean up the mess.

You've gotten used to it over time. You almost ignored the bloodstains in the house and on the men's clothes (although you forbade them to bring victims into the house) and ignored the screams of another person who became a victim of Bo's "art".

It was an ordinary summer day. Although it had been quite cloudy since the morning, the once bright blue sky was now covered with heavy gray clouds, but the rain did not seem to be going to start. Despite the sad weather, it was still quite hot and even stuffy outside. So you chose to spend the whole day at home. Lester went somewhere in the city early in the morning, Bo left and went to another church service, wanting to remember his mother, and Vincent locked himself in the basement. The only living thing next to you was Jessie, who was always happy to keep you company. The dog joyfully ran up to you, rubbing its muzzle against your leg. You smiled, scratching her behind the ear. She was an obedient pet, although she often rushed at strangers. A protective girl.

You were in the kitchen cooking dinner when out of the corner of your eye you saw a strange silhouette at the front door from the street. Frowning, you put the knife aside and wiped your hands on a towel. Your heart is racing in your chest. At first you thought it was Bo, but the steps were too slow and heavy. You grabbed the biggest knife you had from the shelf and hid under the table, holding your breath. It seemed like minutes before a pair of strong legs in heavy boots appeared in front of the table. You lifted the edge of the tablecloth slightly, hoping to see the stranger, but a few pitiful inches from your Liza there was a chainsaw blade covered with dried blood. Your blood froze in your veins and you reflexively backed away, hitting your back against the table leg. The table shook with a slight crack. The sudden movement definitely alerted the man. The steps became more circumspect and cautious as he moved around the table. You tightened your grip on the knife handle in your hand. Closing your eyes for a moment, you prayed in your mind that the boys would already know for sure that there was someone else in town.

Heavy breathing. You quickly look around and notice how the edge of the tablecloth lifts and a face covered with an ugly mask with long hair appears in front of you. You scream and convulsively crawl back. Getting to your feet, you run to the front door, behind you you can hear the engine of the chainsaw starting. Your heart is pounding in your ears when you run out onto the porch and slam the door behind you. Bam. The flimsy wood of the door is immediately cut through by a sharp saw blade.

Your first impulse was to run to the gas station, but if this scary man was here, then he was probably already on that side of the city. You explode from the spot and run towards the abandoned shops. Considering his size, the man turned out to be very fast. You didn't have time to properly hide behind the shelves at one of the walls of the store, as the glass door immediately opened with a strong creak. You took a deep breath, watching his chaotically moving figure. A man in a leather mask scurried back and forth through the store and literally tore down the shelves with his big body and weapons. Finally, he got to the shelf where you were sitting. A moment later, the wooden shelves above you were quickly cut by the blade of a chainsaw. You pushed the remaining structure at the man, causing him to stagger back a little, and ran out from behind the shelves. Taking advantage of his momentary confusion, you found nothing better than to decide to try your luck. There was this strange masked face in front of you. Without thinking twice, you gripped the blade of the knife with both hands and with one jerk plunged the sharp metal into his face. You pierced a stranger's eye. He growled, stepping back. His hand reflexively dropped along with the work tool as he plugged the wound with his free palm. The working blade of the chainsaw went right along your thigh.

After a couple of long minutes, you were sitting under one of the seats in an old movie theater full of wax figures. Your hip was throbbing, and the adrenaline in your blood was starting to fade, bringing the pain back to your senses. You squeezed the bleeding wound with force, feeling the warm liquid flowing down it. It seemed that all the energy was leaving your body along with the blood. You closed your eyes wearily. It almost didn't matter if that freak was wandering around looking for you. Your head was slowly getting heavier, and at the same time, your vision was blurred. Painfully. Cold.

A dull shot was heard, followed by a strong impact on the wooden floor of the cinema.

When everything went quiet, you felt a pair of strong arms around your limp body. Your head almost reflexively clung to the long-awaited warmth.

Bo gently squeezed you in his arms. His whole body tensed when he saw the bleeding wound running down your leg. The man hurried back home as soon as possible. He sat down wearily on the sofa, arranging you on his lap, and opened the first-aid kit. One hand stroked your healthy thigh soothingly, while the other carefully treated your wound.

"God, my baby.. I'm sorry I didn't come right away. I had to take down a few other bastards first," Bo muttered with a sad grin, hoping you could hear him, "And hey, did you really pick up a knife? You've ruined half of that freak's face. I'm shocked. You're so good. I thought that this is a fragile thing. But no, you are my beautiful and strong person, my love."

The man looked down at you with a smile. He saw that you were tired, both from the chase and from the loss of blood, and now you are snuggled in his arms. Bo held you protectively in his arms, kissing the top of your head. He won't let something like this happen again.

#slashers x reader #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair imagine #thomas hewitt #the leatherface

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no-nameno-face · 1 year

Text

Auburn Thoughts (Pt.2)

Pairing: Reader x Ellie Williams

Summary: When plans to meet up go awry, you flee. Unsure of your feelings, and convinced they are one sided, you are contacted by an old friend. You decide to do something out of character. Anything to get your mind off of her.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Minors do not interact. Jealousy, Angst, Alcohol, Drinking, Alcohol Abuse, Smoking Weed, vague mentions of SA, creepy guy, Anxiety (please let me know if there's any I forgot)

Author's Notes: Jealous Ellie!! Jealous Reader!! Protective Ellie!! I'm obsessed. I love jealous Ellie with my whole heart. Actively reminding myself to take this story slow… anyways I'm very excited to see where this story goes. hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Part 1

Part 3 (With Audio)

______________________________________________________________

Back at my dorm, I find myself doodling the image of her bitten lips. Auburn thoughts.

______________________________________________________________

I wake up the next morning, tired. I stayed up too late again. Drawing. I stretch my arms above my head and squint my eyes at the light coming through my windows. Class. I have class. My brain talks but my body does not move. I’m so tired. I reach over and grab my phone, checking the time. I bolt up in my bed. Fuck, I'm going to be so late.

I rush to my closet and pull on a light green oversized sweatshirt I thrifted forever ago, and throw on some light wash jeans. They have light paint splatters on them but honestly most of my clothes do. Shoving socks on my feet I slip them into my white tennis shoes. On my way out I stop in the mirror and assess the damage. Bed head and bags under my eyes. I grab a hair tie and rushedly pull it up into a messy high ponytail. I poke the dark circles under my exhausted eyes but decide there's nothing I can do in the time I have, so I head out the door, turning off the lights and locking it behind me.

Sitting in my second class of the day I remember my evening plans. Suddenly I wish I had gotten a bit more ready. After class is over I rush to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, hoping it would bring down some of the puffiness that my restless night lended me. I look at my reflection. “Fuck,” I say under my breath as I lean on the counter looking down at the running water. What is this? Don’t think too much about it. I look at myself and practice a smile, turning my face to observe. My face drops. “Shit. What is wrong with me?” I turn the faucet off and walk out of the bathroom, to my next class.

4:30, I’m early. That's okay, god knows my project could use some work. I put my headphones in and tuck my knee up to my chest resuming the apple from yesterday. I find myself checking the time regularly, and it feels like it's passing abnormally slow.

The door opens and I turn expecting to see Ellie, but another girl walks in. I recognize her from the halls. Slender and feminine, pretty features and short dark hair. Striking honestly, especially in comparison to my drained appearance. A subtle shade of insecurity settles over me. I overlook it. She must be in a different class time than Ellie and I. Turning back to my work she sits a couple seats to the left of me. She doesn't acknowledge me, I don't think much about it. People in the art department tend to be more introverted, so this is a typical encounter.

Shortly after resuming my work the door opens again, I turn. Green eyes. Wearing a thick flannel, jeans, and her same old sneakers. Her hair is half down today, the other half in a bun. Loose strands framing her face. I notice her freckles a bit extra today, small constellations littering her cheeks. I smile and she returns it.

“So you decided to show up!” I say, turning back to my canvas a bit flushed.

“What? Did you think I was gonna stand you up or some shit?” she says with a smile in her voice as she makes her way to you.

“Hey you never kn-”

“Ellie!” A voice cuts me off. “I didn't know you were coming today!” I look to the girl sitting on my left, she's craned her head around to face Ellie beaming at her.

“Oh!” she sounded startled. “Hi Cat.” Ellie says with a courteous smile that doesn't meet her eyes. The girl gets up and basically prances up to her, wrapping her arms around Ellies neck. Ellie's eyes meet mine as I dart back to my work. Staring past my canvas. I'm face to face with an unfamiliar pit in my stomach. I try not to listen to their conversation, my heartbeat building in my ears is loud enough to drone most of it out. Most of it.

“It's been so long,” Cat…

“You're normally not here this late” Ellie…

“Yeah, I’ll have to start coming more often!” Cat..

Heartbeat thudding.

“Well you should call me later! We could catch dinner when you're done here.” I feel eyes on me. “Catch up a bit.” Cat…

Louder pulsing in my ears.

Next thing I hear is the seat to my right creaks and snaps me out of it. I glance over at Ellie and can't get out of my head fast enough to say anything. I look back to my painting. She looks at me, then my painting.

“It looks good.” Her voice comes out awkward. I notice her fidgeting with her hands.

“Thanks.” I say without looking her way.

“Umm, well should i grab my stuff?” she suggests.

“Actually, I didn't sleep well last night.” I say looking down at my hands in my lap. Gripping each other to keep from shaking. What is wrong with me? “I'm pretty tired.” I glimpse at her quickly then back to my hands. “I’m gonna head out.” I say standing up and start walking to the sink to rinse my brushes. Ellie gets up and tries to follow me but is stopped by Cat. Cat.

“You can hang with me El’s,” a pang in my gut at the familiarity in the nickname. “I've got another 30 minutes or so of work to do here!” her voice reignites the thudding. All I hear is mumbles behind my own spiraling thoughts. I wash my brushes fast and carelessly, then load them, still wet, into my case. I haul my canvas away and walk out the door. I walk fast down the halls, my throat feels dry, my chest feels tight. My eyes feel prickly. I hit the wall of cold air past the front doors. What the fuck. I take a gasp of the icy air. Then head in the direction of my dorm. Heartbeat heavy.

______________________________________________________________

My phone rings. I lay on my bed staring into the ceiling. Seeing arms around her. The ringing stops. Then it starts again. I groan and reach my arm over to grab it. Chloe, my friend who I'd rather neglected over the past art filled days. I put my phone to my ear,

“Hey chlo.”

“Hey bitch. Where the fuck have you been?” I smile at her voice, rubbing the back of my neck.

“I have this gnarly realism project in my painting class. It's taking all of the little mental capacity I have” I say, mind on Ellie. Ellie and Cat. my smile fades.

“Oh, yeah. That's shit. Well it's Saturday, and since you owe me for being MIA, you are coming out with me tonight.” To be honest, a drink sounded pretty nice right now.

“Sure, what time?”

“Wait really? You’re down?”

“Yeah, I could use a distraction.” From her.

“Period! I'll pick you up at 9! We are going for… slutty chic.” I smile down at my legs.

“We’ll see.”

“I swear to god if you don't dress up im gonna-”

“Bye Chlo! See you at 9!” I say with a forced laugh, hanging up the phone. I throw myself back on the bed and lay there for a moment before I finally force myself to sit up and make my way to my closet.

______________________________________________________________

[here!] My phone dings. I take one last look in my mirror, evaluating. A fitted black racer-back cropped to my upper stomach, a large key hole at the neck exposing some of my cleavage, I pull it up a bit self consciously. My skirt, a matching set to the top sits a couple inches beneath, exposing a sliver of my stomach. The fitted black skirt ends before my resting hands do. I tug at it, too short. I grab a cropped fluffy black jacket from the rack behind me and slouch it over my shoulders, then I’m bending over to pull on some black heels over my dark tights. Looking back to my reflection I look taller, elongated.

I lean in and double check my makeup. A soft smokey eye, with a thin line of dark eyeliner. Blush and highlighter shape my nose a bit more than normal. My eyes shift to my hair, slicked back in a high ponytail, I lean my head to the side grabbing my pony and pulling it over my shoulder sighing at my reflection before I grab my black bag and head out to Chloe's car.

I hear her before I see her, music blaring. She's applying lip gloss in her visor mirror. I climb into the passenger seat, holding my skirt down while I do so. She glances at me, “Oh my god. you look so hot.” she says, eyes boggling jokingly at me.

“Oh shut up,” I roll my eyes at her reaching my hand out to borrow her gloss, she hands it over and I apply it in the mirror of my visor just like she had done.

The drive consists of her updating me on her sexual escapades. I smile, laugh, and gasp at her stories as we wind through the streets. This girl is wild. God, I love her.

We pull up to a house and try to find parking among the cars lining the street. Finally finding an empty spot, she does her best attempt at parallel parking. I laugh at her focused face and multiple failed attempts. She tells me to fuck off.

Walking up to the house We pass a group of guys, they eye us up grinning. Chloe smiles at them, I cross my arms across my chest and look at the pathway to the front door. As we get closer the music pounds in my ears getting louder until we are inside. There's a lot of people here, energy pulsing through the thick air. I feel a bit overwhelmed. Chloe, reading my face, grabs my hands.

“Drinks!” she exclaimes with a wide warm smile. Her blonde hair bouncing behind her as she turned and pulled me by the hand to a table in the living room. She pours us a shot of something clear, tapping our glasses together then on the table. The liquor going down my throat is warm and stinging. We cringe at each other and laugh at our sour faces. After another shot, this time a bit easier, I pour myself a mixed drink and sip it to get the taste out of my mouth. It's not much better, too strong, but I sip away at it.

Chloe has drifted to the kitchen, giving eyes to some guy. I watch her touch his shoulder laughing at something he said and I smile at my now empty drink. Man, she's got game. I can feel the heat in my cheeks as the drink combines with the body heat of all these strangers. It's nice. For a moment I didnt even think about her.

Fuck.

Smile gone, I sigh and walk to the drink table, a bit wobblier than when I arrived, pouring myself another tall glass. Maybe another drink will get the images of her out of my head. I sip at my new concoction, barely tasting it as I stumble to find a bathroom. I knock. Met with no response, I walk in and lock the door behind me. I look in the mirror and my hooded eyes look back at me. I smile at myself. I do look pretty good, I thought. I turn on the tap and run cold water over my hands, I indulge in the drunken sensation of it.

I head back out into the crowded hall, people scattered along the wells leaning, chatting, even a couple messily making out. I subtly blanch at the boldness of it. Walking past them, eyes drifting over strangers, observing. Suddenly my eyes freeze, locked onto green. No , no, no. An exhale deepens her chest releasing a large puff of smoke from her lips. Her lips. She's sat with knees up on the couch, leaning against the arm. A blunt resting in between her fingers. Her eyes are locked on me, a look of shock shining over her already glazed eyes. Her eyes wander down my body, evaluating my every detail. Her brows furrowed a bit and I swear I saw her chew the inside of her cheek, before her eyes snaped back to mine. My eyes shift to the girl on the couch next to her. Short dark hair. My eyes trace her hand resting on Ellie’s thigh. My stomach twists. I turn sharply and walk to the kitchen, seeing everything through a tinge of green.

I approach Chloe. She smiles at me and asks how I'm feeling. “Drunk” I respond with a small empty smile.

“Drunk enough to dance?” she asks. Not sure if it was the liquid courage or a vengeful spirit possessing my body, I put my cup to my lips, downing the drink. I grabbed her hand and led her to the living room. Spinning her to face me, we begin swaying quickly to the beat of the music in the mass of dancing people. My hands skim up the curves of my body as we smile at each other. I tilt my head back and close my eyes, Ellie is in the darkness behind my eyelids. Then my hands are on Chloes waist turning her against me, we dance together. She’s pressed against me, my hands following the rhythm of her hips. When the song ends and transitions to another she laughs drunkenly, turning back to me and locking her hands around my neck.

“Okay, keep dancing.” I obliged. “See that guy behind me. Dark hair, tall. Definitely looking at my ass.” She looks at me with a smirk. I scan the faces in the kitchen, and locate the guy she's talking about. He was indeed staring at her ass. “Im gonna fuck him tonight. I bet you a million dollars.”

“That's a losing horse man, I see how he's looking at you, I'm not taking those odds.” I laugh at her, shifting my eyes as we sway together, my hands resting on her waist. Images begin blurring together, until my vision locks in on the girl leaning against the entryway. Arms crossed against her chest, one hand holding her still lit blunt. Eyes pinned to mine. Darkened green. The haze of people seems to blur around her. I see her suck against her teeth, she doesn't look away. I hold her gaze while I turn and begin dancing on Chloe, now her hands roam my waist. I watch as Ellie takes a long drag. Ellie. Chloe laughs into my neck.

“Jeez. you're putting on a show! Who are you performing for?” she says over the music scanning the crowd. My eyes are on green. I feel my face flush as I see Ellie turn on her heels and head back into the hall. Could she hear us? I turn back to Chloe.

“I'm gonna take a breather.” I say with a smile. She boos me as I walk away into the kitchen, “you're up,” I nod to the guy eyeing her. He heads her way. My vision sways, and I lean against the counter. I drop my head, I feel heavy. My body feels all the gravity of the world at this moment. What the fuck did I just do.

I stand up. Turning to walk to the bathroom, suddenly too drunk. I take staggered steps down the hall, my eyes looking over the couch, once occupied. Now only the black haired girl sat there chatting with someone, I didn't care enough to see who. She probably left, my thoughts told me. Not sure if I was reassured or upset by the idea. I stumble into the door. It sways open and I follow its momentum until my hips hit the counter and my hands fall next to the sink. I look at them.

Click.

My head shot up in the mirror, Ellie was leaning against the door watching my reflection.

“Your friend’s right, that was quite the show.” she says in a dry voice, looking at me emotionless.

“Where's your girlfriend?” My voice slurs at her, a bit harsher than I intended. The wrinkle between her brows deepen at this.

“Is that what this is over,” she said, rolling her blood shot eyes to the ceiling. I turn to her, leaning back against the counter.

“This isn't over anything.” I know I'm lying. I wonder if she does too. What's your problem?” I say through squinted eyes.

“My problem?”

“Yeah, whats your fucking deal? Looking at me like that, with your girl basically on your lap.” I was too far into my drinking to be shocked by my bluntness. My green was showing. I didn't have enough sense to care. Her eyes were dark.

“She's not my girl.”

“Okay,” I let out a mean laugh looking up, then back to her. “Sure.”

She steps towards me, my breath catches in my throat. “What about your girl?” She scowls at me, “The one you were dancing on,” she looks down to my hands “touching.” Her head still angled down but her eyes dart up to meet mine again. She looks angry. Her eyes stir something in my stomach. This is so unlike that calm and collected sarcastic girl from class.

“What about it?” I say to her with a rude smirk, my tongue poking the inside of my cheek as I glare into her. She stares into me, her eyes drift to my lips, then back to me. Piercing me. I feel myself go pale. “Stop looking at me like that,” my voice is softer than I anticipated. A harsh contrast to my aggressive tone. “I can't handle...” my voice trails off.

She looks at me for a second, softening the slightest amount. Contemplating. “You’re drunk.” She resigns. “Who's your ride? I think it’s time you head out.”

“Ellie, im not your fucking responsibility. I can handle myself.” My confidence fluctuates again. I try to pass her to get to the door, stumbling over my own feet. Her hand slams against the door, holding it shut. She turns, keeping her hand on the door.

“Dont be fucking stupid.” I gape at her. “Don't act like you didn't see all the guys watching you.” I didn't. Honestly. I only saw her. “You go out there like this and your easy fucking picking. Do you know how easy it would be for a guy to..” her voice stops. Her hand on the door squeezes into a fist, white knuckles. “I mean shit you left the door open when you came in here, what if it wasn't me that came in?” Her eyes are angry again, protective. My head pounds realizing she's right. I sigh and look down at my hands now clasped together. My liquid confidence faltered by the reminder of my fragility.

“Fine.” I say barely above a whisper. Her eyes hesitated on me. Softening a bit more.

“Come on,” she says, opening the door letting me out first. She trails behind me, an overwhelming presence. I walk to the living room, peering around for Chloe. She's not there. I pull my phone out and squint my eyes to keep the words from blurring together. I finally found her contact and pressed call. I hold it to my ear plugging the other one trying to hear over the music. Sent to voicemail.

“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath. I press call again. It rings a bit longer this time, then voicemail. I turn to look at Ellie, she's closer than I expected. My heart thuds. I look up slightly to meet her eyes. I'm sure she would have stepped away if it weren't for the people surrounding us. “She's not picking up.” I say looking down to the phone in my hands then back to her. I don't know what to do, I’m nervous, too far gone to have a poker face of any kind. She looks at me with a tinge of concern in her eyes, then scans over the crowd, before redirecting her gaze to me.

“Okay, follow me. She says as she turns and carves her way through the crowd. I follow behind her watching my feet to make sure I don’t trip when my body thuds against something.

I look up and see a man looking down at me. “Sorry sweetheart.” he smiles a toothy grin at me, scanning down my body as I back away from him.

I go to step around him, mumbling a small “excuse me,” but he steps in my path.

“Where ya going?” he leans his head down by me, “Can I come with?” he breathes moist air onto me, the smell of alcohol hot on his breath. The sound of blood rushes in my ears.

Suddenly, a hand on my waist. “Hey man, back the fuck up.” an aggressive voice rings. Eyes jump to see Ellie standing next to me. She's staring at him with narrow eyes, then looks at me. Her eyes are a statement. I got you. I look down to the floor. I feel her hand pulling me with her.

“Woah, dude.” he throws his hands up mockingly. “We were in the middle of something!” He called after us laughing. Her grip on me tightens, and I focus on the feel of it to drown out my anxiety.

Leading me out of the house, we get outside and my distraction disappears as she drops her hand. Mumbling profanities under her breath, walking fast. I follow behind her and she turns to check I’m still with her.

“Where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep up with her.

“I'm taking you home.”

#ellie williams fluff #ellie smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you

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silverzoomies · 1 year

Text

Antithesis

james patrick march x reader smut

warnings: smut, slow burn-ish, oral sex, one-sided pining, devotion, body worship, hand jobs, slight choking, pet names, oneshot

word count: 7640

a/n: my apologies if james seems at all ooc here. i try my goddamn hardest to keep characters as close to their source material as possible. but, when it comes to self indulgent smut, sometimes you gotta pull a few strings!!! oh, and i'd also like to apologize for the long length of this fic. and for how abruptly it ends hdsghkjdshkgsg it's a mess, sorry !!

bonus note ig: in 1920's slang, a "goof" is an idiot. james basically thinks of you as naive and dumb here. sorry!

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March doesn’t dislike you. “Dislike” is much too strong a word.

No, he tolerates you. Dare he think it, he might even be somewhat…fond of you. The two of you were born nearly a hundred years apart. And so, as expected, you were the absolute antithesis of one another. March built himself from the ground up. He started with little to nothing. Carrying with him a background he so dreaded to recall. Childhood memories best left buried deep. Never to see the shining light of day again. March walked with a prestigious elegance. Something all but lost to the world in modern times, he thought. He was high-class. New money incarnate. Fancy, social affairs and aesthetic, art-deco decor were his most treasured hobbies. Amongst his other, more…contentious interests. And you. What were you?

Some little goof. You poor thing. Your story was quite the tragedy, really. Born almost one hundred years later to middle class stock. An entirely different world from the one in which March knew. Your arrival to the hotel Cortez was…unfortunate. You were the embodiment of innocence. Overly polite to a fault. Kind to the staff and the hotel’s mysterious residents. Never going out of your way to disturb a single soul. And you always made sure to apologize for the times you did.

And like all lives brought to the Cortez, yours ended there. A shame. A pity. Truly. What a waste. After you died, you drifted aimlessly for a while. Exploring every inch of the hotel you could. Bearing witness to the unspeakable horror that burned like scorching fire from inside. The hotel Cortez was nothing short of the infernal regions made earthly.

Even so, you weren’t the least bit fazed by this fact. Death changed you. It changed your moral perspective.

But you were missing something. A purpose. Every soul, lost adrift, needed purpose.

Liz knew all.

She knew everything about everyone. Including you. You’d sit at the bar, talking to her for hours on end. About your life. Liz’s life. The lives of the Cortez’s other, ghostly residents. She’d tell you of the hotel and its history. And you learned all there was to know. But in sharing your deepest thoughts, desires, and fears, you’d been a little too open. And Liz learned enough that, had a curious party asked about you? She could easily act as an informant.

You were a poor sap. Harboring a deep rooted, psychological need to please.

In death, you told Liz, you wanted nothing more than, simply…a person. Someone to dedicate yourself to entirely. Someone to love, to adore, to spend all of eternity caring for. Such an innocent desire, from such an unsullied soul.

You heard of him only in passing. James Patrick March.

You knew of his murderous atrocities. And you’d heard whispers of his bloodied history in hushed tones. Liz told you of everything March built, and what he’d become in the process.

March assumed you thought nothing of it. Nothing of him. Because at the Cortez, he was often that. Nothing more than a rumor. Only making himself present whenever necessary. Any other day? He remained a chilling, ghost story. And that’s all he’d been to you.

Until the two of you crossed paths, that is.

March was polite and courteous, as he always is. And the soulless, empty void of his dark eyes met yours. Pure, beautiful, and innocent. The two of you couldn’t have been more different from one another. You, his polar opposite. If he were the infernal reaches of hell itself, you were the luminous kingdom of heaven.

Whatever you felt for him, it must have been instantaneous.

Because suddenly, your sorrow dissipated. A lifetime of suffering and anguish faded away into thin air. And finally, you were free. Joyous. You, the little goof. Your demeanor somehow became all the more polite and inviting. Ironic, really. Considering…the source of your happiness was the very personification of evil itself.

You’d skip around the hotel with a spring in your step. Greeting everyone who passed you in the halls with a chipper, sunny disposition. Parading around in those loose-fitting clothes. Your skin decorated in ink reminiscent of your rather quirky interests. Appalling, if you were to ask him.

You were vexatious. And yet…

March found he appreciated your company.

You really were too sweet. Sickeningly so. Like cavity-inducing candy. Truly good at heart. There wasn’t a hateful, nefarious bone in your body. But you were deeply loyal to a fault. It was a weakness that kept you chained. It held you down. Never allowing you to reach your true potential. March could see it. He saw right through you, straight into your delicate soul. He saw your aura. Unsullied purity.

March learned all he could about you from Liz.

And once he had, he felt the need to test your unbroken clarity.

He showed you everything. Every secret. Every piece of gory history which revealed his past, his life’s purpose, his true intentions. The never-ending, torturous suffering he brought upon the innocent lives of the world. He confessed to you his killings. Even going into the dark, gritty details. March stared you down with an empty, far off look in his shady eyes. An uncanny gaze. And he expressed to you all his crazed, degenerate passions.

He expected you to react accordingly. Like any soul so pure and unblemished as yours should.

But death…

Death truly did change you. The hotel Cortez? It corrupted your moral code.

Perhaps he was mistaken. Maybe you weren’t as innocent as you often seemed.

You treated his passions like any other hobby. And you engaged in conversation about them casually. Beaming the brightest, most curious, smile. Your eyes glimmered with genuine interest and fascination. And March found he was more than happy to share that part of himself with you. Delighted to discuss his exploits with a newfound friend. A trusted friend.

He did long for someone to talk to…

And it was then, he realized. He knew. He was woefully fucked.

Because you. Naive, little goof that you were…

You’d found your purpose.

The one person whom you’d give your undying devotion, for forever and into eternity.

No one, not a single soul in the hotel had expected it. When you sat at the bar, sipping on your sweet sodas instead of anything alcoholic (ever the carefree babe, you were). You spoke of having ‘found’ your purpose. And there were smiles all around. “ Ooh’s ” and “ Aah’s ” exchanged through hushed gossip. Who could this person be, they asked themselves.

Imagine the residents’ surprise once they put two and two together.

Of all people. Him? Really? Were you mad as a hatter?

From then on, you followed March everywhere. Attached at his side like a leech. And though he considered you a dear friend, you weren’t much more to him than a loyal dog. You offered your help whenever you saw fit. And, somewhat reluctantly, he allowed it.

To his surprise, March found you respected his personal space. You’d disappear when he found your company too overwhelming. Sometimes, you were gone for days. Or even weeks. Off to explore the hotel again. Or to drift aimlessly as you did in the days before you’d found him. Uncertain as to what you should do in your lonesome. Sometimes, you’d listen to music. Clamorous racket of the modern era.

And eventually, always, you returned.

Sometimes, March found he missed your presence when you were gone.

And despite the admiration you carried for him, you valued March’s love for his dearest wife. The Countess. Often, you’d go so far as to listen to him drone on and on about her. And he could. If March were allowed the opportunity, he’d speak of her for centuries. He’d reminisce about his most cherished memories of her. His Elizabeth. Mrs. March. When March had his monthly dinners with his dearest, you felt it necessary to assist. You were insistent upon it, actually. Helping alongside Ms. Evers, you did what you could to make those nights as grand and romantic as possible. And when he banished Ms. Evers, you didn’t hesitate to take over entirely. Every one of those special nights, you were there to help him prepare.

Once the dinners themselves started, you’d run off. Leaving the pair undisturbed. And he wouldn’t see you again until the next morning.

One night, March sat across from the countess at the table. She glared at him with a half-lidded, miserable expression. But March missed this glare. Because he’d been busy watching you leave. He smiled, raising his glass to you. And you waved him off, wishing him luck, before closing the door.

At that very moment, he made a decision.

The next night came, and there he sat. Present at the dinner table again. Only, you were his cherished guest of the evening. Dinner lay before you both. Though, in death, you never ate. March watched with a grin as you sipped some champagne. You fluttered delicate lashes his way. Devotion leaking like tears from your eyes. A delighted smile played across your lips. One always present in his company, he found.

“Darling! I assume you’re wondering why it is I’ve called you here tonight, hm?” He posed the question rather excitedly.

Your pretty, doe eyes widened at that. You poor thing. Your cheeks burned in a flurry of rose red. Even in the dim, candle-lit light of the room. Even at a distance, across the table, March could see your blush clear as day. He smirked into his glass.

Never, in all the years since the two of you met, had he ever addressed you as darling.

The effect this seemed to have on you was very much apparent. He could see the shift in your expression. The way you’d fallen breathless under his cold-blooded gaze. March couldn’t help but find your obvious desire for him…amusing.

“Uhm…y-...yes. Well…sorta? I figured this was just another…casual, hang-out night for us!” Your quiet, timid voice spoke aloud.

March lowered his glass, and he hummed.

“Casual? I suppose one could consider this casual, if they’d prefer.” March said, “All the same, I’ve called you here because…I have a proposition for you!”

“Wh-uh…what kinda proposition, sir?”

“Let’s not dance around the matter any longer, dear. Simply put, I’m well aware.” He said.

Confusion overtook your delicate features, and your brows knitted together. March sat still in his seat with a knowing smirk. You tilted your head, bringing your own glass down to the table.

“I’m…confused. You’re aware of what, exactly?”

“Why, that you’re in love with me, of course.” March stated.

Your eyes widened further. March caught the awkward movement of one of your hands. It trembled where it lay on the table. And when you spoke again, you did so shyly. Your voice was as soft as the pink in your cheeks.

“A-Am I?” You dared to ask. As though he hadn't known all these years.

March’s knowing grin spread wider. A dark, domineering color washed over his eyes. And he fixed you with an intimidating look. One that could so easily kill, had you been anyone else. Even in death, you felt your stomach twist in fluttery knots at the sight. You dropped your bashful gaze to the table, too nervous to look him in the eye. You were being avoidant, March knew. And your denial only heightened his desire to bait you.

“I’m not stupid, old friend. For how long?” He asked.

“Since…” You swallowed nervously, shrinking in on yourself, “...the moment I saw you.”

March’s expression remained unchanged. His cold gaze unblinking.

“All this time?”

Taking a brave chance at looking him in the eye, you glanced upward. And you were met with that empty, black gaze. Pools of ink, much like an abyss, stared intensely at you. You didn’t need to say anything further. His suspicions were confirmed then. March’s brows pressed together in thought.

“I…see.” He said, and he brought his hand to his chin, “Well, in all those years? You’ve proven yourself undoubtedly loyal to me. You see, so often, when Ms. Evers was around. Though, I did care for her. She had these…maddening tendencies. She’d express her apparent distaste for my darling wife. And she was incredibly passive. Selfishly so.”

As March spoke, his tone shifted. Infected with a venomous sting, and unbridled hatred. His other hand, resting on the table, clenched into a fist.

“As you’re aware…Ms. Evers…she deceived me. In the name of love, was her excuse. Such a…disappointing betrayal.” March lingered on the statement for a moment longer.

He snapped himself out of his spiteful rage. Blinking, March perked up. And his handsome grin returned.

“But, you! You’re quite the opposite of her, aren’t you? Wouldn’t you say? Never once have you said an unkind word. You’ve always been so polite to my dearest Mrs. March. And so generous to me! I can't recall you ever acting selfishly. And for that, I must tell you, I am profoundly grateful. It's so dreadfully difficult to find someone you can trust these days.”

“O-Of course!” You nodded, speaking in a gentle tone, “I guess…I just don’t really care if you-uh…if you never feel the same way I do. Being by your side, sir…getting to see you every day…”

Dreamily, you sighed. Like a dame in a daze of infatuation. The sweetest smile graced your blushing face.

“To see that smile of yours. And those eyes…” You sighed once more, “To hear your heavenly voice…that’s enough for me.”

You allowed a little…indulgence to slip through your confessions. Admiration and adoration for March permeated within your every word. Looking at you, he could practically see with his own eyes the unconditional love scorching with a passionate fury in your eyes. He might’ve even felt for himself your amorous desire. It exuded like pheromones from your admittedly fetching body.

He almost found it…endearing.

March blinked, clearing his throat. He tugged at his collar.

“Yes…I trust your devotion knows no earthly bounds, my dear.” He said, bringing his hands together before him, “Which is why, I’d like to present to you…that proposition! I’m nothing, if not a man of mercy. And if anyone is more than deserving of my mercy, it’s you, old friend.” March pointed to you with a ring-clad finger. And curiously, you tilted your head. “If you recall…before my dearest passed? She and I often had those dinners together. One night a month! They were…so very special to me. Truly a gift. The only thing that kept me balanced in this endless, monotonous purgatory of my own design. …Such a treat it was…to share at least…one night with my beloved.”

“It must’ve been nice, sir. Especially after she passed? To have her around more often? I know that meant everything to you.”

“It did.” March smiled fondly. And yet, as quick as it came, his adoring smile fell.

A broken-hearted melancholy plagued his ghostly features.

“Though…our time together has…diminished these days. She avoids me anymore. Hasn’t spoken a word to me in…weeks. Do you know that, at last night’s dinner? She didn’t say a goddamn thing! And again, she’s run off in search of…the pleasures of other men…”

March stared off, his dead-eyed gaze dropping to the table.

“It’s a….barren feeling. The most desolate ache I’ve ever endured…” He confessed.

Sympathetic, little goof. You looked at him then with an expression of sympathy, and opened your mouth to speak. March interrupted you before you could even begin. The very, last thing he wanted was your pity. At the flip of a dime, March perked up once more. He clapped his hands together loudly, suddenly appearing chipper. Beaming a wide, uncannily sweet grin.

“But nevermind all that, darling! What I’m proposing…is of a similar nature. For you, if you’d like! If it’d satisfy your deepest, perverted desires? Then, for one night a month…I, James Patrick March, owner of the hotel Cortez and America’s most infamous executioner…am all yours!”

Your eyes flew open wide. Like a precious, vulnerable creature under the gaze of a vicious predator. And your darling face…it burned an even brighter shade of red. March’s smile crooked up into a smirk. Addicting it was…this influence he seemed to have over you. Precious thing.

“Wait…wh-...what??” You waved your hands, “Oh, no, no, no! I couldn’t ever ask that of you, sir! Please, really! Don’t even worry about it! I’m not-...I don’t have to have you in that way to survive our purgatory together!”

The silence that overtook the room was deafening. In the background, the ticking of an old clock rang on. Along with the distant, alluring melody of a gramophone. John McCormack. Roses of Picardy. March stood up after some time. And slowly, steadily, he made his way to you at the other end of the dining table. He approached you wordlessly, eyes like obsidian focused entirely on your own. Analyzing and observing. Once close enough, he reached a large hand out. His palm fell to your shoulder, squeezing you in a firm grip. Leaning in, March spoke in a low, gravelly tone.

“Are you suggesting that you’re…ungrateful? You do realize this is…a gracious gesture…coming from a man of my status…” He didn’t break eye contact with you for even a second. March’s grip on your shoulder tightened, “...don’t you, little one?"

Despite the menacing nature of his actions, you let your eyes so shamelessly trail up and down his fancily-dressed form. And March saw all of it. Every movement of your eyes. The motion of your throat as you swallowed. The not-so-subtle way you leaned into his touch. How your thighs pressed together as if to relieve some…personal tension.

He raised a brow. Curious.

Your eyes sparkled innocently up at him. And again, you fluttered those delicate lashes.

“I’m not ungrateful, sir! I’m so honored. I mean, obviously, I’m honored! But…” You scoffed, as if in disbelief, “But, me? I mean…come on… you ? With me??” With a soft huff of a laugh, you looked down at your lap, “But…I’m not…Mrs. March. I’m…nothin’ like her.”

March hummed a sound which suggested his pity for you.

“You’re right. You’re not…” He muttered in monotone, “You lack everything my dearest Elizabeth has. Her grace. Her ethereal elegance. She…is a creature of divinity.” March paused for a beat, “But you’ve no confidence nor class, I’m afraid. You’re more…a being of the mundane.”

Again, a sinister loathing invaded his gaze.

“But…unlike Ms. Evers…wretched, old bat…” He growled.

A wild grin spread across March’s lips, his teeth sinking into them. He brought his other hand to your chin, gently tilting it upward. Upon your face, he caught a broken-hearted frown.

“You, darling…” He hummed, “You have been blessed with certain…more pleasant qualities…”

His hand on your shoulder grazed a thumb across it. March let his eyes drop to your figure, as if to suggest something. And in that instant, you felt your lifeless heart skip a beat. As though your soul were springing to life again. Born anew.

“I…have?” You furrowed your brows, “So…what you’re sayin’ is…this is you settling? For someone lesser?”

March hummed again, considering your words. He pulled both hands from you.

“I prefer to think of it this way. In return for your undeniable devotion and loyalty throughout the tenure of our friendship. I’m giving you the opportunity to be with me. Consider it a reward, if you will. However you wish, my dear. One night a month, you can have me. Romantically. Physically. Intimately.”

“Uh…okay…wow! That’s-...that’s…very kind of you, sir.” You stared up at March with those doting eyes. Biting your lip, you hesitated to ask, “So…wh-...when would we-uhm…when would we start?” A pause, and you nervously stammered over your words, “I-if I were to-uh…accept your…generous proposition?”

Immediate eagerness. Exactly the response he’d suspected from someone as smitten as yourself. March leered down at you smugly, his eyes falling half-lidded

Desperate, little thing, weren’t you?

“Tonight, if you’d prefer! Or…any night of your choosing. Whatever you want, darling. I insist. This courtesy is entirely yours.” He suggested.

A moment of contemplative quiet passed as you thought it over. And March watched you like a hawk, patiently waiting. Though, he already knew exactly what you were going to say. Even before you’d made a decision. The rosy color blooming darker in your cheeks ultimately gave you away.

“T-Tonight then? If you’ll…have me.” You stammered, “I’m honored, sir.”

March wanted to laugh. To boast that he could read you all too well. But calmly, he nodded.

“Very well!”

He walked off then. March pulled at the fabric of his bowtie, tugging until it came completely undone. Following that motion, he shrugged his jacket off. Folding it neatly and setting it aside, he moved to unbutton the first, few buttons of his dress shirt. March disappeared into another room, out of sight. But you heard his familiar, smoky voice call out.

“Come!”

Hesitating, you stood from your seat at the table. And with tiny, careful steps, you followed the sound of March’s voice. In a vintage loveseat, you found him waiting. He sat with his chin in his hand, a cigarette burning between two fingers. His legs were spread open wide. And he patted his lap.

“Best not to waste anymore time, dear.”

“Wh-...What are we doin’?” You asked, looking down at your hands as you fiddled with them.

Poor dear. You were standing in the room so timidly. Looking innocent, and so very delicate. Like a frightened, fluffy, little deer. Easy game, for a hunter like March.

“Isn’t this what you want?” He took a drag of his cigarette, his tone low and vibrating. March spread his legs open further, “Don’t be bashful, now, little one. I’ll only bite if you ask it of me.”

You seemed hesitant. Fearful of making any sudden moves. But, with a facade of confidence March knew all too well you didn’t possess, you approached him. And you lowered yourself into his lap slowly, struggling to maintain eye contact. Eye contact was one of March’s many, gifted talents. And being such a shy dame, you could barely keep up. Once snug on his lap, you took time to admire March. Carefully, you trailed your hands down his chest. And you let your trembling fingers brush the fabrics of his perfectly tailored clothes. Clothes once deep-cleaned of blood-stains by the very maid he considered an abomination.

Your hands moved upwards, first tracing over the bloody slit in his neck. Before cupping his cheeks for only a moment. You brushed a small thumb over one of his dimples. March smiled at you, hardly invested in what you were doing. Allowing you to have your fun. You touched March with careful, delicate movements. Handling him as if he were your most precious, priceless treasure. You looked at him as though you couldn’t fathom the reality before you. As though being with him like this was a foggy, distant dream. One you’d never ask to wake from.

Daringly, you leaned in. And you let your cool breath ghost over his lips.

“A-Are you sure about this, sir?” You asked, timid as ever.

March appeared unbothered and uncaring. Yet, admittedly, he felt somewhat curious of your next move. How far could a shy, innocent thing like you take this…intimate interaction? March assumed you’d clock out after a bit of heavy petting. With an equanimous smirk, he nodded.

“Positively certain.” He muttered, “And please, while we’re together like this, darling? Do call me James. You can forgo the formalities.”

You blinked, amazed. Looking into his eyes with all the love and adulation in the ever-expanding cosmos. Marveling in his presence. Your nose brushed his, and you leaned even further in.

And you kissed him.

It was a clumsy, graceless kiss at first. But as you continued, you found your confidence. A heated flow enveloped your every movement. And for the first, few kisses, March didn’t reciprocate. He kept a hand at the armrest of the loveseat. His other occupied with that cigarette. He didn’t care to touch you yet. But as your kisses drew him in deeper, as you mewled little noises into his lips…March found himself giving in. One of his large hands found your hips, squeezing there first. Before moving to wrap his arm around your back. He pulled you in close. And you ran your hands up through his hair. Freeing those irresistible curls of his.

Finally, at long last, he kissed you back. And in that instant, you drank in the motions of a man far more cultivated and refined than you could ever hope to be. In a thousand lifetimes, you could never live up to his status. And yet, he kissed you anyway. If you could taste, his lips would’ve tasted of champagne and nicotine.

“Wow-” You breathlessly gasped into his lips.

A flash of fire burned in his lidded eyes, and he peered up at you. March let out a soft, vibrating chuckle.

“Eager are we, darling?”

“Uh…” Poor, little goof. Still so lost in your lovestruck daze, “I just-”

The urge to kiss March again proved far too much for you to resist. You leaned in again, capturing his skilled lips in another flurry of deep kisses. And when you pulled back, you shook your head. For a moment, you simply stared at March. Taking in his ghostly features. Admiring his handsome face, his black eyes, the curls of his hair.

“Thank you, si-uhm…James. Thank you. I…never imagined…you’d ever let me touch you. Let alone k-uhm…kiss you like this…”

He chuckled again, humming a deep noise in his chest. The sound sent a spark of something gratifying straight to your core.

“I told you, didn’t I? I am, after all, a man of mercy…”

You brought a hand up to his cheek, stroking it gently with soft fingers. March noticed that, whenever you touched him, you did so as if he were a timeless lover.

“You most certainly are…” Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his forehead, “...so gracious.”

March hadn’t expected you to wiggle backwards. And where did you think you were going? Were you giving up already? Giving into your paranoid worries? You let yourself sink off his lap and onto your knees. Scooting your way across the carpet and in between his legs, you gazed up at March with those lovely, doe eyes.

“You know…I’d do anything for you, don’t you James?” You trailed your hands up to his trousers, your fingers fiddling with the buttons, “...is this alright?”

To say he was caught off guard by your boldness, would be one hell of an understatement. His innocent, pure-of-heart, little goof? Submitting to him on their knees so easily like this? How had he never suspected this of you? March’s empty eyes widened, watching you from above with a dark, predatory gaze.

“If it’s what you so desire, then…do continue. I’m not going to stop you. This is your night, little one. Don’t you remember?”

You stared at him for a moment longer, uncertain of yourself. Before finally working the buttons of his trousers open. Bringing a small hand through the slit in the fabric, you felt around. And your fingers brushed across-

An adorable gasp escaped your lips.

You…hadn’t expected him to be hard. If the surprised, embarrassed look on your face was anything to go by. Because surely, the James Patrick March himself couldn’t possibly be aroused over someone as mundane as you. Could he?

Sucking in a slow breath, you continued. Your fingers snuck their way through the softness of his undergarments. A bit of movement, and you pulled his thick cock free. At the sight of the twitching length, those sparkling eyes of yours lit up brightly. Beaming, as if mesmerized. You were practically drooling over his cock. And you’d barely touched it at all.

March’s breath hitched from above. He watched you attentively, focused on the movement of your small hand. It stroked and squeezed around the thickness of him. Somewhat skillfully, he’d have to admit. Almost as though you knew exactly what you were doing. How is it that here, touching him intimately, you weren’t the least bit clumsy?

You bravely tilted your head upward, meeting his darkening gaze.

“You said…I could do whatever I wanted?” You asked. Your tone had fallen considerably lower. It sounded seductive, even, “May I sing your praises, James?”

March had never heard you speak in that tone before. He hadn't realized you were even capable.

Wordlessly, he nodded. You gave a few more firm strokes of his cock, leaning in to kiss the tip gently. And as the soft wetness of your lips brushed it, you hummed. Reveling in every second you had March like this. Even in such a filthy, perverted position. With the head of his leaking cock at your lips. Your eyes glimmered, acting as windows. And your complete devotion for him shined through like the light of the sun. Holding eye contact (when did you get so good at that?), you generously peppered his cock in mouthy, wet kisses.

“Just let me worship you, James…” You sighed, dragging your free hand down one of his thighs. Your nails drew lines into the fabric, “Let me appreciate you. That’s…really the only thing I could ever ask for.”

He kept watching you, occasionally taking long drags from his cigarette. March found himself in awe of your boldness and honesty. Though, if there was one thing he knew about you for certain. You were always honest with him. Turning your attention to his aching cock, you pushed the head past your lips. You lapped up the bead of precum leaking from the tip, mewling in pure delight. Suckling for a few beats too short, you pulled away by an inch.

“You…are the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen. Did you know that, James? Have I ever told you? I could stare at you all day. Every day. Forever, if you let me. You’ve got the most stunning, beautiful, brown eyes…”

You paused in the midst of your praises to push the tip of his cock past your lips again. Letting your tongue dance around it, you stroked the remaining length with your hand. And just when he thought you might give him more, you pulled away.

“You can’t imagine how thrilling it is to have those ferocious eyes looking down on me right now. Oh, and I absolutely adore your smile. How full your lips are. Kissing them was like a gift of temptation, straight from the depths of hell. And I am in no way deserving of such a thing…”

March was steadily beginning to lose his composure. That calm, unbothered demeanor of his teetered on the edge. Threatening to fall with every cutesy noise you made, and every flick of your tongue. With each confession of your deepest admirations, he felt himself breaking. March knew you loved him. He knew you found purpose in serving him. And yet, somehow, he hadn’t been aware of the extent at which your worship of him ran. He took another drag of his cigarette. March’s free hand found your hair, and his oversized palm settled there. He didn’t yet tug, but merely braced himself.

“No modern man dresses nearly as elegantly as you do. Those men at those high-class fashion shows? The ones they have here? They can’t even begin to compare. It’s almost intimidating…how refined and elegant you truly are.”

You halted your confessions, only to take the entire length of his twitching cock into your mouth. Moaning around it, you sucked hard. Letting your tongue drag along the underside, across pulsing veins. You pulled off all over again. And March’s grip in your hair tightened only slightly. You continued to stroke his cock, spreading the wetness your tongue left behind.

“You’re so intimidating. So good at striking fear into those around you. But, god…it only makes me more attracted to you. You’re intoxicating. I can’t get enough of you…”

Breaking eye contact, you focused on his cock. You stopped to admire the heavy weight of him on your tongue. And you had the nerve to giggle with the innocence of a dame in church. March remained speechless. He stared you down as you took his full length into your mouth again. Your praises fell short for a bit. Instead, you were fixated on pleasuring him with more enthusiasm. Your movements slowly grew rapid. But as you edged him further, you popped off. You nuzzled his soaked, aching cock with your cheek. And once more, you giggled. It was infuriating.

“I wish you could hear your voice. Fuck…your voice. Your accent. It’s to die for!” The smile you gave him radiated purity, and you bit your swollen lip between your teeth, “You’re to die for. Y’know? I’d die for you. Over and over again.”

Dragging your tongue up and down his cock, you peppered it in more, loving kisses. And you fluttered those pretty lashes.

“As many times as you wanted me to. If I could die by your hands, James, I would. If it’d make you happy? If cutting my throat and watching the life drain from my eyes would satisfy you…”

March’s grip in your hair tightened even further, clenching around your soft locks.

Who knew his little goof could be such a shameless sycophant? Groveling over his deviant passions.

He was growing immensly impatient. You’d carried on this little charade of praises for far too long. When you lowered your mouth over his cock, March guided you. With the rough hold he had on your head, he forced you down. The action caught you by surprise. As the tip of his cock pressed into the back of your throat, you gagged, squeezing around the head. And a pleased grunt erupted off March’s tongue, cigarette smoke rising from his lips. Reaching over the arm of the loveseat, he put the cigarette out in an ashtray. And while doing so, March kept his half-lidded eyes, dark as burning coals, on you. His throbbing length filled your throat, and you took all of it. Every inch. You squeezed his thigh hard with a hand, letting your fingernails dig into the fabric of his trousers. As you clawed at his thigh for purchase, a wicked grin spread across his face. Salty tears stung your pretty eyes. They poured down your flushed cheeks completely out of your control. An embarrassing display. March’s breathing picked up in pace. He jerked you backwards, pulling you off his cock by your hair. Generously, he allowed you a moment to catch your breath. Not that you needed it, really. Being dead and all. Smirking down at you, he sank his teeth into his lip. And upon his pale cheeks, you caught the slightest hint of a pink hue.

You’d never once seen March blush on account of something you did.

“Y-You were…you were saying, darling?” March, usually so well spoken, stumbled over his words.

With a smile, you returned to your previous motions. Dragging your tongue lazily up and down his cock, you stroked him with a hand.

“U-Uhm…” That timid nature of yours returned. Perhaps on account of his manhandling? But you fought to shake it off, “Y’know somethin’ else I love about you, James? That look in your eye. I can’t even describe it. When you’re feelin’ bloodthirsty? When you’re thinkin’ about unleashin’ hell? You look divine like that.”

His gaze turned colder then. March’s fingers dug fingernails further into your skull. And the gesture was near painful. He didn’t seem to care, even when you hissed in response to the sting. Your puffy lips and mouth were drenched in drool. And your hair! His rough handling left it frazzled and wild. You looked an absolute mess of yourself. And in any other circumstance, March would’ve found it repulsive. At this moment, however…

“That…storm in your eyes. The passion that rages on once you’ve taken the life of another. There’s somethin’ so…irresistible about it. Makes me wish I could’ve dropped on my knees and worshiped you like this sooner.” You covered his cock in those mouthy, sloppy kisses, “I just want to submit myself to you, James. Let you have all of me.”

“Really now? Is that how you feel, little one? Truly? ” He spoke suddenly, catching you by surprise.

His fingers curled harshly into your hair, and he pulled you back in a rough, swift motion.

“Enough of this.” March said, “I realize, I said before, this was your night. And you should be the one calling the shots, with me at your leniency. However, since you seem to want my attention so desperately, darling. You’re going to listen to me now.”

You stared up at him with a wide-eyed, sinless gaze. And you didn't dare to say a single word. Good then.

“On the floor. And strip yourself bare for me, would you?” He commanded.

You let yourself fall backwards. And with the motion, March’s grip in your hair loosened. He let go, keeping his eyes on you, as you scooted back along the carpeted floor. The rough surface burned the skin of your elbows. But in death, it didn’t matter. Come tomorrow, you'd be left with not a single mark. Zero evidence of the night's events. Hastily, you shed your clothes. Your fingers trembled with every movement. March followed, standing slowly from his seat. He watched as you laid yourself naked and bare before him. And he pulled down his suspenders. His pants followed, leaving him in those soft undergarments. March hadn’t yet removed his dress shirt, and he didn’t bother to now.

He dropped to his knees on the floor, crawling over you with an animalistic gaze in his eyes. Immediately upon reaching you, he kissed you deeply. Drinking down every surprised noise you made in response. Your noises. Those mewls and squeals. He wanted to hear more. He had to hear more.

March wasn’t the fondest of missionary. But that devotion, that love, that worship bleeding profusely from your eyes. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of it. March found he needed to look at you. To watch you. His hands trailed down your body, touching you with precise grace. Each touch started with a delicate brush of his fingertips, steadily growing rougher. And there you were, pleasured by the hands of a murderer with almost a hundred years of practice behind him.

As he looked you over with those dark eyes, he could see you slipping so easily into madness. Submitting to him, an eternal ghost of pure malevolence.

And you were pushed even further over the brink once March buried two, long fingers in your cunt. All without a single warning. No preparation. He shoved his digits deep, watching you with a devious smirk. You breathlessly moaned, and your slick walls squeezed around his fingers. March knew every angle at which to twist and press his digits. Only to spur more of those lovely noises out of you.

His long, dexterous fingers pulled themselves from your cunt, and you longed for more. You ached for him, whining pitiful, little protests. And your desperate desire was soon satiated.

In one, rough motion, March forced his cock through your folds. He buried himself deep in a single thrust, growling a rough noise in response to your screams. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around him. And you pulled March closer, inching him impossibly deeper.

He hadn’t been this…intimate with another person in…what felt like a millenia. Having his cock buried to the hilt in the tight plush of your cunt…it was enough to make him lose it. March had to take a moment to gather himself. Before he began harshly drilling you into the floor. And the rug underneath you burned painfully against your skin. Though, in this position, you couldn’t help but find the sensation extremely gratifying.

Your screams were all the encouragement he needed. And you begged him to fuck you harder. To vent all his pent up anger and fury using your fragile body as his aid. March gazed down at you, his eyes carrying a near sinister edge. The pace at which he fucked you grew vigorous and unrelenting. A jolt of pleasure shot through your core suddenly, as March pressed his deft fingers to your clit. Rubbing slick, generous circles against the sensitive bud, he soaked in the sight of you falling apart underneath him. Your precious moans were like music to his ears. March cooed quiet praises in a rugged voice, encouraging you to give in. To succumb to the sweet allure of release. He knew you needed it desperately. All the pent up desire you'd carried for him for so long must have felt torturous. A man of mercy, he was. He couldn't allow you to suffer like that any longer. Not after all you'd done for him. After having been so loyal.

He felt your release, as it hit you like a rushing wave. Your walls constricted around his cock in a tight pull, and your entire body trembled. Those delightful screams of yours were more than likely heard across every floor of the hotel. But March's mind was much too hazy with pleasure to care. He wanted the world to hear you. For you to let them all know just who it was you'd submitted yourself to entirely. And as you came down from your high, sobbing soft cries. You met his eyes. Tears rained down your cheeks, and you shivered under his cold gaze. How vulnerable you looked...

One of March’s large, veiny hands found your neck. He squeezed with so much strength that, had you been alive; he easily would’ve cut off your circulation. However, in death, the ache that came with asphyxiation felt like euphoria. Under the pressure of his fingers and hands, you were ascending to the stars. Or, rather…considering you were getting mercilessly fucked by a devilish being such as March? Perhaps a more accurate comparison would be: March was dragging you violently down to an all too pleasurable circle of hell itself.

His cock hit your cervix with a few more, harsh thrusts of his hips. And you were left to suffer the ache of overstimulation. As he squeezed your neck hard enough to leave bruises, and tight enough to kill any living person. March reached his peak. A thick warmth burst from his cock, overflowing you from deep inside. His release filled you up until it leaked from your folds. Purity and innocence sullied. You were his little goof now.

You probably expected March to pull out, now that you received exactly what you wanted. Surely, March would move away from you. Only to clean up, redress himself, and go about his business. Keeping his distance until the next month came. And…he thought he’d have done the same. March didn’t care for you on a deep level of any kind. A loyal dog. That’s all you were. A follower. Indeed. A naive, not-so-innocent, little goof. Who also, just so happened to be completely and utterly in love with him.

And March was not at all enchanted by your obsessive devotion. Why would he be? There was only one woman for him. His dearest wife. His Elizabeth. Mrs. March. If anything, you were simply a means of distraction. Easy company in light of his most lonesome days. His old friend. You weren’t graceful. You weren’t classy. You were, at your core, his polar opposite. Of course. Yes. In the euphoric haze of post-orgasmic bliss, he'd almost forgotten.

But even so…

March found he couldn’t pull himself from you. For a few moments longer, he kept his softening cock buried inside your slick walls. There he rested, on his knees, staring down at you from above. His gaze was much less blackened. Instead, replaced with a warm brown. Leaning forward, March buried his flushed face in your shoulder. He nibbled the gentle skin of your collarbone, breathing out his exhaustion.

He chuckled a hushed, but maniacal noise. The vibrations of which tickled your bruised skin. Not to worry, those bruises wouldn’t be there tomorrow. Some possessive part of him wished they would be, though. March raised his head up, looking down into your eyes with a soft, more than satisfied smirk. The curls of his hair fell even more loose upon his head. And once more, he leaned in, only to brush his nose against yours.

“You know…” He mumbled in a croaky whisper. You felt him slowly, gently thrust his hips forward, “...the night is still young, little one. And there’s so much more the two of us could do together…should you be interested...”

His lips met yours in a kiss far too intimate for a casual session of coitus. And you kissed him nervously back, as though you weren’t allowed to indulge yourself. That familiar sense of naivety and purity claimed you all over again. And for whatever reason, it made March want to kiss you more. To envelop you entirely, all his own. His old friend. His little goof. Poor, not-so-innocent sap.

Maybe he was...a little fond of you.

Only a little.

#james patrick march x reader #james patrick march x y/n #james patrick march x you #jpm x reader #jpm x y/n #jpm x you #smut #american horror story #ahs

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chaifootsteps · 16 days

Note

God I’m so fucking tired of Vivziepop. I’m sorry, I love some of her stuff, and I’ve learned to do more dynamic poses with her art, but I can’t watch anything made by her anymore. She’s too much. Too many rumors(that may or may not be true), has too many characters that look white, too many curse words, inappropriate usage of voodoo and rape, and making a character that is a literal cannibal and serial killer be sympathetic. I get it, it’s hell, and no one’s innocent(EXECPT FOR THE FUCKING ANTI-CHRIST APPARENTLY???), but I’ve been too many people make Alastor have mommy issues and people in the comments with be like “NOT MY POOKIE ALASTOR!!”

BITCH HE WOULD OWN YOUR SOUL AND TORTURE YOU SHUT UP!!!!

Also the fucking problem with backbone of wires Vox, “my fashion is stuck in 2012” Velvet, and that dickshitter Val. I’m perfectly fine with conventionally attractive people being horrendous people, it happens a lot, but they also downplay (sometimes) what the other Vees do and make Val seem like the worst. Vel sells a date rape drug, and Vox literally makes stalking easer and enables Val. THEY BOTH DO!!

And dear FUCKING LORD STOP SIMPING OVER ALASTOR. sure I get simping over a character that has a good character design, but he would push you aside without another thought. He. Does. Not. Care. ALSO IVE SEEN TOO MANY “JUST THE TIP ALASTOR!” FUCK THE SHIT OFFFF!!!!! STOP IT YOU HORNY MOTHERFUCKERSZZ!!!

And also adams entire character. I genuinely hate him. I don’t care for him. He was done so dirty and no I will not say that his character is good. I get it, yes a lot in the Bible about Adam is very misogynistic(for fucks sake in the Jewish Bible he got upset at Lilith because Lilith wanted to have sex equally(side by side sex)), but he’s. Fucking. Adam. THE FIRST MAN!!! Would he not be monitored by the seraphim or god himself??? He’s very important!! And when he fought Charlie, I was disappointed. “The entire human race came from these balls!!!” FUCK OFF!!! Would the first man, whom was made in gods image, curse like a sailor and call his second in command “danger tits???”

Rosie I like. No complains, just the voice is a bit much.

Angel and Husk. “Oh we’re doing slow burn!!” BITCH WHERE. HUH??? MASQUERADE IS LITERALLY THEM JUST FALLING IN LOVE GET OFF MY DICK

Also it’s so fucking vile that she named Vaggie Vagina. What the shit. Huh??? “Oh it’s mysogonistic Adam! It makes sense!” Yeah and going with that logic the fuck is lute short for?? Yeah, it’s a joke about female genitalia and it makes me sick,, I don’t even like saying her name.

Also fucking Pentious and Cherri. Get the FUCKKKK OFFFF. I just can’t stand them. Ugh. I don’t like it. I really don’t. It’s bad

Nifty. No.

Sorry, this was a rant. I’m so sorry

Sometimes you just need to rant, and I don't blame you one bit.

it's so, so fucking much, all the time.

#Anonymous #vivziepop critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

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bexleyfix · 3 months

Text

Ending Our Friendship

(Stranger Things AU)

Prom photos are posted at the end of the story!

WARNINGS AND TRIGGERS: 18+ ONLY (ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS) NSFW... Mature sexual content, suggestive situations and discussions, smut, pining, angst, fluff, swearing, smoking, drinking, mentions of drug use.

RELATIONSHIPS: Eddie Munson x Y/n ♡ friends to lovers; Gareth, Jeff, Doug, Dustin, Mike, Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Max, Lucas, and El are side characters.

Copying, translating, or posting my work as your own is expressly forbidden. I do not give my permission. Reports with credit to me are encouraged.

°°°°°🤘°°°°°

What can I say about Eddie Munson? Well... he's eccentric, erratic, rambunctious, sarcastic, definitely an attention whore... irritable, obnoxious, unruly... long story short, he's kind of a dick. A menace to society whose name, behavior, interests, and all-around heavy metal image have earned him the reputation of 'Town Freak'. But it's an erroneous label born out of prejudice and arrogance, and one he most certainly doesn't deserve.

I'm not exactly a favorite among my peers either. My thrifty style, music taste, and shy demeanor make me an easy target for the ignorant fucks who dominate the high school hierarchy, and so does my association with The Hellfire Club. And since Eddie's a close friend of mine, I'm empathetic. I don't blame him for his behavior, 'cause I know it's a defense mechanism, a way of taking the torment bestowed upon him by the oppressors of Hawkins and turning it into some whimsical public attraction to hide his internal suffering and keep people on edge.

In any case, Munson's a pest. A huge, irritating, aggravating pest... a giant, perverted, flamboyant...... oh... who the fuck am I kidding? Whatever he is... I want him. I want him like a fat kid wants cake. I want him so goddamn bad that every time I lay eyes on him, hear his melodic, raspy voice, or even catch wind of his name, I feel like I wanna hurl. Fuck butterflies, that sexy son of a bitch makes me feel like I have a full-blown professional wrestling match ensuing in my gut. But could I tell him? Of course not. He doesn't see me as relationship material. I'm just 'one of the guys', permanently embedded in the friend zone, and if he ever found out my true feelings it would have grave repercussions on the whole dynamic of our collective friendships. So, I'm forced to put on a face, pretend that I'm immune to his charm, bottle up my feelings, and let them eat away at my insides.

In the four years I've attended Hawkins High not a day has gone by where Eddie Munson hasn't invaded my every thought, innocent or otherwise. Even when our interactions were non-existent, or nothing more than a hello here and there, I haven't been able to escape that scrumptious motherfucker's temptation no matter how hard I try. Ok... so I don't actually try that hard. Fuck it... I don't try at all... but I pretend to.

Eddie makes it a point to bother anyone he damn well pleases, but I seem to be his favorite prey, and I'll be damned if he doesn't get some sick perverse pleasure from incessantly teasing me. It's normal for he and I to playfully flirt and sexually tease each other. He knows he can get a rise out of me without the added contempt he gets from everyone else, but it's a game to him, just a game, one that I secretly love to play, but recently it's gotten a lot worse, and it was becoming unbearable.

Robin Buckley's the only one who knows my true feelings. She's been my best friend since we met in band freshman year. Being a bit of a loner herself, she and I just clicked. She too can't seem to find the courage to approach her respective love interest (our bandmate, Vickie), but Robin's reasons are more justified. Even still, we both live each day in a loop of self-induced torture. Robin at least gets a weekend reprieve, but not me. Sharing the same friends as Eddie, my torture is continuous, resuming every weekday morning in first-period art class, and today was another typical Friday. At least... that's how it started.

~~~~~

"Alright, guys. Today, I'm gonna meet with you all individually to see how you're doing on your projects for the year-end show. And for those of you who've decided to procrastinate... Mr. Munson, I'm looking at you... I need to ok your idea and make sure you have ample time to complete your work, and that your subject matter is appropriate."

"Aww, come on Mrs. S. You know I always finish my work on time." Eddie flashed the teacher a debonair smile.

"You better... if you finally wanna graduate. But your last project wasn't exactly school-friendly." She smiled back in jest.

I remember that project. The perfect example of Eddie's outlandish shenanigans. He'd drawn a Boris-style rendering of himself all but slaughtering his least favorite jock dipshit. But Mrs. Schwagert's one of the coolest teachers in this school, and unlike most, she's not quick to judge her students, including Eddie. She has a way of connecting with all of us.

Eddie scoffed playfully before spouting off an equally playful retort. "That hurts, Mrs. S. I thought you of all people would understand that I took an avant-garde approach, conceptualizing the fight against tyranny in today's society."

"Well, be that as it may, Mr. Munson, your tactless display of violence toward another student won't be tolerated, so I'd like to meet with you first."

I smiled to myself as Eddie exchanged playful banter with our art teacher, gawking at him like I do most of the day until their meeting was concluded, and like clockwork, he resumed his position right up my ass.

"Hi, there!" He proclaimed in his best baritone imitation of Freddy 'Boom Boom' Washington from 'Welcome Back Kotter'.

I closed my sketch pad and looked up. "Now, the Sweathog part I get, but Washington? I don't see it."

"Ok, how 'bout Barbarino?"

He started shimmying back and forth in proper Barbarino fashion and I burst into laughter.

"Um... the hair, maybe, but you're not exactly a chick magnet. You're more of a mashup between Epstein and Horshack. Quick-witted, but super annoying."

"Fair enough." He plopped into the open seat next to me. "So... does that make you Hotsy Totsy, my little... Bunny?"

Oh yeah... every day Eddie makes it a point to devise a new moniker for me that starts with the next sequential letter of the alphabet. Today we were back to B.

"Not quite. I don't have a kid or moonlight as a stripper." I gave him a cheeky smile.

"You sure about that? You look like you belong on a street corner in that outfit."

I scoffed. "It's not that bad."

I looked down at my clothes. Ok, the v-neck crop top and fish nets, sure, but my skirt covered my waist and it wasn't that short. Suddenly feeling self-conscious I wrapped my sweater around myself, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Whatever you say. I'm certainly not complaining."

He looked me up and down with a Cheshire grin, and I rolled my eyes.

"Don't you have someone else you can pester? I'm busy."

"Doing what? More doodles that you refuse to share with me? What do you draw in there anyway? Is it your secret crush? Ooo! Is it me?"

He could not be more spot on. My sketch pad was filled with doodles of his mouthwatering, metalhead physique, as well as some more risqué renderings that I may or may not imagine him doing to me like... all the time. So of course, I lied.

"You wish, Munson."

"Oh, I do, Bunny. But if it's not me, then who is it? That Ian Astbury guy, or uh... what's his face... that wrestler? The one who looks like a roided up Tom Selek, um..." he snapped his fingers in recognition, "oh, Scott Hall? Wait!... It's Harrington isn't it? I know you two are chummy, and I wouldn't blame you. He's a dreamy hunk of hairy beast, but I'd have no problem being your dirty little sidepiece."

Eddie cocked his head to the side, flashed me a suave smile, and wiggled his eyebrows. He was such a dork, but he was right... about the chummy part anyway. Steve Harrington is my friend, which is a fucking miracle in its own right seeing that before he and Robin started working together, I never got a second glance from the 'King' of Hawkins High, but it turns out he's a gentle soul, and not the egotistical, jock douche we thought he was. But Robin puts it best, our friendship with Steve is platonic with a capital P.

"Hmm, as tempting as that sounds... I think I'll pass."

"Ok, suit yourself. Gareth would kill me if I tried to lay a hand on you anyway. Sisters are off limits."

I wasn't actually Gareth's sister, but I've lived next door to him since we were kids, and our families are super close. I do love that dumbass like a brother, but like most brothers, he's an annoying shit with a big mouth, so he has no idea how I feel about Eddie.

"Speaking of your lovable, surrogate little brother, you comin' to watch us practice tonight?"

"I wouldn't exactly call what you guys do, practice. All you do is fuck around and rip on each other the whole time."

"True, but you keep us in check, so you have to come over."

"Oh, I have to, huh? What if I don't feel like it?"

"Well, then I'll be forced to wait 'til Tuesday to waste my sexual prowess on girls who won't give me the time of day, resulting in me crying myself to sleep, again."

He popped out his bottom lip and gave me puppy dog eyes. Goddammit!

"Uh-huh. And... why do you suppose that is?"

"Well, probably because they don't know how to handle my natural charisma and raw animal magnetism. If they knew what they were missing, they'd be all over me."

"Is that right?" I leaned toward him provocatively, making sure to flaunt my cleavage. "And uh, what exactly are they missing?"

He was visibly frazzled, just how I wanted him. He swallowed hard, trying to make eye contact but unable to peel his gaze from my tits.

"Um... let's just say, that when it comes to the utmost in sexual pleasure... I'm your guy."

"Mmm... that good, are ya?"

"Oh, Bunny. I'm first-rate."

"And you think I... would be able to handle you?"

"Maybe..." He swallowed again. "There's only one way to know for sure."

"Is that so?" I looked him over seductively. "Sounds like that'd be one hell of a time."

"You have no idea."

I nodded slowly and smiled, our faces separated by mere inches.

"I suppose I don't." I stared at his lips, watching him squirm uncomfortably in his chair, and I went in for the kill. "Well, Mr. Fantastic, how could I refuse an offer like that?"

I leaned closer as if going in for a kiss and SMACKED him square in the forehead.

"OW, SHIT! SON OF A..."

I sat back in my chair as he pressed the butt of his hand to his forehead.

"I've gotta hand it to ya, Munson, I didn't think your persistence could be any more annoying, but you proved me wrong."

"Ok, I get it. No sexy time from Bunny. Way to crush my ego."

"I thought you'd be used to it by now. You can keep laying it on as thick as you want. I'm not sleeping with you."

"Y/l/n! I'll meet with you now. Get back to work, Mr. Munson."

"Yes, ma'am!" Eddie gave Mrs. S. a salute.

"Saved by scholastic decree. Catch you on the flip side, Fabio."

I smiled slyly, grabbed my sketchbook, and made my way to Mrs. S's desk as Eddie yelled after me.

"Let me know if you change your mind."

"I won't."

Without turning around I gave him the finger. I caught the faint sound of his chuckle and smiled to myself.

~~~~~

With my Walkman blaring, I navigated my way toward the cafeteria through the crowded hallways of Hawkins High, trying not to get knocked around like a pinball when Robin came running up to me in true motormouth fashion.

"Hey-gotta skip lunch to finish my history assignment-try to find a date for prom-meet up with you later-love you-bye!"

And like that, she disappeared into the sea of students before I could get a word in. This meant I'd have to sit with the Hellfire Club today, so I took a detour and headed to their table.

"What's the haps, nerds? Mind if I sit?"

I got lazy waves from the older boys, but Dustin and Mike immediately perked up and flashed me bashful smiles and enthusiastic waves, which I returned in kind.

"I've got a seat for you right here."

Eddie patted his lap. I smiled seductively, walked toward him, and squatted as if about to sit. The look on his face was priceless, but just before my ass made contact with his lap, I straightened up and crushed his dreams.

"Ooo... fat chance, fucker. Scoot over bro."

I nudged Gareth, plopping down in the seat between him and Eddie.

"Well, played, Bunny."

"Bunny? Are you still playing that stupid letter game?" Gareth asked.

"Unfortunately."

"You know you love it."

I flashed Eddie an unamused smile and started digging into my lunch bag.

"No Buckley today?" Gareth asked receiving a shake of my head as confirmation. "Hey, that girl Becky from band asked me to Prom."

I had a mouth full of food. "Mm, I like her. She's super sweet."

"Prom? You're actually gonna attend that monstrosity?"

"Why wouldn't I? Becky's hot. Just 'cause no one will go with you doesn't mean I have to sit at home with my thumb up my ass."

"Oh, sweet burn."

Mike gave Gareth a high five, and I couldn't hold back a laugh at Eddie's expense.

"Wheeler, it's not wise to upset your Dungeon Master."

Eddie flashed Mike an evil grin and Mike's face fell. He quickly turned his attention back to Gareth.

"El and I are going too. Do you guys wanna ride with us? We're getting a limo."

"Thanks, man, but we're hitching a ride with Buckley, Harrington, and Y/n."

"You're going too?"

Eddie looked at me somewhat perplexed.

"Mm-hm." I continued to eat nonchalantly, watching Eddie laugh in disbelief.

"With who?"

I furrowed my brow. Was that a hint of jealousy in his tone? Nah, couldn't be.

"Myself... and..." I waved my finger in a circle around the table to indicate everyone sitting there.

"You're all going?"

"Yes, killjoy. Nothing is stopping you from coming with us. It's a Masquerade theme this year. It'll be fun."

"Fun?! Bunny, I have no desire to attend the masquerade of forced conformity." He smiled smugly.

"Well, we do. So shut your face."

Still sensing the piercing glare of a pair of deep brown eyes, I lifted my head slowly to see Eddie smiling at me, elbow on the table and chin in hand.

"Yes?" I droned.

"Whatcha listenin' to?"

"Music," I retorted, jerking back when Eddie tried to steal my headphones.

"Why so secretive? Isn't she secretive?" Eddie addressed the younger boys of the group.

"Eddie, she probably just wants to eat her lunch in peace," Dustin answered.

"Pshh, then she's at the wrong table," Mike joked.

I shot them a friendly wink.

"Who's side are you guys on? You gotta crush on her or something? Well, you can both stop kissing her ass 'cause she's too old for you."

"I don't. I have the sweetest girlfriend in the world, and she's a genius."

"She's not very smart if she's dating you."

"Shut up, Jeff." Dustin threw a carrot at Jeff and Eddie chucked a pretzel at Dustin and Mike.

"Jesus, you guys are such dicks. Stop tormenting them. Dusty, is Susie coming?"

"I wish. Her dad'll never let that happen. I'm goin' stag... again."

"Don't worry, I'll save you a dance." He smiled bashfully.

"Jesus, this is torment. I'm surprised you're not going with Harrington." Eddie addressed me before turning to Dustin. "You know she draws erotic pictures of him in her sketchbook, right?"

"What?!" The whole table exclaimed.

"I do not." I shoved the side of Eddie's head.

"Do you really?"

"Of course not, Dusty. Eddie just refuses to let go of his nonconformist pride and have a little fun, so he's taking his frustration out on me. You know Steve and I are JUST FRIENDS!" I emphasized, staring daggers at Eddie before turning back to my food.

"Then show me the sketchbook."

"Fuck off, Munson... hey, what the..." Before I could react Eddie swiped my headphones and put them on. "Give 'em back, asshole!"

"Goddamn! This is some heavy shit. What is this?"

"It's your face meeting my fist if you don't give 'em back."

He held me at arm's length as I tried, and failed, to reclaim my headphones, but I soon gave up, crossing my arms over my chest in a huff.

"Ok, fine! It's 'The Raging Wrath of the Easter Bunny'."

"Hahaha! WHAT?"

"It's a demo. The band's called Mr. Bungle. They're from Eureka."

"Well, isn't that fortuitous, 'cause my little Bunny is definitely raging and wrathful today."

He screwed up his face, mocking me. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Where did you get this?"

"I'm a tape trader, remember?"

"No. I'd definitely remember you telling me something like that."

"Well, maybe if you weren't so busy running your mouth all the time, you'd actually hear what other people have to say."

"This... this is fuckin' brutal. It's like, black metal meets speed."

Eddie was in his own little world. I threw my hands up in disbelief and shook my head.

"See. Didn't hear a damn thing I just said."

"You gotta make me a copy of this."

"You know, you're awfully demanding today."

He shot me a wink and handed over my headphones. I swiped them out of his hand giving him the evil eye.

"I figured you'd be listening to that goth or glam bullshit. What other cool stuff you got?"

"I've got a lotta cool shit. I got this in my most recent haul along with a demo from Guns 'N' Roses, and one from Faster Pussycat. But they're both glam bullshit," I emphasized sarcastically.

"Glam. Gay L.A. music, you mean."

"Oh, whatever, asshole. Axel Rose has some killer pipes. And Kelly Nickels, the bassist from Faster Pussycat... total YUM! He was actually in the running to be the bassist for W.A.S.P. Bet you didn't know that, did ya? UGHH! I swear, what I would give to be the center of a Blackie Lawless and Kelly Nickels sandwich." I scanned the horrified faces at the table and froze. "Um... sorry... I forgot I'm not sitting with Robin." I took a huge chug of my drink and averted my gaze, dying of embarrassment.

"Isn't Kelly Nickels that guy you said looks like Munson?"

I choked on my beverage, hacking, and coughing, leaving no room for subtlety. Stealing a glance at Eddie I saw his smug grin. I had to think fast.

"Uh, I did not say that, Gareth."

"I'm pretty sure you did."

"Well, you're wrong." I smacked his arm, wanting to crawl into a deep dark hole and die.

"Uh-huh... I knew it. You do wanna fuck me."

"Ugg! Munson, get over yourself." I stood up and collected my shit.

"Aw, come on. Where you goin'?"

"I've lost my appetite." I spat at Eddie. "Catch you later, losers." I turned to Dustin and Mike. "Not you two. You guys will always be my little cuties."

I scrunched my nose, kissed Dustin's head, and mussed Mike's hair, smiling at their giddy expressions, then I waved at Jeff and Doug, stuck my tongue out at Gareth, gave Eddie the finger, and left. I could still hear him laughing as I walked away.

Eddie's eyes followed you as you walked away. "Dude, you're gonna bore a hole in her back if you stare at her any harder."

"Hmph, she totally wants me," Eddie said smugly to no one in particular.

"Munson, just ask her out already and put us all out of our misery."

"That would negate the sister rule, Gareth."

"She's not my sister, so if you wanna give it a shot, be my guest. But you gotta stop comin' at her guns blazing, or she's gonna kick your ass."

"Now that I'd love to see."

"Jeff, if I want your opinion, I'll beat it outta you."

"Whatever, Munson, but Gareth's right. If this is your idea of playing it cool, it's not working. You need to stop being so rash... with all of us. She sees right through it, and it looks like it's starting to get to her."

Eddie thought about it for a moment. Maybe they're right. He loved his little sheep, and picking on you was his favorite pastime, but he was being an inconsiderate ass.

You've consumed Eddie's thoughts since the day Corroded Coffin started practicing at Gareth's house. He knew who you were. Being a year older than Gareth you'd already attended Hawkins High for a year, but you never actually spoke to one another until that fateful day in the fall of '83. You heard the commotion in the garage and decided to stroll over. That's when you two were formally introduced, and you permanently imprinted on his mind and his heart. It was the first day of the rest of his life, but you weren't yet 16, and he'd just turned 18 and he was not gonna open that can of worms. It didn't stop him from playfully pestering you every day. And when you turned 18 a few months back he bumped it up a notch, but lately, he's noticed that you've been on edge and not as receptive to his teasing. Was it losing its luster for you? Were you genuinely annoyed? He couldn't let that happen. You were too important to him, but there was only one way to find out, and he knew exactly where you'd be.

~~~~~

I entered the clearing in the woods and hopped onto the picnic table, hoping to spare myself any more embarrassment or harassment by finishing a cigarette before Eddie showed up.

I wasn't pissed at him, just pissy in general. He's been making it so much harder to mask my feelings and my sexual frustration with blatant denial, and I was starting to lash out, which made me feel incredibly guilty. I could try asking him to stop, but then he'd know something was up, so suffer I will. But it was evident as Eddie came strolling into the clearing that luck was not on my side today.

"Ah, shit... can't I have a moment's peace?"

"You're not escaping my sexy mug that easily, Bunny."

I smiled sarcastically, arms draped lazily over my knees. I watched Eddie park his ass next to me, pull a soft pack of Camels from his vest pocket, shake one out, and trap it between his lips. (Jesus, why when it comes to this man does my mind turn something so innocent into filth?) He flicked his Zippo shut and took a drag. Resting his forearms on his knees and clasping his hands together, he studied my face.

"What, do I have something in my teeth?" I started rubbing them with my finger.

"No."

"Then why are you staring at me?"

"'Cause you're sexy." He smiled slyly, taking another drag.

I exhaled heavily, leaning my forehead on my palms, visibly irritated.

"Ok, ok. I'll stop. I was actually wondering what you're doing for Schwag's class."

I whipped my head around, confusion written all over my face. Was I just transported into a parallel universe? Not only did Eddie stop teasing me on his own accord, but he's making small talk.

"What?"

"What are you doing for Schwagert's class?"

He flashed me a sweet smile, which is so unlike him. It was strange but refreshing, and it was stirring something inside me. I suddenly felt nervous, and uneasy... and kinda horny.

"Hey, you ok? You look like you're having some kinda... internal struggle. I promise I won't laugh if that's what you're worried about. I'm genuinely curious."

I was staring at him like he had three heads.

"Um, no... I um... I'm gonna do a portrait series."

"Self-portraits?"

"No, I hate self-portraits. I was actually considering drawing you if you wanna sit for me... and if you can keep your trap shut for a few hours."

His face fell. "You... you wanna draw me?"

"Yeah. Emphasis on the 'shut trap'." I took a drag from my cigarette as an embarrassing thought occurred to me, followed by more word vomit. "I mean, n-not like nude or anything." His smug ass perked right back up.

"Well, I'm not opposed," he said looking rather assuming.

"Dude, seriously."

He just kept laughing. "Ok, ok... but why me?"

"I don't know. You just have this... look." My eyes finally met his.

"I have a look?"

"Mm-hm."

I looked away sucking on my cigarette. Eddie was seemingly deep in thought and started playing with his rings.

"Um... what kinda look?"

"Not a bad look."

His head snapped up and he smiled mischievously.

"Really?"

I rolled my eyes. "Slow your roll, Munson... but yes. Your look, it's... well, it's distinctive and commanding. Good or bad, you can't deny that you have this... charisma... that makes you impossible to ignore. I wanna capture that." I was expecting some perverted retort, but it never came.

"Well, uh... that's... extremely flattering. I um... I didn't realize you saw me that way."

I couldn't read his expression, but the wrestlers in my stomach were at it again, powerbomb after powerbomb, and I felt the need to cover my tracks.

"I do. I mean, n-not like in that way. I can ignore you if I want to. You don't make it easy... b-but I can..." I rested my elbows on my knees, held my fingertips to my forehead, and sighed. "You just... your look is particular, that's all I'm saying." Shit, this was so embarrassing.

"Uh... o-kay?"

"So... will you do it?" I still couldn't look up.

"Absolutely! Just tell me when and where."

My head shot up. "Wow, um... ok, great... w-we could do it tonight if you want?"

I screwed up my face, immediately wanting to shove my foot in my mouth.

"Bunny, we can do it on this goddamn table, right here right now." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"Jesus, I set myself up for that one. You know I didn't mean it like that."

He was giggling like an idiot. "Sorry, I couldn't pass up that opportunity."

Sorry? He never apologizes for his behavior.

"Ok, what the hell is up with you?"

"Whatta you mean?"

"I mean, you're being relatively polite, and making small talk. It's not like you. Did we transport to Bizarro World or something?"

He chuckled. "Just call me Eidde." He smiled bashfully. "I don't know. Maybe I'm trying to turn over a new leaf."

"Ok?" I shot him a sideways glance, but he just sat there, smoking his cigarette, smiling. "Well, we can start tonight at Gareth's." He nodded in agreement. "So what're you gonna do? Did you think of more ingenious ways to flaunt your hatred for Carver?"

He let out a huge belly laugh. "Um, no... Mrs. S. shot down my idea for a sequel. I'm probably gonna do an installation so I can incorporate my music."

"Oh! I like that idea. It's a shame about the sequel though. I was impressed with the original, but I'm biased. Carver's a douche with a capital bag."

We chuckled staring at each other for a moment.

"Yeah, well, it's nice to know someone appreciates my artistic talent."

Eddie placed his hand on my knee and gave it a little squeeze, but instead of shirking it off, I patted it, but he pulled away rather quickly, looking like he didn't know what he should do with his hand.

"So, you're really agreeing to help me?"

"Yep."

"Just like that? No... proposition or outrageous demands in return?"

"Well, since you suggested it..." His smile was wicked.

"Jesus, why the hell do I keep opening my big mouth?"

His grin widened. "Since your big mouth is already open, how 'bout a big sloppy blowjob... or I'll settle for a big wet kiss... or... we can cut right to the chase and finally fuck." He nudged my shoulder.

"Jesus, you're hopeless. Is that all? Do you want my first born too?" (Fuck! I did it again!)

"Well, I can cum inside you when we're fuckin'."

I shoved him so hard, I knocked his giggling ass off the table, but I welcomed the distraction of his laughing fit because the thought of him cumming inside me made my cheeks flush and my thighs clench involuntarily. If spontaneous combustion is truly a thing, consider me Spinal Tap drummer number seven. Luckily the position in which he fell and the time it took him to climb back onto the table was enough for me to collect myself.

"You're a fucking pervert."

"I know, I can't help it."

"Well, try." He nodded. "Why don't you agree to come to prom with all of us instead?"

"Um... that doesn't exactly benefit me. So, no... it has to be option 1, 2, or 3."

"Ok, then I guess I'll pick option 4, none of the above."

"Then you can't draw me."

His expression was serious. I didn't know how to react until he snickered and cracked a smile before erupting into full-on laughter. I smacked him upside the head and he yelped.

"You're such a dick, Munson."

He was still rolling, trying to catch his breath. "Ha! Uh ha, hmm... ok, fine, you can still draw me, but prom? That's really not my thing."

"You're missin' out."

"On what? Shitty music and jock scrutiny? No thanks. But I do wanna ask you something."

We locked eyes. His expression was foreign. He's never looked at me like this before. It was like... adoration mixed with worry. Was he nervous? He looked nervous. Or was I nervous?

"Does um... does my behavior bother you?"

I looked at him quizzically. Why would he care what I thought?

"Um... no. I mean, you definitely know how to push my buttons... and sometimes I just wanna strangle you... but you're one of my best friends. I understand your humor. But you do need to lay off the boys."

He looked only partially relieved. "Fair enough. I just... well, you're a cool girl... and I really enjoy our banter, but you seem a little on edge lately, so I just wanted to make sure. I've never had a female friend as accepting as you, so I don't wanna push you away."

I stared at him in shock, like maybe his three heads would sprout horns. He seemed genuinely worried about upsetting me.

"Ok, is this like, a reverse invasion of the body snatchers or something? Who are you?"

We both laughed. His smile was huge, and so fucking gorgeous. Then I saw it. The subtle movement of his eyes falling to my lips. Did I just see that, or did I imagine it? I felt lightheaded and my heart was pounding as he slid closer, smiling as he scanned my face. (Headlock, shoot off, drop down, leapfrog, hip toss, cover, and 1... 2... 3... wrestler pinned... insert pyro explosion here)

I think I stopped breathing, and then... (Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrringggggggg) Our heads swiveled toward the school. Ugg! That fucking bell. We turned our attention back to each other. Eddie let out a heavy breath, suddenly bashful, and awkwardly backed away, and I finally took a breath.

"Um... we... we should probably..."

"Yeah, um... I'll... I'll walk you back."

~~~~~

We walked through the hall in silence, still smiling, occasionally stealing glances at each other. I had no idea how to process what just happened. What did just happen? Was it even anything? I looked at Eddie. His smile was so bashful, almost innocent. It was so fucking CUTE I wanted to hug him, squeeze him, and call him George.

That's it... we were definitely in Bizarro World.

~~~~~

Sitting on the couch in Gareth's garage, my pencil flowed over the pages of my sketchbook with ease. Eddie was my fucking muse. It's amazing what I can accomplish when I'm drawing a willing participant. But when 'practice' was over, I had the misfortune of being a part of the most fucked up conversation in the history of conversations.

"Is that the latest Hustler? Ooo, toss that over here." Eddie wasted no time flipping through the pages.

"Jesus, you guys have a one-track mind."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black. I know for a fact you like to read those cheesy smut books."

I threw an empty beer can at Gareth. "Way to sell me out, asshole."

"Smut books, huh? A bit of a dirty bird aren't ya, Bunny?"

"This coming from the man who has a pile of nudie mags under his bed. And don't give me that 'I read the articles' excuse."

"I do read the articles."

"I'm not talking about letters to Penthouse." I smiled cheekily.

"She's got you there, Munson," Gareth said.

"Ok, my deviance is a surprise to no one, but this little dirty bird seems to be hiding more than just doodles. So, Bunny... what're your other guilty pleasures?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

I flashed him an irritated look. "Eddie, if you think I'm gonna tell you that you're outta your goddamn mind."

"Awww... come on. Don't be a prude."

Gareth, Jeff, and Doug turned their attention to Eddie, probably expecting me to kick his ass. I turned to look at him and sighed. He wasn't gonna let this go, so I figured I'd have a little fun with him.

"Alright... you really wanna know?"

Sitting on the edge of the couch, nodding like an idiot, a stupid grin spread across his face, Eddie anxiously awaited my reply.

"I wanna know."

"Me too."

Jeff and Doug, my peanut gallery.

"I'm not sure I do."

"SHHH! Shut up, Gareth. No one cares what you think."

Eddie was too preoccupied to notice Gareth giving him the finger.

"Ok... fine. If you really wanna know, I'll tell you."

Eddie took a sip of his beer. I could see the excitement in his eyes, so I exhaled heavily.

"Yes, I like smut novels. I draw a lot of erotic pictures, and I too read Letters to Penthouse. I also enjoy watching porn."

All four of them were frozen in place, Eddie in mid-swig and the other three with their jaws on the floor. Eddie swallowed hard before speaking.

"Like, what kinda porn?" He asked sheepishly.

All four boys were waiting impatiently with bated breath.

"Ok, um... well, the softcore, romantic stuff is my favorite, but I do enjoy a bit of hardcore." I gauged Eddie's reaction. He was mesmerized, eyes glued to my face as he took another sip of his beer. "I occasionally enjoy some girl-on-girl. Threesomes are so hot. Two girls and one guy, one girl and two guys, it doesn't matter. Like I said, I'm down for a Blackie/Kelly sandwich. Oh, and voyeurism. I love the thought of watching people fuck while I touch myself... really gets me goin'."

Eddie spit out a mouthful of beer and the others were all in a daze, mouths agape, processing everything I just said, but it was Eddie who broke the silence.

"And... how exactly did you pick up these little... hobbies?"

"Dude, I'm a shy, introvert, outcast... we're as freaky as they come."

"It's always the quiet ones," Doug said in disbelief.

"Mm-hm. Well... now that the cat's outta the bag, I have a date with my VCR and a naughty VHS. Later, losers."

(Suck it, Munson!) I gave a triumphant smile, winked at Eddie, turned on my heels, and headed to my garage making sure to shake my hips as I left.

Eddie sat staring at the ground. "I don't know about you guys, but I need a cold shower after that one."

"Me, too."

"Me three."

Eddie looked at his friends, who were all still in shock. "Do... do you think she's serious?"

He jumped off the couch and bolted after you.

"Hey, Munson, wait... MUNSON!" Gareth sprinted after Eddie and grabbed his arm before he could make it to your house. "Dude! Seriously? She was just fucking with you."

Eddie bowed his head in defeat and followed Gareth back to his garage. He sat down and resumed staring at the ground adjusting his crotch uncomfortably as Jeff and Doug grabbed their gear.

"You guys outta here?" Gareth asked.

"Yep. We'll see you tomorrow."

They waved goodbye and made their way to Jeff's car. Gareth turned his attention to Eddie, noticing his frustration.

"Munson, just fuckin' tell her."

Eddie threw his head back against the couch and rubbed his hands over his face, groaning.

"Come on, Gareth. You know I can't."

"Why?"

"'Cause we've got a good thing going. If I confess my love and she doesn't feel the same I'll lose her forever, or at the very least things'll just be incredibly awkward. But I can't stop fucking thinking about her." Eddie looked toward your house. "You know her better than I do. What should I do?"

"Ok, here's what I do know. If she's willing to take your shit... there's gotta be somethin' else there. No one's crazy enough to tolerate your dumb ass unless they want to, but if she does have feelings for you, she'll never make the first move, so I think you should approach her. I also know that she was lying at lunch. She can deny it all she wants but she really does think you look like that Kelly Nickels guy. That's gotta count for something."

Eddie smiled to himself. "Maybe."

"Well, either you tell her, or I will, 'cause all this pining shit... it's really fucking irritating. And swallow your pride, man. Ask her to prom. You know you'll have fun with her. Go ask her now. She's probably sitting in her garage."

Eddie let out a huge sigh. "Alright, man, but the whole feelings thing... let me test the water... if she seems receptive then I'll spill my guts."

"Good luck, dude."

Eddie gave Gareth a bro handshake, grabbed a couple of beers, and shuffled toward your garage. When he got close enough he heard you talking, probably on the phone. He knew he shouldn't listen but the devil on his shoulder convinced him otherwise, so he leaned against the corner of your garage just out of sight.

~~~~~

"Oh, come on, Robin. He was asking for it."

"Yes but when you do that it only riles him up more."

"Him? What about me? The flirting and teasing have only gotten worse. I can't fucking take it anymore."

"Exactly. You know how he is. If you keep egging him on you're only making things worse for you. Just tell him how you feel."

"Robin... you know I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because... he's my friend."

"And?"

"And... if he rejects me... things'll be super awkward. And if he still wants to be my friend I'll be forced to suppress my feelings just to maintain some sort of normalcy around him, and I'll be no better off."

"Did you at least ask him to the dance?"

"Not exactly. I suggested he come with all of us, but you know how he is. He's too proud to 'give in to the masquerade of forced conformity'." I said in my best Eddie voice.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you. Just keep dropping hints. Maybe he'll get the message."

"I hope so. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. I want to be with him so fucking bad, but I don't wanna lose him."

"I understand, trust me I do."

"I know. Well, I'm gonna go watch my movie, take my mind off shit. Tell Steve I said hi."

"Hey, Dingus! Y/n says hi! He's waving at you."

"Nice."

"Well, we love you girly."

"Love you guys too."

I hung up the phone and stared at my open sketch pad, utterly lost in Eddie's image.

Eddie's eyes were wide with shock. He could only hear your side of the conversation, but he had no doubt who you were talking about. Jesus H. Christ! You have feelings... for him. You pretend you don't but you do! This... this changes everything! So why was this dread still lingering in his chest? Nerves maybe? He had to say something, but he didn't want to come on too strong. Act casual... yeah. That's what he'll do... just... act casual. After silently syking himself up he took a few deep breaths and decided to make his move.

"BOO!"

"JESUS CHRIST!" I jumped out of my skin, nearly falling off of my stool. "You think you're funny, asshole?"

Eddie was doubled over with laughter as I sat there clutching my chest.

"Hahahahaha! Ohhhh, no... I think I'm adorable."

"Ugg! I hate you so much, Munson."

"Awww, come on now. You know that's not true. May I come in?"

I released a heavy sigh. "Sure... whatever."

"Here, a peace offering."

He handed me a beer.

"Thanks."

We sat in silence for a moment as he checked out all the drawings hanging above my desk.

"Jesus, you're amazing. I love your style. The way you see the world, it's just... incredible."

"Thanks." I smiled bashfully.

He motioned to my open sketch pad.

"May I?"

"Sure." Ahhhhhhh! His smile makes my fucking insides liquefy.

"Oh, Bunny... these are fantastic! I've never looked so good." He flashed a cheeky smile and flipped to the front of the book.

"Nice try. You won't find anything. This sketchbook is strictly for school projects."

He let out a breathy laugh. "You caught me. I wish you'd show me your personal drawings. You're so passionate about your work. Like I am with my music."

"Maybe someday, Munson." I flashed him a sweet smile.

"Um, you mind if I turn on some tunes?"

"No, go ahead."

He started fiddling with the record player.

"Looks like your old man was listening to Clapton. I'll just leave that on."

"Works for me."

He positioned the record player needle and shuffled back to his chair.

"So... what's on your agenda for this evening... besides hardcore porn... and me?"

He smiled wickedly, pulled his smokes from his vest pocket, and went through his routine.

"Not fucking you, Munson."

I loved hearing him laugh, or talk... or move... or fucking breathe. Whatever the hell he was doing... I loved it.

"So, do you actually watch all that stuff, or were you just fuckin' with me?"

"Uh..." I eyeballed him hesitantly, but his expression was calm, and not flirtatious, so I gave him this one. "Yeah... I do."

He raised his brow and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Well... that's um... that's hot. I was just gonna head home, get high, and play guitar, but now... I think I'm gonna have to rub one out. Care to turn it into phone sex? Preferably while you're still watching porn?"

(JESUS CHRIST! I know what I'm drawing tonight) I rolled my eyes. "Dude! What is with you? You've been so lewd lately. Like, more than usual." He smiled cheekily and stared at me. "No! No phone sex, no fucking, just... no!"

His whole body shook with laughter. "Ok, then I guess I'm goin' solo. So, if you're not gonna watch porn, what are you gonna do?"

I shook my head. "I'm gonna watch 'Help'."

"Can't say I've seen it."

"Really? It's a super corny Beatles movie."

"Oh, I know what it is, I just haven't seen it. Is it good?"

"I love it. It's one of my favorites. I watch it with my mom all the time."

"Speaking of the lovely Mrs. Y/l/n, where are your folks?"

"They're visiting my grandma this weekend."

"Well, that's a shame. I'll just have to schmooze your mom next time. So... was tonight's session enough to do your project, or do you need me to sit for you again?"

(Ok, what the fuck?) "Alright dude, what's going on? You're doing it again."

"What?"

"Oh, come on. For the past few months, you've been... I don't know... a lot more perverted, but today you're trying to incorporate small talk and some semblance of courtesy. So what's going on?"

"I don't know. Maybe I want you to see a different side of me, so I'm talking about things that aren't strictly sex oriented."

"Yeah, but why?"

"Well... maybe I like you."

"HA! Hyeah, right. If you don't wanna tell me the real reason, just say so. You don't need to make shit up."

"Who says I'm making shit up?"

I tried to play it cool, not letting on that the instant those words left his lips Hulk Hogan leg dropped King Kong Bundy.

"Uh... I am."

"Why? Is it so hard to believe that I could see you as more than just a friend?"

I scoffed. "Yeah, a fuck buddy, maybe."

Jesus, it felt like an Alien was about to punch through my chest. I reached for my smokes and lit up trying to thwart my anxiety.

Eddie nodded solemnly, but when 'Wonderful Tonight' started to play, he set down his beer and held out his hand.

"Wanna dance?"

I must've looked like a deer in headlights.

"What?"

"Come on... dance with me."

I snuffed out my cigarette looking at him hesitantly. He grabbed my hands and pulled me up, threw my arms around his neck, wrapped his around my waist, and pulled me close. He started swaying us back and forth, his head nestled next to mine, but when the chorus hit I got ballsy. Knowing this wasn't bound to last, I decided to live in the moment. I leaned my head on his shoulder, squeezed my arms tighter, closed my eyes, and started playing with his hair, but to my shock and delight, he tightened his grip around my waist and leaned his head against mine, grazing my back with his fingertips. We embraced silently for several minutes, and all I could think was that I could die happy at this very moment... and then he had to go and fucking ruin it.

"Go to prom with me?"

His voice was so faint I wasn't sure I heard him correctly. I lifted my head, our eyes lingering on each other's faces, and I scowled, about to lose my shit.

"What? Ok, now I know you're joking."

"I'm not joking."

"Eddie, stop it. This isn't funny."

I broke away and went to shut off the record player, ready to scream. We just held each other so fucking tight, and there was something about the way he touched me. Probably just wishful thinking, but it seemed like we had a moment.

"Al-alright fine. Don't believe me."

"Why should I when you've been shitting on the idea all day?"

He was silent. I slumped my shoulders, released a sigh, and faced him. "Ok, fine, don't answer me. I'm gonna go watch my movie."

Eddie was chewing on his thumbnail, his other hand in his pocket, and he was staring at the ground nodding. He actually looked disappointed, and I had to admit, I felt kinda guilty. I didn't want him to leave, but this charade had to stop.

"Hey, um... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. You don't have to go. I just... I want the nonsense to stop, ok? If you want you can watch 'Help' with me."

His head shot up so fast I thought he'd have whiplash.

"Um, yeah, ok. Your parents won't mind?"

"No, they know you. It's not like we're fuckin' or anything."

"Well..."

"DON'T... say it."

Signature Munson, never missing a beat. Jesus, my emotions were bouncing back and forth like a game of Pong.

~~~~~

We were on the couch in my basement, which also doubled as my bedroom. It was a pretty sweet setup if I say so myself.

"You're right. This is a really weird movie. Not as trippy as 'Tommy', but still pretty bad."

He pulled his arms up to shield himself from my slap but was unsuccessful.

"Oh, shut up. It's awesome and you know it. And so is 'Tommy'."

"No, you're right. I do like 'Tommy'. Ann Margaret's hot." His smile was so goofy.

"So is Roger Daltrey," I smirked. "Ooo, I love this part. Paul using the girl as a guitar."

"Ooo, that looks like fun. Come 'ere."

"What?" He reached for my arm and pulled me across the couch. "What... what're you...? Hey! Hahaha!"

"Come on, sit on my lap. Put your hand on your hip, hold the other arm out... there we go. Now... I play."

I was dying of laughter as Eddie played my arms like a guitar and started singing along to 'Another Girl'.

🎶For I have got, another girl

Another girl who will love me till the end

Through thick and thin, she will always be my friend

I don't wanna say that I've been unhappy with you

But as from today, well, I've seen somebody that's new

I ain't no fool and I don't take what I don't want

For I have got, another girl🎶

Eddie stopped playing, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled my giggling ass against his chest, continuing to rock me in time with the music, only this time, when the song ended, I stayed put.

"I thought you didn't like The Beatles."

"I never said that. I just said I never saw this movie, but my mom used to listen to them too."

I smiled, taking the opportunity to rest my head back against his shoulder and wrap my arms around his. I felt his hair tickle my neck, so I looked up and found him smiling at me. Our faces were so fucking close. I smiled back and he leaned down and kissed my cheek.

"W-what was that for?"

"Just felt like it. I'm having a good time."

"M-me too."

There was that look again. The same one from this afternoon at the picnic table. That look of adoration, but this time with a little something extra. And there was no bell. Nothing to break the trance. I couldn't look away as he scanned my face and brushed some stray hair behind my ear, his hand now resting on my cheek. A flash of eyes to lips, and then...

NOTHING!

He returned his arm to my waist and turned back to the TV.

(Mother... Shhhh... Jesu... what the... oh... SON OF A BITCH!!!) I couldn't even think a coherent sentence, so I turned my attention back to the movie. I must've been squirming too much because Eddie pulled my legs across his lap, which was a way more comfortable position, and I allowed myself to cuddle into his chest. I was so tired I should've passed out, but I couldn't shut off my brain.

"I love this song so much."

I started singing along with John Lennon to 'You've Got to Hide Your Love Away'. Eddie joined in, and we smiled at each other as we sang, and again he rocked me to the music.

🎶How can I even try?

I can never win

Hearing them, seeing them

In the state I'm in

How could she say to me

"Love will find a way"?

Gather 'round, all you clowns

Let me hear you say

Hey, you've got to hide your love away

Hey, you've got to hide your love away🎶

We couldn't peel our eyes off each other.

"You're voice is beautiful."

"Thanks," I whispered.

We stared a few moments longer before my nerves got the better of me, and I returned my head to his chest.

"You know, this whole album is like... a metaphor for our entire relationship."

What? Did he really mean that? Most of the songs were about want, need, and... love. I didn't know how to respond, so I didn't. I just buried myself deeper into his chest in reply, and again his arms tightened around me.

By the time the movie was over I could no longer keep my eyes open. The warmth of his body and his musky scent were so comforting.

"Hey, Bunny... you sleepy? You want me to leave?"

Without opening my eyes I shook my head, clutched onto his shirt, and whispered, "No... please don't go."

I have no idea where my newfound boldness was coming from, but Eddie didn't protest. Instead, he enveloped me in his arms and rested his cheek on my head.

"I won't, Bunny."

I smiled to myself as Eddie shifted us so we were lying down facing each other, my head still buried in his chest and his arms still wrapped tightly around me. I managed to open my eyes and look up. He was smiling, watching me, and like a moth to a flame, my hand found his face, my fingertips lightly grazing his features as my eyes followed their trek... his pale cheek, covered by little grains of stubble... his plush, pink lips, which parted slightly at my touch. He closed his eyes and leaned into it until my fingertips trailed to his cute, button nose, his forehead, and back through his hair, where I buried them behind his neck giving him a little scratch.

"Mmm, that's... that's nice."

He released a faint moan and slowly opened his eyes. They were glossy, wanton, and... unsure. His lips formed a sincere smile, and he started repeating my previous motions. His fingers explored my face, eyes following suit.

"Go to prom with me, Bunny."

His voice was so low, commanding even.

"Eddie, why?"

"Because I wanna spend time with you."

"You already spend time with me."

"I know, but... I just wanna go with you. Please say yes."

I sensed nothing but sincerity in his gorgeous eyes, and his voice, so I willed myself to whisper, "Ok... I'll go with you."

"Yeah?" His smile was enormous.

"Yeah."

He cuddled closer and kissed my head. (Flying elbow drop, off the top rope, straight to the gut) When I looked at him we were nose to nose. He nuzzled mine, lips parted. It was almost like a silent plea, begging me to close the gap, to finally let him taste my lips for the very first time, but I was frozen. His lips ghosted mine. I was practically cross-eyed staring at them, but he wouldn't take the plunge. I felt like I was trying to will him with a Jedi mind trick to just do it already, but the force is not strong with me, and he just lingered... the fucking tease.

"Have sex with me," he whispered, smiling playfully.

"What? No." I poked him in the gut, and he giggled.

"Come on. I know you want it as much as I do... and I think it's time we do something about it."

My brow furrowed, eyes darting back and forth in disbelief across Eddie's face. Who does this mother fucker think he is? I mean, I do in fact wanna fuck him, but that's not the point. It's the principle of the thing. I pushed his chest hard and got off the couch ready to lay into him.

"Hey, what---?"

"That's all I am to you, huh? Some... perverted game or prized sexual conquest? Do you have any respect?"

"What? N-no, that's..." he stood up and gripped my arms, "it's not like that at all."

"Then why do you keep pushing this?! I can't..."

I started to cry, unable to finish my sentence. I wanted to smack him, kick him outta my house, just... anything to make the pain stop, but I was so exhausted from this charade and all the mind games that I didn't have the strength to fight him anymore, so when he pulled me into a tight hug and kissed the top of my head I didn't fight him. I just let him hold me as I balled into his shirt.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I'm just... not very good at this, so I'm going about it the only way I know how, and... well, I'm failing miserably, and um... Jesus, I don't know how the hell to do this."

"Do what?" I mumbled.

He pulled me back so he could look at my face, and caress my cheek. His expression immediately softened, but he looked uncertain and extremely nervous.

"Um, hhhhh... something I should've done a long time ago. I wasn't lying earlier. I like you... a lot... but it's more than that... I'm uh..."

"Eddie... what're you doing?"

There was a brief silence. And then... it happened...

"I'm ending our friendship."

And just like that, he closed the gap and encased my lips with his. The sweet pressure of it, the subtle transition of tongue against tongue, the soft, gentle strokes of his thumbs against my face. It was perfect. I couldn't speak, but I needed reassurance. I slowly broke the kiss.

"Hyou... you're serious... aren't you? You're not just saying all this so I'll sleep with you?"

Now he looked like he wanted to cry.

"Y/n, no... you know me better than that. I'm just... a big oaf, but I would never take advantage of you. I just... I wanna be with you. And yes, I... I really wanna fuck you... but not as a buddy. I want you to be my girl. We don't have to do a damn thing. I'd be elated to just hold you for five minutes, but I need you to know this. I--I'm in love with you."

(DDT into a flying body press, followed by a sit-down drop to the gut) I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stop the onset of tears. Oh my God... oh my God, oh my God, oh my God... oh my FUCKING God! I opened my eyes slowly. We were nose to nose. He flicked his tongue lightly against my lips, and the bastard fucking smiled.

"Munson... hyou-- you're fucking evil." The words came out with my breath.

"I know..."

He cupped his hand under my knee, wrapping my thigh around his hip, and with an arm around my back, he pulled me flush against him. HOOOLY FUCKING SHIT! I could feel how hard he was as he ground his bulge against my aching cunt. My fucking eyes rolled into the back of my head and my breathing hitched. Jesus, Fuck! He was playing so dirty. I wanted to curse him out, spew every obscenity known to man and then some. When I opened my eyes, he was smiling devilishly.

"But you still wanna fuck me... don't you?"

I nodded involuntarily, as if I no longer had control of my body, and Eddie's tongue shot into my mouth. His kiss was hurried, and vivacious, our faces smashed so close together it hurt... but I didn't care. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and without parting he hiked me up by my thighs and carried me to my bed.

He fell onto the mattress with me on top of him, shifting his body under my weight, continuing to breathe new life into me. His hands found my ass, greedily squeezing before gliding gently up my sides, lifting my shirt. The touch of his hands on my bare skin sent shockwaves up my spine. I broke away just long enough to grab the bunched fabric and rip it over my head throwing it to the floor. Like he couldn't function without them, he found my lips again.

"Mmm, mhh, hhhh... Bunny, I know I joke, but I'm not fuckin' around. Are you sure you want this?" He smoothed back my hair and searched my eyes.

I smiled brightly, tears flowing freely. "Eddie, I want this. I want you."

"Yeah?" He asked, just to be sure.

When I nodded he crashed his lips to mine, drinking them in, savoring them as I've wanted him to for so fucking long.

He rolled me onto my back, trailing hot, wet kisses down my neck, licking softly between my breasts. The heat of his breath was like fire on my skin, and it burned so good. He gently tugged at the front of my bra freeing my perky tits, stopping to admire me.

"Jesus H. Christ... you're so beautiful."

When he finally took a hard peak into his mouth, my back arched, my brow creased, my teeth clenched, and I sucked in a breath of praise, shaking from the stimulation.

"Mmm... Jesus, you're nipples are sensitive. Have they always been like that?"

"N-no... hoh--only when I'm... really turned on. And I-- I've been waiting... so long... for you to touch me like this."

I gasped as he gently flicked my nipple with the tip of his tongue, trailing it up my neck. He placed a chaste kiss on my lips, cupped my cheek, and kissed my forehead tenderly before leaning his on mine.

"My sweet, beautiful Bunny. I've been dreaming of touching you like this for ages, and I wanna take my time with you... to make our first time together last, but I don't think either one of us is gonna make it." He let out a breathy laugh. "Just seeing you, hearing you... knowing how you make me feel, and... knowing how you feel about me..."

He was shaking with urgency, lip quivering, running his hands through my hair, brushing my face with his fingertips... he was manic... and it was beautiful.

"Eddie... I know... there'll be time for all that. I just wanna be with you now."

He exhaled, eyes still shut tight, and he nodded before claiming my lips in a passionate kiss.

"Mhhhh... you're sure about this? About me?"

I gave him a sweet pout, cupped his face, and pulled his forehead to mine.

"Eddie... I want everything with you... and only you."

His whimper was resounding, muffled by my own as we kissed feverishly.

"Mmhhh, Y/n... are you safe? Can-can I take you raw?"

His expression was sweet. He was watching, waiting, yearning as he searched my face.

"Eddie, yes... I love you."

The instant the words left my lips he ravished mine. I ripped off his shirt and tossed it away, quickly locking lips again as he rushed to undo his belt. Without parting we both fumbled with his jeans only bothering to push them just past his hips, and in seconds he was pushing himself inside me. I sucked in a sharp breath, and he was shaking, mouth agape, eyes shut tight as he buried himself to the hilt.

"Ohhhhhsweet... Jeeesus!" He stilled, little broken moans reverberating throughout his chest as we got used to each other.

"Eddie, it's ok... I'm-I'm ok, uuh! Hyou--you can move."

He exhaled heavily and slowly started thrusting, adjusting to the tight space.

"GodDAMN! Hyou, mgghh... you feel better than anything I could've imagined. So soft, so warm... so fucking tight! Jesus, you're perfect."

He leaned his forehead to the crook of my neck as he picked up his pace. I was moaning like a harlot, my eyes rolling into the back of my head. It was pure fucking bliss. I wrapped my legs around his hips, holding him so close.

"I... I couldn't take it anymore." He breathed out. "I--I've been in love with you... since the day we met. Needed this... needed you... so fucking bad. Haww, uhhhh, FUCK!"

My heart skipped a beat. His thrusts were steady, almost prolonged, like he didn't want to consider the notion of this moment ending.

"Eddie, mhhh... I-- I've been dying to hear you say those words."

He lifted his head to look at me, and he was beaming, smoothing my hair back.

"Mhh, my angel. You... you doin' ok? You feel good? Uhhhh."

UGGGG! He was so fucking sweet.

"Eddie..." I ground my hips into him, coaxing from him a delicious guttural moan. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, but I grabbed his face and forced him to look at me. "I'm loving this. We're finally together. Please... don't stop until you make me yours."

He stared at me as if he wasn't sure I was telling the truth. I placed a small kiss of reassurance on his lips, and they turned up into a huge smile. If I didn't know any better I'd say he was about to cry. He immediately claimed my lips, wrapped his arms around my back, and started to move faster. His movements, his touch, his eyes... they said so much, and nothing at all. He made me feel so goddamn good I began to come undone.

"Eddie... I'm-I'm close."

"Uhhh, that's my girl." He immediately rolled us over so he was on his back. "Fuck me, Bunny. Make yourself feel good, ungghh, mhhh yeah, just like that. Hoh, oh fuck! Cum... cum for me, Bunny."

I pressed my hands, to his chest, spread my thighs wide, and fucked him hard until all I could do was throw my head back and scream his name.

"Eddie, oh, ohfuck, FUCK! EDDIE!!!"

I came hard on his thick cock. His body tensed, and I knew he was done for, but I continued to grind and swirl my hips.

"Eddie, I wanna hear you, feel you. Cum inside me, baby. Please... cum for me."

I have never heard a more beautiful sound in my life. He pulled me down, rolled us over, laced our fingers together, and held them above my head, as he ground his hips into mine.

"Mm-Y/n, I'm-I'm gonna fill you up... make you mine. Uhhhhh, fuck... FUCK!"

He gave one more powerful thrust, and his body shuddered. Making the most lewd, yet seductive sound I ever had the pleasure of witnessing, he pumped me full of his seed. Once he was finished he collapsed onto his side, his chest heaving, covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Uhhh... mhhh, h-holy shit..."

He smiled, met my blitzed-out gaze, and started laughing. I placed my hand on his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. When he opened them he let out a content sigh. He reached for me, wrapped his arm around my waist, and pulled me into the spoon position. Looking down at me, he tilted my chin with his finger so he could see my face. He smiled brightly as an equally giddy smile crossed my lips, and he kissed me, squeezing me tight. I couldn't describe the happiness I felt.

"Eddie?"

"Yeah, Bunny?"

"How did you know?"

He chuckled. "I heard you talking to Robin earlier."

"You were eves dropping?"

"Guilty as charged. I knew it was wrong, but I'm glad I did it."

"Hmm, me too. Do you really wanna go to prom?"

"Not particularly. But I'm not about to let you guys have all the fun without me, so I'm willing to damage my hard-earned rep for you. I just wanna be with you, Bunny."

He placed sweet, wet kisses on my bare shoulder.

"Well, you're one hell of a dancer. Surprised the shit outta me." Mhh, those fucking giggles.

"I know a thing or two." He took his arm from around my waist, laced our fingers together, and held them close to my chest. "I also knew I'd get you to fuck me."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Eddie Munson... you're such an ass... but don't ever change." I turned my head to look at his smiling face, and he kissed me passionately. "Mmm, so... why didn't you tell me you liked me? I was on the verge of imploding."

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I asked you first."

"Hmm, m-hm, hmm! Well, I wanted to. Gareth was my number one cheerleader... but I was too chicken shit. I couldn't stand the thought of losing you if you didn't feel the same way. But when I heard you talking to Robin... it was like... a weight lifted from my shoulders. I love you, Y/n... so fucking much. I fell in love with you the moment we were introduced... but you were so young. So when you turned 18, I just..."

"You started laying it on thick. Jesus, I can't believe I didn't put two and two together."

"Yeah, well... it seemed to have the opposite effect I was going for. Apparently I came off a lot more irritating than charming, so Gareth and Jeff told me to dial it back, and that's when the small talk started."

"I can't believe I was so blind."

"You and me both, Bunny, but now it's your turn, so fess up."

"Hmm, then let me up. I need to show you something."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, just for a moment. I promise."

Eddie kissed my knuckles and reluctantly let me up. I retrieved a stack of sketchbooks and made my way back to the bed. I plopped down and placed the books in front of him.

"Go ahead."

He rolled onto his side, and I watched as he opened them and scanned the pages in disbelief.

"Are-are these for the project?"

"No. Look at the dates."

He checked them all, page after page, book after book.

"You... you've been drawing me since freshman year?"

"Yeah. That's why I never let you see anything. I know that's kinda creepy, but I just..."

"Uh... this one's far from creepy. We are definitely doing this later."

He pointed to one of my more risqué drawings, smiling mischievously, and I blushed.

"Anyway..." I exaggerated, "I couldn't keep my eyes off you. I've been crazy about you since my first day of school. And when we finally started hanging out, and you began teasing me all the time, I fell for you... hard, but by that point I was deep in the friend zone, and it seemed like you only thought of me as one of the guys. I didn't wanna jeopardize our friendship either, so... I hid my feelings. I thought if you knew the truth... that our banter, the flirting... everything... would all end, so I played along. But when the teasing got worse it became excruciating, so I started lashing out. But I love you, Eddie... with all my heart, and after what we just shared... I've fallen even harder."

I was balling like a baby, and when Eddie trapped me in his arms I melted into him.

"Hey, don't cry, Bunny."

I chuckled through sobs. "They're happy tears, Eddie. Just years of pent-up emotion and sexual frustration finally being expelled. And I really dig the name Bunny. You can call me that one all the time."

"Done. My sweet... soft... beautiful... raging... wrathful Bunny." He kissed my lips between every word. "Mmm, mhh. Can I spend the night?"

"What? Oh, fuck no! Get your shit and go. I got what I wanted." I smiled playfully.

"Hey now, there's only room in this relationship for one asshole."

"I beg to differ."

He wiggled out of his jeans, pulled me down with him and we held each other close. It took mere minutes for us to succumb to the exhaustion. It was the best night's sleep I've had in a long time.

~~~~~

Prom night had finally come. My house was abuzz as all the girls gathered here to get ready while our parents socialized. I was a ball of nerves waiting to see what Eddie had in store for me.

"Alright, look up and hold still... now close your eyes." Nancy lifted my chin and proceeded to apply my eye eyeliner.

"Thanks for doing this, Nancy. Robin and I aren't really make-up girls."

"Don't mention it. You're much less fidgety than Robin."

Nancy was such a sweet girl. Another perk of being friends with Mike and Steve.

"There we go. Hand me your lipstick."

I did as she asked, and she proceeded to apply.

"So... how are you and Munson dealing at school? Blot."

I opened my mouth and clamped my lips down on the piece of toilet paper Nancy was holding.

"Well, we had our fair share of jock harassment on Monday, but I nipped that one in the bud."

"Yeah, Jonathan and I dealt with that crap too. Just let it roll off your shoulder. People eventually get bored. And how about prom? I never thought I'd see the day when Munson would attend."

"Yeah, he feels like he's going against everything he stands for, but if you ask me, I think he's secretly enjoying himself. He won't tell me a damn thing about his outfit, just that I needed to wear black and red. Steve took him shopping, but Eddie swore him to secrecy. All Steve would say is that once he showed Eddie that he could look good and keep his metalhead flair he was very receptive. Steve was proud of him."

Nancy flashed a sweet smile.

"Nancy! Y/n! Get your asses up here! The boys will be here any minute!"

"Keep your panties on Robin, we're comin'!" I took a deep breath as Nancy put the finishing touches on my make-up.

"Ok, all done."

I took one last look at myself in the mirror. My hair was huge, but it fit the theme, and my make-up looked amazing.

"Nancy, you're a miracle worker. I appreciate it!"

"No problem. I love these colors on you. Too dark for my taste, but they suit you."

We smiled at each other, put on our masks, wrapped an arm around each other, and squeezed each other's shoulders.

"Well... you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Nancy took my hand and we headed upstairs.

~~~~~

"AHHHHH!!! You... look... amazing. Eddie's gonna flip his shit."

"Thanks, Robin."

"Alright girls, get together. I want some pictures. Make sure you have your masks."

"Mom, wait. Where's Max and El."

"We're right here!" Max yelled, dragging El behind her.

We all gathered in my living room in front of the fireplace, pushing and shoving, trying to get situated.

"Alright, girls. Everyone look this way. One... two... three!"

"Cheeeeeeese!" We all chimed in unison.

We appeased our parents with several photos and that's when we heard the horns.

"Ooo! They're here. Come on let's go!"

Robin grabbed my hand and yanked me toward the front door. Standing in the driveway we watched as two limos pulled up the street. Girls and mothers alike joined the reprise or 'ooo's' and 'ahh's' and 'wows' as the boys piled out of the limos dressed to the nine. They were all so handsome.

"I don't see Eddie."

As soon as the words left my lips it was like the parting of the Red Sea. All the boys moved to the side to reveal Eddie in a devil mask wearing all black save for the red paisley vest and the trim that lined his leather waistcoat. It was gothic steampunk meets metalhead pirate. When he removed his mask he was smiling.

"Someone catch me, I think I'm gonna faint."

Robin grabbed my arm. It was like time stopped, save for Eddie and me. I stood there with my jaw on the ground, eyeballing him up and down as the boys made their way toward us. It was like watching a slow-motion male model montage. When Eddie was finally in front of me he pulled a single long-stemmed rose from behind his back and presented it to me.

"My lady."

I took it hesitantly, unable to speak. I just gawked trying to find my voice.

"You um... ha! Good God you look... so goddamn fuckable," I managed to whisper.

He chuckled. "Hmm, later. I see you followed my instructions. You look absolutely gorgeous. And the bunny mask? Excellent touch."

"I like yours too. Is that your way of protesting your participation in the forced social conformity?"

He chuckled and nodded. "I thought you'd appreciate that."

He claimed my lips with so much passion I forgot we were surrounded by a giant group of people, including my parents.

"Alright, alright. Break it up you two."

We broke apart in protest. Eddie looked at the ground sheepishly, and I pawed at my face, making sure my make-up wasn't a mess.

"Um, sorry Dad."

"Yeah, I'm sorry Mr. Y/l/n. She's just..." Eddie turned to look at me, "so beautiful."

"Mm-hm, she's also my little girl, so mind your manners." My dad held out his hand to Eddie, which he shook happily and with much relief. "You clean up nice, Eddie."

"Thanks, Mr. Y/l/n." They smiled before my dad clapped Eddie's shoulder in approval.

"Oh, get outta the way. Let me take a look at you, Eddie." My mom cupped his cheeks and gave him a once-over. "You look so handsome."

She trapped him in a hug, kissed him on the cheek, pulled back, and smiled.

"Thank you, Mrs. Y/l/n."

He kissed my mom's hand, making her blush, and then she ran to her next victim.

"Gareth Emerson, get your butt over here! Ooo, and who is this pretty lady?"

My mom's voice trailed off and Eddie and I laughed, focusing on each other. After several minutes of socializing and more pictures, I reminded my parents that we were all spending the night at Steve's, and then we finally made our way inside the limos and headed to Hawkins Hall.

~~~~~

The prying eyes were everywhere, but to our surprise, they were out of delight and not hatred.

"Bunny, is it just me, or have the jocks backed off lately?"

"Yeah, I may've had something to do with that."

"Oh? How's that?"

"Well, Monday was the last straw, so I told Carver that if he doesn't shut his dick licker and leave us and the other outcasts alone, the whole school would find out what he and his goons do in the locker room when they think no one's looking."

"Hahaha! What?! Are you serious?"

"Mm-hm."

"And how, pray tell, did you come across that juicy bit of gossip?"

"Well, it pays to have an ex-jock as a friend."

"Wha... Harrington told you this?!"

"That I did, my good man." Steve appeared out of nowhere and clapped Eddie on the shoulder. "Y/n came to the video store a few months back practically in tears, and I was pissed. I can't stand those assholes either, so... I figured that information might come in handy."

"Harrington, I could kiss you."

"Please don't."

They both smiled, and with a chuckle, Eddie patted Steve on the back.

"Thanks for the help, man. You're alright."

Steve gave Eddie's shoulder another pat and proceeded to escort Robin into the building. ~~~~~

I'm surprised none of us passed out from exhaustion. We sat only to eat. The rest of the time we were on the dance floor regaling each other with our moves.

Lucas was a break dancing and moonwalk prodigy. Dustin is a master at the worm. Max and El can replicate any Madonna move known to man. It was a fucking riot. We were cracking each other up with the more ridiculous dances, like me catching Eddie with the fishing pole, Steve and Robin doing the sprinkler, Steve, Eddie, Jonathan, Robin, me, and Nancy doing the library dance from 'The Breakfast Club', all the younger boys doing the Robot, and the lot of us doing the running man. Eddie even had a chance to flaunt his usual shenanigans, which meant dancing on top of a table. That was until Mrs. S. came over and made him get down. And me being a closet disco nerd was forced by Robin to do John Travolta's dance from Saturday Night Fever. I was so fucking nervous, but the cheers, and accompaniment of several other students who also knew the dance, including Robin and Chrissy Cunningham, helped my fear to dissipate. And of course, the majority of the student body performed Michael Jackson's Thriller. At the end of the night, to no one's surprise, Jason and Chrissy were crowned prom king and queen.

It was almost surreal. For the first time in... well, ever... there was no anger or animosity. Everyone in the building was getting along, and when it came time to leave, Chrissy made sure to find me and tell me how much fun she had dancing with me. She gave me a sincere smile and a big hug, but the strangest thing of all was when Jason confronted Eddie, but instead of disdain he offered a handshake thanking him for the entertainment. Eddie accepted his hand and congratulated him on winning prom king, and they actually smiled at each other. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I wouldn't have believed it.

When it came time for the after-party at Steve's house, Eddie and I took the opportunity to slip away and head back to his trailer so we could be alone.

~~~~~

We devoured each other like animals as we made our way through his trailer to his room. Feverish, sloppy kisses, lips and chins and necks, back to lips, until he pulled away, revealing a malevolent smile.

"As gorgeous as you are in this dress... I've been waiting all night to get you out of it. Off... now."

I did as he commanded, slowly peeled off my dress, and let it fall to the floor. My black lace bra and panties, stalkings, and garter belt were all that remained.

"Jesus Christ, you're stunning, Bunny."

Eddie stared at me with a carnal desire, drinking in the sight of my body, removing his clothing until he was shirtless. He advanced toward me slowly and started running his hands gently up my sides, and around my shoulders so he could unclasp my bra. I stood completely still as he dropped the flimsy article to the floor. He backed away slowly, his eyes glued to my tits. When he met my gaze I made a show of removing my panties, but when I tried to remove my stalkings he grabbed my hands.

"No... leave 'em on. The garter belt too. You're perfect just like this."

Eddie was breathing heavily, blackness consuming his eyes. He leaned forward to trap my nipple between his lips, sucking, licking, teasing each one in turn as I cradled his head, my needy whines and mewells filling the room.

"Mrrmm, Eddie... hyou-you're gonna make me cum."

"Mhhhh..." He released my nipple with a pop and straightened up. "Not yet, Bunny. I wanna taste you first." He gently cupped my tits and licked at my lips until I took his tongue into my mouth. "Hmmm... can I taste you?" He whispered his words, his hot breath sweeping across my face.

"Hhhhyes."

Before I knew it I was on my back, and Eddie was licking a slow, soft trail down my stomach. He latched his lips to the tender flesh of my waistline and sucked a deep purple mark into my skin.

"Mmm... you're mine now, Bunny. I can finally take my time with you."

All I could do was moan at his words. He kissed his mark, knelt on the floor in front of me, and pulled me to the edge of his bed. I could feel his hands, the cool metal of his rings, smoothing gently over my inner thighs, spreading them. I caught the sound of an inhale and felt his warm breath against my wet heat when he exhaled.

"Oh, Bunny, your scent... I need it all over me. On my fingers... my face... hmmm, my tongue. Look at me." I lifted my head long enough for his eyes to silently ask for permission. I gave him a shy nod, but instead of diving in like I figured he would, he lingered, took a quick taste with a flick of his tongue, and savored.

"Mgghh, Christ, that's so sweet."

The instant I felt his fingers slip into my folds I shrieked. His touch was gentle, massaging my thigh with one hand as his fingers barely grazed my inner lips and my clit. It was at that moment I knew that he was hell-bent on torturing me, teasing me, prolonging my pleasure until I was ready to burst. He wasn't going to give me what I so desperately wanted, not until I was begging for it, for him... and I would. I would do anything this man asked of me if it pleased him. When I felt the tip of his finger trace light circles over my clit I wanted to cry. I had a moment's reprieve when he stopped to lick his fingers clean.

"Mmmm, hhhhhh, Bunny, you taste like heaven... but if you don't stop squirming I'm gonna have to pin you down."

"Eddie... wh-why are you being so cruel?"

"Oh, Bunny... I've only just begun."

He blew a light stream of air on my clit until I whined, then he licked me gently from my dripping hole to my hard bud. I was thrashing around, trying to quell the sensation, only to have my thighs pinned to the mattress, by his strong, unyielding grip. Using the tip of his tongue he lightly teased the sensitive skin of my lips, and toyed with my swollen clit until I was sobbing from the pleasure. I tried to touch my sensitive nipples, to rush my release, but he reached up, locked his hands around my wrists, and held them at my sides so he could use his forearms to pin my thighs, then he flattened his tongue and licked from my ass to my clit. I screamed in frustration.

"Eddie, for fuck sake, please! Please let me cum."

He ignored my plea, continuing to fuck me with his tongue until he was ravenous. His pace not letting up as he devoured my pussy like he was starving.

"Holy fucking shit, Munson! Stop... please, just, just fucking stop!"

He halted immediately, breathing heavily. When he took a hand from my wrist to wipe his face, I made my move, twisting violently until I was free of his agonizing hold. I got to my knees, grabbed him by his belt, and pulled him roughly onto the bed, pushing him onto his back. I crawled up his body, straddled his head, and sank my cunt onto his waiting mouth. He dug his fingers into my thighs, the pain shooting through me, but I didn't care. I could finally get what I wanted.

"Mhhhh, Eddie... Yes, YES!" He moaned at my praise, sending chills up my spine. Fuck! The things this man can do with his mouth. I tangled my fingers tightly into his hair and fucked his face. "Munson... hoh... shit, SHIT!!! Hyou... you're gonna tell me... every dirty detail... about how you learned to do this... so fucking well! Fuck, I wanna cum for you!"

He moaned into my pussy. I could hardly control my breathing as small high-pitched whimpers escaped my lips. I was so close to the edge.

"Mhhhhhh..."

The vibrations of his moans, his caressing lips, and the flick of his tongue against my clit were making me buck even harder as his painful grip on my thighs held me steady. I've never felt pleasure like this. He was too good, I could feel a sensation so incredibly earth-shattering building inside me. He must've felt it too 'cause he reached up to tease my nipples, as he feasted, lapped, licked, and sucked at my dripping pussy. My whimpers were loud, shameless, and FUCK were they warranted. I was plunged into a realm of pleasure and bliss, and Eddie was the cause. I let go of his hair, cupped his hands over my tits, and ground my pussy against his face as I experienced the most intense orgasm in the history of sex.

"OhhhhhhFUCK!!! Oh... GOD!... Eddie, EDDIE... Holy SHIT!!!"

"Mmmm, that's it, Bunny. Mhhhhhh."

I continued screaming his name as he greedily sucked and lapped at the sticky mess that poured from my pussy.

"Mmmmm! Fuck! You're taste... it's so goddamn satisfying! Hhhmm!"

He lapped once more at my overstimulated clit. I tried to steady my breathing as I climbed off of him, collapsing onto my back. Breathing heavily he turned his head to look at me, rolled onto his side, and propped himself on his elbow so he could stare at me. His eyes trailed up and down my body, so I decided to tease him. He was in the perfect position to watch. I put my knees up and spread them wide, dipping a finger into my still-dripping folds. I coated it with my slick juices and ran a trail of cum up the middle of my body before raising my finger to his lips. He let out an adorable whimper before sucking it clean.

"Mmmmm... Jesus Christ... you're fucking intoxicating."

He shifted his body, hovering above me so he could trace the trail of cum with his tongue, then he pressed his weight against me, kissing me deeply, passionately before he got to his knees to unbuckled his belt. He undid his pants and pushed them off. Once they were on the floor with the rest of our discarded clothing, he leaned over me, the head of his throbbing cock pushing against my heat. He took my hard peaks into his mouth once more gently teasing my sensitive nipples with the tip of his tongue. The soft tickles were too much to bear, and I almost came, only to be denied. He sat back on his heels, his knees spread wide so his massive erection was standing at attention between my legs, but before he could pull me toward him I quickly got on all fours facing him and wrapped my lips around his swollen head.

"Ohhhhhhhhh..." he breathed out.

He started convulsing as I used my tongue to toy with his slit. I sucked his head into my mouth and slowly swallowed him whole until my nose was touching his coarse, dark pubes. He brushed his fingers through my hair, holding it back so he could watch as I took him in and out of my mouth.

"Oh, Bunny... uhhhhyeah... suck me, beautiful... just like that... ohhhhhh."

Still sitting on his heels he leaned back, braced himself on his hands, and spread his knees wider. I pulled all the way off of him before sucking him into the back of my throat.

"OH!! God...DAMMIT!!!"

I swallowed hard around him, releasing him to catch my breath, and sank again, slurping and gagging as he used one hand to hold my head, and I loved every second of it. When he let me surface for air his chest was heaving. I grabbed the base of his cock and squeezed as I vigorously sucked his tip. He sucked in a hiss, his breath catching in his throat, chest heaving as I started to work him faster. His vocals just made me more feral.

"Oh...SWEET JESUS!!! You're... you're fucking phenomenal... Uhhnnggg..."

My strokes and his breathing became more erratic.

"Oh, oh, fuck! That's my good girl, my good Bunny, mhhhhh... keep-keep going. Take me deep. OhhhhhhFuck! YES!"

With his fingers clenched in my hair and his cock lodged deep in my throat, I sucked his soul through his dick. His body was shuddering, jolt after jolt of sexual electricity, until he pulled my head up.

"Jesus Christ! That-that's so fucking good, hhmhh... but I don't wanna cum yet..... HOH! GODDAMN!"

His whole body tensed as I licked him from balls to tip, sucking his sensitive head one last time. When he opened his eyes he caught my smug smile, threw his head back, and started laughing.

"That was payback, you teasing fuck."

His laugh morphed into a heady moan as I trailed my tongue through his pubes, over the wiry muscles of his stomach until I was on my knees, teasing his hard nipple with my tongue. He caressed my head tenderly as I suckled before he forced it up and shoved his tongue down my throat.

"MmmHmmm... hhhhhhh. O-ok, I get it. I've met my match. Now lie back baby girl."

With his knees under my thighs and my hot wet cunt begging to be filled, we made eye contact.

"Oh, Bunny... you're so gorgeous it hurts. Are you ready for me?"

"Munson, if you don't put your dick inside me, like yesterday, I'm never speaking to you again... now fuck me!"

I threw my head back and whimpered as Eddie grasped my thighs and plunged his cock deep inside me.

"Oh, FUCK! Munson! PLEASE!"

I stared at him through half-lidded eyes, mouth agape as I rubbed my tits. With every powerful thrust I became more and more excited... and so very close to another intense orgasm. He used a thumb to tease my sensitive clit. I arched my back, my tits moving up and down with every heavy breath. He dug his fingers into my thigh, still teasing my clit as he continued to pound into me, willing me to scream his name.

"Oh... FUCK! EDDIE!!! Oh my God. I'm gonna cum!!!"

"That's it Bunny... take my cock. Wanna, MRRGGG! Wanna watch your sweet pussy gush from what I do to you. I want it all over me."

"Oh, that fucking mouth, Munson!"

"You mean this mouth?"

He wrapped his arms around the small of my back, leaning down to lick and kiss my navel, then he lifted me upright so he could claim my tits again, licking and sucking as he held me close, his course hair rubbing against my clit as he fucked up into me. My walls started to clench around him, so he laid me down and ran his hand from my tits back to my clit.

"Scream for me, Bunny... scream my fucking name!"

He commanded me, letting his head fall back as he fucked me and continued to rub circles around my clit with his thumb.

"Oh... holy shit, Eddie! EDDIE! Oh my GOD!"

Screaming, I clenched the sheets and a burst of liquid sprayed all over his abdomen.

"YES! OHHHHHHFUCK!!! I'm-I'm gonna bust. C-can I come inside you?"

"Yes! Do it!"

He slammed into me one last time and his whole body tensed.

"Ohhhhh, Fuck!!! God.... DAMMIT!!! HOHHHH, ohhh my gorgeous girl."

His fingers dug into my waist until he rode out his release and collapsed on top of me. I threw my limbs around him as he poured all of his emotion into our kiss. I was on the verge of tears.

"Munson... I love you. I love you so much." We hugged each other so tight. "Hyou... you can do that to me forever if you like."

He looked up, still breathing hard, and smiled. Staring into my eyes with all the love in the world, he brushed some hair from my face, placed one more passionate kiss on my smiling lips, rolled us onto our sides, and pulled me tightly to his chest.

"Hmm, my beautiful, raging... wrathful, Bunny. I love you more than life itself. Ending our friendship was the best decision we ever made."

•••••❤️❤️•••••

Thank you for reading! Be excellent to each other, and get your Munson on!

🤘

Freddy 'Boom Boom' Washington from 'Welcome Back Kotter'... Hi there!

Vinnie Barbarino from 'Welcome Back Kotter'

The Beatles 'Another Girl' video from the movie 'Help'

Your prom dress and mask.

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