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tallymonster · 1 day

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Memories of Us

Chapter 18 : Remember Me

AO3 || Master list

A/N: so this is my longest chapter...it's around 6.7k words lol and there's a lot of lore drops going on soooo yeah enjoy lol.

Thanks to @cheesy-cryptid for their blessing on each chapter. Your support means the world to me.

Super special thanks as always to @micropoe10 because this girl has literally been here from day 1 supporting, uplifting, pushing, and helping me with this story. She even wrote the last few bits to save me from myself and I can never thank her enough. Love you so so much Rue.

Tags: @justporo @satanicspinosaurus @sleepy-timaeus @tragedybunny @davenswitcher @wayward-hel @hereliesblackdragon @misscrissfemmefatale

Astarion had begun to realize how much he enjoyed Octavia’s company. She was the eternal sunshine behind the clouds and each bit of affection from her broke them apart and allowed the light to come through.

The thought of someone caring about him was a lost concept, that someone could see something inside him other than what he saw himself.

Octavia was utterly infatuated with Astarion, she wondered if there was more to this routine the two of them found themselves in. The feeling of their bond becoming stronger, drop by drop of her delicious blood.

She was desperate to unearth more of his secrets, all while still hiding her own. Octavia was blinded by her own hypocrisy, the irony of her wanting to dig into his past while denying her own started to eat away at her. As she stared at herself in the mirror by the front door, she felt something tugging at her to be truthful with him.

There was a knock on the door, she took a deep breath as she finished fixing her hair.

You need to be honest with him. He was with you. It's the least you can do.

Astarion waited outside Octavia’s house, she had suggested going to a night market in Rivington she heard of. A friend of hers apparently told her it was a great place to go on a date.

He was somewhat nervous to be out in the open so publicly with someone. It had been so long since he let himself do it, not feeling the same as when he and Tav would walk hand in hand on the same streets.

Astarion leans on the rails of her front steps, he stares up into the starry sky. The stars sparkled as if they were there just for them. He smiles to himself, hearing the door open.

“Hello beautiful. I was afraid you were leaving me to go to the market all by mys-” He turns and the words are taken out of his mind as he takes in Octavia’s appearance.

She was in a mid-thigh length mustard colored pinafore dress, with a black short sleeved shirt, and some black tights with black leather ankle boots. A woven bag hung from her shoulder. This was one of the few times that Octavia could swear he was rendered speechless.

Octavia giggles and gives Astarion a kiss on the cheek, “Oh come on, you've seen me naked, I’m not dressed that seductively right now.” she walks past him and turns to wait for him at the end of her steps. “Ready to go?”

He nods with a grin and follows behind. As he steps down to the sidewalk, he holds his hand out, testing how she will react to his small gesture.

Octavia blushes, her heart fluttering slightly. She swings her shoulders back and forth, in a giddy wiggle. She smiles, biting her lip and takes his hand in hers. It felt cold, but so safe. She felt his fingers slip between hers in a comfortable lattice.

They walk through the street, silent at first. After they cross the road, Astarion wraps his arm around her waist and speaks. “You look wonderful by the way. I know you said you didn't look enticing, but I beg to differ. I think you look absolutely appetizing.” He squeezes her hip, Octavia’s cheeks are flushed a light reddish tone.

Astarion pulls Octavia close, hugging her in a playful embrace. She laughs as he bends down to kiss her. “You're being awfully affectionate. Are you feeling okay?” Octavia asks Astarion.

He lovingly cups her chin with his hand and pulls her in for another kiss. “I’ve just been really happy these last few weeks. I just figured that since we are on a date, I would act like it.” Astarion shrugs, giving Octavia another kiss before releasing her from his arms.

Octavia leads Astarion down the road to where the market was being held and becoming more populated. It had been so long since Astarion came to the street markets. He hated the crowds, the noise, all the different smells of foods he can't enjoy, but with her by his side it's all just background noise.

Astarion looks down at Octavia, a smile creeps into his face as he watches her eyes light up with excitement. Perhaps he could suffer for a bit longer, she did seem pretty eager to go out like this. Who would he be to deny her such simple pleasures?

Octavia can't decide where to go first. To her left was a stall with handmade leather bound books, to the right some flower stands, and not to mention all the food! She took Astarion’s hand and began to walk towards the flower stand. He smirks letting her lead him to wherever she wants.

“I love flowers. My mom and I had a garden at my childhood home where we grew so many. I tried maintaining it after she died, but it was just so hard to keep it up by myself. My dad was never one for being outside in the dirt even though he grew up near the Druid Grove.”

Octavia confesses with a laugh, she turns to Astarion and her smile drops a bit.

“I'm actually going to visit him soon. He's moving back to the Grove and he asked me to come help him empty out the house…feels weird to go back to basically throw away all the memories we made there.”

Astarion notices the change in her smile, the drop of her shoulders, and the way her hands come together. Her fingers twiddled at the variety of flowers carefully laid out with a far off stare. He takes one of her hands and holds it gently.

Octavia turns to him with faint tears on the corner of her eyes. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “It's been a long time coming. My mom's been gone about 16 years at this point, so why do I feel so sad?”

Astarion’s grip tightens on her hand. He knows this feeling too well. The feeling of moving on and allowing the grief to come and go as it pleases. Astarion takes in their surroundings. The last time he allowed himself to be in this type of market was the last time he saw Tav.

“You feel sad because you miss her, love. I've been there myself. In this very market no less.” Astarion finishes his sentence with a soft breath.

Octavia looks at him, recognizing the same sadness behind his eyes. The grief of losing someone you love. She remembers one of the things that makes her feel better is to talk about her mom, so maybe he can tell her about his loved one? “What were they like? The person you lost?”

Astarion glances back at Octavia, he hadn't thought about telling Octavia about Tav just yet, or at all. He pays for a bouquet of wildflowers that Octavia’s eyes locked onto. They turn and begin to walk away from the stall.

He hesitates before giving her a sad smile. “I’m not sure if this is the right time for that, I mean, I'd rather focus on you tonight, if you don't mind.” They sit on a bench near the edge of the market. Astarion looks down at the bouquet, taking a small pink rose and placing it in Octavia’s hair.

His hand lingers on her cheek, he leans down and kisses the corner of her eye. As he pulls away, he catches the smile that forms from her lips. He hands her the bouquet, as she leans on his shoulder, perfectly distracted away from her questions.

“No matter how long it is. Know that you will always carry a piece of her with you. As long as you remember her and the love you had, you'll never be without her.” Astarion comforts Octavia as they hold hands.

Astarion's good at the little words that everyone likes. The pleasant platitudes to soothe a broken heart. Meanwhile, he continues to push his own feelings of grief deeper down.

He could still see Tav standing at the opposite side of the market, the bag she carried full of contents hung from her shoulder. He stood about 8 stalls away from her. Her sweet scent hit his nostrils as he traded meat for bottles of blood.

Astarion had turned his head towards the scent, nearly dropping the glass bottle in his hand. He couldn't believe she was still in Baldur’s Gate after 30 years. He didn't know how long he was staring, until the merchant cleared their throat.

Astarion thanks them and turns back towards Tav. She's staring into a mirror that sat on top of the stall. She seems as if she's looking for something inside of it, a dreamy far off look behind her eyes. He hesitates wondering if she would be happy to see in or if she’d punch him. He’s frantically running scenarios in his head when he notices her head lift up.

Astarion shields his face with his cowl, only his bright red eyes shining through. He slings his bag over his shoulder and hesitates to walk closer to her. Tav fully turns to face him, her face the same kind loving light he saw in his trances. She smiles, beaming towards him, a look of recognition and love.

He swallows, the world seems to be closing in.

Instantly, though, that same world comes crashing down when he hears a small voice calling out. “Mama!! There you are! We’ve been looking all over for you!” A little girl runs past him, straight into Tav’s arms. Soon after a man comes up to them both and wraps an arm around Tav's waist.

He watches as the man kisses Tav and leads her away.

The rest of that day the way she looked past him burned in his mind. Could she have already forgotten about him? How long did it take for her to move on?

There's no point in dwelling on it now, he's got a lot of other things to worry about of course.

“Astarion? Are you okay? I didn't mean to pry again, I’m sorry.” Astarion is broken away from his thoughts by Octavia’s soft apology, her hand resting in his. He looks down at their hands intertwined. The flowers sit on the bench between them.

“The last time I saw her, she was standing at a stall like the one we were just at. I'm pretty sure she forgot who I was…or she had this look on her face like she did. I’ll never forget the way she looked into that mirror…This glossed over sort of blank empty look to her eyes. It was so strange, like she didn't remember where she was for a second.

Besides, she had a child and a husband? Partner? I don't know. I didn't hang around too long to ask, and I didn't want to cause any issues so I just stayed out of it.” Astarion confides, his voice mournful and far away.

Octavia feels the grip holding her hand tighten a bit, perhaps she's edging too close to his boundaries again? She rubs her hand on the top of Astarion’s arm. The motion soothes him and replaces the icy shards of sadness that pricked behind his eyes.

Somehow though, as he looks into her dazzling green eyes, he feels that lovely warmth in his chest. That feeling of comfort he’s longed for over a century.

They lock into each other, taking in their collective grief. Their sadness was the thing bringing them closer together. “You know, I’ve never told anyone about her.” Astarion confesses, “It's the first time that I've felt comfortable to feel this grief with someone who can relate. Thank you for giving me that opportunity to share a little with you.” He leans down and kisses her sweetly.

Octavia smiles reluctantly, a small shy blush grows on her cheeks. She must have something on her mind. “Is everything alright, my dear? You seem lost in thought.” Astarion asks.

She nods slowly, turning to look out to the market. “I was hoping that I wouldn't bring up anything sad, but I guess I couldn't make it through one date without ruining the moment.” Octavia huffs in a soft awkward laugh. “Gods, for once I wish I could stop being so melancholic and just enjoy the good things my life has given me lately. Like you.”

Astarion sits up a bit, he could feel a slight warmth at the tip of his ears, was he blushing? He clears his throat and asks, “Really? What about me?”

She smiles and plays with his fingers in her hand. “Where to start? You're kind, well…to me,” a soft giggle follows “you're smart, incredibly handsome. I feel pretty fortunate to have someone like you on my side, you understand me. Whoever let you go is foolish to have done so, but they opened up that path to you for me. So maybe they weren't so foolish after all.” Octavia lifts her hand, kissing the top of his hand.

“She didn't leave me. I left her. I left because I was scared. Scared that I couldn't take care of her how she wanted. Scared that she would figure that out on her own. That she would wake up one day and realize that I ruined her life. So I ran. I didn't even say goodbye. I just picked up my bag and left in the middle of the night. Like a coward.” Astarion spits out, the shame and regret dripping from his lips. His lips purse as he bites the inside of them.

Octavia frowns, she takes the flowers and places them on her lap. She plucks one out and begins to softly spin the flower, opening the petals. “You're not a coward.” She brings the flower up to his ear, tucking it behind.

“I don't think you're a coward for trying to keep someone you loved safe.” Her hand lingers on his cheek, caressing his face. “‘The things we do for love’, as my mom used to say.”

Astarion melts into the warmth of her hand. His heart felt the grief it was used to, but with her here it didn't seem so devastating. To allow himself to be vulnerable with someone felt strange, as most things involving Octavia do.

They sit in silence for a few seconds, before Octavia speaks “Not to change the subject or anything because I feel awkward,” she laughs a bit, “but I've noticed that you haven't been wearing your glasses lately? Did something change?”

Astarion bristles a bit, having to think on his feet. He was a bit hesitant to admit that he was not feeling the need to keep hiding behind the magical lenses any longer. In reality, he began to feel more comfortable to be himself around her.

But instead of giving her that openness, he lies again. “Oh, I…felt like I'd be calling more attention to myself if I were to have them on right now. Besides, wasn't it you that asked me why I wore them indoors right as Gale introduced you to me? I feel like this is the opposite of that.” Astarion ends with a soft tilted giggle.

“Imagine if someone stopped us to ask why I'm wearing sunglasses in the evening? As you so tactfully had that first night? That would have definitely ruined the date. Either way, you didn't do anything wrong. You’re perfect.” Astarion pulls Octavia close, releasing his hand on hers, and drapes his arm on her shoulder.

Octavia melts into his embrace, a bittersweet feeling hung over them. She brings her hand up to her shoulder and interlocks her fingers into his again. Astarion felt her relax a bit.

“How long will you be away?” “Do you want to come with me?” They speak at the same time, interrupting each other. Astarion clears his throat and Octavia laughs quietly. She turns her head to ask again, “Do you want to come with me to Wyvern Hills? I'll be gone for around six days?”

Astarion thinks it over, the idea of meeting her father was intimidating, even more so because he would probably have to explain his particular affliction. “I don't think so, darling. You deserve a break, and I don't think Gale can handle everything by himself again. I had him do that once and he nearly quit. It's too much for one person to handle. It would be unfair to him.”

Octavia feels Astarion’s other hand start to run up and down her arm. It's as if he was soothing her, or himself, maybe both? He was beginning to recognize the same comfort of sitting in silence with a loved one. The reminiscences of a quiet evening under the stars.

The sounds of nature envelop them, an intimate orchestra for two lost souls floating in an everlasting ocean of grief. In the vast darkness, they find the light and come together.

Octavia had lost herself to these feelings like so many times before. Astarion was born in it, used to the push and pull of it. Having lost the will to swim against it and let the waves crash over him, caught in its current thrashed around, but this was different.

To Astarion, Octavia feels like the safety net pulling him from the depths. The warmth of her affections was melting away his fears. His heart wanted to tell her how he felt. To confirm that after all these years, he finally felt the warmth of loving someone again.

“I lo-” Astarion almost confesses when he catches himself and continues, "I'll miss you. A lot. I just realized that we haven't been apart since we met. It'll be strange not having you around.” He leans down and kisses her cheek. “Come back to me, okay?”

Octavia felt her cheeks flush and her heart flutter.

Was he..? No…I’m probably just projecting.

Octavia couldn't deny her feelings for Astarion. The little flashes of lightning whenever he held her, made her laugh, or kissed her were exhilarating.

She couldn't deny that she loved him.

Octavia was terrified to tell him so after hearing him talk about his lost love. Who would she be if she heard all his pain and immediately said “Well, guess what? I love you!”? Her face felt hot, how long had they been sitting here?

She turns to Astarion and kisses him, she lets her feelings pour into their kiss. Octavia could feel tears gathering behind her eyes, “I’ll miss you too.” She smiles and kisses him again, feeling him lean into her, his arms wrapping around her.

Octavia pulls away a bit, “I should go home now, I told my dad I would try to be there as early as I could.” Astarion responds with a whine, Octavia giggles as he plants small kisses all over her cheeks, nose and lips.

“Don't miss me too much, Star.”

“Is that a challenge, darling?”

They laugh as Astarion unwraps himself from her, he stands and holds his hand out. Octavia takes it and they walk off into the night.

They leave the flowers on the bench.

--------------------------

Octavia walks up to the cobblestone cottage she grew up in. The patch of wildflowers she used to run in have turned into a full meadow, their blooms alert and open as if welcoming her back.

She walks up the gravel path to the doorway, noticing a small hummingbird on the hibiscus bush her mom lovingly tended. She smiles watching it flit away. Her trip would be over soon. A ping of sadness runs through her, saying goodbye to the place is going to be hard.

Suddenly the door swings open. Her father, Ralomaer, stands at the doorway with a giant grin on his face. He has a red flannel shirt on with some white powder on the bottom and some dark pants.“Hey kid! Have a nice walk? Are ya hungry? Got some breakfast made up for you!”

“Did you make waffles by any chance?” Octavia asks, with a laugh. Her dad tilts his head, his brows furrowed and he shakes his head, “Yeah, how’d you know??” Octavia laughs harder and points at his shirt. “You're covered in powdered sugar, Dad.”

Ralomaer laughs and waves his hand over the fabric, cleaning it up. Octavia walks up to him and remarks, “That must come in handy, you always used to hate doing laundry.”

Her dad laughs, “Well when you live alone, it's kind of pointless to wash one thing at a time. This is faster and better for the environment. Anyway, go eat. I'll meet you upstairs when you're done, it's attic day!” He waves his hands in a flourish, as Octavia walks past him and into the kitchen. Her dad climbs up the stairs.

Later that morning, Octavia sits cross-legged on the floor of the attic. Her father sits across from her on an old wooden chair. Between them sat an open wooden crate full of letters, drawings, photos, and many memories from her childhood.

“Okay, now I understand why you wanted me to come by and have this visit with you so urgently. This is really nice to go through with you, Dad.” Octavia chirps excitedly.

“Well don't thank me, thank your Auntie Taeladra! She insisted I clean the attic since she bought the house from me. Kept telling me something about ‘Preserving family history’ and ‘can you tell Octavia to come instead, isn't this pretty much her job.’” Ralomear holds up his hands, making finger quotes.

“Gods, she sounds like my coworker, Gale.” Octavia and her father laugh, as she rifles through the crate. Finding medals, trophies, countless books, letters, and pictures.

“You know, I think you’d like Gale. He's pretty funny. He's smart, witty, and so quick! He's been a great mentor, and an amazing friend. I'm really lucky to have him.” Octavia smiles warmly as she keeps rifling through the crate.

Her father stares at her, a puzzled look on his face. “What? What's that look for??” Octavia asks playfully.

“Are you dating this Gale? That was a lot of complimentary language for someone who is just a friend, my darling.” Ralomear gently teased.

“Dad! No! He's not my type! Besides, I'm way too busy with all the research and work and just…everything.” Octavia laughs, hiding her face behind her hair. She quickly looks away, hoping that her answer would squash this conversation.

“Oh my little bookworm! Don't keep your head in the books too long, you'll miss out on writing your own story.” Ralomear pinches Octavia’s cheek adoringly.

She smiles at her father, a little embarrassed laugh leaves her lips. A feeling of dread grows, she knows that her visit might end with her having to possibly define whatever she's got going on with Astarion. A small seed of insecurity plants itself in her stomach. How could she ever find a way to ease her father’s worries when it came to her love life?

“I’m gonna see what else is back there.” Octavia gets up and starts looking through the rest of the crates that occupied the attic. They were all stacked neatly in the corner of the little room. She walks up to the circular window next to the stack and opens the thin curtain.

Small dust spores kick up as she swings the window open, allowing the fresh air and sunlight to flood in. When she turns she notices a dusty tarp in the darkened corner of the attic. Some canvas frames sat on top of the tarp, it was staged as if it was trying to conceal something.

Octavia comes up to the items, carefully moving them aside. What she finds is an old wooden crate. “What the..?” She runs her hand on the edge of it, easily sliding it open. “Woah…hey Dad? I found something?”

Ralomaer looks up quizzically and wanders over. He stands with a hand on his hip, the other scratches at his beard. “Well would you look at that! Didn't even know that old crate was in here! No wonder your auntie wanted you to come through here, you and your museum skills are great for finding old junk!” he laughs.

Octavia began digging through the crate. Inside were old spell scrolls, tomes, stacks of handwritten letters from her great grandmother, the other adventures she traveled with, even highly detailed hand drawn maps!

Octavia could not believe the amazing treasure trove she had just unearthed in her own home. How long has this been here waiting for her to find it?

She finds a book full of sketches of various plants, animals, and locations all over Faerun. Octavia fixates on a fully illustrated image of the inside of what looks like an Illithid colony! She continues to flip through it, mesmerized by the way everything is drawn.

Octavia turns the page and is struck with drawings of eyes that look relatively close to Astarion’s own. She feels a strange sort of recognition from looking at the drawings.

The blood colored irises that were lovingly depicted in charcoal and ink, have a haunting familiarity to them. She knows Astarion is old, but she never asked exactly how old…

Her father pulls her out of her suspicions, “Lookie here, Tavvy! I found a rather interesting letter!” Ralomear recalls as he unfolds the antique parchment, handing it to Octavia. She reads the letter, her mind a little frazzled by yet another strange coincidence.

Darling Tav,

Laurent tells me you've been having nightmares again. It's been about 20 years since everything happened, are you still being plagued by the memories of it all, or just one particular, specific person? I still have some of my contacts from the House of Grief from my days as a Sharran. If you're serious about taking the risk, I could put you in contact with them. Let me know when you two get settled into your cottage. Lae and I can be over as soon as a tenday.

You're always in my thoughts, my dear friend.

Love always,

Shadowheart

“House of Grief? That sounds ominous.” Octavia remarks, remembering the extreme rituals Sharrans would take in order to release painful memories. Octavia could hardly imagine the suffering of those who felt it necessary to forget something, to now know that her own grandmother endured that shakes Octavia to her core.

“Sharrans eh? Good thing you did that whole exhibit on them! Maybe your friend Gale can help you out with this stuff?” Ralomear remarks.

“Yeah…maybe… Do you think Grammy had some PTSD from the whole Netherbrain thing?” Octavia asks quietly, the seriousness weighing heavy on her heart.

“I’m not sure, baby. Your mom always avoided the subject with me. Something about not wanting to dwell on the past and enjoying the time you had in the now. It was the one thing I never understood about your mom. How I wish you could ask her now.” Ralomear solemnly muses. He looks at Octavia, smiling mournfully.

They stay in the silence for a moment, before Octavia breaks. “I miss her. I could really use her brain right now.” She runs her finger along the outside of the crate.

“I miss her too. You definitely took after her, your brilliance is obviously her doing, my heart.” Ralomear takes Octavia’s hand in hers, squeezing it lovingly.

“I am so proud of you, I know your mom would be too. Now, let's keep digging through her stuff!” Ralomear smiles warmly and releases her hand.

Octavia shuffles through a stack of books, most of them run of the mill books, nothing too noteworthy. Until she notices a blue-gray fabric bound book. In silver letters across the front it read ‘Warming the Melancholy Heart’. She cards through it, until a small hand written letter falls out.

Octavia opens it, scanning the page. She gasos and begins to read the letter to her father.

Laurent,

The Unburdening your wife chose to follow through with should have fully set in by now. I have sent you some recommended reading should you have any questions about the procedure. Your wife has all my gratitude for all she did for me and the others. To give her this blessed relief in this trying time is the least I could do.

As per her concern, she may have some fleeting memories, but those should fade in time. Should she have any aftereffects or complications, do not hesitate to contact me again.

Shar’s blessings be upon you,

Nocturne

“Unburden? What does that mean?” Ralomear asks Octavia, handing her the letter.

Octavia reads through the thin book, the words describing the taking of memories sound as if they're trying to lessen the serious action being taken.

The remedy may seem non-existent, but it is not so. No heart that beats is a stranger to that which gives it joy - you must seek it out however you can.

Octavia flips through the book, most of it is filled with testimonials from people who went through the process. Lines of affirmation for what has been done to forget. Her eyes linger on one of the pages describing the aftereffects, symptoms ticked in red ink, tally marks keeping track of each in black.

✓ Forgetfulness ///

✓ Melancholy ////

✓ Face blindness //

✓ Staring at nothing //

✓ Nightmares of past memories /////////

These shall subside as time passes, you will need to guide your loved one through the process moving past their burdens. Should they seem different, another session may be required.

You may notice your loved one have an empty, far off look to their eyes, that will lift as their healing progresses. If you find they are forgetting more than intended, return to the House of Grief.

Be aware of them looking into mirrors for a long period of time.

"Mirror??? What?” Octavia gasps, covering her mouth quickly after. “Tavvy? Everything alright? Your face looks really sweaty all of a sudden…” Her dad reaches out and places the back of his hand on her forehead. “Oh yeah, you're feeling a little warm, why don't you go lie down? We're almost done for today, so I can finish up and bring some tea to your room?” he gives her a soft pat on the shoulder.

Octavia nods, “Sure, thanks Dad.” she can't wrap her mind around everything she just read and saw. She grabs the sketchbook and the book on Unburdening and walks out of the room. She descends the thin ladder leading up to the attic, then walks into her room, closing the door.

Octavia presses her back against the door, sliding down until she's sitting on the floor. The sketchbook closely held to her chest.

She opens the book back up to the images of the eyes. There's no doubt in her mind that she's looking into the same eyes that she had back on the bench outside the market.

Suddenly, Octavia remembers that she had the enchanted journal at the bottom of her bag. She crawls over to her bag at the foot of the bed, and flips furiously through it.

One entry immediately catches her attention.

Gods, it's been incredibly hard trying to keep these entries as neutral as I can. There's no telling what else could come for A. About two tenday ago, we went through that freaky meadow, A and I ran into a Gur hunter named Gandrel. Said he was looking for a vampire spawn, I noticed A’s whole attitude immediately change. His face looked as if he had been slapped. Those eyes that keep staring at me, turned so fox-like and angular. As soon as we heard A’s name come from the hunter’s lips, it was over. I have never seen him move like that. He swears it’s Cazador, but what would Cazador need him for?

Octavia presses her knees up to her chest. She closes her eyes and tries to push the notion of this being Astarion whom her ancestor is referring to out of her mind. It can't be him, could it?

She reaches over to the foot of her bed and rips through her bag, shaking out its contents, until finding a black velvet bag. She slips the ribbon off, taking out the red leather bound book that Astarion had given her.

She flips through, reading the first few lines. It speaks of people who had been captured, the various ways in which they were beaten, tortured, abused, and finally, bled try and turned.

Each one had an entire 20 page section dedicated to their specific treatment. Near the bottom of one page, she notices a name.

According to Aurelia, the Gur sent someone to find him. I sent Dalarya and Petras to stalk the Gur encampment in Rivington. They are to kill whoever does not give up information.

The boy will be found, I need him to ascend. The Ritual of Profane Ascension will be completed.

I WILL BECOME THE VAMPIRE ASCENDANT.

Ritual of Profane Ascension…where had she seen that phrase before? Octavia goes back to Tav’s journal, flipping through until she sees those words again.

Today, I got a better look at his back.

He's got a circular scar with Infernal written all around. When I saw it the morning after the party with the tieflings, he said it was poetry, but he didn't know that I know Infernal. I was hesitant to tell him what it really was, but something told me to keep being honest.

When I asked him where he got it, he told me it was a gift from his old master, Cazador. I explained to him that I believed it was a binding glyph, Cazador was planning something and whatever it is, it seems he needs the missing piece that I have in my party.

My suspicions were proven correct when we met up with the devil after finishing the Gauntlet of Shar and killing the Orthon.

He told us about this Rite of Profane Ascension. How Cazador needs 7 of his spawn to sacrifice along with many others to make himself into some kind of super vampire that can walk in the sun, go into homes without being invited, all those things that go along with being a vampire….

I'm not so sure about it though. Raphael explained that the soul of the Ascendant would be lost, and he would be a shell of his former self.

I don't know if I could go through with it. Killing all those people? It seems like such a big decision to make, so permanent and serious. We had a group meeting after everyone cleaned up and had dinner. Karlach and Wyll were adamantly against it. They can't justify all that loss for one person to benefit.

Gale and Shadow had more rational arguments, they both had ambitions to be greater than they were through their own rites. A seemed to listen to Shadow over Gale, but ultimately it was Lae’zel that convinced him otherwise.

She told him how all she wanted was to serve her Queen, but after seeing everything we have, she realized that she can't keep chasing the shadow of a lie. Sometimes, we have things we want, and we find that to achieve them, we would lose all of ourselves. If that was the case, what was he chasing after? If he wanted freedom, he's already free.

I think that was what finally opened Star’s eyes.

Star??

“Fuck me.” Octavia can feel the color drain out of her face. She looks around the floor at all the books that were surrounding her. She picks up the sketchbook and keeps looking through.

She noticed that every so often, there are pages ripped out. As if someone tore them up in a fit of rage. When she reaches the page with the eyes, she sees a little doodle of a star beside each one.

Octavia can't help the trembling in her hands, there's been this creeping suspicion inside her for a few weeks now.

The enchantment Gale broke, the log book Astarion gave her, the way he described his lost love seeming like they had been Unburdened and now all this? The clues are becoming glaringly obvious to her, but, it can't be….can it?

Her heart is thundering inside her chest as she keeps going through the pages of the sketchbook, more torn pages, drawings of flowers, and finally near the end of the book, two full pages of the binding glyph that Tav had described.

Three circles, almost like a bullseye, surrounded by Infernal symbols. The scarring looked deep and painful. Octavia’s mind races remembering how Astarion winced and seemed to not want her to touch him there.

Octavia’s eyes survey the page and her breath is ripped out from her lungs when she sees a profile drawing of Astarion looking her right back in the face. She can feel the tears well up behind her eyes, her entire life she had been told about this grand adventure, this amazing thing that her great grandmother had done for the city she loved.

There's almost double the amount of writings speaking all about a seventh spawn. It used a code for their abuses and names but I was one set of entries that surpassed all others in her eyes.

Octavia swallows, she grabs the red leather book one more time, she opens the book towards the end, as soon as she sees his name, it all comes crashing down on her.

I have dispatched the brood. They will find him and bring him home. And when they do, I will make him scream for this.

Their tale was fanciful, but they believe it to be true. Astarion, standing in the sun’s light? Willing and able to disobey me? Inconceivable.

My spawns fail me. Astarion eludes me. I WILL HAVE MY DUE.

Octavia’s blood runs cold.

There it was, hidden in plain sight this whole time. Astarion is everything that she has been searching for. He's the one who was there, the one who was in the paintings, the one who Tav forgot. All the evidence was clear, and now seeing his name in this journal that she barely bothered to look at back home…

Home.

Oh gods, how was she going to be able to look Astarion in the face now?

The only thing that made her doubt all of this was his back. She hadn’t seen it yet. She dreaded having to ask to see it, what would she say? How would he react? She presses her head up against the footboard of her bed, closing her eyes tightly.

Octavia's heart shattered as she sat clutching her knees tightly to her chest. The room grew smaller and the air around her was stifling and thick. Between the sobs, she tried to catch her breath, trying to stop the room from spinning, holding on to her legs, anything to ground her.

But what was left to stand on? Everything she knew up to this moment had been a giant mystery until now, shrouded in a decades-long secret. Locked away behind paintings and books, the things that once gave her comfort, that now sat scattered about her felt tainted.

She shoved them away, call it anger, frustration, fear, it all blurred together now. The floor felt like shifting sand, like it would give way at any moment sucking her down. Hiding her, like the other 7000, like his siblings like him...HIM.

Did he know? Did he know about her relationship to Tav? She had so many questions now and everything felt more and more uncertain. He loved Tav, and she had loved him that was for certain. Was he still in mourning, did he regret leaving Tav? Was she Tav's replacement?

Oh gods the room was spinning as Octavia lay down on the floor curled in on herself. She couldn't think that way, but she couldn't help it anymore. She no longer was thinking with a clear and rational head, instead, she let her emotions control her.

Binding her to the belief that Astarion once upon a time loved a woman so intimately, that she would never be able to fill that void. As sleep took her the last thought that plagued the visions within her mind was one that had read in the journal, something that Tav had penned so long ago.

Would Astarion ever leave Octavia like he had left her? And if he didn't would she ever be good enough for him to convince him to stay?

#bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #fic: memories of us #bg3 fanfic #shit's getting real now y'all.

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utterdrip · 3 months

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few clips ive gathered of astarion being worried/protective

#frankie posts #bg3 spoilers #astarion #bg3 #astarion acunin #bg3: vid #astarion baldurs gate #how are we feeling guys. good?#i know theres kne in the creche if u grab the mace #hes like u all get to safety ill deal w it!#but hes never been the one to speak if i take it soooo #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #woo.#starry comp

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hiphopcherrrypop · 13 days

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flirting vs harassment❓

#bucchigiri?!#xxxholic #tomoshibi arajin #watanuki kimihiro #theyre both so sillyyy #but im sorry arajin u will never be watanuki i fear!!!!#he’s winning bc at least himawari is his friend LOOOL #meanwhile mahoro not even willingly speaking to arajin 😭😭#how r they so twinsie and ALSO both a little crZy and delusional #i need to finish holic actshually 😓😓😓…#i got it ages ago and then it just sat on my shelf a while #i have omnibus volumes which look big and daunting so i blame that for why ive been taking soooo long #except i realized i never ordered the next ones! and then my order gets delayed raghh #so now soon i will be on forced pause or spend more for ebook copies 😞#and even whenever those finaly ship i cannot find book 7 anyyyywhere

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hoshigray · 6 months

Text

𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬, 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 | toji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Your ex-husband bringing the kids over for trick-or-treating is one thing; him wanting to spend the night at your place is another. But it's just for the night. There's no way one night can rekindle some old feelings...right?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: ex-husband! Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - the reader is around their mid-30s - Tsumiki (age 11) and Megumi (age 9) - mutual pining - kissing/makeout sessions - unprotected sex - Daddy kink - breast sucking + nipple play - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - spooning + mating press - cervix fucking - breeding kink - praise - clitoral play (pressing and grinding) - pet names (baby, good girl, mama, princess, sweetie, sweet thing) - you and Toji have been divorced for five years - cameos: Gojo, Utahime and Mei Mei - mention of drool/spit and tears - humor bc I'm [not] funny.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.6k (....dawg.)

𝐀𝐮��𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: happy Halloween, everyone!! so, randomly missed writing ex-husband! toji bc it's lowkey my favorite, soooo yeah, this is what we're doing to celebrate the end of the month! anywho, happy October, beautiful ppl, and tysm for reading my works!! Alsooo, ty for 2.8k!!!

“Trick-or-treat!!”

“Gasp—Oh my goodness!”

“We came to celebrate Halloween! Also, Megumi forgot his toothbrush here again.”

Opening your door to children at the sunset of Halloween day isn’t out of the ordinary or anything special. However, it’s always a pleasant surprise when it’s two kids you hold dear to your heart. You greet them with a hug, two siblings you know too well to say you’re acquainted with. If anything, you’re practically family.

The raven-haired brother, referred to as Megumi, speaks up. “It’s not my fault! Dad was rushing me last time.”

“Because you had to bring your stuffed animals last time, holding us back for your baseball practice.” Tsumiki, the older sister, snapped back. The two argue amongst themselves in front of you as you try to mediate. It’s no avail until another voice comes to the fray.

“All right, chill out, you two.” The voice belonged to the person approaching the porch stairs, your eyesight capturing the familiar figure walking up with two duffle bags. The one standing tall before you was the father of the children, Toji Fushiguro. Who’s also known as your one and only former husband. “Get inside and finish y’r homework, or else we’re goin’ back home.”

The siblings stop bickering and head inside, taking off their shoes at the foyer and walking upstairs. Now that they’re gone, you turn to the man with the jet-black hair, his viridian orbs focused on you. The weather was chilly, so the man wore his usual dark denim jacket over his plain black sweatshirt, matching his jeans. “You look good, big guy. What’s in the bags?”

He greets you with a curled lip, and the scar on the side of his lip lifts. “Picked them up from their after-school sports, so it’s their sports gear and costumes for tonight. Mind helpin’ me here?”

“Hmmm,” you merge your facial expressions to that of faux pondering, turning your back to Toji. “Nah, can’t. Got dinner to finish making.”

“Hmph, should’ve known.” He makes his way through between you and the front door. “Wouldn’t wanna break your pretty nails carrying heavy shit, huh, princess?”

You glare at him using the nickname, hating his patronizing gaze. “From what I remembered, you would never let me carry the heavy stuff because you thought I was too fragile and easy to break. So how about that, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor?”

“Really? I don’t remember sayin’ all that before. You must’ve put me in a spell.”

“Probably, I’ve been told I’m quite cute~.”

“Mmm, nah, more like an old hag of a witch.” Toji barks a laugh at your offended reaction, and he immediately ducks and heads for the stairs when you throw a sandal at him.

“At the very least, say I’m a cute witch, fucker.” You say the final word under your breath, grabbing the sandal you threw and heading back to the kitchen.

To say you and Toji were acquainted with one another would be the biggest understatement of the century. The two of you met a decade ago, fell madly in love, and married within a year of the relationship. When you tied the knot, Tsumiki had to have been two years old, and Megumi just turned one year old. You two had been together for four years after that, and you could confidently say those were one of [if not THE] best years of your life. You often second-guessed yourself being in a relationship with someone who had children, fearing that they wouldn’t like you or ignore you.

However, those worries were blown right away as the days went by. Every time you spent time with the children brought you three closer than ever; it was to the point that they saw you as their mother. How sweet! And there’s no denying that Toji loved you. The man would break someone’s nose for you — yes, it happened before, and it wasn’t pretty — for you were his sweet little thing that kept him going.

Well, if it was so great, why the divorce? Let’s just say you weren’t Toji’s first love. That title would have to be awarded to the Megumi’s mother. Even in her unfortunate passing, you can tell that Toji loved that woman like no other. It didn’t make you jealous or anything, seeing the man you love still mourn for a dead woman. Hell, you’d probably do the same if you were him. But, you can’t lie; it felt like you were cast over a “shadow” when it came to her influence. It was damn near suffocating to bear, especially in those four years of marriage. So, for your sake and his aching heart, you pulled him aside and suggested a divorce. And Toji didn’t fight you on the proposition, signing the papers and setting you free from the thick air.

Although things ended between you two, that didn’t mean things stopped being what they were. If anything, it was as if nothing happened at all. Even if you still don’t live under the same roof, you still make time to hang with the Fushiguros, whether invited to some occasion or exchange phone calls or texts to check up on them. Even now, five years after your separation, it warms your heart knowing that you get to interact with the people you care about.

There are moments you find yourself missing living under the same roof with all three of them and living alone can be pretty lonely. But all in all, as long as they’re comfortable and trust you enough to be around, there’s no need to change things up again. Like right now — the four of you sit at the dinner table eating before the kids go off trick-or-treating.

“Are you going to trick-or-treat with us, Y/n?” The brown-haired child sitting next to you asks while finishing up her dinner.

“Sorry, not this time, gotta be at a Zoom meeting for my job in a few minutes. But I do have someone else to take my place. Gojo will be here at around—Why are you two making that face?” You stop mid-sentence to notice Megumi and Toji at the other side of the table, displaying disgusted facial expressions at the mention of the white-haired other’s name.

“Why him?” They said in unison.

“Why not??” You question their irritation.

“He’s so annoying…” Again, in unison. Proof enough that they’re father and son.

You sigh as you get up to take your plate to the sink. “Oh, come on, you two, it’s not like he’ll be with you guys the entire night. He has a party at a friend’s he’s going to later.”

“Isn’t he too old to trick-or-treat?” Tsumiki questions, noting that Gojo is way past his undergraduate years.

“He is, but whatever gets that prick any free sweets,” Toji answers his daughter before getting up to put his dish in the sink.

You exit the kitchen, head into the living room, and sit on the couch. The laptop you had placed there was ready to open and unlock, and you clicked on applications and windows to look through before your meeting started in the next three to two minutes. He should be here about—

DING-DONG!!

Now.

Right on cue, you motion for Toji to grab the front door, and he follows your command. “Kids, Gojo’s here!” You shout out to the two kids who still sit at the table. “When you’re done eating, you can go upstairs and put your costumes on. But whoever finishes last has to do the dishes.” You can hear commotion from the table as the brunette rushes to put her dish in the sink and dash for the stairs. Megumi groans to himself; you giggle when you hear him mutter an “Aww man…”

You pull out your headphones to connect to your laptop, put them in their respective ears, and prepare yourself for the meeting. Ignoring the faint passive-aggressive tones of your ex-husband when greeting Gojo at the door…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Your eyes flutter open, noticing the lighting change around the living room. The orange sunlight no longer decorated the space, substituted with the gradual darkness that overtakes you. The only source of light you can figure out is the flashing from the television screen.

Aside from the TV, there are no other signs of life. There aren’t any signs of Tsumiki or Megumi around playing or causing a raucous. It could only mean the two are still trick-or-treating with Gojo.

One blink, two blinks. I must’ve fallen asleep after the meeting… You hum while sinking to the couch, burying your face into the pillow.

But…since when did your pillow act like it was breathing with a heartbeat? And…I smelt that cologne before…How?

“Ya awake now?”

You raise your head, realizing you are not lying on your couch. Technically, you were; however, you were lying on something else on the furniture with you – more like someone.

It’s then you realize that you were lying on Toji during your entire slumber, him leaning on the end of the couch, one leg spread to make room for you to sleep on him while you sit on the other. And you can guess that you had your head on his chest, snuggling up to his warm figure. He looks at you with his green eyes now darkened by the room, yet you can see their glow from the television light. And that small smile he gives you, the scar on the right side of his lip lifted upward. The familiar butterflies in your stomach flutter like before. Like old times sake…That must be embarrassing, huh?

You frantically try to get off of him, “Sorry about that, I thought—“

“No, no,” Toji places a stern hand on your back, keeping you from moving further. “You were comfortable.”

You stare at him for a few seconds until your face contours to a look, and a smile starts to creep up while you situate yourself back to your original position, pressing your face back on his chest to listen to the beats of his heart again. “I recall having this couch all to myself not too long ago, so where’d you come from?”

“Well, I wanted to watch some sports highlights, but I figured you’d kick my ass if I pulled you off and had you sleep on the floor instead.” With the click of your tongue, he chortles. You bet your ass I would. “So, I decided to have ya sleep on me while I watch TV.”

“What’s wrong with the other side of the couch? It’s quite vacant and enough for a big guy like you.”

“True,” his hand rubs circles on your back, an old habit he did when he used to have you like this. “But then I’d be lonely.”

You titter. “That’s big for someone who said he thrives on being alone.”

“I thrive being alone when I’m working.” You’re glad he can’t see your eyes roll; he’d probably grab you by the cheeks like a child. “Besides, why would I wanna be alone when I have you for myself.”

And there it is, your cheeks begin to warm up. Or was it because you’re so close to him that his heat is transferring to you? That’s probably it, yeah. Let’s change the subject…”How long was I out for? I remember the kids left around 7:30-ish.”

“Mmm, it’s going to eleven right now.”

Three and a half hours? Damn. “It’s past their bedtime.”

Toji scoffs. The abrupt motion of his chest rising is satisfying in a way that makes you even more comfortable. “You still think they’re gonna sleep with all that sweet shit they got?” He snickers some more as you shake your head.

“They know better. When you guys get home, be sure to put their candy bags on the top shelf of the closet for the morning.”

“Still traumatized from that one time?”

“Uhhh, yes??” The memory flashes to you for a quick moment, but the dread from before still haunts you. Megumi was six years old and Tsumiki seven, returning home from trick-or-treating and immediately tasting their labor from that night. However, what you didn’t expect was for them both to eat almost half their bags. Let’s just say, thanks to their sugar rushes, they didn’t drop dead until the hour hand touched two of the morning. “Unless it’s the weekend, never again.”

The way the older man chuckles is so therapeutic — it nearly makes you want to fall asleep again. “You weren’t the one chasin' Megumi all over the place tryin' to get him to sleep. Little squirt gets his speed from me.”

“Awww, poor you~” You can sense the glare as you respond in a condescending, sing-song tune. “You and him are always butting heads. Like father, like son.”

“Tch, hate that sayin’ so fuckin’ much.”

“Why? ‘Because it’s true?”

“Shut up.” The hand he used to rest his head comes down to pinch your nose. You wriggle out of his hold with giggles, but he happily keeps you grounded to him with his stronghold and a leg wrapped around to prevent yours from moving. “He only listens to you. Such a sweet lil’ baby to you, huh? Puttin’ my own son against me.”

More giggles prompt out of tiny guilt, and you bring up a hand to rub on his chest. “He’s such a bright boy now. Growing up so big and fast.”

“Miki, too. That girl is way too smart fr' me to catch up. And she’s becoming so kind and strong, crazy to think she made me play teacups when she could barely go down the stairs by herself.” Toji hums, the vibrations felt on the pads of your fingers. “Think she gets that from you.”

You shook your head. “They’re your babies. They do amazing things because they have a big guy like you to catch them if they ever fall.”

“Hmm, fair…But let’s not pretend I’m the best dad in the world. Fuck, never in my life did I think I’d be a dad, especially with two kids. I didn’t know shit back then — still! I still don’t know shit.” You don’t say anything, just listening to him voice his thoughts to you. Because he knows you’d listen – you always do. “If you weren’t there for them, I don’t think they’d be shining like this. Y’re definitely the thing that brought us up together. They look up to you so much. Ya did so well with them.”

Nodding aimlessly, his black sweatshirt grazing on your cheek. “Thank you. Same to you. Didn’t do so bad yourself, big guy.”

“Mmm.”

Nothing is said between you two after that. The only thing that makes noise is the voices coming from the television. The volume lowered, an initiative you could guess from Toji wanting you to get some rest. The silence was too awkward that it might torture some, but it was fine where it was. There was no need to change it, especially when you were comfortable in each other’s embrace.

That is, until Toji asks, “Do you miss it?” The rubs on your back go slower, his fingertips drawing a ticklish sensation.

“Of course I do. All the time.” You answer honestly, turning your head to rest your chin on him. Your eyes glimpse directly at his, giving him a tiny grin. “Why ask? I know the kids miss me being around; what about you? Miss me nagging and putting you to work all the time?”

He sneers at your comment. “Every day.”

It was such a simple answer, yet it had the power to wipe that smirk right off your face. Your eyes locked in his sight, and your heart tuning to an irregular rhythm. Oh, come on, Y/n, get a grip! “Ahem—Toji, I hope you know that I never stopped missing everything we had — I never will. Those years that we shared were probably the best I’ve had. We had happy moments, others sad, of course. But, God, do I miss it all. I miss it so much. I miss having you guys here. Miki and Gumi and—“

“Me?” Good Lord, if this man doesn’t stop looking at you with those goddamn eyes of his, such captivating orbs that say more than he lets on. Your breath hitches, and so does the hand on your back. “Hmm? Ya miss me, baby?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why’d you have to call me that? And it gets worse when he places his free hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin while the forefinger teases the lobe and tragus of your ear. Goddammnit…

“...Yes,” your voice was down a whisper, which could easily be mistaken with the television. But you know Toji heard you, loud and clear. “Especially you, Toji.” You said it. The words that he wanted to hear from you. They felt so forbidden to say, yet it was the truth. You avert your gaze away from him. But you knew that wouldn’t work, not right now. Toji taps your cheek with his thumb, and your eyes sheepishly return to his.

He doesn’t say anything, and that makes your heart beat at an unbearable rate. It’s all you can hear when you stare into his deep emerald eyes, the sound of it ringing your eardrums as if you could puke. Your throat running dry, so you gulp to ease the uncomfortable bob. If something could just happen to end this anxious torture, that would be great.

And then your prayers get answered: something does happen. Toji slowly brings his face closer to yours — your body goes rigid, and you instantly face away before the inevitable happens. No, I didn’t mean that!

“Aht aht, don’t do that, baby.” His hand slithers from your cheek to your chin, forcing you to face straight at him. “Lemme see you.”

“Toji, wait,” your voice travels out in a shaky breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this. We can’t cross this line anymore.”

He listens to your pleas, but his body does otherwise. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead while the hand on your back snakes downward. “Why not?” His gruff voice dialed down to a whisper.

“Because—Mmmm…” Toji interrupts you by licking the helix of your ear. Oh, you slick bastard. “We’re supposed to be done…”

“That’s not stoppin’ me from takin’ care of my sweet thing.” Jesus Christ, you almost melted from the way he whispered that to your ear. He’s pulling out all the same old tricks, and it gets more hellish by the second as you try not to give in. “So, y're gonna let me take care of you like I always do, right, mama?”

Both his hands now rest on your ass, groping it while your hips sway as if they have a mind of their own. The leg between yours comes up slightly, making you ride on it. The heat on your cheeks has already blossomed to your ears, making it hard to think straight. Gripping his sweatshirt, your hips ride his thigh to ease the throbbing sensation that grows with every motion. Good God, you shouldn’t be doing this. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. However, it’s been so long that you felt wanted like this — wanted by him. It’s all the same – his voice, his hands, his words, his body, and the names he calls – yet here you are turning into putty.

“Haaahh, Mmmfff…Toji, please,” Toji withdraws his face from your shoulder, leaving him to examine your expression. You must look so dumb right now, with your hooded eyes and shivering lips. But, at this point, do you even care? “Please…Treat me right.”

One moment, you see his gaze narrow with a devious glint. Next, you’re taken aback when Toji slams his lips on yours, kissing and sucking your bottom lip until you give him access. With a moan, you open your mouth for him and sink deeper into the kiss. Your hands come around his neck, keeping him focused on you and you alone. Not that he would have it any other way.

His strong hands continue to knead your asscheeks while you hump and grind on his thigh. Nibbling on your lip, you whimper helplessly for him. It strokes his ego, knowing he’s making you like this, the fucking bastard. He takes in your tiny cries happily, shoving his tongue to play with yours. You give in to him, almost losing your balance riding his thigh, yet Toji’s lips never leave yours.

You break the kiss to get an imperative breath, panting loudly and sweetly for him as Toji kisses and licks your ear. The sounds make your lower region twitch. “Hnnmm, fuck…That’s my girl. So fuckin’ good fr’ me always, Y/n…” You can feel him slide a hand up to the hem of your leggings, forcing it inside for his thick fingers to brush up on the bare flesh of your butt. You gasp sharply. Him squeezing your butt has you biting down on his sweatshirt. “—Hahhh, Oh God, Toji,” With every squeeze, he inches closer to your panty-covered chasm, where you know he’d find a damp spot. Please touch me. Please, please, plea—

CLACK-CLINK!!

The two of you are frozen stiff when you hear the sound of the door opening and closing, the foyer lights turned on. “Alright~, we got you guys home. See ya later!” That was Gojo’s voice, indicating everyone was finally back from trick-or-treating. This means that Tsumiki and Megumi are about to see you on top of their father, his hand in your leggings and smacking lips with yours. Your eyes shoot wide with horror — immediately remove yourself from Toji and stand up from the couch to pull your bottoms up. You barely had the chance to peek at Toji because the kids already run to the living room to find you two.

“Y/n, Y/n, look!” The brunette was the first to greet you with her adorable pink Barbie cowgirl costume. She and her brother, dressed as Sasuke Uchiha, cheerfully showcased their pillowcases full of candy. “Look at all this candy we got!”

“Wooow, you guys really went on a haul,” you can only hope they can’t see you sweating bullets through your fake reaction. “Wh–Where’s Gojo?”

“He dropped us off here a few seconds ago and left for the party,” The raven-haired boy answered while scanning his pillowcase.

You only nod along until you frantically wipe your mouth, realizing the tiny trail of spit from the corner of your mouth. “Umm—Ahem, well then, I’m glad you two got all that candy. Now, let’s hurry up and get you guys home so you can get ready for school tomorrow!”

But the children didn’t move an inch. Actually, they looked like they were going to tell you something. You lift a brow. Oh no, they’re going to look at each other. They looked at each other and then glanced back at you. Oh, God, no. “Uhhh, Y/n, we were thinking.” Big sister Tsumiki is always the one who asks the following question. “Can we stay over?”

You inhale a massive breath, yet you do your best not to exhale a heavy sigh. “Kids, you promised to keep the overnight stays to three at max per month. This will be the fifth!”

“Yeah, but it’s dark out. Plus, it’s way past our bedtime.” The younger chimes in with a tiny pout. “We’ll be asleep by the time Dad gets us home.”

And here comes Tsumiki with the tag-team response to add on. “And that means he’ll have to make continuous trips back and forth from the car. Picking me and Megumi up, getting our bookbags, the bags full of candy, the whole thing! We already packed up our PJs just in case.”

You stood there staring at the two in astonishment. There’s no way they thoroughly planned this out. There’s just no way… And to make it worse, they were making valid arguments. You open your mouth to say something, but the two give the best puppy eyes they can. The wave of guilt hits like a train, internally cringing. You turn to Toji, who still sits on the couch, and the motherfucker only gives you a shrug. Wow, what a helpful father he is.

You groan into your hands, shaking your head while looking at the kids who wait for your verdict. “…Alright, you can stay as long as you PROMISE to put those candy bags in my bedroom closet. Deal?” The happy smiles and aggressive head shakes should answer your question. “Good, now go ahead and take your showers before you head for bed.” They rushed to the stairs by the time you finished that sentence, so enthusiastic about staying the night at your house, and you can’t help but smile hearing their footsteps run up the stairs.

With that being said, you turn to the older man again. Your brows are trenched down, but your smile is still present. “So, you legit just sat there and let those two tag-team me like that? In my own house?”

Another shrug with a dumb smirk on his handsome face. “Told you: too smart fr’ me to catch up.” You shake your head before exiting to get the kids and guest rooms ready, leaving him with the television.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The midnight hour has finally danced its way into the darkness of the night. Halloween is finally over, and the month of October is no more. The pitter-patter sound of the rain cleanses the neighborhood of its merits and festivities that partook hours ago, ready for a new phase of the year to take over.

After having the guest room ready with sheets and sleepwear for Toji and kissing the kids goodnight, you rinse your stress off with a nice shower and put on your pajamas to get ready for bed. After you turn the lights off, you drape the comforter over your figure as your body sinks with the cozy sheets and pillowcase. Your eyes close while focusing on the curtains of your window, the only light piercing inside being the lampposts by the street.

…Well, at least that’s what’s supposed to happen. But that’s not the case because you’re not the only one lying comfortably on your mattress. Instead, Toji is here with you, in your room, on your bed, his chest to your back, and his hand roaming inside your oversized shirt. Your lips are now connected with his, sharing your erotic moans with his enticing groans, and you get a little louder as his fingers cup and play with your breast.

“Mmphh…Ahhhh, I thought I told you you’re sleeping in the guest room—Nmmff!” He tweezes your nipple with his forefinger and thumb roughly.

“And I thought you’d be smart enough to know that wasn’t gonna happen.” Toji kisses the crook of your neck, drawing near your ear for him to whisper. “Besides, look at you. Still sleepin’ with no underwear on?”

“Hmph, only when I have a man around the house.” That answer got you another rough tweak on your nip and a purposeful gnaw to your ear. You knew he’d react like that, never liking the mention of another man leaving your mouth – especially during an intimate time like this.

“That so? What man you know that can handle all this?” Toji then moves from his side to be between your legs, pulling up your shirt to fully expose your chest. And your breathe hitches while his free hand travels down your abdomen to your bottoms.

“Ahhhh, no one. Just you...” You look at him with half-lidded eyes, taking in his reaction to what you said. The salacious grin on his face becoming broader should entail that he greatly loved that retort.

He brings his face to your other unattended nipple, “Good answer, princess.” The nub of your breast enters his mouth, and the wet warmth of his tongue greets it with lapped motions and grazes from his teeth. Despite that, it doesn’t distract you from the fact your bottoms are pulled down with ease and are thrown to the bedroom floor, leaving your cunt out for him, your erotic fluids seeping and glistening from the outside lights.

Toji plays with your folds until he can stuff his pointer finger into your chasm, the insertion resulting in your body’s jolt. It’s been a long while since you had his thick digit inside you, playing and scraping the inner walls to evoke whimpers. God, it felt so good, this satisfying feeling returning to awaken your body to his touch. He interacts with your body as if he’s the only person who knows how to get you going – and it’s the truth. No one can put you in a blissful haze quicker than this man. And you’d prefer to keep it that way.

The addition of his middle finger into your leaky entrance startles you, the thick digit making its way in with such vigor that he uses both fingers to scrape the velvety texture of your walls. Your eyes are now screwed shut at the growing commotion between your thighs, and the heat within your body flourishing all around gets to your head. “—Khmm, Oh fuuck, Toji. Please, don’t stop.”

With a soft ‘pop’ noise from his lips, Toji replies to your demands. “I’m sorry, what’s my name again?” You giggle with trenched brows. Of course, how could I forget?

“Nmmph, D-Daddy, pleaseee, I’m so clo—Ahhhann!!” He puts his thumb to your clit, grinding down on it unexpectedly. “I wanna cum, pleaseee…”

“Hmmm, good girl,” he teased, laying down kisses, nibbling on the skin of your stomach and inner thighs until he arrives at your leaking slit. Your body jerks up from the bed when you feel the cold, wet muscle slowly lick on your clitoris before ravaging your folds. The sounds of his mouth on your cunt are so lewd to the ear, slurping noises from his lips with the lapping motions of his tongue claiming your come are too much for you. And when he uses his hand to swipe and pinch your clit? Oh, it’s a wrap. Your release comes out without control, biting down on your bottom lip to make sure your cries don’t leave this space for the kids to hear. Their room is on the other side down the hall; tonight isn’t the night for too many risks.

When your trembling body calms down and subsides, Toji withdraws his face from between your thighs. Your essence paints his mouth, and he wipes his chin clean while licking the remnants that coat his scarred lips. “Hmph, missed tastin’ you like that.” You open your eyes when your high finally evades you, watching your ex-husband pull down his sweats. His erection springs out and hits his stomach, your mind going rampant with thoughts as you ogle at his freed limb. Shit, it’s been so long. Will that shit even fit me again?

“Don’t think it’ll fit, baby?” Damn him, he loves teasing you. Toji then discards his black wife-beater, at long last revealing his well-built, brawny physique that has you drooling for him. He uses his hands to maneuver your legs—your knees pushed to your chest as your legs propped up on his shoulders. A position you’re all too familiar with. Your eyes don’t leave Toji’s cock as he aligns his cock to your slick-coated folds. “Take some breaths fr’ me, sweetie. Can’t take care of you when you’re all tense.”

You take up on his advice and begin taking deep breaths, reminding yourself to maintain the steady pattern as he pushes the tip of his dick between the lips of your cunt. Every inhale is where he nudges into the hole of your inner cavern, and every exhale gives you time to breathe out the pain that comes in for a split second. This carries on until the cockhead wedges itself perfectly into your vagina, along with the inches of his girth that stretches until the base kisses your lips, the tip of him kissing your cervix. Tears swell up in your eyes, taking more deep breaths to prepare yourself for what’s about to come.

“Oooh fuuuck…Heh, yeah, that’s my baby right there. Fittin’ so perfect fr’ me, mama…” He puts his weight on you, keeping your figure unmoving under his bow.

“Nmmmf, Daddyyy,” you’re forced to take in all of him, and drool trails down your lips with no hope of taking care of it. “…I’m so full, you’re too much…”

“I know, sweetie, I know.” He wipes your spit after kissing your forehead. How gentle compared to what you’re about to go through. “Gonna move now.” His thrusts start slow for the two of you to adjust to each other; the feeling of his length’s veins coming in and out of your chasm is so euphoric, and the kisses to your cervix want your body to writhe and squirm. But you’re bent into this position for a reason: forced to submit to him no matter what. So you do just that.

Yet your horny haze gets more potent once he picks up the pace, rutting into you with increased speed. Your slit, still sensitive from earlier, gets overstimulated with the constant grazes on your gummy walls and jabs to your tender cervix. It takes everything in your power not to come so early.

“—Hahhhh, Nmmph. Oh, shit, shit, shit…” Toji groans above you, the thrusts of his pelvis increase to an irregular rhythm, grinding deep into your cunt to the point of uncontrollable babbles escaping your lips. His bullying on your insides results in you gripping his length hard, causing the older man to hiss and moan at your contractions. “—Ohhhfuuuckk!! Jesus Christ, baby. Y’re gonna make me go crazy.”

As if that wasn’t already happening now that he pistons his cock into your wetness, your brain turning into mush from the onslaught of ruts to your puffy wet chasm. Tears stream down your face, and more drool follows down with more precise hits to your delicate canal. The pounding in your head makes it hard to think of anything else, the squelching noises and paps of Toji’s balls hitting your cunt making it worse.

“D-Daddyyy, I’m—Ohoooo!! Oh, Jesus, ohhhshit!” You can’t formulate a proper sentence, too engulfed with the electrifying sensations coursing through your body.

“Damn, you feel too fucking good—Hnngh!!” Toji places his forehead on yours, resting his entire weight on you while his hips have a mind of their own. “‘Bout to make me knock you up…”

Oh, good Lord. The mere thought of having a child is the last thing that should be on your mind. But in a time like this, who in their right mind would be thinking straight? “Nnnfff! Oh God, pleaseee, fill me up, Daddyy!” Green eyes narrow with trenched brows. “—Pleasepleasepleaseee!! I want you to fill me up so bad, I want it, I want—Hyaaaaa!!”

How can he deny your desperate, teary pleas when you’re urging him on like this? “Heh, you’re so fuckin’ sexy, mama.” Toji captures your lips with his, your mewls taken by him as you sink further into your pleasurable thrill.

Sporadic thrusts of his pelvis produce more raunchy noises in the joining of your sexes, his heavy balls smacking on your cunt as he drives the base of his cock straight into you. Your slit is now a puffy mess, come and slick form a soapy mess that Toji now harbors a milky ring around his girth. A few rushed, sloppy thrusts heighten your high once more, and then Toji presses his pelvis down to the hilt on one final, harsh thrust, unloading his seed into your aching folds. And your climax follows in a few seconds, the walls of your cunt fluttering on his pulsating dick as your essence soaks him. Your muffled shrieks are received by him, quivering under him until the aftershocks wash through your body.

Once you two breathe at a steady tempo and the nerves of your sweaty bodies fall still, the kiss is broken with heavy pants and a string of spit that links you two together. Toji buries his face between your neck and shoulder, licking and kissing your skin as you’re allowed time to experience your clarity.

“Hmmm…You know I’m not done yet, princess.” Toji mumbles to your ear before stationing your legs off his shoulders for them to rest.

“Yeah, I know, big guy.” You tease him with a breathless laugh, kissing him on the temple. “Always wanting more…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…So, you’re telling me you had your ex-husband spend the night? Not just the kids?”

“Yup, that’s what happened.”

This morning was different from your usual routine – well, you can’t say it’s different if you have done it before, huh? After five years of divorce, you thought you’d be so used to waking up and getting ready for work without worrying about others. However, this morning proves otherwise.

It felt natural walking into the kids’ room and lightly shaking them awake, telling them to get ready while you whip up something quick for them to eat as Toji showers (using your bathroom, by the way). Watching the kids run down the stairs and eat breakfast puts a smile on your face, reminiscing about the good old days when they were younger and teenier. It sometimes feels surreal doing the same thing for them now that they’re getting older and taller. But seeing them bicker and interact with each other in your presence never fails to warm your heart.

When Toji’s finished freshening up and loading his kids’ stuff in his truck, it’s time to bid them farewell for their departure for school. You give them final touch-ups on their hair and outfits, reminding them to be safe and not get into trouble (especially Megumi, now that the boy’s been getting into fights). And before they rush to the car, you hug them and give each a kiss on the cheek. Here is where the warm feeling inside your heart begins to deteriorate, not wanting to let them go. Yet, for their sake – and education – you release them and hope for the best.

The last to leave was Toji, who came from the kitchen to the front door with a paper plate wrapped in foil in one hand. His name is written boldly by a black Sharpie. “This fr' me?”

“No, it’s for Shiu Kong, for dealing with you all the time.” You stick your tongue out at Toji as he glares at you, not even moving out of the way while he exits through the door. “You better eat that when you get to work, you have a terrible habit of skipping lunch.”

“Whatever ya say, mom.” He pesters you with the title, knowing you’re technically not a mother anymore. Yet it only makes you smile knowing he notices your maternal side.

“Don’t forget to text me when Tsumiki’s soccer game is next week.” You watch him go down the porch stairs.

“Will do.”He whistles.

“And Toji?”

The man stops walking to turn to you, his forest green eyes fixed on you so quickly that you almost forget what you want to say. Or what you wanted to do. You place your fingers on your lips and blow a kiss with an outward gesture. It was an old habit you did whenever he left, something you can’t seem to get out of practice with. It’s embroidered in your mind at this point.

And when he catches the kiss with his free hand and places it on his chest, it makes your heart skip a beat. Toji grins, “I’ll be damned if that was fr' Shiu, too.”

You snicker with a shaken head. “Drive safe, Toji.” Closing the front door, you stand there for a while. Your smile doesn’t falter; it gets bigger as you replay the moment instead. Thinking about him, hearing him, seeing him, it all drives you crazy. And that’s a good thing…right?

“I don’t know, sounds like you still kinda care about the guy.”

“Of course I do,” So here you are, sitting in your living room enjoying the rays of the sunset decorating the space, in a video call with your best friends, Utahime and Mei Mei. You reply to the former’s comment. “Just because I don’t have the ring on my finger doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care about him. I mean, he’s the father of two lovely children.”

“Shoot, you’re better than me, then.” The dark-haired woman admits. “But you’re kinda proving my point, Y/n. Even when you don’t have the ring on, you two act like the same old couple, and it’s definitely not just for the kids’ sake. Let’s be real here.”

You try to interject, but the pale-blue-haired other, Mei Mei, intervenes, “I agree. It’s one thing if you let the children stay over, but he also wanted to spend the night. Sure, he could’ve been tired from driving all day and such. However, if you’re still seeing a man for the last five years – while legally unbound – and he says he wants to spend the night under your roof, which is rare, that should ring some bells at least.”

“I know, it did…” you nod along with what your friend is saying, throwing your head back with a heavy sigh. “But it’s not like he’s never spent the night here before, nor is he banished from stepping inside.”

“Oh? Then why is this time different from the others?”

Utahime jumps in after Mei Mei’s chirp. “Yeah, you’re telling us about all these nostalgic lovey-dovey feelings as if you’re falling in love with him all over again. What, did you two have sex or something?”

An open mouth, yet no words come out, leaving you in a predicament. You could’ve just lied or swerved the subject to something else. But you didn’t. And the two women on the screen lift their brows with hooded eyes, a look meaning a thousand words. You couldn’t even explain yourself either because a sudden knock on your door captured the attention of all three of you.

You stand up and walk towards the door, your friends still on call on the phone at hand. Opening the door, you’re almost stunned to see in front of you. Tsumiki and Megumi with nervous smiles, and their father at the car collecting the same duffles bags from last night. You’re kidding.

“Hey, kids.” The two of them gulped from not calling them by their names. You bring up the phone to face the screen to them. “Say hello to Auntie Mei Mei and Utahime.” The women on the line smile and wave at the children, who sheepishly wave back.

“Hi, aunties.” Megumi greets them, and then his eyes drift back to you. “So, Y/n—“

“What did you forget this time?” Straight to the point, no room for excuses.

“It was Miki this time! She forgot her soccer cleats.” The older sibling gawks at her younger brother for calling her out.

“Tsumiki, I know you have cleats at home.”

“I do, but these are special! You bought them for my birthday, and I’ve been wearing them to every game ever since! So, I was scared when I couldn’t find them at home.” The brunette was quick to defend her stand. “Also, Dad doesn’t feel like driving up here and then back. So…can we…”

You close your eyes and bring the phone to your face to shield your vexation. Twice in a row, the sixth time this month. You can hear the giggles of your friends from the other side of the phone, adding more fuel to the fire. You don’t look up until you hear heavy footsteps on the porch, seeing Toji holding both duffle bags with a hand and shoulder. He stares at you as you stare at him, a silent conversation on how to handle this situation. And when he shrugs with lifted brows, you realize it’s no use and release the long-awaited sigh.

“….If I see one more thing being left behind here, you guys can’t come back till December, understand?” It wasn’t anything serious, but enough for the kids to know you weren’t joking. They nod their heads in unison while you roll your eyes. “Okay, get in here.” They rushed inside with gleeful laughs, the shuffling of their backpacks following along with them. Your eyes then drift to Toji as he walks up to you. “Did you forget something here, too?”

“Yeah,” you lift a brow when he drops Megumi’s bag to the floor. Before you can register his hand on your chin, you squeak when he brings his lips to yours. It lasted for seconds, but the kiss was sweet and tender, sucking on your lip before letting go with a playful bite. “Meant to give you that when you woke up. Thanks fr' the food, mama.”

Toji picks the bag up and walks inside your home to put the bags in the rooms, leaving you standing on the porch with an astounded expression. You couldn’t appropriately calibrate your thoughts until you heard faint laughs from the phone. Then, you realize your best friends witnessed the entire scene that transpired.

Utahime, with the slyest leer, was the first to say something. “Oh yeah, he laid that pipe on you good, without a doubt.”

“Mhmm,” Mei Mei agrees with a chuckle. “And I'm guessing he’s gonna do it again tonight. Isn’t that right, Y/n?”

You end the video call with a heated face. “Sh-Shut your damn mouths!!” Again, you groan into your hands before returning inside. Thank God I still have those birth control pills...

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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sunsetsimon · 7 months

Text

a couple of dad!simon headcanons ♡

- hello! i'm sun, and this is my new writing account! i haven't written properly in years, so please go easy on me!

simon “ghost” riley x fem!reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

☼ simon never imagined having a family of his own. even after the first few years of being together, the thought never crossed his mind. until your best friend had a baby...

your best friend was visiting with her newborn and seeing you holding the baby flipped a switch in his head. you smiled and cooed at him, causing the baby to flash a toothless smile. there was a twinkle in your eye that he hadn’t noticed before and he pictured you glowing so beautifully as you held your own daughter, a mini version of you and him all in one. he didn’t bring it up for weeks as he thought it through himself. was having a family even possible for him? was he just being selfish?

☼ it comes up one day after you notice he’d been unusually quiet while spending time together. he wasn’t the most talkative, but he enjoyed conversations with you, even joking here and there.

“is everything okay, si? you’ve been extra quiet today.”

“hmm, yeah. just been zoning off.” he shrugs, unsure how to approach the subject. he knows you would listen but he doesn’t know how he’d react if your answer was no.

deciding rejection is better than never knowing, he sharply inhales, “have you ever thought about having children?”

the question throws you off, certainly random for a guy who doesn’t speak much of the future. you sit for a second debating your answer, and simon’s chest clenches in anxious anticipation.

“i have a few times, nothing too serious though. it never seems like there’s a good time for us.”

he nods in agreement, “been thinking about it these days. maybe it’s something we can consider.”

☼ needless to say, you both decide after many conversations and more time, that expanding your family is something you’re open to. you stop your contraception soon after and begin trying. he becomes even more attentive, constantly checking in with you and doing plenty of research on how to make your pregnancy easy. he gets you anything you want - whenever you want. and back and foot massages become part of your everyday routine.

☼ recognizes that he won't always be around because of his extremely demanding work. he checks in whenever he can, even writing letters if he has to. it breaks his heart having to miss doctor appointments and weekly milestones with you, but you always know he tries his absolute best for you two.

☼ simon loves skin to skin contact for the first few months. he loves to lay with her against his chest and drift off to the tv while you take a quick shower. he finds himself just watching her a lot, trying to memorize every movement her tiny body makes.

☼ soooo protective. no kisses, no pets, no sick people, doesn’t allow anything that could be of risk near her. he always has the two of you in his sight, preferring to push the stroller as you walk on the side of him.

☼ he's not one to care for style, so you do the main planning for the nursery. he builds all of the furniture for you while you watch. he looks so hot in his grey sweats and a black t-shirt that you can't help but distract him a few times.

☼ it's a hard adjustment for him having to return for a mission after she's born. he spends his entire last day holding and watching her, a sad slouch in his shoulders.

"gonna miss you so much, darlin. i'll be back as soon as i can," he whispers, gently kissing her forehead before handing her back to you. simon's hands grip your waist, pulling you in close to kiss you deeply before resting his forehead against yours. "i need my girls to stay safe. ill update you when i can, dove."

whenever he can, he scrolls though his videos on his phone just to see her face. her eyes twinkle brighter than any star to him and a slight smile creeps under his mask.

☼ relieves you from baby care when he can tell you’re exhausted. sighing and pulling yourself out of bed when crying erupts through the baby monitor. he doesn’t get up at first, but when the crying continues for a minute, he comes to check on you. he pushes the door cracked door open, revealing you desperately hushing and bouncing her in your arms. your eyes are tired and heavy, wishing for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

“i got ‘er. go back to bed love,” simon says, taking his baby girl into his arms.

you give him a weak smile and a thankful squeeze at his arm, walking straight to bed without another peep. he holds her close to his chest as he sits down in the chair, propping her neck up as he stares down at her. her eye color matches his, but she resembles you more and more everyday. he’s enamored by her, his beautiful little girl that he created with the love of his life.

she quiets down shortly, falling back asleep in his arms as he rocks her slowly. his own eyes grow heavy, and he sets her down in her crib before returning back to bed. he climbs in behind you, pulling your back to his chest and planting a soft kiss on the side of your neck.

“if she wakes up again i’ll take care of it. you just sleep darling,” simon whispers, receiving a hum in response from you as you snuggle into him.

he takes care of his girls so well.

#ugh i want him to be happy so bad #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #dad!simon riley #.wbm

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etheries1015 · 5 months

Note

Bestie yk that Yuu begins their friendship with Malmal because sir was roaming around old buildings right? Imagine Yuu starting a friendship with Malmal simply because of boredom. Class was soooo boring so Yuu decided to just chat with the person near them, which was Malleus.

You don't care if he's the next king of Briar Valley, if you're bored then entertainment is THE priority.

YES I LOVE THIS OSDLFSHEESFLS what better entertainment than the Fae prince himself?

Imagine You, sitting at your desk listening to another long and strenuous lecture that had not managed to keep your attention, doodling not even being able to satiate your boredem. So, what's the next best thing? Bother your deskmate, of course. You noticed him a few times; a rather tall fellow with long black horns and eyes as captivating as pure emeralds and ears pointed unlike a typical human. You always thought perhaps he had an affinity for theatrics- the way he seldom spoke up. At times you thought he hadn't even been a student at the school- the teachers never seemed to call his name during roll call (Of course it was because everybody already knew the esteemed prince of the land of faeries.) You know what they say, right? Always befriend and be nice to the quiet kid in school. So, out of boredom and curiosity, You tapped his shoulder.

"Hey," You whispered, The tall man with pointed ears started at the sudden contact before turning his head to look at you peculiarly. Without as much as an answer, you began to ask your question.

"Are those real? Your horns?" He seemed to pout at this only for a split second before confusion and offense seemed to mix into his (rather beautiful) features. He tilted his head before seemingly deciding on something in his mind, leaning over to take another look at you.

"Is that a genuine question, child of man? Are you, what they say, 'pulling my leg'?" He asked. You almost laughed at loud at the pompous way of speech he took on, and immediately knew you would be thoroughly entertained by this man. You found it...almost incredibly attractive, the way his silky deep voice spoke in a victorian royalty kind of way. You let out a quiet chuckle and with a raised eyebrow you leaned against your desk with a hand propping up your head as your elbow lay firm against the wood.

"Well, as far as I'm aware I'm as genuine as one can be," You smiled, "I'm (y/n), what's your name?" Another question that colored him mildly bewildered yet incredibly inquisitive at your pure ignorance of who you sat next to. Malleus opened his mouth to answer, yet found himself closing it a couple times while contemplating revealing the truth. Perhaps this person was genuinely in the dark about his status and position, and he did not want to miss the chance to converse with someone who willingly wanted to hold relations with him. Thus, he bit his tongue and turned it into a game.

"My name doesn't matter," He said, "How about you choose one for me?" You raised both of your eyebrows and bit your bottom lip attempting to hold back a roar of laughter, you truly had found one interesting fellow to introduce yourself to.

"Alright...how about...hm..." You studied his person before snapping their fingers in revelation. "Hornton!" They said it almost too loud, and the professor quickly chastised them for speaking during the lecture. Malleus gave you a fond smile and nodded, turning back to the teacher resuming the boring lecture that took place.Your boredom showed no bounds, however, and you decided to hand Malleus little doodles with silly notes through the end of the period. Malleus did not reciprocate these notes, for royalty need not indulge in such silly idiocracy, yet the least he could do was appreciate your attentiveness to the prince. Once the bell rang and marked the end of the period, you collected your things and held out your hand to the tall prince.

"I decided you're my new friend! Here's to our long-lasting friendship, hornton!" Malleus's eyes widened in shock, standing and staring down at your...incredibly trusting and naïve smile before his shoulders shook in laughter. Nodding and holding his hand to reciprocate your gesture of kindness, he shook it earnestly.

"Indeed. I look forward to our...friendship." He watched as you skipped away and out of the room to your next class, Malleus gathering the silly little notes he now called his treasures and shuffling them into his pocket.

He suddenly found himself becoming excited for next day's boring lecture.

~~~~

Masterlist

#Twisted wonderland #Twst #twst headcannons #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #Malleus #Malleus draconia #Malleus x reader #Malleus draconia x reader #Malleus twst

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nickfowlerrr · 9 months

Text

i never thought you’d happen to me - 1

part two / part three

pairing: bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. smut (part two), fluff, bit of angst. time travel via magic. dad!bucky and mom!reader. steve x nat. some morally dubious homemade porn viewing 💀 (part two). if i’m missing anything that should be tagged, please lmk!

words: just a bit over 6k.

notes: this idea came from a prompt post i saw not too long ago and coincidentally fell into some bingo spots for my @the-slumberparty bingo card.

fair warning: this is so completely self indulgent and a little trope overload lol but i had such a good time working on it and it was fun to write so who really cares 😌 thank you in advance for reading and reblogging! as always, comments and reblogs are more than welcome and so appreciated. please let me know what you think! 🥰

It’s another late Friday night as you and the team lounge around the common room, nearly empty takeout containers scattered around the table, glasses and bottles of your drinks much the same. There’s a movie no one is watching playing on the large screen as the current conversation around you continues.

You’re not sure how telling a story from your last mission with Bucky has turned into this once again, but here you are. Another cute remark from Sam about his expectancy to be in the wedding party earns him another glare from you.

“Hey, you side-eye now but in ten years you’ll look back and realize how right we all were,” he says, elbowing Bucky slightly. “Tinman by your side,” he adds with a grin - clearly amused with himself.

“That is not my future,” you say with a humorless chortle.

“I can show you your future,” Wanda speaks from her spot on the couch, everyone turning their heads at once to look at her. She’s been unusually quiet the past few minutes - not engaging much in the conversation as she observed it instead. She takes another sip of her wine as she meets your gaze, foot swinging lazily as she keeps one leg crossed over the other.

She tilts her head at you while you eye her with a raised brow, a look of incredulity on your face.

“What?” she questions, confused at not only yours, but everyone’s, lack of response.

“Come on,” you laugh lightly, brushing her off.

“I’m serious.”

“Wanda, I don’t need to see what my future looks like to know that Bucky will be playing no part in it.”

A round of scoffs, snickers and a groan erupt from around the living room as you roll your eyes. You catch Bucky, seated across from you, doing the same as you turn your face.

“You’re all very funny, and I’m glad you’re amused with yourselves, but I can’t sit here and listen to the same inane conversation over again, soooo,” you pause for a breath, “I’m going to bed,” you clap as you stand from your spot on the couch.

“Look, I don’t speak for everyone, but I am not joking in the slightest,” Kate laughs as she leans back into her seat. Aiming finger guns at you and Bucky, “You guys,” she says, “are endgame.”

“And you, my friend, are drunk.”

Another round of laughs before the previous chatter resumes among the group, a story of misadventure now being told from Parker’s perspective, and you can hear Stark’s interjections already.

You grab your empty glass and head to the kitchen, Wanda following shortly after you.

“You’re stubborn,” she says with no preamble.

You turn with a quirked brow, “Am I?”

“Very. So much so, I think I may need your permission.”

“Sorry...uhm, for?” you ask, clearly confused.

“I think you should see it.” Your face falls slack at her words as you turn back to finish washing out your glass.

“Wanda, -” you go to laugh again.

“No, actually,” she stops you, correcting herself, “you need to see it. You’re stunting yourself. You’re constantly getting in your own way. I think it’d be good for you, to see what you can have if you finally allow it to come to you.”

You're quieted by her sincerity for a moment, half because you weren’t taking any of the previous conversation seriously, and half because you didn’t think it was something she was actually capable of doing. In fact, you still didn’t. But if she wanted to try, who were you to argue.

“Uhhh,” you begin, shaking your head lightly, “I mean, if you really want to, then, go for it, I guess. You have my permission.”

“Good,” she smiles, turning to walk back out to the other’s.

“Wow, wait,” you stop her, “like, what exactly are you gonna do?”

“Just a swap,” she says simply. “A day in the life of your future self. You don’t have to do anything, just go to sleep tonight and you’ll see.”

Your eyes narrow in thought, “...This isn’t dangerous, right?”

“No, not at all. You guys will be fine. 24 hours and you’ll wake up in your own beds, safe and sound. I promise.”

She smiles and flits away quickly. You shake your head at yourself again, still unsure what exactly you’ve agreed to. And it isn’t until you’re walking down the hallway back to your room that what she said actually catches up to you.

You guys will be fine?

You stop walking when you hear footsteps behind you, glancing back to find Bucky coming down the hall. You swallow hard and turn back around, not far from your door.

“Stalker much?” you say without facing him, earning a scoff in return.

He’s barely a step behind you now, though his sudden proximity is not all that surprising. You’ve grown used to his stealth.

“In your dreams.”

“More like waking nightmares. Every time I turn around it’s like you’re always just right there.”

“Maybe if you didn’t put yourself into jeopardy every five minutes I wouldn’t have to shadow you so often.”

You’re walking side by side and you get to your door as he speaks. You turn on him, instantly irritated.

“Are you being serious?” you level at him. He doesn’t respond. “How are you still hung up on Belarus? It was one mission. That was not on me, I didn’t fuck up. No one else saw them coming, either,”

“I did.”

“Well, sorry I’m not as infallible as the one and only Bucky Barnes,” you speak exaggeratedly, annoyance clear in your tone. “You still act like I’m some kind of liability. I’ve been careful. I’m riding a lengthy no injury streak and we’ve still yet to fail a single mission. After how many assignments we’ve been on together, you think you’d start taking me more seriously.”

“I never said I didn’t take you seriously. Just think sometimes you’re still a little too cocky for your own good.”

“For the thousandth time, I’m not clueless, Barnes. I don’t need you monitoring my every move. Not during training, not on missions, and definitely not walking down a hallway at night. I think I can handle getting to my room alone. Or is assuming that too cocky of me?” you ask with a tilt of your head, sarcasm dripping off your tongue.

You don’t wait for a response before you turn to your door and let yourself in, snapping it shut behind you.

You flick on the light and are quickly greeted by a room that is… definitely not yours. You pause for a second, taking in your surroundings before you deflate with a sigh, following it up with a deep breath. You turn the light back off and then turn back around to the door. You wait for a second longer with your hand on the handle before you force yourself to exit the room.

Just like you knew he would be, Bucky is still standing right where you left him; a stupid smirk on his stupidly handsome face.

“Wrong room,” he says.

“Fuck off,” you grumble as you walk a little further down the hall, to your actual door.

“Goodnight to you, too,” Bucky says as he continues to his own room, not far from you. You send him a glare and a “hmph” before shutting your door and getting ready for bed.

You’re not helpless. You’re not clueless. You’re damn good at what you do. But fuck if Bucky doesn’t have a knack for knocking you off kilter with a single look.

—-

It’s a soft shaking that wakes you from your peaceful sleep. You’re so comfortable, you don’t want to move - you don’t even want to blink open your eyes. But the shaking comes again. Your brows furrow as your arms tighten around your pillow and you cuddle further into it.

Only it’s not your pillow.

It takes a second for you to process that instead, it’s a warm body you’re pressing yourself against before your eyes snap open.

You look up and find a confused Bucky staring down at you.

When your eyes meet, though, there’s a bit of softness there. And as you take in his face, you relax a bit again. His presence beside you is at once comforting as it is confounding.

“What are you doing?” you both ask at the same time - only furthering your confusion.

You suddenly realize you’re still wrapped around him and quickly sit up and give him space.

“Why are you in my bed?” you ask as you rub your eyes with the palms of your hands.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he says as he looks around, “but I don’t think we’re at the tower.”

You look up and blink away the fuzziness. Then it hits you.

“Oh shit,” you murmur.

“What? You know where we are?” he asks as he stands and starts looking around, inspecting the room. “Better yet, how the hell we got here?”

“Maybe…Would you believe me if I said we might possibly be in the future?”

Bucky turns and looks at you incredulously.

“Wanda,” you speak at the same time.

“For fuck’s sake,” he says as he runs a hand over his face.

“In my defense,” you begin, “when I agreed to this, I didn’t think she’d be able to do it. I also didn’t think it’d involve anyone else..”

“What do you mean you agreed to this? What is this?”

“She said I needed to see the future. It’d be good for me, or whatever, so I said okay. She said it was uh, a future swap? 24 hours. Day in the life and then I’d wake up back in my own bed the next day.”

“And you agreed to it?”

“Fuckin’, yeah, obviously,” you huff. “I didn’t think it’d be.. Real? I don’t know.”

“So, so what? We’re stuck in some unknown future for the next 24 hours?”

“What part of ‘I don’t know’ do you not understand?”

“Why would you agree to something like this without fully knowing what it is you’re agreeing to? This is exactly what I’m talking about when I say-”

“Spare me, Barnes. It’s Wanda, okay? We’re fine. It’s 24 hours, and I’m assuming that clock started when we fell asleep last night, so really it’s only…,” your voice dies down as you look to the clock on the bedside table. The time isn’t what catches your eye, though.

No.

It’s the framed photo behind it that derails your train of thought.

“No fucking way,” you breathe as you grab it in disbelief.

You stare at the photo of you and Bucky, a close up of you in a sweet embrace, adorning soft smiles as you share a chaste kiss, your left hand touching his cheek, and what you can only assume is a wedding ring sitting pretty on your finger.

This has to be some kind of dream. That’s it. You’re dreaming. Duh. Your hand moves before your mind does and you slap yourself in your face as hard as you can manage, sure it’ll wake you up and you’ll be back in the tower, in your own bed, alone.

“What the fuck?!” Bucky exclaims in surprise as you wince slightly and hold your cheek as it stings. He walks over to you, becoming more tentative as you look up at him.

“‘M not dreaming. Are you?”

“No, I’m wide awake, believe me,” he says as he gets closer. “Don’t slap me, either.”

You eye him harshly before handing him the frame.

“Well, it.. Explains why you’re here, at least,” you say, voice quieter than you intended as your thoughts were still reeling. “We’re not just in my future, we’re in-”

“Our future,” he finishes as he stares at the photo himself.

“Yeah.”

“So, our room…” he says more to himself than to you. He makes his way around the room, pulling open drawers and looking in the closet as you stand and head for the bathroom.

You meet yourself in the mirror, sure enough, you still look the same. You’re you.

Walking back out into the room, you head for the window, pulling back the curtain. As you peer out, you’re expecting to see a skyline, or city street, but instead you’re met with the view of an open yard.

You pull away from the window in surprise, “Are we in a house?”

You turn to Bucky, who turns to face you. You both head to the bedroom door, you following behind him as he takes the lead.

It’s a house. Definitely a house.

The bedroom door leads to a long hallway, three doors along the right back wall, another door at the far end opposite your own, and to the left of that, on the left wall, is another room.

In the middle of the hallway is an opening, and you and Bucky turn there without inspecting any of the other rooms.

You find yourselves in a living room, before walking into the kitchen.

“We should look around,” you say in a whisper - why, you aren’t sure.

“What exactly are you planning on finding?” he questions as you pull open a drawer, sifting around.

“I don’t know? More information. Like what we’re doing here. What we do. What year it is. Maybe we learn something and it’ll send us home sooner? I don’t know, just, something,” you answer, on edge already by being surrounded by the unknown and only growing more agitated at his every word.

“Why are you getting mad at me?”

“I’m not getting-,” you stop yourself, taking a breath, “sorry. Okay? I thought you were trying to be a dick,”

“Why do you assume I’m being a dick?” he asks, annoyed himself now.

"Because you always act like a fucking dick!", you nearly yell as you slam the kitchen drawer shut.

"Fucking dick!"

You both freeze at the high, sweet-sounding voice that comes from behind you. Your brows furrow as you glance at Bucky, his reaction to the mirthful echo much the same as yours, before you both slowly turn around.

The sight you're met with has you both frozen in shock.

A set of twin toddlers clad in matching pajamas, both of whom bear a striking resemblance to you and Bucky, are staring at you both.

You can't explain why, but your heart is gripped by the mere sight of them. It's something more than just their cuteness, it's something instinctual. How it's possible, you're not sure, but you know, somehow, that they're really yours. Future or not, those are absolutely your kids.

It seems with each passing moment, you and Bucky are left more and more stunned by how your future is turning out, but as you notice the little boy's eyes watering and the pout on his little lips as he looks right at you, you can't seem to care about anything else.

“Hey, buddy,” you squat down and hold your arms open for him, and he waddles to you right away as his eyes well more and more. He hugs you, still pouting as he cuddles into your chest and you hold him tightly as you stand, exchanging another glance with Bucky who looks nearly stupefied until the soft voice of the girl rings out once again.

Your eyes shoot to her as she twirls around clumsily, a chant of "fucking dick" leaving her lips over and over before she starts to tilt, seemingly having made herself dizzy. You're about to gasp, moving forward instinctually as you watch her wobble a bit more, but she's in Bucky's arms in an instant as he grabs her before she falls.

"Woah, there, sweetheart," he says with a small laugh as she dramatically goes limp in his arms. An exhausted breath leaves her little lungs as she breathes out the repetition one final time. She then lifts her tiny hand up to Bucky’s cheek, effectively slapping him as she plants it, blinking up at him. “What’s this?” she asks him curiously as she smooshes his face, feeling his stubble.

“Uhh…It’s hair. I haven’t shaved - Ow,” he exaggerates when she interrupts him and pats his cheek again, a bit harder this time, though you know it didn’t hurt him in the slightest. It makes the girl laugh, though.

“You should shave, Daddy,” she advises, pulling a face.

Her words pull a breathless laugh from him as he gazes down at the small girl, a lump forming in his throat as he takes everything in. He feels crazy, but he can see you in her, and he can see himself, too. Her and her brother, they both look like the perfect little combinations of the two of you. And they’re both so comfortable with you guys. So at ease and uninhibited, just like children should be..

It’s a stark contrast to how he grew up and he can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment, of pride, knowing that he isn’t repeating the cycle he swore would die with him.

He’d stopped letting his mind wander to what if futures long ago, but when he did imagine what it’d be like to have a family of his own, this is the kind of peace he longed for. The happy, settled down future he was sure he’d never have.

And you.

Your hand has been mindlessly rubbing the boy's back in an effort to comfort him as he cuddles into you, that never faltering pout pulling every string your heart has as Bucky attends to the girl relaxing in his arms.

"Linc's sad, Mommy," the girl says, pointing at her brother. The title has you swallowing hard, your heart clenching at how sweetly she calls to you.

Linc?... Must've been Bucky, you think briefly before you gently pull him away from you slightly so you can see him better, his bleary blue eyes peering up at you.

"Why are you yelling at Daddy?" he pouts still. Your brows furrow and mouth parts on an inhale, as if you're going to answer him, but nothing comes out as you try and think of what you can say. His innocent question stumping you.

"It's alright, pal, we were just kiddin' around," Bucky offers as he gets closer to you both. You look at him, a bit guilty but thankful for the save.

"Can we have pancakes, Daddy?" the girl asks as she wriggles around like a worm in his hold.

"Pancakes! Please!" Linc smiles as he continues hanging onto you, seemingly happy with Bucky's defense of you - any qualms he had long forgotten as he’s now focused on the mention of pancakes for breakfast.

"Sure," you answer for him, acquiescing easily with a smile before looking to Bucky with wide eyes.

You’re not entirely sure how exactly this all happens, but somehow you end up married with two kids. As shocking as it is, and as confused as you are about how, a part of you is grateful - maybe even happy - that Bucky is here. He may be an ass a lot of the time, overbearing and micromanaging your every move, but you guys have been through hell and back together. Partners from the very start of your time as an Avenger. If you’re being honest, this future makes more sense than you previously wanted to admit.

In an attempt to not freak out the twins, you know you have to play the part. Act like nothing is out of the ordinary and that you are indeed their mom. You are, technically, but you don’t have any idea what the hell you’re doing or what’s wholly needed of you. You’ve nannyed before, though. You know the basics..

"Have we brushed our teeth yet?" you ask the twins, sure the answer is a "no". Your and Bucky's arguing clearly is what woke them up, the yelling must have led them out here from their room.. Rooms?

"Mhm," the girl hums, though just from looking at her, the lie is evident as she avoids looking directly at you.

"Don't lie, Ellie," her brother chastises.

Ellie.. That must've been me, you think with a twitch of a smile before you set Linc down.

"Alright, go with Buc- your dad, and I'll start on the pancakes," you instruct before the twins burst out in giggles. You frown, brows furrowing as you watch them, hoping they'll let you know what exactly is so funny.

"No, we want daddy's pancakes, Mommy!"

"With chocolate chips and syrup!"

"Yeah, they want Daddy's pancakes, Mommy," Bucky taunts with a smirk as you shoot him an annoyed look. He seems a lot more comfortable now than he was a few minutes ago, and you can’t help but notice how easily he seems to be taking this; easing into his role in this place and time. He’s good.

"What's wrong with my pancakes?" you press the toddlers.

"Daddy's are better, but it's okay, your grilled cheese is the best,"

"Yeah! Oh, can we have grilled cheese for lunch, Mommy? Please, please, pleeease," Ellie begs cutely, leaning to you while still in Bucky's hold.

You huff a laugh, agreeing as Bucky sets Ellie down to follow you.

"See if you can find anything," you tell him as you meet his eye before following after the tikes pulling on your hands.

"Don't forget the chocolate, Daddy!"

Bucky watches as you're led to the bathroom before he starts moving around the kitchen. He's about to start looking around for more information on when exactly you are, and the kind of life you’re living, but thinks better of it for now. He'd rather not have two toddlers throw a fit over unfinished pancakes on top of everything else he's trying to wrap his head around at the moment.

He finds the pantry and grabs all the ingredients he needs for his mom's pancake recipe - the one he knows by heart- and gets to work on the batter. The chatter from the kids and you in the bathroom floats into the kitchen and he can’t help but smile at the sound of your voice as you talk to them.

He soon loses himself in the simplicity of the task at hand, and how nice it is to be here like this. He's in pajamas on a Saturday morning, making breakfast for his family as they start their day..

Seems entirely unreal, but a dream nonetheless. And as if that wasn’t enough to have his thoughts in a flurry, he still can't shake the feeling of how nice it was waking up with your soft body pressed against his. Opening his eyes to discover the warmth beside him was you. He was confused at first, wondering when and how you’d gotten into his room, but more so concerned about the why. He watched you for a minute before he noticed the bedding draped over the both of you. It wasn’t his and when he looked around the room, he realized he had no idea where you guys were. You were wrapped around him as you laid together in the comfy king bed, and it took him a second to try to wake you up. He knew he had to, of course, but if he was honest, he didn’t want the feeling to end. Your hold on him was comforting and he was completely at ease in your embrace, circumstances be damned. It was a feeling he hadn't felt in ages.

Though, that wasn’t entirely true. He remembers the last time he felt that way, and of course it was with you. You were stuck in a shoddy motel off the highway during a storm, the crappy jeep you’d been traveling in finally gave out half way through your drive back to the compound and you guys had no choice but to crash for the night. Of course the motel only had one singular room available with one singular bed. After some back and forth, you both decided you’d just share. It was big enough for the two of you, with space in between. When Bucky woke up that next morning, though, he found himself holding you tightly from behind, your arms wrapped over his as you slept peacefully in his embrace. He remembers the heat that crept up his neck and the flurry in his stomach that he still refuses to acknowledge as butterflies. He quickly loosened his hold and slipped away from you before you could even bat an eye. You were still none the wiser. He thought about that morning a lot after it happened.

He wondered what would’ve happened if you had woken up, too. What you would’ve said, what he could’ve said to you if he’d finally gotten out of his own way..

He can’t dwell on it anymore, though. He hasn’t. He won’t.

Except maybe he does.

And seeing as this is your future together, he thinks maybe that’s not as hopelessly embarrassing as he’s made himself believe it is.

And god, the sight of those kids. The warmth that bloomed in his chest as he took in their faces, he honestly was worried he would start crying if he stared too long. He had long given up on the idea of starting a family, he didn't think this life would ever be in the cards for him, and especially not with you.

But as he stood pouring chocolate chip pancake batter into a sizzling pan, he was struck by how right it felt.

Obviously, it wasn't right, neither of you should be here right now, and it made him wonder where exactly the future you and him were.

As soon as the thought went through his head, a tablet he hadn’t taken notice of on the back counter dinged.

He flipped the pancakes before he went to get the pad, taking the tablet in his hands. His face unlocked the device easily and opened up to his email account.

He clicked on the new, unread message from.. you?

—-

Hey Bucky.

Wanda says this is unnecessary but if I know me, I’m still probably freaking out internally. So, just letting you know that everything's fine. Or so she says.

We're gonna be back to our respective places in time come tomorrow.

I know waking up in the future - especially our future - may be hard to wrap your heads around, but it’s a hell of a lot better than waking up alone to a preening Wanda staring at you, trust me.

And you guys aren’t as oblivious as you try to be. You know, deep down, exactly why you’re there. Together. - and why it isn’t all that crazy.

And this goes without saying, but obviously, take care of the kids. Eleanor and Lincoln. If you haven’t found them yet, they’ll find you, I’m sure.

Today at 2pm, you need to drop them off at 7314 Wisteria Drive. That's Steve and Nat's house - so don't make it weird. They're keeping the kids so we can celebrate our anniversary.

Funny how that lines up..

So, anyway, apparently all we need to do on both ends is enjoy the 24 hour downtime. We’ll be waking up in our own beds before we know it.

Okay.

Bye.

(I’d say I love you but I don’t wanna freak you out. x)

—

Bucky just stares down at the email blankly while his brain tries to catch up. He's gonna have to have you read it yourself. Before he can fixate on that last line in particular, he can smell the browning of the pancakes.

His attention quickly returns to the food as he starts to plate it, shutting off the burner. The kiddie plates he finds in a cabinet earn a half smile from him as he cuts up the pancakes for the kids and spots their booster seats, placing the plates before them.

He hears them before he sees them as they come down the hallway, all laughs.

You appear just after they do, a look on your face he can't turn away from. Your soft smile and the adoration swimming in your eyes as you watch your kids, both of them waiting to be lifted up to sit down, is.. beautiful.

He catches himself staring before he turns his focus back to the table, lifting Eleanor into her seat before lifting Lincoln in his, earning a "thank you, daddy," from each of them in return, a wave of astonishment and pride coming over him yet again. He’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to that.

You listen as they talk back and forth about their pancakes and their laughter when they start playing with one another as they eat their lightly syruped bites.

You stand by Bucky, absentmindedly grabbing a pancake and biting into it, stopping almost immediately as the fluffiness catches you off guard. God, they were so right. These are amazing.

"Good, right?" Bucky's voice pulls you back as you swallow your bite.

You lick your lip before looking over at him. "Did you find anything?"

He hands you the tablet and watches as you read the email.

You click your tongue, and then stay silent for a minute.

He almost can’t believe it when you do it, looking at you incredulously once again after you suddenly slap yourself in the face once more.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he bites quietly, moving to stand in front of you and blocking your view of the kids momentarily.

"Just had to make sure," you reply, again cringing at the stinging of your cheek. You eye him before making a move to slap him, too, but he grabs your hand before you can make contact. He looks at you like you're insane as you huff again. "So this is..."

"This is real," he finishes for you. "That hard to believe, huh?"

"That's an understatement. So, I’m not dreaming. But are you sure you’re not dreaming?"

“You think my dreams involve waking up in the future with no memory of what’s gone on between me going to sleep to waking up? That’s a literal nightmare for me. Plus, I learned a while ago how to differentiate between my dreams and reality. Trust me, we’re not dreaming.”

You swallow thickly, an apology on the tip of your tongue. You hadn’t considered that before. Before you can voice your thoughts, though, you're distracted by the interaction between the kids at the table.

"Linc, I'll give you a piece and then you give me one of your piece, okay?"

"You take this one," Linc says as he gives his sister a piece off of his plate and she gives him a piece off of her's.

You can't help but chuckle at the exchange.

"We make cute kids, though," Bucky says, almost under his breath. But you still hear him, and you respond before your brain catches your tongue.

"Yeah, we do."

You push off the counter as Bucky watches you, surprised that you heard him and even more so by your agreement, though it'd be impossible for anyone to argue that your kids aren’t, in fact, ridiculously adorable.

"Do you guys want -"

"Orange juice, please!" Ellie answers before you even finish asking.

"And water, please," Linc follows.

"OJ and water, you got it."

----

You and Bucky get the kids ready to go to Steve and Nat's with minimal arguing... until you had to pack their bags.

What they should or shouldn't take with them was a point of contention as you ridiculed each other's choices. After your bickering and some input from Ellie and Linc, you guys just hoped they had everything they needed. You'd unnecessarily packed them three outfits each just in case of spills or messes and their diaper bag was loaded full, too. Maybe too much for one day, but better safe than sorry, right?

After loading the twins in the car, Bucky followed the GPS to the address you'd left in the email.

When you guys pulled up to the house, you were greeted by Natasha who was unloading groceries from her car. The domestic scene warmed your heart. She deserved the simplicity, the normalcy, and you were happy to know that one day, she’d have it.

She lit up as she saw you guys approaching and came right over, going straight for the back door.

Linc and Ellie were all smiles and giggles as they tried fruitlessly to escape their car seats in favor of being in Nat's arms.

"Bugs!!" Nat greeted them with an enthusiastic smile as she started working on their belts. "I've missed you guys so much! How long has it been? Ten years?"

They laughed in unison at her before Ellie corrected her. "Yesterday, Aunt Nattie!"

"Yesterday?" she questioned in faux disbelief.

She wasn't able to keep up the play, though as the second they were out of their seats, they nearly tackled her.

You watched Steve come outside, coming up to the car with a grin, a girl no more than ten and another toddler, maybe a little older than the twins, in tow.

"Get them inside for me, honey," Nat said to the oldest one. She looked nothing like either of them, dark hair and dark eyes, but still it was clear she was their daughter. The younger one looked like Steve, though, and you wonder briefly if that was just by chance or if they’d had a surrogate. Natasha had talked about the possibility before, and of adopting, but starting a family wasn’t something any of you were actually considering at the time, settling down and having kids wasn't really your focus when you were all trying to make sure the world wouldn’t be ending tomorrow. "We'll be right in. And pick a movie for the sleepover before your Dad does," she pretended to whisper, earning a laugh from the girl as she corralled the kids up the porch.

Nat turned her gaze back on you and Bucky, her stare nothing less than scrutinizing.

"Are you guys in pajamas?" she asked with a raised brow.

"Mh, uh, yeah," you laughed a little breathlessly before looking back at the house, distracted. "They didn't even say bye," you said in your disappointment. You'd only just met the kids, but you felt so instantly connected to them.

"Don't worry about them, they're gonna have fun tonight. And so are you two," she says pointedly, if not a bit suggestively, pulling you from your thoughts. You feel the heat that creeps up your skin and refuse to look at Bucky.

"What are you guys doin' tonight, did you decide?" Steve asks.

"Staying in," Bucky blurts out as you blink and smile. But their faces at that, their smirks of acknowledgement make you grow hotter as you try to not let your embarrassment show.

"Mhm," you hum tight lipped.

It's quiet for a moment as you all watch one another before Steve breaks the silence.

"You guys are acting weird."

"Are we?" you question back too quickly.

"Yeah. You are," Nat says.

"Sugar," Bucky blurts out again. "They're loaded up on sugar. Sorry, they really wanted pancakes this morning. But uh, look, thanks for watching them. We should uh, get going, so.."

"Yeah, we should go," you agree. "What time do you want us to pick them up?"

"We're dropping them off tomorrow afternoon, right?" Steve questioned. "Or did you not want them to go with us?"

"No, oh, right. Duh! I just forgot - that's what we talked about. Because you're taking them to.." you trail off, prompting them.

"The gardens?" Nat finishes.

"Right, yes, the gardens. Which is great. And we appreciate it so much. And if you need anything or anything happens, ya know just call us," you continue on as Bucky starts to pull away. You fight the urge you have to glare at him until you finish your awkward goodbye and Steve and Nat watch you both drive off, clearly confused about the weird interaction.

"Did you miss the part of the email where it explicitly said: don't make it weird?" Bucky asks.

"Fuck off, you were no better," you scowl as you slump in the seat. "What now?"

#bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky x curvy!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #dad!bucky #mom!reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky x plus size!reader #bucky barnes x avenger!reader #bucky barnes x plus size!reader #the slumberparty

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bedoballoons · 6 months

Note

I read both mitsuri!reader head cannons (love them)!!! I was wondering if I could request if they met the readers EX who called her all those names and made her insecure.

Thank youuu!!! Also I have been thinking about that and oh my gosh I'm so glad you requested it!!

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ🎃𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ🎃

{༻~Insecurities~༺}

CW: Angsty with comfort!, F! reader gets called names, character helps, established relationships, cursing, and some mentions of weight shaming/eating disorders! (Pet names: Lyney: Mon amour!)

Also I only wrote 4 characters with this one because it was soooo longggg!!

(Includes: Diluc, Lyney, Albedo, and Wanderer!)

Past Demon slayer/Genshin fics:

Mitsuri reader pt 1

Mitsuri reader pt 2

Mitsuri like reader X Lyney

Tokito Muichiro reader

Shinobo Kocho reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Diluc:

You smiled happily, pink green strands of hair flowing in the wind as you lounged on the blanket Diluc had laid down, the subtle scent of the apples he was cutting for your picnic sweet and tantalising, but sadly enough to make your stomach gurgle uneasily. You wouldn't say it out loud...especially not in front of him, but even despite both of your best efforts you were still finding it difficult to actually consume food. It had become a torture to eat...even when you were hungry or it was your favourite dish...those words just kept coming back.

"Oh my archons...look who it is. Didn't think I would be seeing you outside the gates of Mondstat, especially with the owner of the infamous wine industry."

Your whole body went cold, eyes shooting to the direction of the familiar voice...the voice that had said the words that changed you, that made you see your own body as a mistake. "I-i...ahem, he's my boyfriend." You silently cursed yourself for having such a shaky tone, if Diluc hadn't figured it out just by your reaction...he definitely had when you started to speak.

He stood up with crimson eyes that had gone dark, a menacing look decorating his features as he stared the other man down, "Don't believe we've met, who are you?" You glanced between the two of them, feeling like your presence was steadily growing smaller as they stared eachother down...the situation was making you feel sick to your stomach.

"I'm her ex boyfriend. Honestly I can't believe she caught the owner of the winery, are you some type of chubby chaser?"

That name...it hit you like a ton of bricks, any thoughts of recovery slipping away as tears filled your eyes, but you weren't alone this time. You jumped as Diluc grabbed your ex by his shirt, pulling him close so his fist would be inches away, "If you ever, call her that again...I will find a way to make you disappear, do you understand me? She's perfect the way she is and I love her more than anything else, besides your opinions don't matter...there's only two people who should see her for how goregous she is. Me and her."

𑁍༄Lyney:

Lyney swung your intertwined hands gently, humming a soft melody while the two of you walked through fontaine. It had become a routine now, taking a walk together after his show and sharing a meal, it was one of the few times you enjoyed eating...mostly because you weren't actually focused on the food. Your attention was drawn to Lyney, the way he always seemed to be glowing with love and excitement after a show, the way he talked with adoration and he never once failed to mention how you'd inspired one of his tricks, it was so calm...that just for a moment you forgot everything else.

"Oh mon amour! Look a new shop has opened up, how about we eat there?" You tiled your head to see past him and sure enough there was a new shop, bustling with customers. "Oh Lyney...it's so crowded though." He chuckled, pulling you into a warm embrace, his eyes meeting yours as he placed a kiss on your lips lovingly, "I won't force you, but...we could just get something to eat and then find a nice quiet spot, it would be different...in a good way."

A light blush dusted your cheeks as you let him lead you to the crowd, silently agreeing to his adventurous ideas like you always seemed to.

"No way...is that you?! You haven't changed one bit have you?"

You stopped dead in your tracks, emotions all but gone at the sound of that voice...the one that haunted your nightmares and used to make you feel so small...treat you like you were nothing but a number on a scale. He seemed to be waiting for your response, but you couldn't bring yourself to say anything...you were frozen in place, heart racing.

"Mon amour who's this?" You glanced at Lyney, wondering if he could tell you were uncomfortable, but he didn't appear to have any difference in attitude...had he really not noticed?

"I'm the one who was trying to keep her out of these foodlines so she wouldn't get any fatter, looking out for her health like a good boyfriend should do...guess you can't say the same."

For a split second you thought Lyney was going to strike him, instead he chuckled and lowered his voice to almost a whisper, a terrifying tone seeping into his words as he spoke, "You should really stop talking....I happen to be apart of the fatui and truthfully, if you utter one more word about my perfect girl, you won't be able to say anything at all by the time we are done with you."

𑁍༄Albedo:

Klee held onto your hand tightly, pulling you through the crowded streets with Albedo trailing not far behind. The air was filled with the delicious smells of baked goods and fresh made dishes, and the streets were decorated with stalls that held bottles of wine, toys, banners, anything you could imagine. It was a festival like no other and you couldn't believe you got to be apart of it.

"Come on come on!! We are almost to the stage! Dodoco wants to see it all decorated!!" You giggled happily, following the little girl as she lead you up to the big stage in the center of all of the magic. It really was a sight to see, ribbon and cecilia's hung up with fairy lights, a sweet bard strumming away on his lyre while he sang of a hero from another land and to top it all of, there were dancers not far away, each of them moving to the melody with their partners.

"Wow...this is incredible." You stood in awe for a second as Albedo lifted Klee onto his shoulders, her hands holding dodoco in the air so it could watch along with her. It was a picture perfect moment,...one you wanted to remember forever...until it was ruined. Your eyes landed on met that of a person walking towards you...a familiar face you had thought you'd left in the past.

You crossed your arms over yourself protectively, hoping he wouldn't say a word to you, but of course that would only be to easy, "Heyy look who it is...see you got yourself a new partner to shove food in your mouth. He's clearly feeding you right isn't he?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your clothes suddenly feeling tighter and your previous small meal you'd barely managed to take a few bites of rumbling in your tummy.

"Im sorry what was that? Clearly you must be blind, she's truthfully a work of art and without a doubt the most stunning woman I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on. Perhaps you should go get another plate of food, actually make it two since you look like you could probably eat both, and stop bothering everyone with that tragic excuse of a voice you have."

"A-a-albedo?!"

𑁍༄Wanderer:

Wanderer huffed quietly as you pushed away your plate of food, less then half of it missing and yet you were already feeling queasy? It bugged him to no end,...no matter how many times he said you were perfect and argued with you that your weight was never a issue...you still thought it was. He begged you, something he never thought he never thought he'd do, to try and see yourself from his perspective, but it didn't work.

"You want some of mine? Maybe you'd like it more if it was different? Hey? What's up with you?" Wanderer waved his hand in front of your face, surprised to see fear in your eyes and goosebumps forming on your skin, you didn't even look like you were breathing you were so deathly still. It actually freaked him out a little, could humans just die like that?

"Hey stop that, you're making me all worried. What are you looking at?" He tapped your hand, but with no response he turned to follow your line of sight...it was just some guy? That's what had you all scared?, "Who is he? Did he beat you up? I won't let him hurt you if that's what you're afraid of." You shrunk into your chair, footsteps drawing closer as the some guy made his way to your table...

"If it isn't my ex girlfriend. I really didn't think I'd be seeing you at a restaurant...actually I did completely, I'm more shocked you don't have three plates finished yet. Piggy. Even got the pink green hair to prove it...and who's this clown, his hats bigger than he is."

You covered your face in embarrassment, trying to hide away from the situation...not let either men know how much it bothered you, but Wanderer was to clever for that and he took no shame in starting something...

"How about I take my big hat and shove it so far up your ass you see actual pigs fly. Maybe then you'd know the difference between when you should keep your mouth shut and when you should open it. Oh and moron, she's clearly not a pig cause she looks nothing like you."

He stood up with a grunt, pushing the guy so harshly he was sent backwards falling to the ground with a satisfying thud while your boyfriend grabbed your hand and lead you away, telling you more than once how beautiful you looked as you made your way home.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

◥(•̀￦•́)◤☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 ☾𖤓~Have a nice day~*⁠.⁠✧

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sleyu · 9 months

Note

thinking abt an sfw thing for mean bf!remus and mean bf! sirius rn (separately). hes a loving boyfriend and ofc his gf is the apple of his eyes but he was in the worst mood when the poor girl walked in on him one day just sweetly inquiring whats wrong with his mood and if she can help but when hes in a bad mood...hes just soooo much meaner and poor girl glares at him, tearing up and before he can even process his guilt storms off, ignoring him calling her name and oh now hes grovelling like hell

remus in particular fits this concept so well.

i think this is predictable, but this happens once every few months, particularly at the end of the month when the full moon is approaching and what remus considers his worst, most menacing traits manifest and reveal themselves.

before dating you, remus was consumed with foreboding and anger. of course, his friends helped and even school took his mind off of his transformations. however, remus never had a release—someone in particular that he knew he could rely on—someone he was certain would adore him unconditionally. since dating you, remus found a sense of normality in his life.

despite this, as the full moon crept, so did reality. this damned remus with not only his transformations but also with his most haunting, reoccurring insecurities. it was inevitable and as his mood and disposition heightened, he became increasingly sensitive, triggering sinister, petrifying fears in his mind that pertain to his biggest weakness: you.

in actuality, remus is terrified that one day, “you’ll come to your senses” and leave him. he’s afraid because he knows that he would easily let you. he is conscious of the fact that he’ll accept it despite the crushing, torturous pang in his chest that yearns for you.

with these rising, uncontrollable, and inevitable emotions and oversensitivity, remus is prone to hideous, gut-wrenching jealousy. of course, remus is possessive and territorial already, but its toxicity is never directed at you. however, near the full moon, his corrupted mind deludes him into believing that you take interest in the endeavours and offers of the people that flirt with you—that you reciprocate and feel fondness for the subtle touches, teasing whispers, and longing eyes that you receive from everyone else but him.

you begin noticing his peculiar behaviour in class when he didn’t greet you as you slid next to him on the desk bench. anyone could tell that it wasn’t remus lupin’s day and that they’ll receive the worst end of his behaviour at any attempt to interact with him, but usually, you’re not included as another target of his anger.

his hostile behaviour and refusal to talk to you continued the entire and it wasn’t until you kindly asked him what was wrong that he finally broke, speaking to you as if you were foreign to him.

‘just can’t ever fucking leave me alone, can you? y’know, y/n, why the fuck don’t you go on and talk to someone else? been smiling and eye-fucking tremblay all day and now you remember me? fuck off.’ he all but spits bitterly.

his heart immediately drops when your frightened look twists into one of hatred, bitter tears filling your narrowed eyes. his hand twitches as your voice shakes, attempting to fight back any sobs to prevent him from gaining any satisfaction from your sadness.

‘you’re a right foul delusional git, lupin. you should fuck off. come back and talk to me once you’ve come back to your senses, fuck.’ despite your shaking voice, you maintained a scarily calm demeanour before storming off, ensuring to slam the door behind you, the loud sound reverberating throughout the room of his dorm.

he was so stunned that all he could utter was an apologetic, disbelieving, ‘y/n,’ that you rightfully ignored before you left. it was only then that remus groaned and slammed his fist on his desk in frustration, feeling far worse than he’s felt all day.

tears of frustration would sting his eyes, an aching lump in his throat would form, and all he can do is sigh shakily, feeling his hatred for himself only grow more. he hates himself, knowing that he constantly sabotages what he feels is the one thing he breathes for—the one thing that calms his heart and alters his view of the world.

remus would take his time in attempting to give a sincere, deep apology. the full moon was approaching and after the turmoil he’s gotten himself into, he’s lost all his energy to provide you with the sincerity he knows you deserve. all he can do to cope is unleash his sharp tongue on everyone else. in between his threats to his desk mate, his heart would twinge and his cheeks would flush when he catches your distant stare.

all he can do is clench his jaw and let his heart ache in yearning, watching you from afar, looking as though you’ve already moved on from the fight whereas your awfully mean glare haunts him day and night.

all he craves is for you to pet his head and coo at him, assuring him that you’ll always be there to take care of him no matter what. all he pines for are the tender, sweet kisses you press to his temple and his cheekbones. he tries to replace the feeling of your chest by lying on and embracing his pillow but he can only kick it off the bed and groan at the unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling that isn’t you.

remus becomes ridden with anxiety while imagining his apology, fearing that when he does beg on his knees for forgiveness and takes accountability, you are indifferent. he’s terrified that you’ll shake your head, and instead of cradling him in your arms, you would tell him that you’ve had enough and that you can’t possibly deal with him anymore. it’s these thoughts that have tears streaming down his eyes in the shower, that have him breathing heavily in the middle of studying, that break his heart into pieces.

before he has enough energy to verbally communicate his regret, no one has ever seen remus lupin as pliant and obedient since he stepped foot into hogwarts. as soon as slughorn would declare the materials necessary for the potion, remus would be bouncing his knee anxiously, waiting for his professor's approval before he jumps out of his seat and races to the cabinet, carefully studying which material was flawless and polished enough to present to you.

you’d take it with silence but he would inwardly beam. this is a step in the right direction, he thinks. the marauders would be gawking at him, watching him say a quiet ‘here you go,’ with a tight-lipped smile and soft eyes.

he couldn’t care less if he was left with a tarnished cauldron or rusty textbook. what mattered more was that he gave you the best one and he was slowly redeeming himself.

before class would end, remus would hurry to the door, holding it open for every single person in the class and holding it especially wider for when you walk through. every other person that walked out of the door was shocked and hesitant to take advantage of his kind gesture—remus, however, didn’t spare them a glance, his stare intensely focused on you, studying your reactions to his unusually chivalrous demeanour.

he has to charm you with this. but there you go, laughing happily with one of your friends, completely ignoring your miserable boyfriend’s existence and walking straight toward the great hall.

‘fucks sake,’ he mutters before racing there, determined to fix a plate full of your favourite food himself.

once the full moon passes, remus decides to make a move, heading straight toward the library where he knows he’ll find you studying away.

you’re so focused on your parchment. his heart swells at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows and the slight pout on your lips. he’s so in love with you. that softness is quickly interrupted when he realizes your eyes don’t even look up when he walks towards you, quietly whispering your name. fuck, he thinks.

remus walks behind you and bends down near your ear, slowly and carefully brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. you didn’t flinch. you didn’t move away either. you didn’t reject him.

‘oh, darling, i’m sorry.’ he would mumble despairingly, reaching down to gently take your hand in his. ‘i didn’t mean to, you know that, right?’

between every tender kiss to your head and the gentle, soothing stroke of his thumb on your hand and shoulder, his sweet words only continued. ‘i’ll lend you my books, sweaters, anything you want, baby. everything of mines is yours—i’m yours.’

suddenly, you immediately snatched your hand out of his grasp and continued writing, concentrated on the piece of parchment in front of you as if remus wasn’t even there. his eyes widened and his stomach dropped, churning unpleasantly.

remus tries to squeeze your shoulder as gently as he can to remind you that he’s there and that he would wait as long as it takes. he remains calm, taking deep breaths, all the while inwardly panicking, unknowing of how long he can keep up with your silence and lack of concern.

after a couple of long, tedious minutes of standing, remus quickly pulls a chair beside you, eliciting a sharp scratch against the hardwood floor that the librarian narrows her eyes at. remus rolls his eyes before settling annoyingly close to you, hesitantly resting his chin on your shoulder after pressing a soft kiss there as well.

‘i could help you with the test, i got an outstanding on the last one.’ he says quietly, smiling weakly, attempting to mask the desperation he knows is laced in his tone.

still, nothing from you. not even a glance, not even a hum of acknowledgement. he hasn’t even gotten your eyes to meet his and he begins feeling a wave of nausea at this realization and his lack of success.

‘please, love, just say anything. take me outside and yell at me if you must—please do. just anything. i just wanna hear your voice. i’m sorry—i’m so, so sorry.’ he takes away his seemingly calm, indifferent facade, voice wavering pleadingly, and you inwardly smirk at the difference in his tone.

remus takes your head in his hand and presses a firm kiss to your temple in an attempt to coax you out of your indifference.

‘i’m so fucking sorry, baby. i was a git, right foul one, yeah?’ he laughs forcefully, miserably attempting to soften the tension in the air to which he failed. ‘you could do anything to punish me. yell at me, hit me even, do anything but this, please. do whatever you want to me—just not this.’

again, you do nothing. he desperately wants you to push him away, to yell at him and tell him to leave you alone. any form of eye contact, any sound of his name—acknowledgment is all he needs.

‘i’m not leaving—i hope you know that. i’ll follow you right back to the common room and i’ll steal you away so that you end up in my dorm. i’ll even get on my fucking knees for you and beg you to forgive me. i’m staying here.’

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reeniecon · 1 month

Text

-levels of possessiveness-

Include malleus draconia, lilia vanrouge, rook hunt, kalim al asim and Jamil Viper

‼️⚠️ : gn!Reader,I haven't proof read it yet, mentions of chapter 7 npc's names on lilias part, might be come out as yandere tendencies than possessiveness...

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- kalim al asim -

• I know some of you gonna disagree with me, BUT HEAR ME OUT OKAY

• since he was a little kid he always get what he wanted right?

• why wouldn't get this one ?

• YOU GET THE IDEA RIGHT HEHEHEHE

• hm? Oh u want to go out by urself? No way hahahah, take jamil with you~ or u want me to accompany you?

• Ooooo waitt sweety dont do the chores :(( ur hand will get hurt by that, just let the maid do it for you okayy?? Oh you felt sorry for him?? For working alone? oh dont worry baba(father) will recuit the maids tmr hhe

- jamil Viper -

• this one are not very surprising

• jamil didn't really get the chance to have something in life that really his on the first place

• so, when he finally did and someone are trying to take it away from him he get really possessive over it

• he can protect kalim all the time so... He faced by almost 0 problem trying to protect you

" Jamil.. What is that?? Can we get that? " You asked him

" I can make more healthier version of it at home, are you okay with that dear? " He speak " And uh...look, dear the cooking oil that there using, it's already black soo that mean they have been using it multiple time without changing it, I wouldn't want you to eat that not-very-healty oil I'm I?" He carefully explains to you

You can sigh to him " Okay... "

" Good, let's head back I'll make it for you" He smiled sweetly to you

- lilia vanrouge -

• lmao do I need to explain??

• he is a fae

• and already lived a long life

• he knows the pain of losing people he loved dearly mallenoa.. Malleus mother and malleus father...

• so naturally he didn't want to get hurt by that feeling again of course.

• that's why he get very possessive of you

• if you're a long lived creature you might see him be not so possessive towards you because he knows he had a lot of time to spend with you.

• BUT, if you're a human... He *sigh* yeah you know the rest

" My dearie" Lilia calls for you

" Where have youve been?? " He added

" Oh, lilia I just got back from heartslabyul actually, just meet adeuce " You explain while giggling

" Hm, why lying my dear" He glares to you, while flying closer to you

" What.. No what do you mean Lilia! " You panic a little bit because what he just say to you

"Fufu.. My lovely dear... Don't lie to me okay? I know everything going on in your life " He say gently while He stroke your hair

- malleus draconia -

• HE IS A DRAGON.

• dragon are KNOWN to be a possessive creature sooo what makes you think he is any different

• he probably lock u up somewhere if he want to lmao

• not only a normal dragon but he is a dragon with POWERS he is the crowns prince to the Briar valley soooo

• he basically can do whatever he wants lol

• good luck if you catches his eyes lmao he might never let you go until your funeral, keyword MIGHT

- idia shroud -

• aaa this wired boy

• lacking basic human interaction and affection wwww

• in my eyes he would either be

• no please don't leave me boy or don't leave me or ill kms / destroy all of it

• WOULD STALK U, he probably hack into the campus CCTV just to check what are you doing currently

• asking ortho to follow you and assist you with everything you need

• would probably sends anonymous deaths threats to any guy who are flirting with you

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More of my fics

An : I'm kinda ashamed by this lol, but Ill post it anw, I'll add more in the future but this is it for now 😂😂😂

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zushikiss · 9 months

Text

jealous skater bf!scara w/ ballet s/o! reader

summary ; there's a fellow student in your ballet class who just can't seem to leave you alone, so your boyfriend (tries to) intimidate him.

warnings ; like one profanity (hell), none other than that

pairings : skater bf!scara x ballerina!reader (gender neutral)

notes ; IT'S FINALLY HERE !!! i'm sososososo sorry this took so long i've been so busy recently and tbh i haven't been able to even open my phone a lot of times 😭 soooo i hope this makes up for how late it is :,) also scara has a car here ermmm, green quotation marks for the guy!

written part below !

you see your boyfriend's familiar black car pull up near your ballet studio, as expected the guy still hasn't left you alone.

he's been bugging you for the past few weeks asking for your number and even for the both of you to go out to dinner sometimes, you've repeated to him that you had a boyfriend several times already but it seems as though he doesn't believe you.

and it's understandable, neither you or scaramouche we're completely showy, you never denied your relationship but you never made a big deal about it either, confirm it to those who asks but don't say anything to the ones that aren't curious.

simple as that.

so the fact that this heathen from your ballet class wasn't believing you wasn't exactly new to you, both you and scara has had your own experiences with people doubting your relationship.

exhibit a, childe who is your boyfriend's self proclaimed best friend, exhibit b, your literature teacher who was worried for you since scaramouche started waiting for you after their classes, you and scaramouche were nothing alike which is why people found it hard to believe.

and yet, here's your boyfriend. walking to your studio angrily while muttering things beneath his breath, what do you mean he doesn't believe you?? was he not picking you up enough? was the matching hoodies not a dead giveaway? was he not as boyfriend-y as he needed to be? whatever the hell that is??

so here he is, storming nearer and nearer with his matching black hoodie, the same one you wore when he dropped you off earlier that day, once he arrived he saw your ballet buddy close to you, not enough for it to be extremely alarming, but close enough to cause you discomfort.

"babe? hey, c'mon let's go."

you let out a nod, relieved more than anything since he was getting a little too close for your liking.

"little demanding there, don't you think?"

"no actually, i don't think it's demanding."

"y/n do you really wanna go with this ass? i mean look at how he's treating me! not that i believe he's your boyfriend.."

"i do wanna come with him, actually. and it doesn't matter to me if you believe that he's my boyfriend or not, cause i know he is and that's all that matters. also please stop asking me out, the answer will always stay the same, it'll always be no."

scaramouche smiled at the guy before dragging you away to his car, he starts taking a familliar route to the ice cream place you guys visit often, he breaks the comfortable silence by speaking.

"so, i think he was pretty intimidated."

"yeah, by me!"

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here2bbtstrash · 2 years

Text

the shape of your body (explicit)

genre: fluffy slowburn smut

pairing: jimin x reader

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

word count: 24k 🙇‍♀️

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

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

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

read on AO3!

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just wish you knew him, too.

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

Well, you know a few things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the train stops moving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Definitely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you pay them for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You in grad school too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”

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

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

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

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

Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

“You just did,” Yoongi notes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

“Fucking asshole!”

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

“Yoongi?!”

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

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

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

“What about the coffee shop?”

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

“What about the bar?”

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

“What about the—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

“Is this about the penis?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gay together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess so.”

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

Another invitation, you realize dumbly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was fast.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

“When are you done with classes today?”

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“White and sparkling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s hear it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”

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

~*~

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Subway Boy, huh?”

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug. “I guess. It’s new to me.”

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

“I think so, yeah.”

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

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

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

“Is Joon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will,” you promise, and you do.

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Met?” he guesses, teasing.

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

“The Louvre?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hobi?”

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

“Jimin?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In a bit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

Jimin’s hands grip your thighs as he shifts and starts to move, starts fucking into you with long, slow strokes that make your pussy flutter, as if to urge him in deeper.

“It’s good?” he checks in again, voice tight, clearly holding himself back.

“So good, baby,” you breathe, “please fuck me.” A smirk flashes over his mouth at your manners, so polite when you ask to take it, and then he snaps his hips into you and you keen. “Fuck, please, just like that.”

He does it again and again, hands pressing down on your thighs to keep you folded up under him as he fucks you. The angle is just right for the thick head of his cock to pound into your g-spot with every stroke, and your back arches as your walls grip tight to him.

Jimin echoes your gasps with his own, swearing under his breath as you squeeze around him. He’s thrusting deep-deep now, and your hips shove up towards him for all of it, your thighs trembling as you take every inch. You’re dripping down his length every time he pulls back, wet enough to soak the sheets beneath you.

The pleasure, the pressure as he fills you up is so overwhelming that your hands reach, clinging to anything they can find. A pillow, the bedsheets, the flexing muscles in his forearms. Your moans come unabashedly now, underscored by the slap of skin on skin, the thud of the bedframe knocking into the wall. “Jimin, Jimin, baby.”

“Yeah,” he pants, choked up like he’s close. “Love it when you say my name.”

You sit up a little, folded legs shifting to wrap over his hips, and your hands come to his face to pull his mouth down to yours. His movements stutter as you kiss him breathlessly, and the brush of your tongue over his must be just enough to make him come undone. With a grunt of effort, he thrusts hard into you one final time, and his shoulders shake as he fills up the condom.

You kiss him again and again, your lips pulled into a smile against his as you tangle a hand in his hair, made messy from sleep and sex. Jimin’s body weighs heavy on top of yours as he drops his head to your shoulder, breath coming in short heat-bursts over your collarbone.

“Fuck. Been a minute.” He presses a kiss there, another to your neck, a third to your jaw. “Do you want to keep going?”

Your eyes widen at the question. “I— can you?”

A soft flush paints color in his cheeks, and he’s suddenly a little shy. “Yeah, I can. If you want. Or we can stop.”

You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your noses bumping. “I kinda felt like I was getting close again.”

He smiles. “Then let me finish what I started.” There’s a bit of shuffling as he moves to the edge of the bed to remove and tie up the used condom, then reaches for the box to retrieve another.

As he tears open the foil and rolls it on, you watch and consider all of him. This body that you know from every angle, that you’ve studied like a textbook, that holds the boy who stepped onto the subway and changed your life and made it better. This body, made to be adored, to be respected and cherished and filled up with love. This body, chosen to be shared with you, to be held by you, to be near you.

That’s all you want, you realize as he rolls over, brown eyes blinking sweetly at you. This body, and all that it holds: the darkness and the light, the pain and the beauty, the soul that so perfectly fits with yours.

“Turn over for me?” he asks softly. “I want to spoon.”

This round is easier, slower, your bodies molding together, shaky from effort and sensitivity. You twist over your shoulder, tipping your head up for a kiss that turns into a shared gasp as he presses into you again. Your walls are swollen enough to be tender, and the stretch of him, the way he fills you up entirely, makes your eyes roll back.

As he starts to grind his hips into you, his hand snakes down between your thighs before you even have to ask. You hook a leg over his to allow him better access and gasp when his cock slides even deeper into you from the new angle.

“So good,” you manage as two of his fingers work circles into your clit, matching the same slow-stroke pace. His tongue slips into your mouth, and with his cock rubbing insistently against your front wall, it doesn’t take much. Pleasure overwhelms you in a hot rush as he so easily pulls you apart again.

“Jimin.” Your voice is nearly a whisper, your walls starting to pulse. Your head tips back against his shoulder as he fucks and rubs you through it, his hums of encouragement buzzing through your body, your hips shuddering. “Baby, oh god.”

Jimin’s strokes start to falter, and then he goes still, your cunt aftershock-fluttering around him as he comes again, groaning your name.

A brush of daylight through the blinds makes your eyes heavy, and they drop closed as you lean into him and breathe through the comedown. You don’t know how long you lay there like that until his kisses pull you back earthside, dotting over your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw. You tilt your head up and he finally finds your lips again.

With a deep grunt of post-sex effort, he rolls over, leaning off the edge of the bed to deal with the second condom. A shiver dots up your spine at the loss of his body next to yours, and you tuck into his side when he lays down again, throwing an arm over his chest to better nuzzle into the crook of his neck. The heat of his palm makes you sigh as his hand rubs gentle circles against your back.

Something cracks open inside of you, warm like his touch, like the sunlight bleeding through the window. You can feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat under your hand, and it’s everything, all of him, that makes the words rise up in your throat, undeniable.

“Jimin,” you breathe, “I l—”

A loud bang on your bedroom door makes you flinch, and you roll over with a grimace as Yoongi shouts from the other side. “If you’re finished, just so you know, you left a fucking pan on the stove. Could’ve burnt the house down while you were in there deflowering each other.”

Your jaw drops open and Jimin’s eyes go wide, and you collapse against each other in a silent rush of laughter. You’re surprised when Yoongi’s voice comes back, a little softer this time. “Also I brought some bagels back from work. If you want any, better hurry before Namjoonie eats them all.”

The charged moment has passed, and the words sink back down inside of you. Making a promise to tell him soon, you wrap yourself tighter around Jimin’s side with a smile. “What do you think?”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’ll never say no to a bagel.”

“Come on then,” you murmur, tilting up for a final hit of affection. The kiss he leaves on your lips makes your heartbeat flutter, like the shudder of a subway car.

#jimin smut #jimin fluff #jimin x reader #jimin x y/n #bts smut #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts fanfic

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