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#but they're that couple of friends that everyone see and go ''you'll end up together''
calumsash · 2 years
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Can I handle the seasons of my life?
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storiesfromgaza · 6 months
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"Mom, does it hurt when we get bombarded? Do we feel the pain, or do we just die at once?"
These are the questions that Reporter Youmna El Sayed began with in her interview conducted by the AJ+ network to document her struggles with her children and the suffering of all the people of Gaza
When my kids ask me, 'Mom, does it hurt when we get bombarded? Do we feel the pain, or do we just die at once?' and I have to tell them, 'No, don't worry. It's not going to hurt.' Their father reassures them, saying, 'Don't worry. It just happens once, and that's it.' In the past, we would comfort our children, saying, 'Don't worry. It's going to be okay. It's going to end soon. You'll be fine. We'll be fine.' Everything is shaking—constantly. But now, every night, we tell them, 'Don't worry. We're together, sticking together. If we die, we die together.' Death has become a looming reality since the Israeli army encircled Gaza city. The bombardments have been relentless—from the land, air, and sea. Our building is in a perpetual state of tremor. Three days ago, we awoke to the smoke of nearby fires filling our homes. We sought refuge in the basement, the best option with the least smoke, but it was still overwhelming. The kids were coughing, suffocating, and their eyes were itching. But when it comes to my children, it just hits me so hard, Dina, and I just feel that I can't control it anymore. I can't be that strong, brave woman who's able to control things or get things under control because they're my weak part. I feel a loss of control, unable to maintain the facade of strength and bravery. Judy, usually full of life, now appears quiet and terrified
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She doesn't eat much. She doesn't feel like doing anything. I tried to speak to her about things, you know, bring back some happy memories, and I said, as usual, 'What would you like to do the first thing after this war ends?' She told me, 'Mommy, I don't want to do anything except for this war to end. I just want these bombardments to end, everything—the destruction, the despair, the loss.'
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I think they tell you that now—we're just hearing news of people dying every now and then—people that we know, friends, colleagues, everyone around us. And it just, you know, really, like, 'May he rest in peace,' and that's it. I just—we just go on because we were just waiting for our turn. You mentioned to me that food is scarce and supplies are low. What is the water situation? We can starve, right? We can go on without food, even as adults. But without water, I'd rather die from bombardments than die from thirst. I don't want my kids at the end to die from thirst. Are you still thinking to move south, and what would that look like? The last attempt was a couple of days ago, and we found out that to move south, we need to walk for at least 6 to 7 km on foot and not carry anything at all with us—none of our belongings. Basically, walk this distance while we raise our hands to show that we surrender, just holding our IDs in one hand and raising the other. And I think that's just extremely humiliating. And it's not just that, you know?
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You remember the massacre that everyone saw on TV screens for the civilians that were bombarded on the road? They're still lying there. Until this day, lying there in the streets, their bodies. The crows and the birds are eating from them, and no one has been able to pick them up. The Israeli army has not allowed anyone or ambulances or any medical teams to come to pick these people up and to bury them. How can I let my kids go through a street while they see other children and other people killed and thrown just like that, lying in the street like that, while birds are eating from them? I think that this is just inhumane and more cruel than anything. This is not to worry about fighting Hamas or Palestinian fighters. This war began by eliminating and wiping out the Palestinian people in Gaza. This isn't a war against Palestinian fighters nor Hamas; it's a genocide against Gaza.
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here2bbtstrash · 2 years
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the shape of your body (explicit)
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genre: fluffy slowburn smut
pairing: jimin x reader
summary: the same day you finally manage to speak to your months-long public transit crush, you end up seeing much more of him than you bargained for.
word count: 24k 🙇‍♀️
contains: explicit sexual content~*~ (after a slow burn lmao) - new york city grad school AU, strangers to lovers, reader is an art student, public transit thirsting, jimin is a dancer and a nude model, namgi and vhope as side characters, basically everyone is gay (they're ART STUDENTS in NEW YORK CITY it's called realism 💅), a smidge of member x member side character relationships, jimin is biromantic demisexual 👀, conversations about body image issues/past relationship struggles/demisexuality and libido, soooo much making out, a couple "failed attempts" at sex, accidental voyeurism (but not how you think lmao YOU'LL SEE), showering together non-sexually, and: fingering, clit stim, nipple play, come eating/sharing 🤭 an attempted blowjob, face sitting, & protected sex (multiple rounds 🥵)
A/N: asjdshgkdfjgs i can't believe it's done 😭 there were so many times i thought i would never finish this fic !!! i have too many friends to thank for talking me off of SEVERAL ledges where i was convinced this whole thing was trash and that i should just stick to short porn or perhaps simply never write again. i'm so glad i saw this one through because there are concepts in here that are deeply important and personal to me wehhh 🫠 i sincerely hope y'all enjoy this one!! thank u for enduring mostly radio silence while i was in jimin lockdown, and of course, happy early birthday to mini, the light of my mf life 🥰💜 (oh and LDOMLT ch 8 is coming next so buckle tf up bitches 👀)
an eternity of smooches to @haliiimede for beta reading and just generally being the best fucking person on planet earth ✨ AND TO @goodsoop FOR THE DEMI SENSITIVITY READ VERY SORRY THAT I AM THE WORLD'S LARGEST IDIOT AND FORGOT TO CREDIT..... i love you both 🥺
read on AO3!
~*~
You’ve taken the subway thousands of times since moving to New York.
Morning rides, squeezed nearly to death between commuters in suits blinking back sleep and school-uniformed kids scream-laughing and paper coffee cups gripped tight by winter-numb fingers.
Long trips with your sketchbook on your lap, riding the line all the way to Pelham Bay Park and back, to surface above ground out where there’s a little more space to breathe, until the setting sun floods orange glow between the buildings just before you descend again.
Late nights coming home, Namjoon’s head thudding back against the train window behind him as he dozes off, one arm thrown around your shoulder to ward off any drunk creeps, his free hand interlaced with Yoongi’s on his other side.
It’s always been the three of you, first in friendship, and now that the two of them have figured out they’re something more, you don’t mind it. But when it’s late and you’ve had enough drinks to feel warm all the way through, to melt something open inside of you, and you glance over to see a loving flicker of eyelashes exchanged as Namjoon leans down and presses a kiss to Yoongi’s temple, you can’t help it.
There’s a little bit of an ache there, right behind your ribs. Sometimes.
But mostly, when it comes to the train, you take the 6 to school. You go through the motions this morning the same as you always do: headphones around your neck, bag slung over your shoulder, immediately dropping into the first empty seat you see as the train doors shudder closed and the car starts to move. Six stops down, 51st street to Astor Place, five days a week, you know it like a heartbeat.
You just wish you knew him, too.
Subway Boy, as Yoongi affectionately labeled him the time you got two pitchers of margaritas deep and made the mistake of confessing to your roommates about your crush— if it can even be called that. Can you truly have a crush on someone you know nothing about, not even their name?
Well, you know a few things.
He must live further north than you, because on the days you see him, he’s already on the train when you board at 51st.
He must like music, because he always has a set of fancy bluetooth earbuds in.
You’re pretty sure he’s an athlete of some sort, because he’s usually carrying a gym bag—and because during this summer’s heat wave, the one and only time you’ve seen him wear shorts, you nearly fainted at the thick, defined muscles of his thighs.
He has an affinity for jewelry, delicate silver always glinting through the multiple piercings in his ears. At odds with this, he seems to prefer to dress comfortably, and you’ve seen him in enough branded school t-shirts and sweats to figure he must also be an NYU student, though you can’t say for sure if he’s undergrad or graduate.
You deeply hope you’re not crushing on someone who still needs a fake ID to drink, but there’s no way to be certain.
Most importantly, you know that he is absolutely stunning. Elegantly handsome, with expressive deep brown eyes, skin like glass, and round cheeks and full lips that flush frozen pink on particularly frigid New York days. His hair has changed colors a few times over the months that have passed since you first took notice of him, but it’s currently a honey blonde, and long enough that he often reaches up to card a hand through it. He does it now, pushing loose strands back to expose his forehead as he frowns down at his phone.
On days where you share the same car, you notice very little else that happens on the ride, thoroughly entranced in Subway Boy’s beauty and his mystery. The train could probably catch fire and you’d miss it entirely.
Today happens to be one of those days, and excitement glitters in your bloodstream as you realize he’s seated across from you. The rush of seeing him always feels like its own reward, some kind of cosmic sign that the day is going to be a good one.
And then the train stops moving.
There’s an audible reaction from a few people in the car, and you glance up a moment later when a voice buzzes over the intercom. You’re able to make out “attention passengers” and very little after that, just the basics about some sort of unforeseen interruption of service and that the train should resume moving again soon.
You sigh, knowing very well that the MTA’s definition of ‘soon’ does not often align with typical human expectations. Figuring you’ve got some time to kill, you reach into your bag to retrieve your sketchbook and the first pencil you can dig out of the bottom.
“What did they say?” A voice, quiet and deep, surprises you before you can even flip to your in-progress page.
You glance up to find Subway Boy staring at you, forearms braced on his knees as he leans forward into the gap between his seat and yours. He’s got one bluetooth earbud pinched between his fingertips and a confused look on his face, having clearly missed the announcement.
Heat floods your face at the feeling of his eyes fixed on you, and it takes you a second to form a response. “Uh— I didn’t get most of it. Something about unforeseen interruption. And that we’ll be moving again soon.”
A muscle works in his jaw as he rolls his eyes. “Typical.”
“I don’t think they know what ‘soon’ means,” you murmur, mostly to yourself as you tear your gaze away from Subway Boy and return to the sketchbook in your lap, rifling through to find your latest half-finished drawing. When you hear him huff a laugh, you have to bite down on the hopeful smile that threatens to shine across your face.
“Definitely not.”
You force yourself to keep your eyes on the page, assuming Subway Boy must go back to his music when he falls silent after his last comment.
With featherlight flicks of your pencil, you start to add a little depth to the quick study you were working on last night, Yoongi’s half-peeled tangerine that he left abandoned on the coffee table when he stepped out onto the fire escape for a smoke.
Subway Boy’s voice catches you off guard a second time. “Are you drawing?”
You bite down on your lip again, a nervous habit, and you nod as you tilt the page so he can see from across the car.
“Wow.” You wonder if you’re imagining the way his voice seems to soften a little. “You’re really good. Are you an artist?”
You can’t help it— your gaze flits up to meet his again. It’s nearly overwhelming to lock eyes with your Subway Boy and hear him compliment you, like something out of a wild daydream. “I guess so,” you remark, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a small smile as you say it. “I’ve certainly paid NYU enough money in my attempts to become one.”
“Know the feeling,” he scoffs, but his eyes smile back, pulled into crescent moons.
“What did you pay them for?”
“Currently, a dual MFA/MA in dance and… teaching dance. Really went all-in on the dancer thing.”
“Oh.” Your eyes widen automatically. You’ve wondered— and yes, occasionally drunkenly speculated with your roommates— what Subway Boy’s line of work might be, but you have no idea why dancer never occurred to you. Because now all the pieces suddenly fall together in front of you: the toned muscles that flex beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, the natural grace he exudes, not to mention his perfect posture.
Of course he’s a dancer. It makes perfect sense.
It occurs to you, a beat too late, that a wide-eyed ‘oh’ is not the most normal response to a truly innocuous answer to a question asked of a random stranger.
But the smile in his eyes doesn’t falter. “I feel like I see you on this train a lot.”
Your stomach flutters like butterfly wings, and you have to look away, back down to the safety of your sketchbook. “Really?”
There’s an extra pause before he speaks again. “Man, sorry. Think I misread that. Now I feel creepy. I promise I’ve only noticed you a normal amount.” Your eyes snap back up to find him wincing slightly, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck.
“No, no, I’m— it’s not—” you stammer, trying to recover. “I, uh— me too, I have too. Noticed you. A normal amount. I… I don’t know why I just pretended like I didn’t.”
Subway Boy leans forward, head dropping down with a genuine laugh that shakes his shoulders, and you can’t help but laugh too, out of sheer embarrassment. He’s beaming when he rights himself again, and it sends a thrill buzzing through you, all the way down to your fingertips still clutched tight to your pencil.
“That makes me feel better,” he admits. “At least we’re both creepy.”
As if the universe itself is intervening to save you from any further humiliation, the train shudders back to life and begins to move again. The sigh you breathe is a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.
“That’s definitely a new record,” you say shyly as you move to shove your things back in your bag. “Maybe the MTA actually looked up what ‘soon’ means.”
His focus is tracked over your shoulder when you look up again, and his eyes dance left to right to chase the patterns in the subway tile as you pull into the next station.
“Guess it’s a miracle,” he says softly, not making eye contact.
“Must be,” you murmur back, letting your gaze drop to the floor, unable to hide your smile now.
He doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you, but the warm flush stays in your face for the rest of the ride. When the train pulls into the Astor Place station, you and Subway Boy get to your feet simultaneously, so quickly that your bags knock together as you pull them over your shoulders.
“Sorry,” you say in unison, immediately sharing an exhaled laugh at the synchronicity of the moment.
The doors slide open and he gestures for you to go first before following after. It’s a surprise— he’s never gotten off at Astor before, and when he doesn’t take the option of heading in another direction but instead falls into lockstep next to you, you seize the opportunity.
“Astor Place today, huh?” You hope the observation still falls into the category of ‘noticing a normal amount’.
“Yeah, first day of a new gig. What about you? Class?”
You nod. “Pretty standard stuff. But we start a new unit today, so that’s fun.”
“You in grad school too?”
“Yup, MFA in studio art.” You can’t help but tease, just a little. “Only one master’s degree for me, I’m such a slacker.”
His eyes squint again as he smiles. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re not, like, eighteen.”
“I thought that too!” You keep talking before you can stop yourself. “I mean, when I was… noticing. I distinctly remember thinking, like, please let me not be thirsting over a straight-up child right now.”
“Ahh...” Subway Boy trails off, and you can see a faint pink starting to blossom in the apples of his cheeks. “You were thirsting?”
You can’t help but scrunch your nose up slightly, resisting the urge to full-body cringe at your own stupid mouth. “We are now officially both creepy.”
He fidgets a little with the strap of the dance bag slung over his shoulder. “Hopefully I’m living up to the hype.”
You’re grateful to reach the art building before you can dig your grave any deeper. You nod your head in the direction of the glass doors as you slow to a stop, and he does, too. “This is me.”
“It’s actually me, too,” he remarks, glancing up at the building as if to double-check. “But I have a little bit, so I’m gonna grab a coffee I think. But it was nice to finally talk to you. Not that— sorry, that was weird. Take out the finally. It was good to talk. Meet a fellow starving artist and all.”
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, until you finally work up the courage to ask the question. “Do you have a name?”
“Oh!” His eyes widen, more heat-blush coloring his face. “Yeah. Park Jimin. Probably could’ve led with that.”
You give him your name, and his voice is like music when he repeats it back.
“Well, good luck in class,” Jimin says with a nod. “And hopefully I’ll see you around sometime.” A smile toys at the corner of his mouth, and then he pauses as his words seem to catch up to him. “Well, I mean. I guess I know I will. On the— train— yeah, I’m gonna go before I say any more stupid things.”
“Bye Jimin,” you giggle, and he gives a shy departing wave before he spins on his heel. As he walks away, you can’t help but notice the way he drops his gaze and shakes his head, like he’s thoroughly embarrassed by his social performance.
And just like that, Subway Boy has a name— one that loops in your head as you float to class, barely feeling your feet touch the floor. Park Jimin. It’s sweet like him, warm sunshine in your veins as you shoulder open the door to the studio, grab a seat, and start to get set up.
A voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin as Kim Taehyung leans in, having occupied the seat next to you while you were off in la-la land. “Know what the new unit is?” You start to shake your head, then realize it was a rhetorical question when he waggles his eyebrows and continues. “Life drawing. Ready for some naked people?”
You roll your eyes and grab at the strings of his gray beanie, pulling it down over his fluffy hair and eyes in one swift tug. “Bro, we are literally in grad school. Stop acting like a virgin.”
“Like you weren’t thinking it too,” he grumbles to himself as he shoves the hat back up his forehead.
You shoot him a look as your professor signals the class to settle and launches in. It’s the same routine as each unit you’ve rotated through in your graduate studio, so you only half-listen, mostly distracted by Taehyung tearing open the paper wrapper of a red heart-shaped lollipop and popping it into his mouth. His latest oral fixation in his millionth attempt to quit vaping.
You lean down to dig into your bag, trying to ignore the sound of hard candy clacking against teeth as you fish out both pencils and charcoal to give yourself options. You pull a couple of each out of their cases, glancing up in an attempt to refocus on the professor, who is still talking.
It takes a second for your brain to process the image in front of you. His shy smile has been replaced with a serious, professional expression, but there’s no questioning the familiar face, the posture, the silver jewelry, the way he reaches up to run a hand through his hair. Subway Boy Park Jimin is standing in the center of the room, wearing a short black satin dressing gown.
Your jaw goes slack. It feels like it happens in slow motion as you watch Jimin’s strong hands move down to undo the sash at his waist before he shrugs off the flimsy fabric and lets it fall to the floor. And then he’s not wearing anything at all.
You lose your grip entirely on your handful of pencils, and they hit the studio floor with a clatter that certainly feels deafening, each one choosing to roll off in a different direction.
Taehyung glances over at you, brow slightly creased. The lollipop tucked in his cheek impedes his speech slightly, but not enough that you can’t understand him. “Now who’s the virgin?”
You crouch down, praying that maybe you can gather your things unnoticed, but it already feels like every pair of eyes in the room is burning a hole in your back. To his credit, Taehyung at least helps a little, extending a sandaled foot to kick any pencils he can reach over towards you. You scramble around the room to chase after the rest, and you can’t bear to look up and see if Jimin is watching you or not. You’re not sure which would be worse.
Fighting the urge to army crawl out of the room, you grip both hands tightly around your materials as you return to your seat, then tuck everything into the tray of the easel in front of you. You’re a professional, you tell yourself. It’s not like it’s your first time drawing someone nude.
It’s just your first time doing it when you happen to have a crush on them.
But it’s fine. You let out an exhale to ground yourself, then pick up a pencil. It’s just a body.
You vaguely recall hearing your professor explain that you’d be moving through ten quick-sketch poses to begin with, each held for only a few minutes, before switching to a few longer sessions for the rest of class. As you were too busy chasing your pencils around the room, you’ve missed the first pose entirely, and you have to work quickly to get a very rough outline of the second before Jimin moves again at the professor’s instruction.
He switches so fluidly from one pose to the next, and you have so little time, it’s enough to get you out of your head just trying to keep up. You find yourself falling comfortably into a flow state, focused on little more than lines and shapes in front of you and the act of reproducing them on your page. It’s an exercise you know well, and the repetition of it soothes you.
The studio is quiet, save for the scratching of pencils on paper and the soft classical music your professor has switched on.
By the time you finish sketching the tenth pose, it feels like you can breathe a little easier, and your professor offers Jimin a quick break just as you lean back to admire your work. You do your best to quickly duck behind your easel as he stretches, then reaches for a bottle of water set on a nearby table.
Taehyung removes his sheet of sketches and sets it aside before leaning in, pressing his face against his easel to match yours. “He’s cute. Bet he gets like, infinite ass-pussy. Just the absolute most.”
“Shut up, Tae!” You jerk your foot out to kick the leg of his chair, and a boxy grin stretches over his face as he giggles. You stare daggers back. “You’re too damn horny today. Like you didn’t just get your ass eaten in the supply closet last week.” The rumor had spread through your cohort practically overnight— probably started by Taehyung himself.
The menace in question shoots you an over-exaggerated wink. “And I’d do it again, too.”
You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”
The professor claps to get everyone’s attention again, and you peer around your easel to watch as Jimin resumes his place at the center of the room. You settle in for the first of a few longer, more detailed sketches, trying desperately to keep your cool about it. But Jimin is unquestionably gorgeous.
He turns to the side for the first pose, arms wrapped around his muscular torso and eyes downcast, fingertips and thumb resting over his neck and chin as if to cradle his own face in his hand. After a long stretch of time where you manage to get most of a sketch done, the professor cues him to move into a second pose, and he faces the back wall, reaching up to drape his arms over each other, crossed wrists resting delicately on the crown of his head.
You could easily see him as a statue carved out of marble, and you try to ignore the flutter of your heartbeat as you attempt to translate his beauty onto your page each time. You have to hold in several sighs as you work on outlining the strong, toned muscles of his back and thighs— not to mention his perky ass. You can’t help but wonder if the rest of the class is struggling silently, too.
You’re beginning to think you might survive after all when the professor asks Jimin to move again and he does, shaking his body out slightly before reaching to grab a provided stool and shift it to the center of the room. He takes a seat, abdominals flexing as he leans back on his hands and unabashedly lets his legs fall open.
Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.
You try desperately to keep it together as you start your third sketch with unsteady hands. The minutes tick by, and you aren’t aware of Taehyung’s eyes on your paper until you hear his stupid whisper again. “Why aren’t you drawing his dick?”
He’s not wrong. There is a noticeable blank spot at the center of your page. “I’m getting there,” you huff. “Worry about your own sketch, Tae.”
“Girl, you are literally doing detail shading on his legs and he doesn’t even have a penis. What is he, a Ken doll?”
You grit your teeth and refuse to dignify Taehyung with a response. Fine. You can do this, you tell yourself. Don’t think. Just look and draw. It’s not a big deal.
With a hard swallow, you trace your eyes down his body, and… well, you don’t know what you were expecting. It’s just a soft penis resting limp between his legs, framed by an extremely regular pair of balls. Nothing scary, though you can’t quite will the heat back out of your face, can’t manage to silence the recurring thought that makes your stomach drop— it’s cute.
You resist the urge to smack your head against your easel as you finally fill in your sketch’s dick.
You somehow manage to survive the rest of class, but relief still floods your veins when your professor signals for everyone to wrap up what they’re doing for the day. Jimin starts to come alive again from the fixed pose, tilting his head to one side until something cracks audibly in his neck. You tear your gaze away for fear that his eyes might find yours, and shove everything into your bag as quickly as you can, not even caring what ends up where.
“Where’s the fire?” Taehyung questions beside you, but you ignore him.
You zip your bag up and sling it over your shoulder, then make a beeline for the exit, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on the floor. It’s only once the studio door swings shut behind you that you feel like you can breathe again, and you have to keep yourself from outright sprinting to your next class.
~*~
The rest of the day rushes by in an overwhelming blur, your focus entirely shot by the events of the morning. You collapse into a seat on your train home, hugging your bag to your chest, thankful for the first time in your life to not be sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.
When you turn your keys in the lock and stumble in the front door of the apartment, the divine smell of what could only be Yoongi’s cooking immediately hits you full-force. You find him in the kitchen with a towel thrown over his shoulder, searing a large steak in a cast iron pan for what must be a planned date night with Namjoon.
You wrap your arms around his tiny waist from behind as you approach. He responds with his usual greeting: a soft grunt of mild discomfort.
“Can I ask you a question?” you ask, trying to sound as sweet as possible.
“You just did,” Yoongi notes.
You decide to let his sass go, since you really do need help. “Two more?” Yoongi hums, somewhat affirmative, and you continue. “I know you work like 47 jobs and never get any time off—“
“Some of us have to pay rent without the luxury of stipends or rich parents, yes—“
“But is there any way I could… maybe possibly encroach upon your date night just this once? It’s an emergency. I need advice.”
Yoongi sighs, and you shift to peek over his shoulder, arms still wrapped around him as you watch the way he tilts the pan to one side, collecting butter on a spoon to baste over the steak as it cooks. You squish your cheek into his bicep.
“Lucky for you,” he begins, his tone relenting, “Namjoonie just called. They’ve got him working late to prep for the exhibition next month. So date night was canceled anyway.”
“Aw, Yoongiiiii.” You squeeze him tight enough that he makes another disgruntled noise, and you finally release your grip. “I’ll be your girlfriend tonight.”
He rolls his eyes, but willingly plays along. “Then get the wine, darling?”
You fall into a typical routine: Yoongi pulls a tray of roasted vegetables out of the oven as he lets the steak rest, while you grab a bottle of red at his instruction and fight with the corkscrew in an attempt to get it open. Yoongi watches you, slow-blinking, unamused.
“You wouldn’t last an hour in the restaurant industry.”
“Either help me, or shut up,” you hiss through clenched teeth.
When you finally get settled at your tiny kitchen table, Yoongi nods as if to prompt you while he fills each wine glass with a heavy pour. “Let’s hear it.”
You take a deep breath before launching in and recounting the events of your day, trying not to choke as you simultaneously stuff your face with food. Yoongi eats and listens quietly, no discernible reaction on his face save the occasional lift of his eyebrows. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest as you finish detailing the way you ran out of the studio the minute class ended.
“Alright. So you saw Subway Boy naked, big deal. Do you know how many dicks I’ve seen?”
You groan. “Spare me the details, please.”
“But this is what you wanted, right?” You shrug, and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t play coy now. You’ve been lusting after this kid for months like a weirdo. So why are you stressed?”
“Because!” you huff, frustrated. “It’s— it’s out of order. It’s not like he chose to get naked in front of me specifically, he obviously just thought it was going to be a roomful of strangers. And it seemed like maybe we could be friends or something, but now I don’t know if I should keep pursuing that or just leave him alone. I want to be respectful, but I don’t want him to think I took one look at his penis and decided I didn’t like him anymore, but then it’s like, how do I hold a conversation when he and I both know I have seen his penis, not only seen but studied it, drawn it, and will continue to, weekly, in detail, from multiple angles—“
“You are absolutely overthinking this,” Yoongi laughs into his glass of wine, downing the rest before he continues. “Just get on the fucking train and say hi like a normal, well-adjusted human. This is my advice to you.”
You sigh as you shove a roasted potato in your mouth. “At least you’re a good cook.”
“I’m a great cook,” Yoongi corrects you as he gets to his feet. “Now help me with these dishes.”
~*~
Yoongi’s advice continues to echo in your brain as you lapse back into something like normalcy for the rest of the week.
When the day of your studio class rolls around again, you find yourself hustling not to miss the train, having hit snooze on your alarm a few too many times that morning. You fly down the subway steps just as the 6 is pulling into the station, and you try to ignore the way your pulse is already quickening, telling yourself it’s just from rushing and nothing else.
Pulling the strap of your bag up on your shoulder, you make it to the platform just as the train doors slide open, and your heart instantly leaps into your throat. There he is, leaning against a pole, overwhelmingly beautiful as ever. Park Jimin.
He’s scrolling through something on his phone and hasn’t yet looked up to notice you, and you find yourself frozen in place, jostled angrily by commuters exiting and boarding the train on either side of you.
Panic floods your veins. There’s no time to talk yourself off the ledge, no time to remember Yoongi’s words of wisdom, no time to do anything but make a snap decision. So you do the only thing that feels right: you turn around and sprint back up the stairs and out of the subway station.
The sidewalk is equally bustling, and you try to dodge people while you think through what to do despite the way your head is spinning. You were already going to be cutting it close for time today, and you don’t exactly have the disposable income for a taxi or an Uber. As you try to settle your racing thoughts, your eyes alight on a rack of Citibikes.
Fuck it. You don’t have a better option. Securing your bag on your back, you quickly scan the code to unlock the bike, then shove your phone in your pocket and swing your leg over the seat.
You’ve never biked in Manhattan traffic before, but it can’t be that difficult, you tell yourself. Definitely easier than sharing a subway car with Park Jimin.
Thankfully the street you’re on has a defined bike path, and you do your best to follow the flow of traffic, squeezing your hand brakes to slow to a stop when you hit a red light. It’s been years since you’ve ridden a bike that wasn’t stationary, but it comes back to you relatively easily, like— well, riding a bike.
When you hit a long stretch of green lights, you do your best to pick up speed, trying to make up for lost time. An approaching red light threatens to slow you down again, and you breathe a sigh of relief as it flips to green at the last possible second.
Just as your front tire rolls into the intersection, a deafening car horn nearly gives you a heart attack. You instinctively slam your grip tight around your brakes, and your bike screeches to a halt so fast you’re almost flung over the handlebars. A taxi just barely veers around you as it plows down the intersecting avenue, and you gasp for air, adrenaline coursing through your system.
Holy shit.
You drop one foot to the ground for leverage as you try to get your pulse back under control— you’re pretty sure you just saw your life flash before your eyes. Reality feels a million miles away, but you’re vaguely aware of someone shouting after the car as it speeds down the street.
“Fucking asshole!”
It takes a few seconds for you to realize that it’s a familiar voice, and when you do, you whip around as best you can with a bike between your legs.
“Yoongi?!”
“Oh my god,” Yoongi groans, knuckles blanching as he presses down on his own brakes. “What the fuck are you doing?”
You squint, taking in the helmet strapped over his wavy dark hair and the insulated bag tucked into the basket on the front of his bike. “Since when do you deliver food?”
He grimaces, speaking up to be heard over the noise of traffic. “I just do it to make extra money when my hours suck.”
“What about the coffee shop?”
He shakes his head. “They only have me opening Mondays and Wednesdays right now.”
“What about the bar?”
“That’s just weekends, reliably. Sometimes extra evenings, but only if someone calls out.”
“What about the—”
“Christ, woman!” Yoongi cuts you off with a growl. “The food’s gonna get cold if I have to sit here and run through my entire résumé with you! Are you alright? Why aren’t you taking the subway?”
“Because!” you snap back. “There is a man on that train whose dick I’ve seen and I… I don’t know how to handle it! Okay?!” Though you don’t intend to raise your voice, it comes out loud enough that a group of high school kids on their phones exchange stifled giggles as they fast-walk around you.
“Well you need to be fucking careful,” Yoongi chides. “Biking in the city is not for the faint of heart. And if I’m not allowed to give in to my suicidal ideation, you’re not allowed to crack your head open on the pavement all because you’re trying to avoid a penis.”
“Fine,” you spit back through gritted teeth. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to class.” You push off the asphalt, legs still shaking a little with excess nerves as you re-find your balance and make your way cautiously through the intersection.
The rush of wind in your ears isn’t quite loud enough to drown out Yoongi calling after you as you bike away. “It’s only weird if you make it weird!”
When you somehow make it to Astor Place in one piece, you dock your bike and quickly sprint to the building, well aware that you’re already late. It’s only once you push the studio door open that you realize how truly frazzled and out of breath you are, and though you keep your gaze fixed on the floor, you can feel every pair of eyes in the room on you. You hold a hand up in an apologetic wave and hurry to find your seat.
Trying to collect yourself, you begin to unpack your materials as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the class. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear Kim Taehyung’s voice beside you.
“You’re sweaty. Why are you so sweaty?”
He’s got an eyebrow cocked when you look over, and you give him the most powerful death glare you can muster, enough that it must actually scare him. “Shutting up now,” Taehyung murmurs, voice shaking slightly as he returns to his own sketches, and you huff an exhale as you attempt to catch up to the rest of the group.
Class passes surprisingly quickly once you manage to get your breath back, much in the same way it did the week prior: you do your best to compartmentalize the body in front of you from the human person you have a giant, embarrassing crush on. It goes decently well in the moments where Jimin is frozen in a fixed pose, just lines and curves and light and shadow for you to emulate. During the breaks when he comes alive again, you hide out behind your easel, trying to ignore Taehyung’s inane bullshit and wishing you could disappear entirely.
The second your professor dismisses everyone for the day, you stuff your things back into your bag, hoping to once again speed-walk out of the room.
But despite your better judgment, you can’t help yourself this time. As you get to your feet, you glance up to watch Jimin pull his dressing gown back on, only to realize his eyes are already on you.
You’re distinctly aware of how much of a mess you must look from biking over, and the fact that you almost assuredly smudged charcoal on your face when you reached up absentmindedly to scratch an itch mid-sketch.
Jimin’s plush lips turn up in the smallest of smiles, and the bottom drops out of your stomach.
With a hard swallow, you avert your gaze from his, sling your bag over your shoulder, and quickly make your escape through the studio door. You can feel your pulse pounding in your throat even after he’s out of your sight, and your hands shake like a leaf all the way to your next class.
~*~
That night, sleep evades you until the early hours of the morning, and it feels like you’ve only just begun to doze off when the harsh noise of your alarm pulls you up from dreaming. You roll over in bed and glare accusingly at your phone, then shut it off, promptly letting the waves drag you under once more, seminar be damned.
It’s nearly noon when you finally make it out of bed and stumble into the living room in your sweats. Namjoon is curled up in his reading chair, a feat for someone of his size, surrounded as always by his massive stack of ever-changing ‘to read’ books. He glances up from the one that’s open on his lap, clearly surprised to see you.
“No class?” Namjoon’s voice is rough-edged, like he’s only just woken up himself.
“Skipped,” you grunt. His eyes track you as you cross the room and collapse face-first onto the couch.
“Is this about the penis?”
The cushion muffles your groan. “Not you too.”
You hear the distinct fluttering sound of Namjoon closing his book and shifting in his seat to give you his undivided attention. “Seems like you want to talk about it.”
You turn your head to the side to take in your roommate. “Maybe. Are you gonna give me the same stupid advice your boyfriend did?”
He smiles softly, one dimple flexing at the corner of his mouth. “I can try to be gentler.”
You huff as you flip onto your side, pressing your palms together and slipping them under your cheek. “Sounds like you’ve got the details already, so please. Enlighten me. Tell me how I’m supposed to handle seeing this guy naked once a week in the name of art.”
“Didn’t William Blake say ‘Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed’?” Namjoon poses it like a serious question, brow creased as if in contemplation, and you roll your eyes.
“I don’t know, Joon, did he? I said enlighten me, not write me a thesis.” You reach up to grab a couch pillow and fling it in his direction, missing by several inches. “Did Blake have anything in there on dealing with a naked crush and trying not to make it weird as fuck?”
“Well, does he seem weirded out by it?” Namjoon counters, patient as ever.
“I don’t know.” You shrug unsurely as you play back your last interaction with Jimin. “He smiled at me yesterday, at the end of class.”
Namjoon steeples his fingers together, leaning forward slightly in his chair, interest clearly piqued. “Okay, and what did you do?”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “I… threw all my shit in my bag and ran out of the room.” When you crack an eye open again, you can see Namjoon trying and failing to keep the smug smile off his face, his dimples giving him away.
“Maybe you could try smiling back next time?” he gently suggests.
You sigh, because you know he’s right. “You make it sound so easy. What’s next? You’re going to tell me to talk to him?”
He laughs a little. “I’d quote another poet, but I fear you might launch more projectiles at me.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “Let’s hear it, nerd.”
Namjoon clears his throat for dramatic effect before launching into a recitation. “‘It’s cool, not tryna put a rush on you / I had to let you know, that I got a crush on you.’”
There’s a wide grin on his face as you sit all the way up. “Did you just quote Biggie Smalls at me?”
“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”
You feign annoyance, but you can’t quite hide the smile beneath it, and you get to your feet as Namjoon continues to mumble a verse of Crush on You under his breath. “Whatever. I need to do laundry.”
“Oh—” Namjoon pauses to interrupt himself. “Lucky’s closed, by the way.”
Already halfway out of the living room, you whip around again at the mention of the laundromat you’ve been exclusive with for the last few years. “What?”
He nods solemnly. “Me and Yoongi found out the hard way last week. They’re putting in an Equinox.”
Your face twists in disgust. “A stupid bougie gym?! You’ve got to be kidding me. Where am I supposed to wash my fucking clothes?”
“We found a place a few blocks up. Quick Clean, or something like that.” Namjoon shifts to dig his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll send you the address. It’s not bad, just a little more expensive.”
“This is such bullshit,” you groan as you stomp back into your bedroom, the day already off to a terrible start.
In a gentrification-induced rage, you angrily shove the contents of your overflowing laundry hamper into the giant yellow IKEA bag hung up in your closet, just barely managing to fit it all. Glancing at the mirror on the back of the door, you briefly consider changing out of your sweats, or at the very least doing something with your hair, but you shrug it off— it’s not like you’re trying to impress anyone at the damn laundromat.
You grab your headphones off your desk and sling them around your neck, double-check that your sketchbook is still tucked into your bag, then lug everything out to the front hallway. You pull your slides off the shoe rack and slip your socked feet into them.
“Bye, nerd!” you call over your shoulder to Namjoon before the front door slams shut behind you.
By the time you make it to the weird new laundromat, you’re sweaty and pissed off. You knew the walk to Lucky’s by heart, but you had to do this one while looking down at your phone GPS and trying not to get hit by a car. Not an easy feat while carrying every article of clothing you own over one shoulder.
You miss the way the nice old man who owned Lucky’s would greet you warmly and sneak you a cup of coffee from his pot in the back, the way his cat would roll over on the front counter for belly rubs, the way there was always a deeply entertaining telenovela playing on the ancient tiny TV.
The stupid Quick Clean has none of these things, just a shitty pile of magazines in the seating area and weirdly sticky floors. You slam into the front door a little harder than is necessary to push it open, the bell tinkling violently overhead as you enter. The only compliment you can give the place is that it’s relatively dead, save for a couple people on their phones or half-asleep in chairs as they wait on their stuff, and two guys in the corner loading armfuls of wet clothes into a pair of dryers.
You grab a machine a respectful distance away from them and swing the door open when a laugh that’s nearly musical gives you pause. Unable to shake a sense of familiarity, you glance over at your neighbors again, just in time to see one of them reach up to run a hand through his honey blonde hair.
Your IKEA bag hits the sticky floor with an audible thud as panic kickstarts your heart.
This isn’t fucking happening. Of all the laundromats in New York City, you did not just manage to stumble into the one currently being used by Park Jimin.
But even before you can catch a glimpse of his profile, you’re already certain it can’t be anyone else. You’ve spent too much time familiarizing yourself with the slope of his neck, the definition of his forearms, his dainty hands. There’s no mistaking them, adorned today with several silver rings that catch the dim fluorescent light as he grabs more of his clothes from the washer.
The desperate need to turn around and run rises up in your chest, just as before, but this time you steel yourself. You can’t keep running away forever— particularly not when you pulled on your last clean pair of underwear this morning.
A rush of heat floods your face at the thought of the many pairs of underwear in your bag that will soon be sent spinning around this washing machine, where Jimin could easily see, but then it occurs to you that you have seen his penis. Maybe the trade-off will put you on slightly more equal footing.
But you really don’t need to be thinking about Park Jimin’s penis in this laundromat right now.
Shaking your head slightly to try and banish the thought, you set about your laundry routine, trying not to drop any unmentionables on the floor when you dump the contents of your tote into the washer. You dig quarters out of your bag and slot them into the machine, then press the button to start the cycle.
With a final exhale to steady yourself, you turn to look over your shoulder again, only to find Jimin leaning up against the empty dryer next to his, unabashedly watching you with a small smile on his face.
It occurs to you now that you couldn’t have put less effort into your appearance if you tried, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every random stain on your sweatpants and your extremely fashionable socks and slides combination. Jimin’s just in a white t-shirt and a pair of distressed jeans today, but literally everything looks fresh off the runway on him. You suppress the urge to walk out the door and go lay down in traffic, and instead take Namjoon’s advice: you smile back and even lift your hand in a shy wave.
You drop into an empty chair across from your machine and watch as Jimin starts to cross the room to join you, his eyes never leaving yours. Before he can make it, you suddenly become aware of someone else sliding into the seat beside you.
“You didn’t tell me she was cute, Jimin-ah!”
Eyes wide, you turn to see Jimin’s friend sprawled out next to you, one arm draped lazily over the back of your chair. His wavy dark hair peeks out from under a lime green beanie, and he’s swimming in an oversized long sleeve tucked into baggy pants, cinched tight at the waist with a Gucci belt.
“Jung Hoseok,” he gives you a nod. “Friends call me Hobi. You can call me whatever you like.” The way his wide smile pulls his mouth heart-shaped makes you giggle a little, slightly dazed by whatever the fuck is happening right now.
You hear Jimin sigh as he takes the open seat on your other side. “Please ignore Hoseok’s tendency to come on way too strong. If it makes you feel any better, he’s as gay as they come.”
Hoseok flicks his wrist just so. “Guilty as charged.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” you say with a shrug, your gaze flitting from Jimin to Hoseok and back again. “I have two gay roommates, so.”
Hoseok hums, clearly interested. “Gay together or gay separately?”
“Gay together.”
He narrows his eyes. “Open to a third?”
You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected question. “Uh, I’d have to ask.”
He looks like he’s going to say more, but Jimin interjects. “Hoseok— can we get a minute?”
Hoseok’s lips pull together, fish-like, and he nods as he gets to his feet. “Say no more. I’ll just, uh…” He fumbles, looking around for something to do, then crosses the room to take the open seat next to the sad pile of magazines. “…do a little light reading.” He picks up one at the top of the stack, holding it up for you both to witness. “Oh look, the queen died!”
You bite down on your bottom lip to suppress another laugh, but Jimin’s face is surprisingly serious when you look back at him. “I just want to say one thing,” he murmurs, voice low, “and then I’ll leave you alone.”
Nerves settle in the pit of your stomach like a heavy weight. “Jimin,” you start, and when he opens his mouth to keep talking, you blurt out the first thing you can think of.
“I’m sorry,” you say in unison, and there’s a beat where you both blink, equally taken aback by the other’s apology. It’s quiet apart from the rumble of the laundry machines and the distinct sound of Hoseok smacking the magazine over his mouth, clearly more invested in your plot line.
You break the silence first. “Wait, why are you sorry?”
Jimin’s eyes drop down to the floor, one black boot toeing nervously at the tile. “I figured you were upset with me because I didn’t warn you.”
Your eyes widen in surprise when you play your initial conversation back. “Oh my god— when I said graduate studio art, you… you knew.”
He nods, somewhat remorseful. “I was kind of hoping that maybe it would be a different class, but. Yeah. I figured. I’m really sorry, I should’ve—”
“No, no,” you interrupt. “I get it. I’m not mad, obviously I didn’t even put it together until right now.” You pause for a second and can’t help but smile a little. “And, I mean, how do you just casually work that into your first conversation with someone? ‘Great talking to you, ready to see my dick in five minutes?’”
Jimin’s head tips back when he laughs, his cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink. “Right.”
You can feel your own face grow hot as you realize what you’ve just said. “God, sorry, I didn’t mean to— clearly I don’t know how to handle this. That’s why I wanted to apologize, for avoiding you and being weird.” You twist your hands uncomfortably in your lap. “I’ve just never been in this situation before, and I wasn’t sure if you’d still want to talk given… the…” Every cell in your body screams at you not to say the word ‘dick’ again. “Yeah. I thought it might be easier to keep my distance. Keep it separate.”
Jimin’s eyes drift back up to find yours, and his casual beauty is so stunning, it’s enough to knock the air out of your lungs. He shrugs softly. “I mean, maybe it would be. But I don’t want to.”
“Great,” you manage a laugh, still breathless. “Because I nearly died on a Citibike the day I didn’t take the subway.”
He laughs, too. “Not gonna lie, I missed seeing you on the train.” You’re not expecting it when he extends a hand out. “Friends?”
You realize belatedly that he’s offering a handshake, and you gently take his hand in yours. His skin is soft and warm, a contrast to the cool metal of his rings that press into your palm as he squeezes.
“Friends,” you echo with a smile, squeezing back.
There’s a sudden thump and a cackle as Hoseok falls out of his chair with a peal of laughter. “You are so fucking weird, Jimin-ah!” he gasps from his spot on the floor. “Who shakes hands?!”
The two of them keep you more than entertained until the buzzers on their dryers sound a second apart from each other. You learn that Hoseok and Jimin are roommates, that they met as dance majors in their undergrad program, and that Hoseok now works as an adjunct instructor and freelance choreographer.
“Because some of us decided we wanted to actually make money instead of digging ourselves further into debt,” he explains with a sly grin and smack delivered to the back of Jimin’s head.
You watch as they meticulously fold, Hoseok regularly leaning over to redo Jimin’s work and chide him about wrinkles, and then they stack the clean laundry back into their bags and head for the exit.
“Bye, new friend!” Hoseok calls as he maneuvers the door open with his foot, and Jimin pauses at the threshold, the bell overhead tinkling gently.
“So… guess I’ll see you on the train?” he asks, like he’s still a little unsure, and your heartbeat flutters.
“Guess so.”
“Cool.” He gives you one last soft smile before he disappears after Hoseok. The bell sounds again when the door shuts behind him, as if to snap you back to reality.
The floating feeling in your stomach doesn’t quite dissipate even long after Jimin has left the laundromat. While you wait on your clothes, you flip to a blank page in your sketchbook and start on something new: the outline of a hand extended in mid-air, rings glinting like an offered promise.
~*~
The next week, Jimin is waiting for you on your morning subway ride, the dance bag that he usually keeps tucked between his legs set on the bench next to him. When he sees you step through the train doors at 51st, you watch him reach over to swing the bag down to its rightful place on the floor, freeing up the space. An open invitation.
You can’t help but feel a little shy as you sink down next to him and murmur your thanks. There’s something about being this close to him that just makes your mind go blank, puts you at a loss for words entirely.
To your surprise, he doesn’t try to strike up conversation either. Instead he plucks one fancy bluetooth earbud out of his ear, gives it a diplomatic swipe across the fabric of his joggers, then holds it up, pinched between his fingers in front of you.
Another invitation, you realize dumbly.
The corner of your mouth turns up as you pluck the bud out of his hand and press it into your own ear. The music that must have paused itself upon the earbud’s removal resumes, and your smile grows when Jimin quickly unlocks his phone to restart the song from the beginning.
An acoustic guitar and a light, pretty voice fill your ear, underscored by a gentle yet driving beat, not unlike the rumble of the train beneath your feet. It’s like the rest of the world fades away to nothing as you stare down at his sneakers next to your shoes, hyper-aware of the mere inch or two of space between you in this moment.
As if to prove your point, the train comes to a sharp stop, enough to make you slide a little on the bench and then you’re suddenly not just close but touching, all the way down, an unbroken line from shoulder to hip to knee.
When you look over in surprise, Jimin is already looking back at you. You swear you can feel warmth radiating out from him at every point where your bodies press together.
After another dazed moment, you come to your senses enough to scoot over, breaking the contact with an embarrassed laugh as you feel your face grow hot.
Your gaze drifts back down to the floor, only to snap up again at another brush of contact, this one not initiated by you or by the motion of the train. Instead, you realize Jimin has spread his legs an inch wider to purposefully touch his knee to yours again and leave it there. You blink softly as you look over at him, but he’s staring firmly out the window of the subway car now, smiling with just his eyes.
For the rest of the ride, you think of little else but Jimin’s knee pressed against yours and the pretty pink flush in his cheeks.
You stay in comfortable silence, music floating in your ears as you exit the train at Astor Place together, until you reach the studio, where you finally return the borrowed earbud. He smiles as he tucks them both back into the case, then pushes open the door and gestures for you to enter first.
Jimin shoots you a final look before your paths diverge, and you sink into your seat with a small, dreamy sigh. Your bliss is short-lived when you hear Taehyung’s voice over your shoulder.
“That was fast.”
You whip around to shoot him a look. “What was fast?”
He makes a face, like it’s obvious. “You’re already banging the model and it’s been, what, two weeks?”
Taehyung’s just close enough that you can lean forward and smack him on the arm, and he hisses in a way that has to be an exaggeration. Thankfully he seems to take the hint, and manages to actually keep his mouth shut as the professor commands everyone’s attention at the center of the room.
When Jimin emerges in the usual black satin, you try to keep your composure, but you can’t ignore the chill that dots up your spine when he lets the fabric fall to the floor.
Nevertheless, you sink into the routine of class, the thrill of Jimin’s naked body now equal parts familiar and exhilarating. The only difference is that today, when you’re dismissed, you make no effort to quickly pack up. You instead purposefully take your time, adding a few extra details to your last sketch before you finally start putting things away. Your gaze flickers up distractedly to see Jimin pulling his dressing gown back over his body as he moves to close the distance between you.
“Hi,” he says simply when he reaches your easel, and you smile.
“Hi.”
“Sorry, is, uh— is it okay that I talk to you, when I’m—” He gestures vaguely to his lower half with one hand, using the other to keep himself covered.
You swallow hard at the thin layer of fabric and everything you know lies beneath it. “Yeah, it’s okay,” you say, hating how breathless you sound.
“When are you done with classes today?”
It takes an extra second for you to remember your own schedule. “Uh, six.”
Jimin fidgets with the satin material in his hands, clearly a little uncomfortable. Or maybe nervous. “Would you… want to get dinner after? With me?”
Your stomach flutters as you nod. “Yeah, yes. I’d like that.”
~*~
When you emerge from your last class, you find Jimin waiting for you on Astor Place, and you’re not expecting it when he greets you with a single question: “Do you like sushi?” You answer affirmatively, and he nods over his shoulder. “Then let’s walk this way.”
You end up tucked into two seats at a place you’ve never been to before, where rolls and other plates of food zip past you on a steadily moving conveyor belt. Jimin shows you how to pop the plates out from their protective domes, and you gather a small feast of options on the table between you to share.
“So,” you start with a nervous smile, chopsticks hovering in midair. “Can I ask the obvious question?”
He quirks an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”
“What made you decide to nude model?” The words alone send fresh waves of heat and nerves through you, sparkling in your chest. “Or have you done it before?”
“I haven’t,” Jimin confirms with a shake of his head, then he pops a piece of sushi in his mouth as if to buy himself time. He chews, bringing a hand up as he speaks with his mouth still half-full. “Do you want the real answer?”
You nod, and his adam’s apple jerks as he swallows. There’s a look on his face like he isn’t quite sure what to say, and then he exhales a weighty sigh. “I’ve struggled with my body for a really long time. Especially in undergrad.”
Your eyes widen slightly— you weren’t expecting such a serious response.
“Dance doesn’t typically have the best culture for that to begin with,” he continues, “and I’d spend literally all day staring at myself in a mirror, so I would just… pick myself apart. Always convinced I wasn’t good enough, that I needed to lose more weight, always.”
The thought of it makes your heart ache, but you let him talk.
“I’m through the worst of it now, so please don’t feel like you need to be worried. But I have some friends who’ve done this kind of thing before and it seemed like, I don’t know, a good challenge?” His brow creases, contemplative. “I really love art, so I thought maybe if I did it, I might be able to see my body in a new way, through the eyes of other people. Of artists.” He pauses, then nods, like he’s said his piece.
It takes you a second to respond. “That’s… beautiful, Jimin.”
He looks down, clearly a little uncomfortable. “Sorry if that was too heavy.”
“I can take it,” you say softly, and it’s enough to make him glance back up in surprise. “Thank you for telling me.”
A faint color floods his face. “Thanks for listening.”
You eat in a silence that’s oddly comfortable, and when you both reach for the same piece of sushi and end up knocking chopsticks together, he lets you have it, picking up the thread of conversation again as he smiles. “What got you into art?”
You make a face, chased by an unsure shrug. “Is it bad if I say it’s the only thing I feel like I’m good at?”
Jimin laughs a little. “I don’t know that I believe you.”
“I mean,” you lean back in your seat. “Maybe not the only thing, but I’ve just never been able to see myself doing anything else. I’m not cut out for the corporate life, as much as my parents wish I was. Art’s always been the thing that I go to in my free time. When I’m feeling so much that it’s overwhelming, or so numb that it’s like I can’t feel anything, the act of creating something just… brings me back to center again.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’s an outlet, I guess.”
“Well, if it helps, you’re very good at it.”
“Thanks,” you say with a small smile. “But it’s not even about being good, at least not to me. Maybe it sounds weird, but I don’t really have any interest in being the best. It’s art, so it’s all subjective anyway. I just wanna make stuff.”
Jimin smirks as he adds another empty plate to the growing stack in front of you, tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek before he speaks. “I could stand to be more like you.”
“Your turn,” you shoot back. “Why dance?”
At this, he actually brings a hand up to cover his face, and his voice is muffled under his palm when he responds. “I can tell you exactly why, but it’s embarrassing.”
You shift a little in your chair to get a better look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed! It’s not like I—” you cut yourself off before you can very obviously finish the sentence with ‘haven’t seen your dick’, and you shove a piece of sushi in your mouth to shut yourself up, so fast you nearly choke.
Jimin laughs loudly into his hands, and then you’re laughing too, dropping your head down on the table to try and chew your food without asphyxiating.
“Okay, okay,” he gasps when he can finally manage to take a breath in. “I’ll tell you.”
He sets his chopsticks down, overly serious. “When I was little, I was obsessed with Titanic. Specifically the scene where they dance together, and Rose rises up on her toes in front of everyone.” There are practically stars in his eyes as he recounts the moment, and you can’t bear to cut him off. “I just thought she was so beautiful, and I wanted to be like that. Almost broke my toes trying to go en pointe barefoot like an idiot.”
You’re silent for a moment, and there’s a flicker of panic in Jimin’s face, like he’s worried he overshared. “I have to be honest,” you say softly. “I’ve never seen Titanic.”
His eyes nearly pop out of his head. “What?!”
Already expecting the reaction, you grimace and nod. “I know, I know. Everyone gets mad at me for it. Go ahead.”
Jimin’s eyes flit from your face to the remaining piece of sushi on the plate between you, then back again. “I mean, we can go solve this problem right now, if you want.” He pauses, then admits with a giggle, “I have it on DVD.”
You shrug, trying to act casual despite the way your pulse has started to quicken. “They canceled my morning seminar for tomorrow, so I’m down.”
He leans forward to steal the last piece of sushi with a smug smile. “Then let’s get out of here.”
It’s a short train ride back to Jimin’s place, and you make it in the front door just in time to see Hoseok slipping out of what looks to be his bedroom. You barely process him as the same person— tonight his dark hair is swept off his forehead, and he’s in nice dress pants and a white button-down, unbuttoned just enough to display the delicate spread of his collarbone.
“Hi kids!” he calls in greeting, and you wave back as you kick your shoes off.
Hoseok crosses to grab a mirrored pair of aviators and his keys off the table by the front door. “Daddy’s going out. You two have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He pauses for a moment, like he’s waiting for a joke to land, then cracks a grin. “By which I obviously mean do whatever the fuck you want.”
As Hoseok pulls the door shut behind him, you follow Jimin into the living room, where you perch nervously on the edge of the couch while he disappears into the kitchen. “Do you like prosecco?” he asks, raising his voice slightly to be heard.
“Uh, I think so,” you say unsurely. “I don’t think I ever developed enough of a palette to have wine preferences.”
“White and sparkling?”
“Sounds good,” you respond, and then you hear the distinct noise of a cork popping before he returns with a bottle and two glasses in hand. He sets everything on the coffee table as he takes a seat next to you, then leans forward to fill both glasses nearly to the brim.
Jimin’s face flushes when you giggle softly at the pour. “Sorry— I like to drink. You don’t have to finish it all.” You shrug and take a healthy pull from your glass. It’s crisp and light, with little bubbles that fizz and pop all the way down. 
“Hoseok calls me a lush,” he admits with a shy laugh as he picks up his own drink and turns to face you, sitting back against the arm of the couch. You shift to mirror him, curling your socked feet up under you. He takes a sip, then seems to think better of it, leaning forward to set his glass down on the table again. “I did want to tell you something. A couple of things, I guess.”
The sentence makes your stomach twist, and you try your best to ignore it. “What’s up?”
Jimin’s lips press together for a moment, as if he’s trying to figure out how to word whatever he’s about to say. “I’m not, like, trying to be presumptuous by telling you this but I just— I don’t want it to go unsaid and then come up later and be a whole big thing, so. I just want you to know that Hoseok is my ex.”
Your eyes widen in surprise. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but certainly not that.
“We dated freshman year of undergrad, for… maybe three months? It was the kind of thing where I knew I was bi in high school but was too scared to act on it, so when I moved to New York I just, like, dated the first gay person I met? Which was probably a little shitty of me. We quickly realized we work much better as friends, and it was a very mutual thing. No hard feelings.”
You nod slowly, trying to keep up. “And you’ve lived together since then?”
“No, no,” Jimin replies quickly, and he nearly grimaces as he continues. “At the end of last semester, I, uh… I got out of a pretty bad long-term relationship.” The way he says it makes your heart sink a little. “And she and I lived together, so Hoseok was extremely gracious and offered to take me in.”
He reaches for his glass of wine again, then pauses with it halfway to his mouth. “Ideally the number of exes I’d be living with would be zero, but. You know. This is definitely the better option, at least until I can figure out what comes next.”
A pause settles between you while he takes a long drink and you try to process all this new information. “I’m sorry about the breakup,” you say softly, and he shakes his head as he swallows.
“Don’t be. It was a very good thing. Long overdue.”
“Well,” you correct yourself, the corners of your mouth pulling up. “Then I’m sorry that it took so long.”
At this, he smiles back. “Me fuckin’ too.”
After one more sip, Jimin sets his wine back down on the coffee table, then rolls off the couch— surprisingly graceful— to retrieve Titanic from the small collection of movies lined up on the shelf beneath the TV.
“Ready?”
“This better have a happy ending,” you murmur over the edge of your wine glass. Jimin laughs so hard he nearly tips over.
He settles next to you again as the movie starts, painted pretty in the blue glow of the TV, and you try your best to watch the movie, but it’s hard to keep your eyes off him. Partway through you notice him grab a pillow off the back of the couch and hug both of his arms around it, curling up small.
Cute, you can’t help but think to yourself, and you can feel heat settle in your face as you try to refocus on the story.
When you reach the dancing scene Jimin sits up a little, lips parting slightly, that same starry look in his eyes as when he explained it initially. The mental image of a younger version of him equally enraptured by the moment nearly makes your chest cave in.
The movie goes on, and you’re draining the last of your second glass of wine when out of the corner of your eye, you see Jimin’s eyes go wide. Jack and Rose are closely examining a rare diamond necklace, and you don’t understand what he could be reacting to until Kate Winslet delivers her next line.
“Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.”
Your eyes go just as wide as Jimin’s, and you let out a laugh of disbelief that’s nearly a scream. “Oh my fucking god, Park Jimin! You did this on purpose!”
“I swear, I didn’t! I didn’t even think about that part until right now!” He shakes his head desperately as he gasps for air, and he doubles over with his own laughter, rolling right off the couch, arms still clutched tightly around his pillow.
“I literally cannot believe this.” You dissolve into giggles as you sink to your knees on the floor beside him, close to tears.
It takes time for you both to recover, but Jimin eventually manages to pull himself back up to sitting, shoulders still shaking slightly with laughter. He lets the pillow drop to the floor and presses both of his palms down into it as he leans towards you. “But hey, maybe that’s why I like you.”
He’s so magnetic, so beautiful, you can’t help but lean in, too. “You like me?”
There’s a warm glow of color in his cheeks, and you’re not sure if you can blame it entirely on the wine. “I do.”
Your lingering smile slowly starts to soften, and now your heart feels like it might pound out of your chest. “So what, you’re Rose and I’m Jack?”
His gaze drops to your mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper as he murmurs, “Uh-huh”. Imaginary violins swell in your head as you surge forward to close the distance and press your lips to his.
Jimin’s lips are soft and warm, and your head spins as you sit up on your knees and lean into the kiss. While his mouth moves gently against yours, his palms press to the small of your back, and the heat of his hands radiates through the thin fabric of your shirt. You wrap your arms over his shoulders, partially for balance and partially in an attempt to pull him closer to you.
He tilts his head, and you whimper against him when you feel his tongue trace delicately over your bottom lip. He returns a breathy noise back as he licks slowly into your mouth, like he’s taking his time, like he’s not in any rush.
Even though you can feel your arousal starting to build, heavy in your gut and slick between your thighs, you realize: you want him to take his time with you.
You’re surprised at the loss when he suddenly leans back, just enough to break the kiss, still keeping you held close. “Is it, um—” he clears his throat, then tries again. “I don’t… want to go any further. Than this. At least not tonight. Is that okay?”
Your eyes search his, and you’re a little breathless when you manage to get the words out. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’m good with that. With whatever you want.”
“Okay.” You exhale a laugh when he reaches over to find the remote on the coffee table and pause the movie. “I want to keep kissing you, if that’s alright.”
“Yes, please,” you murmur against his lips.
Jimin shifts a little, and you follow his lead, letting him tip you backwards onto the floor, your arms still looped around his neck, one hand now tangling in his honey blonde hair. He drops a forearm down to the carpet beside you, his other hand coming to rest at the curve of your waist, knees bracketing your hips as he covers your body with his.
He alternates between sucking on your lower lip and gentle passes of his tongue into your mouth, the hand on your waist tracing a lazy path down to your hip and back up again. Something pulled tight inside you starts to slowly unwind, blooming open as you sink into the rhythm, into him.
It’s been such a long time since you’ve just kissed someone like this, without it feeling like part of a race to get naked. And you’ve never been kissed like this in your life— so soft, so attentive. It’s enough to make you dizzy, even with your back pressed flat to the floor.
You lose track of how much time passes as you trade open-mouthed kisses on Jimin’s living room carpet, until he finally pulls away again. Still in a daze, you shift the hand in his hair to gently cup his face, not quite able to believe that he’s really real.
“God,” Jimin breathes, laughing quietly to himself. “I really like you.”
You smile as you blink up at him. “I like you too, Jimin.” 
Rolling over, he drops down onto the floor next to you with a blissed-out sigh. He stretches his arms overhead, spine arching like a cat, then lifts up again to glance back at you. “Do you want more wine? ‘Cause we’re only like halfway done. This movie is stupid long.”
“I could go for more,” you answer with a shrug, still smiling.
In one swift move, Jimin flips his legs over his head and effortlessly somersaults up to standing, and your eyes go wide. “How do you fucking do that?!”
“I’m a trained professional!” he calls over his shoulder as he sashays into the kitchen. You giggle a little. “I would break every bone in my body.”
He’s humming prettily to himself, and you hear the sound of the fridge opening and closing, followed by the pop of another bottle being uncorked. You pull yourself back onto the couch as he rejoins you and pours fresh wine into both glasses, and a sudden curiosity urges you to ask a question. “Is Titanic your favorite movie?”
Jimin shakes his head, but says nothing, and the strange hesitant expression that flashes over his face just makes you that much more intrigued.
“Let’s hear it.”
His eyes flit over to you, then back to the wine glasses. “You’ll laugh.”
“I won’t!” you exclaim, lifting a hand when he scrunches up his nose, doubtful. “Promise.”
With a reluctant sigh, Jimin sets the bottle back down on the table, staring straight ahead as he admits, “It’s The Notebook.”
You press your lips together, trying desperately to keep your mouth in a straight line. At least you manage not to laugh. “I— wow. Really?”
He nods like the reaction is expected, picking up his wine glass and settling back against the couch cushions. “I don’t know, there’s just something about it. It’s comforting, to me.”
“You’re such a romantic,” you murmur, gently nudging his thigh with your foot until you coax a smile out of him.
“You know what?” Jimin’s voice is thoughtful now, more self-assured. “I am.” He takes a sip of his drink before he continues. “For a long time I didn’t want to be. Or thought that I couldn’t be. I used to always try to be so. I don’t know. Masculine, I guess. I think some of it had to do with denying my sexuality, but even once I got around to accepting that, there was still this part of me that would just never allow myself to be… soft.”
His gaze drops down to the wine in his glass, and you sit up, tucking your legs underneath you to scoot closer to him until you’re side by side. “I like you soft,” you say simply, and he looks over at you, still smiling.
“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”
“That’s okay.” You lean into him to seek a kiss, made sweet from the wine. He hums a little against your lips before you pull back. “Same time next week?”
~*~
Just like that, you fall into a regular routine with Jimin: sharing his headphones on the morning train, sketching out the shape of his body in studio, then picking up takeout and wine to bring back to his place and split over a movie. As predicted, The Notebook does make him cry, and when you show him Kimi no Na wa the week after, hot tears stream down your face at the final scene, the way they always do.
He takes your head in his hands as the credits roll, his thumbs swiping at errant tears on your cheeks. You chase a sniffle with an embarrassed laugh. “Okay. We’re even now.”
On your fourth movie night, partway into Moulin Rouge, something emboldens you when you see Jimin reach for his usual couch pillow. You lean over and gently pry it out of his grip, then shift to tuck yourself into his side and curl your legs up in his lap instead.
“Better?”
“Mm-hmm”, he murmurs as he ducks down to nuzzle against your cheek. “You’re warm.”
These nights end the same way each time: you ride the train home with a wine-soaked buzz in your brain and flushed, kiss-bitten lips, your fingertips brushing over your own mouth at the memory of his.
Once a week quickly turns into more. The two of you coordinate laundromat afternoons where you listen to music together as you wait for your clothes. You usually end up drawing to pass the time, and sometimes Jimin dozes off, head tipping over onto your shoulder so gently that you can’t help but smile down at your sketchbook.
At his request, you help him dye his hair pink in his tiny apartment bathroom, and it somehow suits him just as well as honey blonde. You both get dizzy from laughter and cleaning product fumes as you desperately try to scrub the bubblegum stains out of the tile before Hoseok comes home.
When you finally introduce Jimin to your roommates, the four of you crammed all-too formally around the kitchen table over Yoongi’s cooking, the interaction feels like a cross between a job interview and a prom date meeting your parents. You choke on a piece of chicken that you nearly inhale when Namjoon offhandedly refers to Jimin as Subway Boy, and Yoongi smiles wide enough to show his gums as he gladly recounts your months-long crush in great detail while you bury your burning face in your arms.
But Jimin takes it in stride, laughs into your mouth as he kisses you over the sink while the two of you wash the dishes.
“Subway Boy, huh?”
“I will drown you,” you murmur as you pull away, brandishing the spray hose like a threat.
It’s easy and slow. This blossoming something, a nameless but undeniable spark, the calm comfort of Jimin’s arms wrapped around your waist, his fingers intertwined with yours, his head dropped down on your shoulder.
~*~
You dig your phone out of your pocket as you shoulder open the door to the dance building, pulling up the text from Jimin to double-check his practice room number. A train delay made you slightly later than your agreed-upon time, but you know the takeout bag of Indian food dangling over your wrist will easily earn you his forgiveness.
It doesn’t surprise you that he’s the only one left in the room when you find it, nor that he’s still reviewing the choreography with an expression of severe focus. You hover in the doorway, waiting for him to look up, but he’s entirely concentrated on his own reflection in the mirror.
His movements alternate between delicate and powerful, explosive and restrained, and you have to hold in an outright gasp when he launches his body into an aerial and lands it effortlessly. But then his feet falter in a split second of hesitation, and you can see his expression tighten, clearly frustrated.
“Fuck,” he mutters to himself as he rubs a hand over his face, and he doesn’t even try to keep going with the rest of the dance. You take the opportunity to step a few more paces into the room, and his eyes jump to you in the mirror.
“Hi,” you say softly, suddenly a little nervous to be intruding on the moment. The corner of Jimin’s mouth turns up, but his eyes seem far away, and you can tell he’s still raging at himself in his mind.
“Hi, sorry,” he sighs. “I just— can’t get this. It’s like my body isn’t doing what I tell it to.”
“You need food.” You try to say it gently as you cross the room, holding up the smiley-face adorned plastic takeout bag. “And perhaps the enigmatic charm of Rachel McAdams.”
This seems to shake him out of his thoughts, at least a little. “I do like her.” He steps close enough to slip his arms around your waist and pull your body flush against his. Sweat glistens on his collarbone in the dim practice room lighting. “But I like you more.”
You roll your eyes as you playfully smack a hand against his solid chest. “Stop lying.”
“‘M not,” he insists as he presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw. “Rachel McAdams has never once brought me masala dosa.” You giggle despite yourself, and when his lips drop down to your neck, it’s enough to make your breath hitch.
A spark ignites in your chest that doesn’t go out, not on the subway ride back to your apartment, not through dinner and a movie, and certainly not once you’re most of the way through the second bottle of wine. As the credits start to roll, you waste no time, turning in Jimin’s lap so you can properly straddle him and take his face in your hands.
You trade decadent, easy kisses, and Jimin’s hands settle at the small of your back, his thumbs massaging gentle circles into your hips. A shiver rolls up your spine when he shifts a little and you realize you can feel a growing bulge through the fabric of his joggers, pressed firm against your thigh. He breathes a soft sound into your mouth as his tongue slides over yours, and you’re so overwhelmed, you barely register the sound of keys in the lock or the front door opening.
It’s Jimin who reacts first, turning his head to break the kiss as his cheeks flood with color, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see Yoongi storm past, heading for his room. He lifts a hand up to his face to shield you from view as he goes.
“Don’t stop on my account!” Yoongi’s voice is dripping with derision. “By all means, continue fucking on our shared furniture!”
“We’re fully clothed, asshole!” you snap in response as Yoongi slams the bedroom door behind him, hard enough that it rattles in the frame.
When you look back down at Jimin, his face is twisted in an expression you take to be embarrassment. You drop your head down on his shoulder with a frustrated groan, the moment successfully killed.
“Do you…” you pause, turning your head to the side but continuing to ask your question into the fabric of his shirt. “We could go to my room, for more privacy, if you want?”
He hums his agreement, and when you peel yourself off the couch and head for your room, he follows. You spin back around to face him in the doorway, so fast he nearly knocks into you.
You brace your hands on the doorframe as you survey him. “We really don’t have to… do anything, if you don’t want to. We can just talk.”
Jimin nods, and you step aside to let him enter first, pulling the door closed behind you as you follow. He takes a few tentative steps into the room, and you walk past him to drop down onto the floor next to your bed, then pat the carpet to encourage him to join. There’s a flash of something over his face, and then he sinks down beside you. It’s only now that you realize how quiet he’s gotten.
“What is it?” you ask, suddenly a little nervous.
He stares down at the soles of his feet, pressed into each other, his knees tipped open like butterfly wings. “Does it make you feel bad? That we’re not—”
“No,” you answer immediately, and the honesty of it resonates in your chest.
“I know we’ve been hanging out for a while,” he continues, voice low. “And I do want to, you know. Hook up.”
“Jimin,” you lean forward to place both of your hands over one of his, settled atop his knee. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. When you want to, I want to. But I like everything we’ve been doing, too. It’s not like we’re not… intimate.”
His gaze flits up from the floor to meet yours. “I don’t want you to think that I don’t want you.”
You close your fingers around his hand, pulling it off his leg and up to your face so you can brush your lips over his palm.
“I don’t think that at all,” you murmur against his skin. “Promise.”
There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes when you look back up at him. “Okay. Sorry, I know it’s stupid. Like why do I need reassurance from you when I’m the one being difficult?”
You press your cheek into the warmth of his hand, toying lazily with the rings on his fingers. “Why are you so convinced that you’re difficult?”
Jimin huffs a small sigh. “This conversation has not gone this well in the past.” His eyes drop to the floor again, and after a moment’s pause, he keeps talking.
“My ex and I struggled a lot with…” he shakes his head, as if he’s trying not to say ‘everything’. “Sex. With me wanting it, with us having enough of it. I think it gave me a complex. I could be physically, you know, ready, but then as soon as she’d touch me I’d get in my head about everything and freak out and immediately want to stop.” He pauses, worrying at his bottom lip.
You pull his hand into your lap, your fingers delicately tracing over his in an attempt to provide some comfort. He shrugs when he starts to speak again. “And then, I don’t know, I guess she was just trying to share her side, but... she would make me feel so bad about it sometimes. Because I was genuinely trying so hard but it was like I was never good enough.” Another pause, and this time he sniffs a little. When his eyes roll up to stare at the ceiling, you can see he’s holding back tears. “It felt like she didn’t want me anymore, not if there wasn’t sex. So I left.”
“Jimin,” you breathe, and he flashes you a small grimace, clearly embarrassed by his own dramatics. With a grunt of effort, he turns sideways and flops backwards onto the floor of your room, and you scoot closer to him, your hand still playing with his.
His gaze roams over the ceiling as he sighs. “I don’t want you to think I was this perfect person and she was some awful bitch. She loved me a lot, and I’m sure she was struggling with not feeling wanted either, in her own way.”
Your voice is soft when you interject. “Two people can just be… incompatible. It doesn’t mean either of them is a bad person, or that it’s anyone’s fault. Sometimes things just don’t work, no matter how hard you try.”
Jimin’s mouth pulls up on one side as he shakes his head, eyes squinting. “How did you get to be so smart?”
You can’t help but laugh a little, lacing your fingers together with his in your lap. “Years of making terrible decisions.” You give his hand a gentle squeeze before you ask a question. “Did you struggle with this before, or just with her?”
His mouth twists slightly, unsure. “Yes and no? Both? My desire has always… fluctuated, I guess. Been a little shy.” A smile spreads over his face, and he hums a note. “Like, you know how people say love at first sight isn’t a thing? That it’s just lust?” You nod, prompting him to continue. “I think, at least for me, it’s the opposite. I can fall for somebody, and fall hard, like that.” He snaps loudly with his free hand. “But lust… I don’t know, it takes longer. It’s like a slow burn thing.”
You nod again, processing his words for a moment before you respond. “Well, I’m in no rush.”
Jimin sits up, voice thoughtful as he untangles his hand from yours, and it’s clear he’s getting more comfortable opening up to you. “Right after the breakup, I did a lot of research. I found this term, demisexual, that felt pretty accurate.” He shrugs. “But I don’t know. I mostly just think that... I am who I am. And the people who get it will get it. Like you.”
Before you can even speak, he sweeps an arm under your calves to drag you into his lap in one swift move, and you squeak a little in surprise as your world tilts.
“Demisexual. I like it,” you giggle as he guides your legs to wrap around his middle. His hands slide up your thighs, grabbing at your hips to tug you closer so he can trail kisses along your neck.
“Biromantic demisexual, technically,” he murmurs, head tipping up to find your mouth again.
You drape your arms over his shoulders and hum against his lips as he kisses you. “It suits you.”
Another soft noise escapes you when Jimin manages to maneuver to standing with you still in his arms. You tighten your grip on his shoulders and your legs around his waist, and his hands shift down to your ass to firmly hold you up. You squeeze your eyes shut automatically in fear of being dropped, then flutter them open again when you feel your back press into the soft cushion of your bedspread.
Jimin is hovering over you, forearms dropped down to the bed on either side of you. His eyes search yours for a moment, and then he leans in to kiss you again, so fiercely this time that it leaves you breathless. You can’t help but whimper as his tongue slips into your mouth.
When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to your collarbone with a groan. “It’s late,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over your neck. “I should go.”
You nod responsibly, despite how desperately you want him to stay.
You walk him out, and his sweet parting kiss leaves your heart hammering in your chest, enough that you slump against the frame with a sigh once you shut the door, your knees suddenly weak.
Light on your feet, you follow the faint noise of the TV to find Yoongi in the living room with Planet Earth on at a barely audible volume. He glances at you, his mouth a flat line, then reaches for the remote to turn the sound up a few notches. You drop down on the couch next to him, and it’s silent for a moment, save for the calm narration and the crinkling plastic of him tearing open a bag of Turtle Chips.
“How’d it go?” he finally asks, voice monotone.
“It’s good,” you answer softly. “We’re good.” You fold your legs up under yourself and sneak a look at Yoongi out of the corner of your eye. You’re still a little pissed, but you also want advice. Damn him for knowing everything.
“Have you heard the term ‘demisexual’ before?”
Yoongi nods, still chewing as he replies. “Yeah. Like asexual spectrum, right?”
You shrug. “I guess. It’s new to me.”
He shoves a few more chips in his mouth before he continues. “Is that what your Subway Boy is?”
“I think so, yeah.”
There’s a long pause while you watch penguins march across the screen, and you think that might be the end of it. Then Yoongi clears his throat. “You know, I’m somewhere in there too. Not completely asexual, but definitely not… not.”
Your eyes widen. “Really?”
Yoongi snorts. “Don’t act so shocked. These walls aren’t that thick.”
“Is Joon?”
He smirks, like you’ve just told a joke. “Decidedly not.”
“Oh.” You blink, trying to process. “How do you deal with it?”
Yoongi makes a face, like he’s never thought about it before. “We just communicate, I guess. Be respectful even when we don’t necessarily understand. And, like, Namjoon watches porn, and surprisingly reads quite a bit of erotica—”
“Okay, okay,” you cut him off. “I don’t need all the details.”
He huffs a dry laugh at your discomfort. “It’s not always easy, sometimes it’s frustrating for both of us. But we make it work. We love each other.”
You chew a little at the inside of your cheek, and then you can’t hold in the question any longer. “Is it weird that the idea doesn’t bother me? Jimin said it was a huge issue with his ex. Like, does that make me on the… spectrum?”
Yoongi shrugs. “I mean, you might be? But not necessarily? I don’t know, sex matters different amounts to everyone. Some people don’t mind not having it that often. You don’t have to put a label on it unless you want to, you know?”
“Yeah, makes sense.” You nod slowly as you digest the idea. “Thanks, Yoongi. I appreciate the education.”
His only answer at first is a noncommittal hum, and then he points a finger at the few inches of wine in the bottle you left sitting on the coffee table. “Gonna finish that?”
“It’s all yours,” you say. “Consider it atonement for going to first base on the couch.”
Yoongi grabs the bottle by the neck and immediately drains it. “Apology accepted,” he grunts as he sets it back down. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He extends his bag of chips in your direction and you happily reach in for the biggest handful you can manage.
~*~
During your next movie night, Jimin can’t keep his hands to himself.
They pet up your thighs, your legs draped over his, then slide up to your hips, fingertips tracing patterns over the waistband of your leggings and toying at the hem of your shirt.
His mouth has a similar problem: he leans in to press kisses along the line of your jaw, then down the slope of your neck, sucking delicately at the spot that makes your nipples tighten and sends a shiver through you.
“You’re missing the movie,” you remark, raking a hand through his peachy-pink hair, shadowed at the roots where his natural color has started to grow in. He’s typically good about keeping himself restrained until the credits roll, but you’re barely halfway through Pride & Prejudice, haven’t even cracked a second bottle yet.
“Fuck the movie,” he growls against your skin, and you bite back a whimper when his teeth scrape over your neck. You can’t ignore the way your core is starting to ache from his insistent mouth.
His lips find yours again, and you giggle softly into him. “You’re in a mood.”
“Just been thinking about you,” he murmurs between kisses. It surprises you a little when he suddenly pulls back so he can look you in the eyes. “Should we— do you want to go to my room?”
The air hangs still and heavy between you, and you worry at your bottom lip for a moment. “Are you sure?” When he nods, dark brown eyes blinking up at you, your mouth turns up at the corner. “I’d rather we not traumatize any more roommates if we can help it.”
You lean over to pause the movie before sliding off his lap and getting to your feet, and then you reach your hands out for his and pull him up next to you. “Come on.”
Jimin’s bedroom is so perfectly him that it relaxes you, feather-soft comfort every time you step inside. His bed isn’t made, because it never is, the thick white duvet pushed down on one side where he stumbled out from beneath it this morning. He keeps it dark, blackout curtains drawn to support his night owl lifestyle, and the room is bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights he’s strung up along the ceiling. A myriad of posters and art prints and polaroids are taped to the walls, some beautiful, others sentimental— he even managed to coax you into tearing a few of his favorites out of your sketchbook. You still don’t think they’re anything special, but nevertheless, it makes your heart squeeze in your chest to see them on display with everything else. Like they belong here in this room, like you do too.
The door clicks as it shuts behind him, and then his mouth is on yours again, kissing you dizzy while he backs you up until your knees hit the edge of the bed. He guides you to lay down, and his hand slips beneath you to drag you up the bed with him as he crawls over you.
His hands come up to tug at your shirt. “Can I take this off?” he breathes.
You nod, staring up at him and not quite able to believe any of this is real. “You can do anything you want to me.” With a smile, he lifts the hem of your shirt, and you sit up a little so he can pull it the rest of the way off.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Jimin murmurs against your skin as he kisses down your neck, over your collarbones, then down between the valley of your breasts. His hands slip down to palm at your tits, squeezing gently, and he mouths at the stiff peaks of your nipples over the thin fabric of your bralette. You untangle briefly, only for as long as it takes to get the lacy thing off of you entirely and tossed over the edge of the bed.
You shiver a little as the air hits your bare skin, and then the warmth of his body covers you again, and he ducks down to close his mouth over your nipple and suck. The plush softness of his lips and the firm suction combined are enough to make your eyes roll back, and your spine arches up beneath him when he drags his tongue in a circle over the sensitive bud.
“Shit,” you groan. Your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, and it feels like your only tether to reality.
It’s easy to believe it’s the waiting, the anticipation of this moment, that makes every little touch light you up like a live wire now. But something tells you it will always feel like this.
While his lips shift to your other breast, one hand slides down to cup your clothed pussy, rubbing gentle friction into your center. You circle your hips to press yourself against the flat of his palm, sighing at the brush of indirect contact and the heat that thrums through you from the pressure on your clit.
You feel Jimin’s weight shift on the mattress as he kneels next to you, and his lips find yours again at the same time his hand slips into your leggings, two fingers tracing the seam of your panties to make you whine softly. If he couldn’t tell before, he must be able to now: how wet you are, enough to drench the lacy fabric so it clings to your cunt, dripping arousal to show how badly you want him.
He’s surprisingly forceful when he tugs the damp fabric to the side, but so gentle again as he slips one finger and then a second into your tight heat. Your mouth drops open as he curls them up to rub at your g-spot, stroking into you over and over while your cunt squeezes tight around him.
Your head drops back on the pillow and you groan. “Oh, fuck, Jimin.”
You can hear how soaked your pussy is as he pumps into you, and the wet squelch of his fingers working inside you would make you shy if it didn’t feel so overwhelmingly perfect. The pleasure edges your breathing with soft sounds, and Jimin swallows them when he kisses you again.
He shifts slightly for a better angle and then you feel the heel of his palm grind down against your clit. It’s enough to make your hips buck up under him with every press of his hand, his insistent touch shooting sparks of arousal through you.
It’s been so long since anyone has touched you, and you’ve wanted this with him so badly for so long, but even still, it surprises you how quickly he can bring you to the edge.
“Jimin,” you break the kiss to gasp against his mouth, unable to believe how close you already are. Close enough that all you can do is cling, to any part of him you can reach: his hair, his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt. “Jimin, Jimin, fuck.”
“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” he groans, and he says the next part softer, like it’s just for him. “My girl looks so pretty on my fingers.”
The pace of his movements doesn’t falter, nor does the heavy weight of his palm as he ducks down to capture your nipple in his mouth again. Your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in to the last knuckle with each thrust of his hand, and your nails dig desperately into his forearm as you feel your orgasm crest.
His teeth graze lightly over the tight bud of your breast, and it’s enough. With a final whine, the arousal that’s been coiling inside you snaps, and your back arches up off the bed as you come hard on his fingers.
Jimin’s fingers keep stroking you through it, the flat of his palm rubbing rough circles against your clit again and again and again and it feels like you might never stop coming. You moan as it rolls over you, wave after wave, until his touch is so overwhelming that you have to pull your trembling thighs together, and he finally relents.
Spent, your body sinks heavy into the bed, and you can’t help the dazed giggle that flutters out as afterglow starts to bloom behind your ribs.
Jimin hovers over you, dropped down onto his forearms, full lips pressing indiscriminately to your flushed skin, all over. You snake a hand through his hair to pull his mouth up to yours, and he kisses you slow and deep.
When you break apart, you tip your forehead to his. “Can I touch you?” you ask, still a little breathless.
“Please,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours again before he pulls away with a small, embarrassed smile. “My pants hurt.”
You sit up on your knees and he does too, and you bite down on your lip as you reach for the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it over his head, and then there he is, beautiful as ever. Familiar, yet somehow all new.
Jimin shivers and whines when your hands run across the bare skin of his chest, teasing over his soft brown nipples before starting to trace a path down to his stomach. You lean in to kiss him, and he outright groans into your mouth when your fingertips tease along the band of his boxers that peeks out over his jeans. You gently bring your palms to his hips to guide him, and he’s pliant for you, shifting backwards at your suggestion until he’s seated, leaned back against the headboard.
Your hands shake slightly as you unbutton and push down his jeans, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh of relief. He’s so hard, you can understand why the tight denim must have been painful: his dick is still straining even now, a thick outline pressed into the fabric of his underwear, and there’s a dark patch that clings to his tip where he’s started to leak precum.
You tug his boxers down with enough force that his length smacks heavy against his stomach, and he makes a strangled noise in response, eyes squeezing shut. His hips jerk violently beneath you, and your jaw goes slack as you watch his cock twitch, and keep twitching, until a steady pool of milky gloss has leaked out over his stomach.
“Shit,” Jimin hisses as he comes practically untouched, and he gasps for air to try to speak. “Fuck fuck fuck— ‘msorry, thought I could—”
You can see him starting to spiral, can feel the panic starting to heat up inside his body, so you take his face in both of your hands. “Jimin.”
“This has never happened before— fuck, I don’t— this is so—”
“Jimin.” When you say his name again, firmer this time, he goes quiet, his eyes still shut tight. “Look at me,” you murmur, and he does, lashes slow-blinking open. “It’s okay. Okay?” Your gaze searches his, trying to convince him. ��I like everything about you. Everything you do. You’re perfect.”
Clearly trying to steady his breathing, his chest shudders with effort, and you gently circle your thumb at the hinge of his jaw. He makes a soft noise as his eyelids drop shut again, his cheek pressing into your hand, letting you carry a little bit more of his weight.
It’s quiet for a moment, and his voice is unsure when he speaks. “There’s tissues… in the—”
“Can I take care of it?” you interrupt to ask, your voice low. His eyes blink open again to look at you, and a dark glint flickers there as the unsaid meaning of your question washes over him.
“Y-yeah.”
You take your time moving down the bed to settle between Jimin’s thighs, and you stare up at him, waiting for any indication that he wants you to stop or doesn’t feel comfortable. But he just swallows hard, his adam’s apple jerking in his throat, and nods.
Leaning down, you drag your tongue in steady, long strokes over the flat plane of his stomach to lick the mess up.
As you get the last of it, you’re surprised to feel his hand cup the back of your head. You don’t resist when he pulls you up for a kiss, then licks into your mouth to taste himself, the salt and slick of his cum sliding between your tongues.
When you break apart to swallow, Jimin’s voice is a whisper. “That okay?”
You nod, unable to bite back your smile. “You’re… really fucking hot.”
He smirks as he finds your lips again. “So are you.” The next kiss is sweeter, and then he pulls back. “If you want, we can keep— or I can go down— I don’t want—” He can’t finish any of his half-started thoughts, and you smile, lovingly running your palms over his thighs, back and forth. 
You want him so badly, more than anything, but you try to breathe through it. You can see the wheels spinning in his head, that self-critical flash in his eyes, the same furrow in his brow that creases when he gets frustrated with himself.
“I’m not saying no because I don’t want you,” you preface. “But I just don’t want you to feel stressed or get in your head about it. I want it to feel good, and I’m in no rush. Next time, okay?” 
His lips are still a little pouted, but he nods, and you lean in to sling your arms around his neck. “C’mere.”
You tug him down to the mattress, and your half-naked bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, hands tracing gentle patterns over bare skin as you kiss.
When you eventually end up with your cheek pressed to his chest, you listen to the sound of his heartbeat settling, his breathing evening out. You speak softly in the quiet of his room. “My roommate’s doing an exhibition on Friday. Will you come with me? I’ve been promised there will be free booze.”
Jimin tightens his grip on your waist, his voice slurring like he’s half-asleep. “Mmm, my favorite person and my favorite thing.” There’s a pause, and he sighs. “That sounded bad. Promise I'm not an alcoholic.”
“I know,” you laugh, dragging your lips over his collarbone, then grunting a little noise of frustration as reality starts to set in. “I have class early tomorrow. I should go before I fall asleep here.”
He whines his disapproval, but when you glance up you can see the fight going out of him, his eyelids starting to flutter closed. You lean up for one, two, three more kisses before you force yourself out of bed to find your bra and your shirt. “I’ll see you Friday?”
“Mmkay.” He inhales deep, like he’s coming up for air. “Text me when you make it home safe?”
“I will,” you promise, and you do.
~*~
Namjoon’s exhibition is laughably fancy for what really just ends up being a room full of gay, overdressed art students. The ridiculous finger foods disappear in minutes— all the broke grad school kids came hungry— but you and Jimin gladly hover around the table of champagne flutes instead, giggles sparkling between you like the bubbles that fizz in your glasses.
You’ve been trying to drag him away to actually take in the art, but he keeps necking his drinks. “You’re supposed to sip it, you demon!” you chide with a laugh as he does it again, picking up a fresh glass and throwing all of it back in one gulp.
He smirks slightly as he shakes his head. “It’s more fun this way. Try it.”
You roll your eyes, hiding the grin that threatens to stretch over your face in the rim of your drink before following suit. He’s not wrong: a rush of warmth creeps up your neck as you swallow, the world softening around you, and it’s made sweeter by the kiss Jimin leans in for. When he pulls back you can see his face is flushing, too.
“Come on, Mr. Park,” you murmur, your free hand intertwining with his as you set the empty glass down and retrieve another. “Take me on a tour.”
Jimin grabs another flute too and then you’re off, and he actually manages to drink this one slowly as you weave through the gallery, the click of your footsteps underscoring the gentle classical music that floats through the speakers. You lean into Jimin in comfortable silence as you take in each art piece, sipping delicately at your champagne, occasionally hooking your chin over his shoulder just for the thrill of being close to him.
“These are all beautiful,” he hums appreciatively as you stand in front of a wide, impressionist landscape, swirls of color that shift into shapes when you step far enough away, but dissolve into unidentifiable blobs of thick-textured paint up close. “Namjoon did a really good job curating.”
“Mm-hmm,” you nod, but your eyes are on Jimin and everything else pales in comparison. He’s dressed up for the occasion, tight black jeans and a white button-down with a leather jacket thrown on over top. His hair is styled, pretty pink strands pushed back off his forehead, and his asymmetrical silver earrings glimmer in the low lighting. The result is so stunning you’ve had a hard time focusing on anything but him tonight.
A thought that’s been running through your mind all evening resurfaces again as you swallow the last of your glass of champagne.
“They should put you in a gallery.” You didn’t necessarily plan to say the thought out loud, but say it you do. Jimin quirks an eyebrow and you decide to double down. “But not here. Somewhere better.”
“The Met?” he guesses, teasing.
“The Louvre,” you counter, and he outright laughs, his head tipping back.
“The Louvre?!”
“You heard me,” you giggle, your body pressed against his side. “You’re art.”
Releasing your hand, he wraps his free arm around you to pull you into his chest, the smile still lingering over his face. “And you,” he murmurs, “are drunk.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” Your voice is muffled slightly as you speak into his collarbone.
You tilt your head up for a kiss, and it seems to surprise both of you how quickly the atmosphere changes. It might be the more-than-several glasses of champagne to blame, or the fact that you’ve found yourselves in a corner, hidden away from the rest of the exhibition’s patrons, but the soft spark that ignites between you quickly grows into a licking flame at the touch of your lips. It’s heat-blush passion as your mouths move against each other, and you’re trying to keep quiet despite the weight of it, heavy in your core, this shared, unspoken need.
“Jimin,” you breathe into him, overwhelmed by all that he is.
He shifts, nosing at your jawline as he speaks into your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere?”
The suggestion makes you a little unsteady on your feet, your high heels threatening to topple over, and he catches you with a hand to your waist when you falter. “Like, somewhere here?”
“Too far to go all the way home,” he purrs, the hand on your body squeezing gently. “And you look too good.”
Your head swims as he kisses you again, and he pries the empty glass out of your hand, setting it down on the nearest table with his. A hand returns to the small of your back, then slips lower, cupping your ass through the fabric of your black dress. His mouth paints a smile over yours, and you grab his wrist. “Follow me.”
Stumbling your way through the gallery, trading laughs under your breath like confidants and kisses when no one is looking, you lead him back to the coat check closet at the front, thankfully left vacant by whichever freshman had been roped in to the thankless job. With a final glance over your shoulder to make sure you’re unseen, you push the door open and tug Jimin inside after you.
As soon as the coat check door closes again, he has you pressed against it, his tongue slipping hungrily into your mouth. His hands skirt up the curve of your hips as he slots a thigh between your legs, firmly pushing up the hem of your dress to grind into your clothed center.
You both freeze where you are at the sound of a moan, one that very distinctly does not come from either of you.
Jimin tries and fails to suppress a nervous laugh. Unable to make out anything in the dark, you reach your hand out, smacking aimlessly at the wall next to you until you find a lightswitch and flip it on.
“What the fu—” The man who made the noise in question flings a hand over his face at the sudden intrusive wash of fluorescents, but you’d know him from his voice alone. Kim Taehyung still has one hand gripped tight to the metal bar of a coat rack, back arched and legs spread for whoever his latest victim is, with his pants and boxers shoved down to his ankles.
Before your alcohol-soaked brain can put together a smug comment about how Taehyung needs to get his ass eaten at home like a normal human, Jimin’s voice surprises you.
“Hobi?”
You clap a hand over your mouth as you realize the man on his knees, pulling his tongue off Taehyung’s rim with a look of utter confusion, is none other than Jung Hoseok. His eyes are wide as dinner plates as his head snaps up to take the two of you in.
“Jimin?!”
“Oh my god.” You start to laugh so hard your knees buckle, and Jimin has to wrap his arms around you to keep you upright. “How the fuck did you two even meet?!”
“Do we really need to have this discussion now?!” Taehyung growls, and it only makes you laugh harder.
“Come on, come on—” Jimin is collapsing into giggles himself as he fumbles for the handle behind you. He simultaneously attempts to pull you off the door so he can swing it open. “Let’s leave them to it.”
You smack the lights off again as you make your escape, Jimin’s grip still hugging tight around your waist as you laugh until your lungs nearly give out. The lobby is thankfully empty, all the attendees pressed deeper into the gallery, so you loop your arms over his shoulders as you recover and pull his mouth back down to yours, unable to stop yourself.
“Let me take you home,” you manage to say in the space between kisses. Your tongue feels heavy when you speak; his is champagne-sweet. “Joon and Yoongi will be here for a while.”
Jimin’s agreement hums, buzzing on your lips. “Wanna take the train?”
You’re grateful the subway car you stumble into is empty, because the pull of Jimin’s mouth is too magnetic to be ignored. You don’t think you could stop kissing him if you tried.
It’s practically a race back to your apartment once you emerge from the station, partially to get out of the cold night air, though you hardly feel it with Jimin’s jacket slung over your shoulders and your body flushed hot from alcohol and desire. As you climb the four flights to your walk-up, both of you giggling and gripping tight to the banister, the spiral of the stairs sends your world spinning. You feel dizzy-drunk on wine and laughter and lust alike, and maybe something more. Something you don’t have words for yet.
It takes you three tries to get your keys in the door, and when you finally manage to get it open, you kick your shoes off and make a beeline for your bedroom, dragging Jimin along after you, hand-in-hand. Thankfully he has the foresight to remember to shut the door behind you, because all you can think about is him: the rich musk of his cologne, the taste of his tongue, the warm blush of his skin under your palms.
The leather jacket hits the floor and you step over it, walking backwards as he licks into your open mouth, shameless.
You nearly fall over when you bump up against the bed and almost lose your balance, and then you reach for the buttons of his shirt at the same time he goes for your dress. The two of you laugh your frustrations against each other as your arms tangle and get in the way.
“You first!” you insist, and he relents, lets you unbutton the starched white fabric of his button-down so he can shrug out of it. Your fingers move to undo his belt and then he takes over, impressively coordinated enough to be able to kiss you while kicking his jeans the rest of the way off, stripped down now to his black boxer-briefs. He pulls your dress up over your head, and then your barely-clothed bodies press together all the way down, the ache in your core now an undeniable throb.
Jimin takes your face in his hands and kisses you again, and you slip one hand between your hips and his to palm at him, earning an appreciative hiss. You rub at him over the front of his briefs, teasing, then dip your touch beneath his waistband.
His cock hangs heavy between his legs, but he’s not quite hard yet, maybe from the cold, so you take him in your hand and start to pump. For fear of too much dry friction you try to go slow, and he groans into your mouth as you twist your wrist a little to circle your thumb over his frenulum.
He buries his face in your neck, and you can feel the heat of his embarrassment bloom against your skin. “Sorry— gimme a second.”
Tilting your head, you press a kiss to his temple. “Don’t apologize. D’you wanna try laying down?”
When he nods, you release your grip on him so he can sink down onto the bed, crawling backwards up to the pillows. Knelt down on the mattress, you settle in the space he makes for you, thighs spread and knees tipped open, and you push his briefs down enough to free all of him.
You hook your thumb and index finger under the head of his dick to pull it flush against his stomach, allowing you better access to drag your tongue in little kitten licks up his shaft. Your other hand moves to massage gently at his balls as you take his tip into your mouth and let it bulge against your cheek, let him slip against the soft wall there to make saliva pool on your tongue, sloppy on purpose.
It’s still not working, not really, and when your gaze flits up to him again, Jimin’s face is pulled into a grimace. Heat rushes up your neck, and you pull your mouth off him and immediately right yourself. You shift backwards a little on your knees as your pulse starts to race. Does he not want this? Did you misread some sign, or push him too far?
Jimin must be able to read the look in your eyes, because he groans as he presses his face into his hands. “It’s not you. Think I drank too much, I don’t— i-it feels good, I—it just—”
You’re not exactly sober yourself. The receding white noise of panic makes it hard to think, hard to know what to say. “I-it’s okay. It’s okay.”
“I just—” he tries again. “I really want to do this, I don’t know why— it’s fucking embarrassing.” The blankets muffle the sound as his palms smack flat against the bed on either side of him in clear frustration. You move out from between his legs, still trying to catch up, and a muscle in his jaw jumps as he pulls his boxer-briefs back over himself.
“Jimin,” you murmur. The bed creaks when you shift to lay next to him, to tuck into his side, and you reach up to run a hand through his hair, a little sticky with the product holding it in place. An anxious, thrumming quiet settles over both of you as his eyes flutter closed.
The words finally come to you in the silence; you can only hope they’ll reach him. “I had so much fun with you tonight. That doesn’t go away.” The crease between his brows softens a little, so you keep talking. “It’s not your only chance, okay? I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here.” Your free hand slips into his on the bed next to you. “And I want you with me.”
He sniffs a little, so quiet you nearly miss it, then turns in towards you. Your noses bump together and your mouth turns up at the corners as you continue. “It’s late, and I… can’t promise there isn’t more ass-eating waiting for you at home. Do you want to sleep here?”
Jimin’s eyes blink open, glassy, and then he nods.
“Come on,” you say softly, sitting up and tugging on your still-joined hands. “How about we shower?”
In the bathroom, you run the water scalding hot, and when you both step in you nudge Jimin forward to stand under it first, then press against him from behind. Your hands wrap around his waist to slide over his stomach as you tilt up to reach his ear when you speak. “This okay?”
He nods, hums a little, and you move your hands up over the whole of his body. Hard lines and soft curves, a work of art you know so well, you can see it when you close your eyes as you map his skin with your fingertips. You nuzzle into the place where his neck and shoulder meet, then press a kiss there. “I’m right here,” you say again, not even sure if he hears you.
But his head turns, and you feel one of his hands slide over yours on his chest. “Will you wash my hair?” he asks softly, and you tip forward to bring your mouth to his, convinced you’d do anything he asked of you.
It’s intimate, the way you take your time running shampoo and then conditioner through his silky pink strands, dragging your nails over his scalp and applying gentle pressure that makes him sigh prettily in response. Jimin steps further under the showerhead both times to rinse the product out, and if a few tears slip down his cheeks, they’re lost to the spray of the water where you can’t tell the difference.
But he does manage the ghost of a smile when you reach to grab your washcloth and he gets there first. “Your turn.”
Once your body and then his are scrubbed and rinsed clean, you shut the water off and grab thick, fluffy towels that you dry off and wrap up in. In the dim light of your room, you pull on an oversized t-shirt and boyshorts, then dig out a pair of sweatpants from your dresser. They’re fairly baggy on you, but they fit Jimin perfectly, and the image of him in something of yours makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest.
You run two glasses under the kitchen tap that you set out to ward off any potential hangovers, and you even manage to find a spare toothbrush for him to use. When he emerges from the bathroom again, still absentmindedly toweling his damp hair, you’re sitting on the bed with your feet tucked under you.
“Do you want to watch something?” you offer gently.
He shakes his head as he stifles a yawn. “‘Mtired. Think I just wanna sleep.”
You pat the bedspread next to you, an invitation. “Then let’s sleep.”
Under the covers, you curl up together, soft and warm from the shower, scented lavender and mint from your body wash and toothpaste. Jimin’s legs tangle with yours, an arm wrapping over your waist, and you press your cheek against the hard plane of his chest with a small sigh.
You listen as his breathing slows, each inhale a little further apart from the last, to the point where you think he’s fallen asleep. You feel yourself start to follow after him, and the last thing you hear before you’re dragged all the way down is Jimin inhaling deep, then mumbling softly into your hair. “Thank you. For everything.”
~*~
Light streams in between the cracks of the window blinds, painting warm shapes over your eyelids that gently wake you. You sigh and stretch as you slowly come all the way up from dreaming, your eyes still heavy-lidded. When you roll over with a soft grunt, you find Jimin fast asleep there, his face smushed into the pillow, one arm slung lazily over you.
The corner of your mouth pulls up, and you have to fight the urge to dot kisses all over his face, deciding to let him sleep instead. It takes some maneuvering, but you manage to roll out from under his arm without waking him and slip quietly out of bed, easing the bedroom door closed behind you.
It’s early, and the apartment is still, washed in morning gleam and the gentle hum of New York City traffic on the streets outside.
You stumble into the kitchen with a stifled yawn, swinging open the fridge and leaning down to retrieve a pack of bacon and the half-empty carton of eggs. Humming quietly to yourself, you dig a pan out and set it on the stove to heat.
Arms slide around your waist, making you jump a little before you melt back as Jimin nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You can feel his body through your t-shirt, still warm from sleep and bedsheets he must’ve only just crawled out from under.
Not quite graceful, you turn in his arms and loop yours around his neck to seek a kiss. “Good morning,” you murmur, your voice hoarse on your first spoken words of the day. “How are you feeling?”
Jimin’s mouth is still slurred from waking up when he answers. “‘Mgood. You look good.” His gaze roams down your body and back up, as if to take in your oversized shirt, your bare legs, your hair still messy from sleep. “So cute like this.”
You scrunch your nose slightly as you smile up at him. “Want breakfast?”
A heat starts to pool between your legs as his hands slide further down your back. He pushes your shirt up so he can grip your ass, the thin fabric of your underwear the only thing separating his skin from yours.
“In a bit.”
You can’t help but squeak when, in one swift move, he bends his knees and lifts you off the ground. Impulsively, your legs spread to wrap over his hips, thighs squeezing tight to hold on, and your arms cling around his neck as laughter flutters in your chest. Before you can act on the urge to bury your face in his shoulder, his mouth finds yours again, and the way he kisses you, hungry and deep, makes nothing else in the world matter.
He carries you back to bed, nudging open the door he didn’t quite close all the way with his shoulder, then using a foot to push it shut again. Your muscles unclench when he sits down with you in his lap, and you unwrap your legs from around him, your knees sinking soft into the bed.
You can’t quite shake the thoughts of the night before. “Jimin,” you start, “we don’t have to do this if you don’t—”
“Want to,” his voice is low, ragged edges from sleep. “Doing it ‘cause I want to. I want you. Do you want me?”
You nod, leaning back to look at him, your arms still twined over his neck. “More than anything.”
There’s no rush this time as he shifts backwards up the bed and you crawl over him to settle into his lap again. No tension that’s been building all night, no alcohol buzzing in your systems, no urgency. Just your bodies, half-dressed in sleep clothes, intertwining like they were made to fit together.
Your kisses are sweet and unhurried as Jimin’s hands slip beneath your oversized t-shirt, delicate fingers tracing up your waist. He cups your breasts in his palms, squeezing gently as he licks into your mouth. When he rolls a nipple between his fingers, your breath hitches, sparks of arousal shooting all the way down to your toes. A weight blossoms in your core as you reach for the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, and you shiver a little in the morning air.
“Beautiful,” Jimin says quietly, reverently, and you take his face in your hands.
“You are too,” you murmur, your eyes searching his. “So beautiful.” Your hands slip down his body as he kisses you again, your fingertips outlining the contours of his chest, gently brushing over his nipples to make him groan into your mouth.
Jimin’s hands come to rest at the curve of your hips as your mouths move together, where he teases his touch under the band of your boyshorts. He pulls back just far enough to ask, “Can I take these off?” and you nod.
You shimmy the thin fabric down your thighs, dropping onto your ass with a laugh so he can tug them the rest of the way off, one ankle at a time. As you sit up on your knees again, his hands come to grip your thighs, and he shifts lower on the bed until he’s laying flat on his back next to you.
“Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs softly.
“Yeah?” You bite down on a small smile.
He hums. “Can I— will you please, uh… sit on my face?”
You can’t help but giggle. No one has ever asked so politely. “Yeah, okay.”
It’s slow, languid, the way his full lips close delicately around your clit when you settle over him, how he alternates with lazy passes of his tongue, not unlike the way he kisses you. The pleasure pulls your spine arched and your head tips back, palms pressing flat to the bed beneath you.
“Jimin,” you gasp, “baby, feels so fucking good.”
His tongue is heavy as it drags down your folds, thick when he sinks it into your cunt to taste the slick arousal that pours out of you and drips down his chin. Your hips rock into his mouth, his nose inadvertently bumping against your clit as he licks you like he doesn’t want to waste a drop. Your walls cling tight, crammed up full of him.
With a slurp and a gasp for breath, he withdraws, his tongue made hot from being buried inside of you, trailing wet warmth as he licks back up your pussy to lap at your clit again. Your arms threaten to give out when he sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, lips pulsing an insistent rhythm that makes you moan and writhe above him.
“Jimin, Jimin.” The pleasure is decadent, thick, wine and honey, made sweeter by the beautiful boy pressed between your thighs. Emotion bubbles up inside of you to twist with your pleasure, and you tighten a hand in his rose-blush hair as you moan again, nearly a sob this time, a dam breaking.
Jimin hums against you, fingertips digging into the soft skin of your thighs, like he can tell you’re at the edge without you having to say a word, and it’s enough to send you tumbling over it.
“Oh fuck baby, yes, fuck.” Your toes curl tight over the bedsheets as your pussy flutters, throbs, gushes. Your vision whites out as you come hard enough to make your thighs shake, hard enough that your stomach muscles tremble with the effort of holding you up. Jimin’s mouth works you through it, tongue stroking flat and slow to coax pulse after pulse out of you, until everything melts into shaky aftershocks and your thighs clench around him, over-sensitive.
He pulls back when you start to squirm, lips smacking wetly on a final kiss to your pussy, and heat flushes your face at the sound of it. Your limbs feel heavy as lead as you slip off from on top of him and collapse down onto the mattress with a floaty sigh, your pulse still thudding brightly in your ears.
You’re only distantly aware of the way the bed shifts as Jimin slides down next to you. You follow his touch on instinct, turning into him when he pulls you close and presses a kiss to your hairline. Heartbeat still slamming in your chest, mind hazy with morning orgasm glow, you hum contentedly as your eyes flutter open to find him palming at a thick bulge tenting his– well, your sweatpants.
“Looks like it’s cooperating today.” Jimin’s voice is equal parts relieved and embarrassed.
With a lazy smile, you hook a finger in his waistband, tugging playfully. “What do you want to do about it?”
He laughs hoarsely. “I would love to finally fuck you, if you’ll have me.”
“I don’t want anybody else.” The thought spills out before you can worry if it’s too soon to say it, but he just smiles and leans in to kiss you.
At Jimin’s guidance, you lay back against the pillows, a couple of which he grabs to slot under your hips. “There’s condoms in the nightstand,” you say softly, and anticipation thrums in your chest, twinning with your still-racing pulse as you watch him retrieve one, then step out of his sweatpants to roll it on.
He climbs back onto the bed to hover over you, and your breaths come shallow into each other’s mouths. You kiss quietly at the precipice of this moment, like you’re afraid it might not be real, a dream you could wake up from at any second.
“Thank you.” Jimin’s low voice sends a ripple through you. “For waiting for me.”
You press a hand to his cheek, your eyes trying to take all of him in at once. “It wasn’t waiting, Jimin. Really. I’ve loved every second with you. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing.”
“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmurs.
The head of his cock teases your entrance, and you spread your thighs wider, pulling your legs up towards your chest. Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you can’t bite back the moan that spills out of you as he sinks into your tight heat with a cock thick enough to split you open. “Fuck, Jimin.”
There’s a pause when he’s pressed all the way in, his body covering yours, your hands clutching at the broad sweep of his back. He exhales a soft, disbelieving laugh as he looks down to see himself buried in you to the hilt. “God, you’re so tight. Does it hurt?”
You shake your head— you’re so soaked from his tongue and your arousal that it all just feels like melting, a pulsating heat between your legs. When he presses another kiss to your lips, he circles his hips, and you both groan at the feeling.
Jimin’s hands grip your thighs as he shifts and starts to move, starts fucking into you with long, slow strokes that make your pussy flutter, as if to urge him in deeper.
“It’s good?” he checks in again, voice tight, clearly holding himself back.
“So good, baby,” you breathe, “please fuck me.” A smirk flashes over his mouth at your manners, so polite when you ask to take it, and then he snaps his hips into you and you keen. “Fuck, please, just like that.”
He does it again and again, hands pressing down on your thighs to keep you folded up under him as he fucks you. The angle is just right for the thick head of his cock to pound into your g-spot with every stroke, and your back arches as your walls grip tight to him.
Jimin echoes your gasps with his own, swearing under his breath as you squeeze around him. He’s thrusting deep-deep now, and your hips shove up towards him for all of it, your thighs trembling as you take every inch. You’re dripping down his length every time he pulls back, wet enough to soak the sheets beneath you.
The pleasure, the pressure as he fills you up is so overwhelming that your hands reach, clinging to anything they can find. A pillow, the bedsheets, the flexing muscles in his forearms. Your moans come unabashedly now, underscored by the slap of skin on skin, the thud of the bedframe knocking into the wall. “Jimin, Jimin, baby.”
“Yeah,” he pants, choked up like he’s close. “Love it when you say my name.”
You sit up a little, folded legs shifting to wrap over his hips, and your hands come to his face to pull his mouth down to yours. His movements stutter as you kiss him breathlessly, and the brush of your tongue over his must be just enough to make him come undone. With a grunt of effort, he thrusts hard into you one final time, and his shoulders shake as he fills up the condom.
You kiss him again and again, your lips pulled into a smile against his as you tangle a hand in his hair, made messy from sleep and sex. Jimin’s body weighs heavy on top of yours as he drops his head to your shoulder, breath coming in short heat-bursts over your collarbone.
“Fuck. Been a minute.” He presses a kiss there, another to your neck, a third to your jaw. “Do you want to keep going?”
Your eyes widen at the question. “I— can you?”
A soft flush paints color in his cheeks, and he’s suddenly a little shy. “Yeah, I can. If you want. Or we can stop.”
You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your noses bumping. “I kinda felt like I was getting close again.”
He smiles. “Then let me finish what I started.” There’s a bit of shuffling as he moves to the edge of the bed to remove and tie up the used condom, then reaches for the box to retrieve another.
As he tears open the foil and rolls it on, you watch and consider all of him. This body that you know from every angle, that you’ve studied like a textbook, that holds the boy who stepped onto the subway and changed your life and made it better. This body, made to be adored, to be respected and cherished and filled up with love. This body, chosen to be shared with you, to be held by you, to be near you.
That’s all you want, you realize as he rolls over, brown eyes blinking sweetly at you. This body, and all that it holds: the darkness and the light, the pain and the beauty, the soul that so perfectly fits with yours.
“Turn over for me?” he asks softly. “I want to spoon.”
This round is easier, slower, your bodies molding together, shaky from effort and sensitivity. You twist over your shoulder, tipping your head up for a kiss that turns into a shared gasp as he presses into you again. Your walls are swollen enough to be tender, and the stretch of him, the way he fills you up entirely, makes your eyes roll back.
As he starts to grind his hips into you, his hand snakes down between your thighs before you even have to ask. You hook a leg over his to allow him better access and gasp when his cock slides even deeper into you from the new angle.
“So good,” you manage as two of his fingers work circles into your clit, matching the same slow-stroke pace. His tongue slips into your mouth, and with his cock rubbing insistently against your front wall, it doesn’t take much. Pleasure overwhelms you in a hot rush as he so easily pulls you apart again.
“Jimin.” Your voice is nearly a whisper, your walls starting to pulse. Your head tips back against his shoulder as he fucks and rubs you through it, his hums of encouragement buzzing through your body, your hips shuddering. “Baby, oh god.”
Jimin’s strokes start to falter, and then he goes still, your cunt aftershock-fluttering around him as he comes again, groaning your name.
A brush of daylight through the blinds makes your eyes heavy, and they drop closed as you lean into him and breathe through the comedown. You don’t know how long you lay there like that until his kisses pull you back earthside, dotting over your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw. You tilt your head up and he finally finds your lips again.
With a deep grunt of post-sex effort, he rolls over, leaning off the edge of the bed to deal with the second condom. A shiver dots up your spine at the loss of his body next to yours, and you tuck into his side when he lays down again, throwing an arm over his chest to better nuzzle into the crook of his neck. The heat of his palm makes you sigh as his hand rubs gentle circles against your back.
Something cracks open inside of you, warm like his touch, like the sunlight bleeding through the window. You can feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat under your hand, and it’s everything, all of him, that makes the words rise up in your throat, undeniable.
“Jimin,” you breathe, “I l—”
A loud bang on your bedroom door makes you flinch, and you roll over with a grimace as Yoongi shouts from the other side. “If you’re finished, just so you know, you left a fucking pan on the stove. Could’ve burnt the house down while you were in there deflowering each other.”
Your jaw drops open and Jimin’s eyes go wide, and you collapse against each other in a silent rush of laughter. You’re surprised when Yoongi’s voice comes back, a little softer this time. “Also I brought some bagels back from work. If you want any, better hurry before Namjoonie eats them all.”
The charged moment has passed, and the words sink back down inside of you. Making a promise to tell him soon, you wrap yourself tighter around Jimin’s side with a smile. “What do you think?”
He nods thoughtfully. “I’ll never say no to a bagel.”
“Come on then,” you murmur, tilting up for a final hit of affection. The kiss he leaves on your lips makes your heartbeat flutter, like the shudder of a subway car.
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genderqueerdykes · 8 months
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i understand they're not for everyone, but i do think a lot of people who are primarily exposed to queerness through online discourse would benefit from going to a queer bar and experiencing other queers having fun with each other in a distinctly queer way. i had been looking to attend a kink night at a queer bar for a while, and I finally got to go to one last night, and i'm very glad that i did. I was fortunate that the bar I went to had CBD drinks, so I could enjoy myself despite not being able to drink alcohol
there was an old woman with a rollator who set up at a table right next to the stage with free candy and snacks for everyone, but especially for the drag performers. I found that a lot of people there ended up calling her mom. she gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me to get home safe as I was leaving. she told me she'd see me next weekend, see was there every week.
there were adults of all ages there it was an underwear & animal play night, and the house was busy. drag queens and kings, bears, pups, bunnies, cats, leather people and all kinds of vanilla folks showed up. people in collars and harnesses, in jockstraps and leather briefs, on leashes, being lead around on their hands and knees. there were drag performances all throughout the nights and some of the queens included BDSM elements into their performances
i spent the night dancing with the leather puppy boys including an FTM pup who became my friend, some extremely cute old men with white hair and glittery shorts, a middle aged asian man in tiny black undies who really got into the music, an older man who looked like Freddie Mercury who was wearing tiny undies with pink straps and tall pink pumps, a lesbian couple who were fiercely making out most of the night, and a very tall person wearing a shirt that said "stay queer as fuck" with glittery rhinestoned shoes.
i saw a lot of people who were unafraid to be themselves. a lot of people who were willing to show this small slice of the world who they are, their authentic self, no matter what that meant. no one did anything that invaded my boundaries by being their authentic selves. others being loud and proud about themselves didn't drown me out. i felt more like it was okay to be who i was, too. dancing with the pups helped me realize that i'm ready to get into pup play, after questioning if it was for me for years. the exposure was healthy, it's hard to know certain things for sure until you actually put yourself out there
it's not an environment for everyone, i get that. but in whatever ways you can find it exposure to other queers in person is lifesaving, especially when you are having fun. sitting and meeting with each other and discussing what it means to be queer is important, but having fun together in a queer way is literally vital to our health and well being. just talking about being queer all the time won't nourish your soul. experiencing queer fun is necessary, especially when it comes to adults. we're need to and are allowed to have fun with each other in a distinctly queer way. it's important to embrace it when and where possible, in whatever ways make sense for you.
you'll feel a lot less self conscious when you see other people happily flying their freak flag, too
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buckets-and-trees · 10 months
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Hehe I’m here with a dare 😏
So I’m such a sucker for angst but with a happy ending - I’d love to hear how you would go about writing a forced proximity meets the one that got away fic, from what I’ve read of your writing I feel like you’d really do those tropes justice
Alright, Em... let me stretch my fingers and get ready for this one...
I THOUGHT about this.
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Ari Levinson
Modern AU - college and then mid-to-late-30s Ari
We're going to call this... er... maybe an "imagine-novella"? It kind of ended up being a 2500-word plot exploration. No content warnings, only some language.
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You meet Ari in college. He’s tall and toned and tanned, always in a baseball cap unless forced otherwise, and he’s already sporting a full beard and looking good with it. He’s a couple of years older because he worked out of high school before for a couple of years - long enough to put enough away to pay for tuition without being a burden on his parents. When you meet him, it's when there's the huge club rush out on the quad your junior year. It's in the middle of campus in the first weeks of the semester so everyone does wander through by the nature of when and where it is. You see the table for the radio station on campus. Truthfully you don't even notice him at first. You're standing twenty feet away looking at the sign and thinking about whether or not it's worth it, maybe shake things up, you love music - you're that friend always making the playlists, discovering new songs and bands, dying to go to big music festivals, etc, and your campus has a radio station...
Someone else was talking to him as he's running that table, and they leave and then he sees you standing there, and, "Hey! You!"
It jolts you out of your thoughts and you're caught off guard for just a half a second, and go, "Me?"
He grins, "Yeah, you."
Your feet move before you even really think about it because ... that's just what you do when people call you over. It’s an instant crush for you but you try and reign it in, because he's excited that you're actually interested in the station, and you genuinely are excited about it. He's a Journalism and Communications major and the station manager, and so he gives you the pitch to come to an info meeting they're going to have, he'd love to see you there.
And you do go. Because... it doesn't matter that he's cute. The more you keep thinking about it, you decide it would actually be fun. You get a show, you make a lot of new friends with the other station people - some of them are total nerds, but they're all fun or nice or a little bit irreverent, and so station meetings once a month are fun. You're a good DJ. You have fun with your shows. Ari takes note - he appreciates it. The station is his baby. He puts everything into it. He's not outgoing, even though he's charismatic, but he can't help but gravitate to the people who really fucking love it like him. You don't get to know him super well that first year, but when it's time for him to appoint new directors to run the station the next year, he pulls you aside and says he loves what you've done with your show and wants you to think about applying for a director position.
You do. It's going to be your last year of college, the DJ gig hasn't been work, it's just been fun, and ... you love being part of the team, love to work on exciting projects, dig your hands into the dirt and make something great, so yeah. You throw your hat in the ring, because why not? And it could be an extra thing to go on your grad school applications.
Ari not only picks you for the team, he actually ends up picking you to be the director of programming, his number two, the one who oversees the DJs and putting together the roster for shows each semester. And that's what launches everything to a new level.
You lock down DJs that you want to come back the next fall, you both go away for the summer, but now you're texting somewhat regularly about ideas for the next year, things you'll work on, and the real working friendship develops. When fall semester starts and it's full speed on the ground, you and the team of directors really work to make the station great, but it's A LOT of you and Ari.
And to say he becomes one of your best friends senior year? Maybe. You tread that line because there's still that part of your heart that crushes on him, but the part that loves doing everything station and music and working on this big beast together? That's big. You let that be the focus. Because it's fun. And he's fun. And he's brilliant (like you, which is why he likes you) and ambitious (like you) and he's got this great, rich laugh that you get to hear a lot. And a lot of your other friends are busy with their senior years, too, and so are you, and so you don't mind any of the time you spend working on the station with Ari and the other directors and the DJs who are just this pack of a couple dozen people who come and go. But a lot of you and Ari.
And he doesn't date anyone. Not the entire time you know him. You heard/thought maybe there were some hook ups he indulged in during your junior year, but not that year before you both graduate. He clearly doesn't have time for a girlfriend and doesn't love anything more than the station, but you do think - just a little bit - just in the back of your head sometimes - that maybe you don't hear about him with anyone this year because... he's not going to date you - that would be unprofessional for you two and the station - but maybe it's because you are close. And maybe as you get closer to the end of the year... maybe he's going to make a move. He's always said he's already a confirmed old bachelor, but the way he smiles at you, the way he values your opinion, how often he says how amazing you are and how he appreciates you... you're going to be the girl who finally gets him.
But time is running out. And even though you both pour your hearts into the station together, there are never any late nights (those are given to studying, passing classes, etc). The last month, he says stuff like he's never going to see any of you again. Jokingly. You all laugh as directors because how could he mean it? He's made you all a family.
He makes more comments like that in the last weeks and days, and when he says he's going to shut down all of his social media, because he only had it to run and promote the station, you call him on his bullshit. And he says no. He's serious. He's going to go into journalistic photography, and he's going to create the network he needs where he needs it, but he's not playing the PR games to do it - the dream is wild nature photography, work in remote locations, never talk to humans again if he can help it. And it's so stupid. You tell Ari he's being ridiculous. He can't want to live so far off the grid.
"I'm sorry," he says, kindly but matter-of-factly. "But when we graduate, I'm never talking to any of you ever again."
You scoff. But this conversation is now just you and him in the station on a Saturday afternoon. But then you look at him for a half a second and really see his face. And you think he means it. "Ari, I did not give my fucking heart and soul into this station for the last year as your friend for you to never talk to me again. You at least owe me a lunch five years from now."
He smiles. "Okay. Maybe in five years. You find me in five years and I promise I'll take you to lunch."
And you graduate a week later, and he says goodbye, and you're not sad about it. Maybe just a bit wistful for what might have been. But after that specific "five years" conversation, you realize it was only you who was maybe a bit foolishly hopeful. He'd really never led you on. You never told him you had a crush (you had tried to keep it professional, because you did genuinely love the friendship) and he'd never given you or anyone else any illusion that he was there for anything other than working on the station and that bonding and camaraderie. If he had led you on, if there had been late nights, maybe you would've been hurt. But aside from being secretly hopeful, there really wasn't much harm done by your pining. But maybe in five years, you'll look him up for that lunch he agreed to.
He does fall off the gridl You take a busy summer job and then a paid internship in the fall, and you try and track him a bit, but you do just… get busy and move forward. You think of Ari a lot, but less and less as the time goes on. You know the name of the newspaper he was going to start off with right after graduation, and although he got rid of social media, he did have a beautiful website he set up for his photography. And you check that once in a while, but less and less. You get a fulltime job after the internship, and your life becomes even more full with the things that aren’t Ari, and sometimes you think about him, but most times you don’t.
When that five years rolls around, you start to think of him more again.
But you let it come and go.
You didn’t necessarily feel like you were living your best life, and if you were going to get one lunch to win over the one who got away and make him realize you were the love of his life… maybe you’d feel a little better – a little more accomplished, go to the gym more, be really something – in ten years.
Fleeting thought in ten years. Though you do think of him when you realize it’s that ten year mark. And you just kind of smile because ten years ago you was so wildly for him, and five years ago you was still a touch foolishly hopeful, and wouldn’t it be something if you did look him up now? But you really don’t need to anymore.
Then a couple of years later, you move to a new place, and without ever even trying, who else should somehow be living two doors down from you but Ari fucking Levinson?
And he sees you first. He’s just gotten home, opened the door from the garage into the house to be reunited with his good girl – a beautiful golden retriever who’s waited for him all day, walked with her trotting along at his side out to his mailbox, and looks down the street to see who’s just sending off the movers out of curiosity for who’s moving into the neighborhood, and he does a fucking double take because it’s you.
His god damn jaw drops and he laughs and then calls out your name.
You turn, hardly believing it but knowing that voice anywhere, and you laugh and shake your head. “Ari Levinson?”
You push the messy hair from the long day’s work of moving out of your face and are glad you’re not besotted for this man anymore, even if he does look like even more of an Adonis now, because you do know you look a mess, but you don’t even care. Having moved out of state for this dream job, you couldn’t be any more happy just to have someone from your past right at your new home base.
“’Of all the gin joints in all the towns in the world!’”
He meets you halfway, and he pauses a beat away from you because he’s not a hugger, but somehow there’s just this draw to hug you, and so he does. Only surprising to you for a second, but you’re so tired and it’s been a good day but a long day, and you were excited for this move, but you can’t deny a familiar face just feels good, so you melt into him just for the comfort of it for a moment. It’s just nice.
And when you pull back, the obedient but attentive dog draws your attention, lighting your face up with a beautiful grin. “Can I pet your dog?!”
But the two of you are already drawn to each other and bonding before he gets the, “Sure, of course,” out of his mouth.
He doesn’t wear those old baseball caps every day anymore, so he pushes his hand through his hair, and that move has practically made women drop their panties for him over the years, but you don’t even notice, too busy showering affection on his sweet golden girl while the two of you exchange the kind of words two of the oldest friends do when they haven’t seen each other in ages. Why is his chest so tight and warm all at once. Why does he have the thought cross his mind that you showing up here feels like home? Why are you falling in love with his dog and not with him? Wait, why did he think that?
This feels like a slippery slope.
But maybe he doesn’t fucking care.
When he is back inside his house, starting to pull something from the fridge to heat up for dinner, he remembers that he promised you a dinner.
It’s later than you two made the deal for, but… he’ll start there.
Just old friends who are new neighbors.
That night when he’s plugging his phone in to charge before bed, he remembers that he never did get rid of your contact in his phone. You might have the same number.
What he doesn’t know is that when he left the harbor, sure, you waited with that boat hopefully for a bit, but then you finally took your ship and sailed – everywhere really – and you may be eager to fall happily in love with his dog and genuinely grateful to know you’ll have someone in your corner on this new adventure, but you want nothing more than that good friendship in your life. He was one of your greatest friends all those years ago. But you finally got over that pining crush, and here’s no way you’ll be foolish enough to fall for him again, nor do you want to. You couldn’t ask for more than to have your old friend as your new neighbor, with his gorgeous golden retriever.
Ari does text you that night… just a welcome to the neighborhood again, and that he thinks he owes you a dinner, if he remembers correctly (he does, he’s just being casually clever), so he’s gotta take you out tomorrow night.
And it is still the same number, but you fell into the blissful rest of your bed, exhausted after move in day, so you don’t even see it that night. It will wait until you get to it in the morning.
Just like Ari will have to wait for what he wants. And work to try to even bring you around again.
Will he have waited too long and you’ll be the one who got away?
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bonny-kookoo · 5 months
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sugar and spice where maybe jk is jealous of how close oc is with a band member, like they're playing and laying around jimin too much when they come over?? idk I miss this couple 🥺
Your wish is my command.
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"Where'd my baby go?" Jungkook asks staff, who simply point towards where Jimin is appearing to help clean your glasses for you, before you put them back on.
To say it irritated Jungkook would be an understatement.
He knows that Jimin likes to tease him- that it's friendly banter, but in a weird way, Jungkook's can't see it as such when it involves you. He doesn't want this guy to be this close doing the things be himself should be doing for you. There's this.. fear in him that you might end up falling for him.
So moments later, after the concert is properly finished he's quick to rush backstage and kiss your lips, uncaring of prying eyes and teasing whistles from his friends. This is a statement, and he's making it loud and clear; you're his, off limits to anyone else.
And you're not complaining, happily receiving his attention
"I can't wait to cuddle with you all night once we're back at the hotel." He mumbles into your neck, sleepily holding you close on his lap as he waits for everyone to pack up and get back to the hotel they all stay at. The room you two share is spacious and cozy, a twin sized bed that's not really needed with how close together you always sleep.
It's not a tour. Just two performances, but still. He's grateful he's able to have you with him at all times.
And maybe he can spare you for a few seconds to offer jimin a taste of what it could be like. As long as you'll always come back to him-
As long as he stays your number one.
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partiallyderived · 9 months
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-ˋˏ life's too short to hold grudges (pgw)
genre: classmates to lovers au, fluff relationships: park gunwook x gn!reader warnings: n/a word count: 594 words author's note: i thought i would write something light. it isn't all that remarkable, but i still hope you enjoy it! disclaimer: i know none of these people personally, and i am not making any money off of this. title is from a quote in "anne of green gables". also, thank you to moni (@/taerrrrrae) for suggesting i write headcanons when i got writer's block. i appreciate you.
— honestly, the best way to explain your dynamic is to take the example of anne shirley and gilbert blythe from "anne of green gables", only with much less antagonism and outright disdain, because park gunwook is polite enough not to mock your hair colour, so you have no reason to crack the modern equivalent of a slate chalkboard over his head.
— the first time you see him, you think he's got to be a senior — except no, this guy is the top scorer in your class: debate club member, class monitor, teacher's everyone's favourite, park gunwook.
— and for no rational reason whatsoever, you declare war on him.
— it ends up only lasting for a month or so, until the next internal assessment, when you get a higher grade than him in physics, and he ends up messaging you at nine o'clock that night — very apologetically — wondering if you could maybe help him with some of the derivations.
— you tell him to come to school a little earlier the next day, and help him to understand the reasoning behind each step before class, and gunwook can honestly say — this is the moment his little crush on you begins.
— however, your teachers are ecstatic that he has more competition now, and because high schoolers love drama and inculcate it in everything they do, everyone becomes convinced that you two are friends not genuinely, but in some sort of psychological warfare way.
— like you're trying to take him down by sitting across from him at lunch and sending him the notes he misses from class when he's at debate competitions?
— and the thing is when gunwook tries to refute the allegations, everyone seems to think that a) he's being too nice b) he's being too naive and c) (courtesy of ricky, gyuvin and junhyeon from the class above) he should just ask you out.
— it's a little bit funny, how everyone seems convinced that you two hate each other behind your friendly facades, but also mildly concerning — because they're way too invested in something that has nothing to do with anyone but you two. so your genius solution is: spend more time together, in public.
— poor gunwook is about to combust.
— and it is on one of these days — at the library, after school, when you've taken his help to grab the reference books the librarians keep on the highest shelves — that he says, very quietly, "i think i like you."
— and you take it jokingly because what the actual heck who confesses in a library when it is pin drop silent and the librarians are watching and say, "i should hope so? otherwise it would make the past few months really awkward."
— "no, i mean — i like like you. in a romantic sort of way."
— and your very articulate response? "oh. well, uh, i like you too. i was going to ask you out on graduation day, or like, after the suneung."
— and then you both continue on as if nothing happened, because both of you are aware of your need to focus on school. although that's not to say there's any miscommunication — you are aware of his stance on dating now, as gunwook is aware of your stance on dating now, and the agreement both of you have is: you'll be together officially, just without the actual going out aspect.
— it doesn't change much of your daily dynamic, only that people quickly shut up when he walks into class with your books in one hand and your hand in the other.
— power couple. 10/10.
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bradtomlovesya · 10 months
Text
GHOSTFACE
Tom Holland x Actress! Reader
Summary: You decide to prank you boyfriend and friends... sweet sweet revenge. (Based on this request - HERE - )
Warnings: Mentions of blood, injuries, serial killer!, a bit of dark humour at the end. (Let me know if I missed something)
W/C: 1.1k+
A/n: sorry the delay I was heartbroken and just started to feel like myself again. Thank you for being patient with me ♡. SUPPORT AN AUTHOR BY SHARING THEIR WORK 🫶🏻
Gif not mine
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Tom still didn't know what your new project was. You had told him that you would have an important role in a big franchise but you hadn't told him more than that, you wanted it to be a complete surprise.
Your friends - and his friends as they were mutual friends of both of you - had arranged to go to the set as they would pick you up and then go for drinks at a nearby pub. They were just supposed to go and watch a bit of the set while you finished changing and taking off your make-up, or at least that's what they thought.
A few months ago, at Halloween, they all agreed to play a prank on you where Tom was supposed to be "possessed" and with Harry's help they had done so many effects and props that you completely believed it. Only to find out it was a joke. It was time for revenge.
You and a couple of friends from the set had an idea in hand, and had even discussed the idea with the director who thought it would be excellent publicity for the new film.
So there you were with a fake wound in your stomach that wouldn't stop bleeding and a fake knife in your hand, you hoped that in the dim light no one would notice the difference between it and the real thing.
As soon as you heard the voice of Tom and friends calling your name in the dark, empty set, you knew it was time to take action. You walked quickly with one hand covering your wound and approached them using your best acting techniques. Clearly, it was all being recorded.
"What are you guys doing here, didn't you see my message? Someone from the cast went crazy and we're waiting for the police" you tried to guide them as best you could to a 'hideout' "shit" you muttered.
"What are you talking about? Wait a minute..." spoke Tom, your boyfriend. "That's real?" He said fitting the pieces together in his head and moved his hand closer to your wound. He just grazed it, but your moan of pain was more than convincing. Now everyone was more than worried.
"Oh my god... I'll call the police" Harry said grabbing his phone so you snatched it away from him as soon as you heard the sound of something metal falling.
"We already called them" you muttered. "They're on their way. We just have to hide until the cops-" a secret compartment opened up in the floor and you fell through it as you screamed. An inflatable mattress was waiting for you below, but they were too scared to have noticed.
"Y/n!" Tom shouted in desperation and Sam covered his mouth with his hands. "Get your hands off me! We have to go get her!" A bead of sweat trickled down his back. This couldn't be happening. "She's my girlfriend, Sam!" Tom tried to struggle but between all the boys they managed to shut him up, there was a killer on the loose and all they needed was for Tom to shout out his exact location.
"Tom you won't be able to find her if you get killed so you need to keep your mouth shut," Harry mutters. "Promise if I take my hand away you'll stop screaming?" he asked and Tom nodded.
"What are we going to do now?" he asked in a low tone of voice and that's when your scream was heard throughout the studio.
"Tom help me!" you exclaimed in desperation. "Please!"
All the boys including your boyfriend ran off in the direction your voice came from. Tom ran faster than the rest but, when they reached the place, the light was very low and you were no longer there.
Or well, you were, only you were already wearing your Ghostface costume, ready for the final scare.
"I can't die, I still can't find a girlfriend!" Tuwaine started hyperventilating.
"I'm still a virgin! I can't die a virgin!" Paddy mentioned.
Harrison placed his hand on Tom's shoulder and Tom couldn't help but turn around with his fists in the air, that was his simp reflex.
"It's me, relax" Haz said holding up his hands so Tom could see them.
"Uhh... guys..." Harry pointed to a spot in front of him. "We've got company" right in front of them was you in full costume.
They all turned to run but as soon as they did they saw someone else standing there wearing the costume, the exact same costume.
They were surrounded. They all raised their fists in the air trying to look brave. In reality some had already wet their trousers.
"What do you want from us?" Your boyfriend exclaimed. "What did you do to my girlfriend?!" he shouted in frustration.
It was time to end the joke.
"I didn't do anything to your girlfriend" you spoke to him disguising your voice so they wouldn't recognise yours. "Because..." you took off your mask and laughed. "I am your girlfriend!" The lights came on as your friends and boyfriend looked on in shock.
"But what-" Haz muttered, trying to catch his breath.
"Don't miss Scream 5, only in cinemas," you spoke into a camera and winked.
"I thought you were dead!" Tom exclaimed and lifted you off the ground over his shoulder. He was a little annoyed... but he also understood that he deserved it, especially after the prank he played on you last halloween. "You little trickster," he laughed.
"So this is the movie you're working on, huh?" Sam asked and you nodded as soon as Tom allowed your feet to touch the ground.
"I have to admit that a prank on your boyfriend and his friends with the theme of the movie is great publicity" He said looking at all the cameras. "But I need another pair of trousers" he pointed to his now damp jeans and laughed embarrassed. "Don't look at me like that, I thought I would die without finding love."
Tuwain sighed "make that two pairs of trousers please and exactly as Harry said."
"Wait a second. This looks like another one of those Horror movies with predictable characters" Sam scoffed.
"What do you mean?" asked Tom.
"Well then... Tom is the main character and possible popular guy, y/n is his girlfriend who turns out to be the killer, Harry is the guy who records everything, I'm the filler character, Tuwaine is the 'coloured friend' - no offence - he clarified. And Paddy is the kid"
"What about me?" Haz raised his hand.
"You're the shallow blonde who dies at the beginning" explained Harry.
"Hey!" Harry groaned but then laughed, "Yeah...makes sense."
They all laughed. Tom knew he had to fight back better next year and you knew he would. This was just the beginning of a new annual prank war.
|°|°|°|°|°|
Tom holland tags: @raajali3 @fangirling-galore @rogertherabbitt @powerpuffluuvv @august-cardigan @itszulli @hallecarey1 @luvmarissaaa @xoxokiaraaxoxo @kaitieskidmore1 @lnmp89 @pure-a-tea @vixparker @army24--7 @spiderydreams00 @nani-2305 @mochimm @ietss @prancerrparkerr @hpsgirlrw @hollandweather
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shelbgrey · 10 months
Text
Dating Lance Sweets Headcanons:
Paring: Lance Sweets x Hodgins!Reader
Summary: Headcanons about Lance dating Hodgins' little sister.
A/n: I'm on a roll with my Lance content, I love this man. Also there might be some nsfw content so be aware.
🩵MasterList 🩵Dating Lance mood board
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I think you guys would be clueless to your feelings, like they're obviously there and everyone can see It expect you two.
You two became best friend first and guys spent so much time trying to get Booth and Bones together, you didn't relize the feeling you had for each other.
Booth noticed first, the leangering glances Lance would give you, how his eyes would light up everytime you entered to room. In Booth's words Lance was a love-sick puppy.
You were just the same, your brother Hodgins knows you like the back of his hand so he'd notice how you'll smile when you talk about Lance or how you just turn bright red in his presence.
You kinda just always had missed opportunities and your friends were getting sick of it, your the 'mom' of the group dispite you being one of the youngest, so your always trying to help everyone else find their happiness.
“why don't you just tell him how your feel?” Angela asked one day. You didn't know how to respond.
He confessed first... It was on the day he thought he was gonna lose you forever. The Gravedigger buried you in the car with Hodgins.
He didn't leave your side when you got taken to the hospital. “please don't leave me... I love everything about you even the things I don't like.. God I love you”
The rest was history... You guys ended up together quicker than Bones and Booth... Apparently there was a bet going around the Jeffersonian on which couples would end up together first, I'll tell ya Cam lost a butt load of money to Hodgins.
Anyway, he's the Sweetest boyfriend you'll ever find. Your the best thing that ever happened to him.
It won't take long for him to open up about his time in foster care and the abuse he endored. You'd hold him as a few stray tears would leave his eyes.
He would talk about the parents he did end up with in the end a lot. The older couple showed him what love was and he was greatful for it. He'd always say how much his adopted mother would love you. “she would have loved you”
This man need physical contact a lot. He's a big cuddler and just needs you in his arms, it's a comfort and a protection thing.
He's big on hand holding too, if your walking around the city your hands will be locked together, or sometimes hell just hold your had if your setting down at a table or something.
There's a lot of neck and forehead kisses being handed out by this man. He loves wrapping his arms around you from behind and just trail soft kisses down your neck.
He loves it when you kiss him on the cheek It's always innocent and loving, and a quick way to love on him even if you're in public or at work.
We can't gloss over the nose, It's super cute gester he loves doing. He thinks is adorable to watch your nose scrunch it up when he press his lips to it, but that just makes you cuter in his eyes.
And maybe he'll just nuzzle his nose to yours... I think it's Eskimo kisses or something, whatever it is it's a cute motion of love he loves doing.
He can be a rough kisser, but mostly he's a passionate kisser. He pours all his love and emotions into it, he makes sure your the only one on this earth he wants to love.
Sometimes if your not busy at the Jeffersonian he'll call you up so you can keep him company in his office, you'll just curl up in his lap while he dose paper work.
He loves it when you curl up on his lap and loves it when your fingers run through his hair or massage his scalp while he's working or your just cuddling.
He hangs out at your office in the Jeffersonian a lot too, sometimes he could be pest(you'll never tell him that nor will you tell him to go away) but you love the company and he's always there to help you with evidence.
Oh, since he's a Shrink is basically impossible for you to lie to him, but he's easy to talk to. I think that you talking to him as your boyfriend and not a psychiatrist helps a lot too.
“I know when your lying”
“because your and Shrink or because your my boyfriend?”
“both” he responded.
God, this man loves everything about you. You have a couple of tattoos, he wants to know about them. It doesn't matter what type of hair you have or if you like it or not, he loves it. He'll love your voice, body, personality... Everything.
He loves your eyes, He loves how innocent and beautiful they looked, they're so gentle to him.
When he talks about you, they just know he's in love. Booth tease him saying he has drool or heart eyes.
“Booth, did you know she has like five smiles?”
“is this a Shrink thing or 'I'm so in love' thing?” he'll ask but still want to know. He's happy Lance finally found someone.
“she has this one smile when she finds something funny and there's one when she's just talking about her friends.. There's this cute little smile she gets when I compliment her... It's my favorite, she's cute when she gets all shy”
He's very protective of you, he not a violent person in the slightest but if someone caused you harm he'll tear the world down.
He's so afraid of losing you, your the best thing that's ever happened to him and he doesn't want to screw it up. Of course he doesn't have to worry about that.
Your always resuring him that your always gonna be by his side. With that I think he's secretary insecure, he's never really had anyone drool over him like girls do Booth, so your always telling him how handsome he is.
“your so Handsome, have I ever told you that?”
He just the same way with you, always telling you your perfect or beautiful. Sometimes you feel a little bit out of his league, but there's no one he'd rather be with than you.
He leaves love notes every where for you to find, sometimes it will be on your mirror, sometimes in the book your reading at the time, no matter what your always finding his sweet messages.
You have a folder in your office with every single post-it, scratch paper, card, anything with a love note you kept.
It's the small things that matter most. He loves dancing with you to your favorite songs. It brings a softer side to your guys chaoic lives.
Your Song is 'Can't help falling in love' by Elvis Presley.
He teaches you how to play chess, you show interest in playing the game after watching him play dozens of them during a case involving a chess club. You would copy his stratagies, but you still couldn't really figure it out. He beat you everytime.
He finds it both frustrating and adorable that you have nicknames for the pieces. The most famous ones are 'little horseys' or 'the skinny castles'
Sometimes he'll let you win just so he can see you smile and do a little victory dance.
“how about we play checkers, I'm good at checkers” you said dumping the chess board.
You beat him at checkers everytime.
You love hearing him play piano, he'll learn your favorite songs and play them for you. You talked him into teaching you how to play, it's a great way for you to spend time together.
But if he's in the right mood he'll mess with you.
“I can't concentrate when you do that” you laughed. He was standing behind you while his hands moved around you. “doing what?” he said, kissing your neck.
He goes all out with dates rather if it's a night out or in. If it's a movie night he'll get all your favorite snacks and movies and make a comfy theater for you to cuddle in. If it's a night out he'll take you anywhere your heart desires.
A/n: this is just my headcanon for me and him: he'll remember the small things, like you mentioned you loved Elvis and have never be to Graceland. This man will keep the trip a secret, make sure you both have time off work and he'll suprise you. Hell, he might even propose to you there.
He has alot of nicknames for you, but the most common one is Baby or Honey.
Your nickname for him is Sweetie or Sweetheart, it goes with his last name and you refuse to call him Lancealot.
Speaking of Lancelot... The girl that calls him that causes a bit of commotions for you. Daisy had a huge crush on him(in this universe they never dated) and she's tied her hardest to be with him. Lance is faithful to you and told her fermly that he'd never betray you. She didn't let up for a while and even tried to use your inncecurites against you.
After Lance saw your tears and heard you question everything he quickly put a stop to everything.
He'll notice the little things, like how the only gummies you'll eat is gummy sharks. You don't like the worms because they remind you of snakes and the bears are too cute to eat.
Speaking of sharks and the ocean, Angela made you a vertical aquarium for the screen in your office after the case involving the lion fish.
Sometimes you and Lance will set infront of it relaxing while you watch the fish.
If your in bed he'll always have his arms around you. Rather your the little spoon or your on his chest. But sometimes if his day is rough he'd want to be the little spoon. His favorite feeling in the world is your arms around him and your fingers running through his hair.
You love his curls and you'll play with his hair any chance you get. It's a very comfterting feeling to him so he's neve apposed to it.
I don't think he'd waist much time when it comes to proposing to you. He knew you were the one the second he met you, of course he'll let your relationship grow and strangthen but he'd definitely bought a ring seven months into the relationship.
He'll carry the ring around everywhere too, without you knowing too. If there's a perfect moment to do it he'll have it on hand.
And you know Booth helped him pick out the ring.
Speaking of Booth and Bones, those to took you under their wings, Booth is your best friend and your adopted big brother. Temperance loves you to and you got her permission to call her Bones.
NSFW headcanons:
He tries his hardest to be romantic all the time, during sex especially. He wants you to know just how much he loves and adores you.
He's the most loving person during sex, hell he is all the time. He'll also try his best to make it as romantic as possible, if not he's always holding you close and kissing you so you know how much he loves you.
Your pace all depends on your moods honestly. Usually it's slow and loving, everything moves so quickly in his life so it's nice to just savor moments like this. But if you get him riled up or push the right buttons that switch will be flipped in seconds.
He loves missionary, keeping eye contact while he fucks you. He loves how you dig your nails into his back and wrap your legs around his waist to bring him impossibly closer.
He love getting head. I feel like he’d like having you on your knees. Plus, feeling your lips around him pushes him closer to cumming in your mouth.
Loves eating you out,your legs around his head. He loves your legs in general and loves leaving kisses on the insides of your thighs. He'd rather pleasure you for hours than receive.
Hair pulling, he loves feeling your fingers in his curls rather your tugging or just playing with it.
He loves hearing you moan. If you try to hold back or even muffle them when it's unnecessary, he'd put an end to it. “don't hold back, let me hear your voice”
He definitely has a Praise kink, he loves making you feel loved and appreciated. He love how he can easily make you blush. “your so Beautiful”
He's not opposed to hearing your praises either, he wants to know how good he's making you feel.
He's a soft Dom and he always makes sure your comfortable. He loves to take control in the bed but would never push you.
I think he'll feel most a power if your in his office and he has you bend over his desk or maybe your just setting on top of it, getting railed.
I think he needs to keep eye contact and just feel you as close as possible, so if your on his desk your facing each other. He loves it when you wrap your legs around his waist pulling him closer as he rams into you.
There has been a couple of times Booth has walked in on you, he'll hear the desk legs scratching aginst the floor and things falling. Safe to day Booth has lernd to knock.
“Lance he just saw us!” you panted.
“I was too busy to notice” he said kissing your shoulder.
So there's alot of office sex with him, they're mostly quickies which aren't his favorite but he's never apposed to it.
Speaking of which, he refuses to refer sex as 'fucking', he thinks is degrading towrds you so it's just sex or 'making love' in his vocabulary.
This man is amazing when it comes to aftercare. He knows exactly what you need and when. After your both cleaned up and he makes sure your okay he'll pull you to his chest to cuddle, my boy needs cuddles after sex.
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toomuchracket · 7 months
Note
heyy so I was thinking about sick girlie at one of the shows, she never fails to work and everyone knows how committed is she, but at a show day she ignores all her body signs, avoiding sleep and trying to low her fever. D word matty worried at her because she’s pale and still working along Jamie, causing a bit of fight. Maybe George would try to make her eat something more than an apple and water but not getting more than that, then Adam checking her temperature and Ross just handling his hoodie.
And yes, I’m sick while writing this
oh i hope you feel better soon, sweets! and yeah maybe you wake up one day with a bit of a stuffy nose and you feel warm and a bit more lethargic than usual, but it's a show day and you're busy, so you take a couple of paracetamol and get on with it. although it hits you worse than usual because you're feeling tired as it is, you know yourself that it's just a cold, and you get really quite exasperated that morning by matty's constant hovering around you backstage and frequent utterances of "sweetheart, you've gone a weird colour. i know you keep saying you're fine, but i think you should take it easy"; you DO feel like shit, and it's making you irritable, and in turn you end up snapping at him like "matty, for fuck's SAKE, please just let me get on with my work and fucking LISTEN to me when i tell you i'm alright. but if you're so insistent that i'm not, it's probably best that you leave me alone in case you get ill too", and matty's a stubborn little git so he just snaps back "fine. i fucking tried!" and walks off in a huff. so naturally you both feel worse, but whatever, you'll just get on with it. in fairness to matty, he at least manages to get the boys on-side to keep an eye on you and make sure you're ok - like you said, adam manages to calmly convince you to let him feel your forehead to check your temperature (high) and subsequently to take more paracetamol and drink a lot of cold water, and george ends up in the canteen at the same time as you and tries (mostly unsuccessfully) to coax you into eating something substantial for lunch. after lunch, you're working on your laptop in the green room with ross's wife, and she's like "babe i can hear your teeth chattering" - she makes ross, who's playing with baby eilidh on the floor, go and get his hoodie to warm you up. while they're away, she softly says "you're poorly, aren't you, lovely?"; you just crumble and start crying like "really don't feel well. thought i could push through it but i can't. and i don't want to not do my work but also i don't want to make everyone else unwell. and i pissed matty off so i can't even get him to cuddle me", and straight up just sob into your friend's arms as she pats your head quite maternally. ross and eilidh come back in - he passes you a zip-up hoodie and eilidh passes you one of her teddies 😭 - followed a minute or so later by matty, whose face just crumples when he sees you crying. he hurries over to you with an "oh, sweetheart, c'mere", hugging you and shushing you when you try to apologise for earlier (although he says his own apology - he sits with you until he has to get ready for the show, despite your protests that he'll get sick, letting you sleep with your head on his lap and holding a cold compress on your skin to cool you down. during the show, you stand with ross's wifey and a cup of soup at the side of the stage, bundled up in hoodies and cardigans and blankets but feeling better than you did beforehand, matty stealing little glances at you to see you're alright. it's a pretty quiet night for you and matty post-show - dinner, a shower together, some more paracetamol (for him too, so he doesn't get sick), and cups of tea and cuddles in bed. the best remedy, i think <3
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lavellenchanted · 3 months
Note
💙 + japril?
💙 Drunken Kiss
"Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are the prettiest shade of blue?"
Jackson - who has, in fact, been told that before and usually reacts with a laugh or maybe a wink - isn't quite sure why hearing that from April makes him feel so flustered. Maybe it's because she's staring up at him in a wide-eyed, wondering sort of way, something soft and vulnerable in her face.
It's not something he wants to look at too closely, though, so for now he simply shoves it to one side and focuses down on his roomate and the empty bottle of wine on the couch beside her.
"April, are you drunk?"
"They are. Like a really soft duck egg blue. Although in some lights they look kind of green, did you know that?"
He also puts to one side the notion that she's been making some kind of study of his eyes. "April."
"Yes, I'm drunk. So what? It's New Year's Eve. Aren't you supposed to get drunk on New Year's Eve? Aren't you drunk?"
She's got a point. Jackson is lightly buzzed after a glass or two of champagne, but he had those at his mother's lavish party where there were also plenty of canapes being served, while it looks to him like April's been getting drunk by herself with only their TV for company.
"Okay, let me rephrase. Why have you been getting drunk here instead of elsewhere? Didn't you have a party to go to, at a friend's?"
He knows she did, because she's still wearing the short, green silk dress she had picked out for it, although her hair's not quite as neat as it was a few hours ago and she's kicked off her high heels. But she still looks good; Jackson had to try very hard not to notice how long her legs looked in that dress earlier, and it's even harder now when he's got a couple of drinks in him.
April looks away from him, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout that he briefly thinks is adorable before he shakes himself out of it.
"C'mon, April."
She sighs and flops back in her seat. "I did. I went for a bit. It sucked."
He sits down beside her, tilting his head questioningly. "How so?"
For a moment he thinks she's not going to answer and then, "Everyone was coupled up except me. I was literally the only person there without a date. Everyone was going to have a kiss at midnight except me. I decided I'd rather come home and get drunk enough to forget I was alone."
"Oh." Jackson doesn't really know what to say that, because he wasn't alone tonight - although honestly he doesn't know that it much of a step up because he's not actually sure what her name was and although he did kiss her at midnight she ended up leaving the party with someone else.
"Yeah, I know, I'm pathetic."
She's running a finger round the edge of her wine glass, her eyes downcast, and she looks so goddamn sad he can't stand it. He wants to do something, anything, to make her feel better.
"You're not pathetic, April. You're not. Who the fuck cares if you didn't have a date on New Year's Eve? You're an incredible surgeon who saves lives every day, you're smart and funny and fun. You're amazing. And there's someone out there who will see that and think he's the luckiest guy in the world to be with you."
"You really think that?" When she looks up at him, tears glinting along her lashes, something twists in his stomach.
"Yeah, I really do. C'mon, let's get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."
Nodding, she lets him pull her up and usher her across the apartment to her room; he can already see her drooping, tiredness starting to drape across her shoulders like a physical weight.
". . . thanks, Jackson," she whispers, turning to open the door, but at the last minute an insane urge takes him and he grabs her hand and pulls her back.
"Hey." Gently, he lifts her chin and then bends down to press a soft kiss to her lips. It's not quite as coordinated as he might have liked since they're both drunk; their teeth clack together and he can taste the wine she's been drinking, but somehow it sets his heart beating faster than any kiss he can remember having.
He puts it down to the champagne and pulls back. "Happy New Year, April."
Her face is flushed, and that wondering look is back in her eyes. His gut clenches again.
"Happy New Year, Jackson," she murmurs.
Before he can give into any more stupid impulses, he backs off and heads to his own room - but at the door he stops and glances back. April's just disappearing into her room, but he can see she's lifted a hand to lightly touch her lips.
Jackson's heart is still racing as he shuts the door behind him, and he shakes his head at his own stupidity. What the hell was he doing? That's his best friend, and his roommate. He just . . .
. . . he just wanted to make her feel better.
It's fine, he tells himself. They're both drunk. April probably won't even remember tonight.
And yet, he can't entirely ignore the part of himself that hopes she might.
kiss prompts
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svtjinny · 11 months
Text
JUYEON :: GAME CATERERS x SVT | 01
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[editors captions] | speaking | english , but she only speaks it once and it's clarified there warning: food mentions, use of a razor is mentioned [if i forgot anything don't hesitate to lmk and i'll add it here] for context, during the filming of game caterers she was blonde. she dyed her hair again soon after.
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ep 1-1
the first time you see jinny in the episode is when the camera turns to hoshi, mingyu & jinny squatting during s.coups's intro
then again you can see the three
jinny : do well, leader coups!
the camera cuts to jinny yelling during mingyus intro
finally its jinny's part!! they played hot
[ Finally, the 14th member ]
[ The second blonde in SEVENTEEN ]
[ The older ones are her fanboys ]
jinny starts dancing to the post chorus, up until the end of her part (end of chorus)
[ (Jinny) (Vocal Team) (Youngest) ]
[ (Designated cook of SEVENTEEN) ]
[ (Always a Social Butterfly) ]
everyone was shouting during her part as always.. and she was just dancing there and giggling
jinny's last part in the intro is during the super dance bit where they cut to her dancing
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theres a small scene of her while they're standing
jinny : i'm already tired and it's only the first time.. how will we perform this...?
she starts laughing when seungkwan is trying to introduce the show
jinny : our seungkwannie works too hard, can you tell? while looking at the staff sitting down LMAO
when they're going to sit she walks in after dino & sits with him, next to joshua
[ (Golden Kids sit together) ]
when s.coups says he doesn't have any friends sitting around him, jinny leans back in her seat and looks towards him
jinny : you'll start rumors with that kind of talk..
during seungcheol's interview she looks at him at the "curious meerkats" part
jinny : [turns to chan] you know, i've been wondering why you've been so moody lately~ while he was explaining why he and seungkwan fought
when joshua picked up his water bottle she moved away so fast
jinny : i was scared he was actually gonna do it :(
[ (Has to keep her guard up) ]
after jun explained while he was so quiet during hybe picnic, the camera cut to jinny looking at him and then a couple of videos of her interacting with EVERYONE at the picnic :sob:
[ Unlike Jinny, who was ready to greet everyone~ ]
when jun said they weren't normal she laughed
jinny : wow, junnie.. i thought you loved us?
that was her last scene in 1-1
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ep 1-2
jinny's first part in 1-2 was her agreeing woozi never leaves home
jinny : i always have to drag him out...he's like a vampire
[ Youngest in charge of getting her brothers to sunlight? ]
seungkwan : [seungkwans interview part // after hoshi, before the na pd coupon bit] after the show, jinny told me "you could do better at hosting, honestly"
[ M COUNTDOWN Host Jinny giving feedback ]
the camera cut to jinny laughing at what he said
jinny : i was teasing him~ in all seriousness, i was proud of seungkwan-oppa for being able to host in the show in front of all the groups even though he was nervous
jinny : ["dino, which razor did you use today?" // while they were laughing] he used gillette~ i watched him earlier
[ (16 year best friend can confirm for us) ]
finally it's jinny's turn!
na pd : jinny.. ah, there you are. nice to see you again.
[ Finally, the last member Jinny ]
[ Jinny was the extrovert of Game Caterers x HYBE! ]
na pd : when we looked at the comments of the videos with you before, CARATs were saying you were so friendly with every group there because you were already friends with them. is that true?
jinny : partly, yes! i've either worked with them all on choreo or songs or i knew them from being an MC. but, i am just naturally friendly.. i think i would've felt a little awkward if i just sat there like my members.
[ Youngest is the extrovert of the group ^^ ]
dino : i can back that up! jinny was the one who asked to be friends when we first met..
dokyeom : i remember when we began training as a group, jinny would go out of her way to talk to everyone
jinny : she got flustered :( i wanted to get to know the people i would be stuck in a group with.. you guys are much different now though..
[ (Jinny, is that good or bad?) ]
her bit was her last part in 1-2 !
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ep 1-3
this time she sits between seungkwan & seungcheol [ 1:32 : she sits between kwan & hoshi | 14:49 : she sits between cheol & hoshi | 18:30 & 18:49 : she sits between to wonwoo & joshua | 20:35 : she's second in line, next to wonwoo ]
they changed seats so many times.. so if you wanna know where she sits when they move, refer to this LMAO
jinny : ["the game is over food"] food? i think i'll be good at this.. then she giggled
[ (SEVENTEEN's Food Know-It-All) ]
the camera went to her agreeing and laughing when seungcheol said they only listen to the minority in arguments
jinny : [when everyone began yelling over acorn jelly] you see, this is how we settle arguments...shouting
the camera cuts to her being zoned out until cheol gets his question wrong
jinny : [to cheol] yah, why are you sitting there? you're not good at games..
jinny : [ when mingyu moves // to seungkwan ] i think we were all just nervous, kwannie, cut him some slack
cue cheol hitting her leg right after that bc of what she said to him before LMAO
[ (Jinny was the only one to get a question right last year) ]
[ Perks of being an MC? ]
jinny : ["i don't think i'll get it" - wonwoo] i'm sure you'll do fine, oppa. i think it's a lot more nerve-wracking when it's almost your turn. she pats his shoulder while speaking
wonwoo gets his question right :proud: it's jinny's turn now !!!
[ (Next is Jinny, master at the character quiz) ]
the camera zooms in on her concentrating; her person was taeyeon & ofc she got it right !!!! that's mother
jinny : [she puts her head in her lap then brings it back up] wow, i was so scared it would be someone i didn't know..
mingyu : but who don't you know?? [some members start to laugh]
seungkwan : right right, that's what i was going to say!
[ Her members disagree with her for once ]
[ (Let's keep this in mind next time SEVENTEEN visits) ]
jinny : [when joshua got his 'cramp'] she looks at the camera while smiling and then turns to joshua playing along and saying are you okay?
that's it for 1-3 !!
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ep 1-4
jinny's first scene was when they reached shua hoshi n cheol on the quiz
[ Urgh/Performance Team leader/Knows everyone/Leader]
her next part is after dino gets mimi
her person was irene (rv) please she was so relieved
jinny got down to the floor and bowed bc they gave her such an easy question :sob:
[ (Thankful for getting someone who she admires) ]
[ (Jinny is the REVELUV president!) ]
jinny : [to hoshi] it's okay~ it can't be that bad...horanghae!
[ (Encouragement) ]
and then the camera turns to staff going "aww".. she gained some fans that day
she moved to the middle between wonwoo and hansol
jinny : you got it wrong? amazing [eng.]
and some of the members started mimicking her "amazing"
[ The two peaks: Jinny and Vernon ]
[ (It's Jinny's turn) ]
her character was wonyoung !!! got it right obvi
[ (Jang Wonyoung, who she's made songs for) ]
[ Even helped with her debut ] + they played a snippet of eleven
jinny : i don't have any faith in us winning the kimchi, but at least i got all my questions right!
they all starting shouting when she said that and she just laughed LMAO
[ (The one who's usually loud watching chaos surround her) ]
skip to when they were eating gyu's cake; she was standing next to joshua (around 23:40)
the camera was zoomed in and you could see shua holding jinny's chin and feeding her a piece
[ (Taking good care of their sister) ]
and that's all! part one was so chaotic but yk i had to end it on a cute note
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from xia ! : ermm i got too lazy to change the bold
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goldenkamuyhunting · 6 months
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I wonder if you still will answer an ask / question. My ask is Do you personally think / feel there is some character that's like ended up a waste ( in term development ) or just.. didn't need to exist / continue into the next chapter at some point ? Like example, in your analysis Ogata should just died in vol 19 something like that I think.. I suddenly think like.. Vasily is a big waste or maybe he shouldn't continue to be Ogata's rival because I personally dont see it, sometimes i really think he's just like a fan service character ? Vasily went to take revenge on Ogata and go as for to Japan for that, that sound kinda romantic or something someone said that and i really dont see that ( I think Vasily fans gonna hate me ). I think Tsukishima & Koito prolly the same case at the end how they ended up breaking their loyalty to Tsurumi. I'm sorry if it's wrong the end of chapter kinda confuse me a lot.
Yes, I do still answer, even if sometimes I'm really slow about it.
Should I warn everyone that this isn't a Noda apprecciation post and that the back button in this case might be your best friend?
I hope people will be intuitive enough to figure it out on their own so without further ado let's dig into this.
Do I personally think / feel there is some character that's like ended up a waste ( in term development ) or just.. didn't need to exist / continue into the next chapter at some point ?
Oh yes. I feel quite a lot got wasted and this doesn't include just characters but also plot points actually.
Before someone will say something, I'll clear up a couple of things about what I mean.
First of all, this is my personal opinion. It's not The Truth. It's just how I feel.
Second, for me a story has to fit with Anton Chekhov's advice: If it's not essential, don't include it in the story. Especially, I'll add, if you want to write only 31 volumes and then you'll end up rushing things to fit everything in them.
So, let's start.
Let's cut from the story Sugimoto's feelings for Umeko which go nowhere and supposedly ended when Kikuta told him he should let Umeko go. He could be just in the story to help a friend's wife. After all that's why he's in the story in the anime, which completely cut Umeko's role and, anyway, it seems that's what Noda wanted since Sugimoto supposedly wanted to marry Umeko solely because Toraji told him so.
Q: Sugimoto’s main motivation to participate in the gold hunt was to heal Umeko, the girl who was his childhood friend and whom he loved. However, in the last chapter, he gives his share of the gold to Umeko’s son, since her eyes were already healed. Why did you do that?
Noda: If Umeko had not remarried and her eyes weren’t healed, the story would have needed a few more chapters, which, considering that it was post-climax, would have made it drag on needlessly.
The reason for that is Toraji told Sugimoto to get together with Umeko before dying, and he is not the kind of guy who could have ignored that and return to Hokkaido with Asirpa. [Noda’s interview for Yomiuri online paper]
Actually also let's cut her eye problems. Let's send Sugimoto to get money for Toraji's son, so he can go to school. If the whole thing with Umeko becomes a bother that needs to be solved offscreen without Sugimoto's intervention, let's just not include it.
The same goes for Ogata's feelings for his grandmother. We are told that Ogata didn't kill Tanigaki because he was a grandmother's boy and so he didn't want to murder Huci even though not killing Tanigaki causes him plenty of troubles and then... it turns out in an interview he probably poisoned his grandparents and they're no more discussed in the story.
Q17: Are Ogata’s grandparents still alive? If not, how did they die? Noda: They both disappeared before Ogata enlisted. There was half-eaten food left on the table. [Q&A section from the Golden Kamuy fanbook]
Honestly I would cut also Tanigaki's tragic backstory with his sister because... it goes nowhere in the end. He completely forgets he was meant to go back home and tell his father how his sister died, he actually goes back home because he has Inkarmat and Tsurumi is hunting him.
And since we're at it, let's cut the whole "Huci might die of worry for Asirpa", since Huci gets all better as soon as they hand her a baby.
Note that those plot points were all things I liked when I assumed they would go somewhere... instead they are just brushed off, forgotten or solved offscreen. They didn't really serve to the story, Ogata could have not killed Tanigaki because too many in the village saw him entering in Huci's house and might attack him if he were to shoot at her, and Tanigaki could have gone after Asirpa because she saved his life.
Then we've characters like Svetlana, who served zero purpose, Ogata and Vasily that were kept alive for no reason at all after Vol 19, the whole subplot with Central that went nowhere along with Wada's murder, since Tsurumi has the support of Yodogawa and could have gotten the weapons from him instead than doing it from behind Wada's back and then killing him.
To have Wilk include, among the tattooed convicts, a well known child murderer and who cares if that guy would go on murdering children once free (even though murdering children is generally considered one of the most disgusting crimes even by criminals) and his daughter is also a child, makes a huge disservice to Wilk as a supposedly good father.
Saving Tsurumi was unneeded, and the same goes for the whole Tsukishima-Koito-Tsurumi plot that goes nowhere.
Sofia shouldn't have known she had no part in Tsurumi's daughter's death if, afterward, she was meant to die thinking solely at how regretful she felt for it, and not at how her men died because she thought trying to fulfil Wilk and Kiro's dream was a good plan.
And since Jack the Ripper was clearly so poorly researched about, Noda could have just turned him into some Japanese mad slasher, no need to toss in the story another murderer who kills because he's a Christian with warped beliefs like Sekiya... and talking about warped belief and psychological problems already seen, we've Heita who has warped Ainu religion beliefs and hears voices like Edogai... okay, he's actually worse than Edogai but still close enough.
And what about the fake skins plot? Noda even forgot one of those fake skins at a certain point and solved the plot abruptly.
Ariko didn't need to 'die' to be resurrected short after and then STAY OUT OF THE STORY and not even help Asirpa, despite his father being the one who triggered the Ainu massacre falling for Tsurumi's manipulation. Not that the guy knows so this too was unneeded.
And actually the story would have probably benefitted by having Inkarmat die due to her wound and Ienaga be killed once she saved Sugimoto.
And should we dig into Tsukishima's tragic backstory which also go nowhere?
Or the rather terrible story of the raped white bear?
The extra story of the roasted little bird?
The whole "Wakayama was the one behind the skin in Barato" plot with annexed the whole "searching for the skins is useless" which gets forgotten with a shrug?
And let's not forget the whole Central plot that goes nowhere. Tsurumi knew already of the gold, Ogata got involved by Central for unclear reasons (why pick him?) and Kikuta got in the game too late and contributed too little all for Central to do basically nothing in the story.
And, since we're at it, the whole Noboribetsu thing was also handled poorly.
I guess I could add more but that's what came to my mind as of now. I fear it's already way too much...
Now, I've basically rushed up through everything and I realize this instead would need to be expanded to be more understandable, as some plot points/characters might seem of relevance... when actually could have been solved way more quickly and efficently... especially since at the end Noda rushed through the story because he wanted to end at vol 31.
If one has a set a specific volume for the ending he should do well his math and not add extra that merely dilute the story for no real purpose.
If it's not essential, don't include it in the story.
But whatever, if you or someone else now feels the need for clarifications of why some plot points/characters felt useless/didn't deserve to live that long, you can write me.
If you or someone else feel they actually were important, okay, that's your opinion, I'm not saying you've to change it, just don't try to change mine. I prefer not to argue about things I didn't like of GK, it makes happy no one and feels rather boring.
Sorry if this wasn't what you were hoping for and thank you for your ask!
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scoonsalicious · 20 days
Note
sigh. what did I say. WHAT DID I JUST SAY. I KNEW something was going to happen with that little interaction Steveioli BUT I DIDN'T EXPECT IT TO BE THAT MUCH OF A SHITSHOW WHERE IT'S ACTUALLY PUBLIC?! WITH LOTS?! OF ARTICLES?! Because look, someone sending it to Bucky is one thing, he can wallow in his insecurity but can probably still contain a level head. BUT EVERYONE SPECULATING IT? I can already imagine him spiraling. How can you not? Imagine reading so many articles about the person you love being paired with "America's Golden Hero" who seems to do no wrong, someone who you're already insecure with and you KNOW has feelings for her and then seeing all the people describing them as "perfect for each other" and that "they're meant to be" or "couple goals" etc. etc. and when public opinion about YOU is as bad as is going to get, and you're already thinking that she deserves better...the articles are basically feeding into what Bucky's been fearing the most. Like yeah, Bucky might not entirely believe that Steve and Pocket got together, but the thought of them being a better pair and Steve being better for her? I don't think he could easily shake that off. AND ON TOP OF THAT (I WANT TO SCREAM) HE HAS A LITERAL DEVIL ON HIS SHOULDER!!! JUDAS IS FOR SURE THE FIRST TO SHOW HIM THE ARTICLES. and I can already TELL she's been feeding his fears and doubts and insecurities more and more. Strike them at a vulnerable time right? And when Bucky is already in a fragile state (which I'm sure he is given that those articles had pictures), with an already fragile self-esteem to begin with, he's going to jump through that rabbit hole with no problem. (to add, the whole thing that PR person said, about praying that Pocket and Bucky dating would be bad for her image, I think Bucky already knows that)
I'm scared as to what Bucky might do honestly, because technically, they aren't really together so him sleeping with Julio is technically not cheating. (please if you can be so nice and put a hint that it won't be that bad and quell my anxious heart) BUT STILL. there's a lot of implications to that because Bucky already said he never thought of her that way, so him actually sleeping with her? It will seem that all of what he said were all LIES. AND NOW POCKET CAN REALLY TRUST HIM ANYMORE. Or maybe it won't actually end up having sex, maybe there was an ATTEMPT but the second Bucky got close to Joe, he immediately vomited (in her face preferably) and he physically couldn't do it, knowing how much it would hurt Pocket. I mean, he still loves her very much, I don't think he's truly capable of intentionally hurting her. But, I mean, I could be wrong. If any of this happened though, and while I understand what might've pushed him, I don't think there's any coming back from this for Bucky. (But I am hopefully I'm so so wrong because I have full faith in you to redeem him and I don't think you'll put him in a place of no return)
God...I really wished Pocket told Bucky about the dance as soon as it was over but for one, she doesn't owe him anything since again, they technically weren't together and nothing really happened apart from friends having a conversation and dancing innocently. and two, she couldn't have predicted this even if she tried. I mean no one could've known that someone was taking photos of them (i'll touch on that in a sec) And Nat does have a point, it'd be so rich of Bucky to question Pocket's intentions and not trust her. But goodness, my heart is breaking for her because she's already telling Bucky she's ready to try again, and that she wants to try this again with him and I know that's not going to happen any time soon because Bucky's going to ruin it :(
Now, with the articles, obviously someone there was pulling the strings and I have a feeling Steve might've been stoking that fire. You're a supersoldier with enhanced senses, SURELY you could feel that someone is taking discreet pictures? I usually don't dwell on anonymous sources because articles can just put those in even though no one ever said anything. But this time though, the fact that they specifically said to be unnamed? I'm wondering who else is doing things for Jelani. Could the anon sources be her? Because I honestly don't believe for a second that she didn't have a hand in this. Steve too. I know he's involved somehow, I'm just not quite sure how deep.
Sigh. I haven't even touched on Bucky not answering the goddamn phone. I hope he's okay and unharmed. But that would mean he's purposefully ignoring Pocket. (I sound evil but him being hurt and not being able to get to his phone is far better than him purposely ignoring her) And sigh, I said something about communication didn't I? I really wished he could at least have the decency to answer his phone and let Pocket tell her side. He owes her that at least. But idk, I can only imagine his headspace right now, and it's not at all good. He's probably hurt, angry, anxious, and then angry at himself for being hurt or doubting Pocket, (along with Juana not helping with those at all) he's a wreck, I tell you that much. And my hope that he won't do something stupid is this 🤏 big.
Honestly, I kept muttering "oh no" & "this is a nightmare" over and over while reading the parts, and while I was anxious during that, after typing this out, i just feel tired and dejected and just accepting this to blow up in my face because i know shit's about to blow and I already thinking the worst so it's either not going to be as bad as I thought, or that I'm right and I've already prepared myself.
Anyway, Chapter 18 is almost here. I can't wait for this to finally erupt to now we can spend time with the aftermath and I really excited to see what you've cooked up for this! (still hoping Bucky and Pocket will be endgame but god, Bucky has so much shit to do to make up for it). Again, you're amazing! keep going and sending you love!
— Jnon 🤍
My dearest Jnon, Fuck, it's late and I was just about to go to bed, but then I saw your latest missive, and I could not let it wait until the morrow!
(Spoilers beyond the cut, be warned!)
Let me alleviate your fears enough to say that the articles were not some nefarious scheme concocted by Steveoli or John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt. Unfortunately, it was just your basic paparazzi at a fancy gala full of NYC rich people looking for a story. Like many trash rags, they took a singular moment and built up an entire fiction all around it that took on a life of its own. Just some insidiousness that had no need to be masterminded by our diabolical duo (or, at least, our diabolical dame; jury's still out on the dude). It's, unfortunately, just some crappy concurrent event that a certain person decides to use to their advantage. A coincidence. I must say, your insight into where I'm coming from with Bucky's line of thinking is top notch. If I didn't know any better, I'd think I was writing these Jnons, myself, you seem to know my thought process so well! I'm afraid I can't give you a hint, because you already have all the clues you need to see where this is going, unfortunately. I can tell you that we'll get some insight into what Bucky's thinking about this point in time in Chapter 27. Which is a long ways away, and I'm sorry.
One thing I do want to mention regarding the "unnamed source" in the Tower: I worded it very specifically. They said "certain super soldier," no names given. So, technically, a person could have been talking about Pocket and Bucky and would have been being truthful; the trash rag is just guilty of shitty journalism practices, lol. GOD, I wish I could say more, but I can't! It would be more spoilery than I've been already! GAAAAAH! As always, your comments make my day. I love them, and I love you. I'm giving these their own hashtag now. They will henceforth be known as Jnon Reports. Because I must share them with the world. The world needs them.
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satanprotectsme · 1 year
Text
The Girl in the Record Store - Chapter 2
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Eddie Munson x Metalhead! Reader
Chapter Summary: It's your first day at Hawkins High, and it's just as chaotic as Eddie warned you it would be. He's there to help you navigate it, though.
Warnings: Angst, bullying, emotional, lmk if there's anything else I don't think there is!.
A/N: I try not to use (Y/N) in my writing, so he usually uses pet names instead even though they're not dating yet. I use petnames with people casually so I don't know if it's awkward or not, I'm sorry if it is!"
Waking up in the damp, humid, Indiana heat is something I don't think I'll ever get used too. I rip my sweat-soaked sheets off my body as fast as I can. Cracking my neck, I begrudgingly pull myself out of bed.
The thought of stepping foot into Hawkins High makes me want to vomit. Of course, I was eager to see Eddie again. We'd talked over the phone many times, and as happy as that made me, I miss that sweet smile that adorns his face. I miss the smirk that would lift his features while we spoke; I could basically hear it overtaking his lips we spoke over the phone.
I don't spend too much time getting ready, just powdering on some makeup and pulling on a simple, little black dress, leather jacket to match. I get into the car my dad had given me, a black 1969 Plymouth Barracuda, and start her up.
When I pull into the parking lot, I sling my backpack over my shoulders and hold my jacket around my forearm. A beige and brown van pulls in beside me. Eddie jumps out of the sliding door and smiles.
"Eddie!" I squeal, jumping back. "You scared the shit out of me!" I giggle, smacking his chest. He grabs his heart.
"Oh! Sweetheart!" He leans back. "You wound me," I laugh, rolling my eyes. I wander away from him, not looking back. "Do you have your schedule?" He asks, running up behind me.
"Yeah," I smile, handing it to him. "Do we have any classes together?"
"A couple, but they're both at the end of the day. You're gonna have to wait until after lunch."
"At least it's something!" My futile attempts to be optimistic are in vain. "Can you show me where Mr Latters class is?"
"Oh, Mr Latter? He's tough."
As he walks me to my class, all my jittery gaze will focus on is my peers stares, they're laced with venom. I lock eyes with one of the cheerleaders, but my gentle smile was met with a laugh. Eddie's voice, right next to my ear, feels drowned out and far away, in a catatonic state. I yearned for butterflies in my stomach, but I'm agonized with hornets stinging my guts.
"Sweetheart?" Eddie calls out for me, dragging me out of my stupor. I look up, we're outside of my class. "Hey! You okay?" He reaches his hand out for my shoulder. I nod.
"Yeah, I'm just a bit nervous," A feeble smile overtakes my lips, my eyes, however, still had hot tears welling in their ducts.
"You'll be fine, the assholes at this school won't do anything,"
"Thank you Eddie," I breathed, air barely escaped past my swelling heart and lungs, ready to split my figure in half.
"Go get 'em tiger!" He gently pushes me through the doorway, I giggle. Everyone's eyes on me as I walk in is definetely a bit jarring, but I just take a seat in the back of the class.
The first day at a new school might be the most unbearable thing I've experienced in my life so far. Having to introduce yourself everytime you walk into a room gets tiring. Hearing the hushed yet pointed laughs directed at me stung.
I was being circled by hyenas, and all I had to push them away was my pride. When the bell rang, I sped my way to the cafeteria, I look around for Eddie and his friends. I wasn't allowed to look for long though, it'd be too easy if I actually got to see them. Three tall guys and a cheerleader stand like a wall in front of me, the hyenas finally pounced.
"Nice to see the freaks have a new little freakette to hang out with," The blonde one laughs. His hubris was almost pitiful. I push to walk around him, but another guy blocks me from leaving. The cheerleader cackles.
"Freakette! Look at her that dress too, she'll probably be passed around by them. She's the only slut even willing to converse with that cult," we're similar heights, but it feels like she's looming over me.
Back at home, I'd probably stand my ground, even throw a punch or two, but I froze. "I'm not a slut," I hissed, barely loud enough for them to hear it.
"What was that?" the cheerleader slowly stalks towards me. Their predatory presence is enough to pierce my nerves, I can't help but shift back. If this was a one on one standoff, I'd be able to fend for myself, but the vulturine gaze all of them are holding over me is too much, I can't steer them away. After shifting back for a while, I feel hands on my arms.
"Actually, she said she's not a slut," Eddie snaps. I feel him pull me back, away from the instigators.
"Awww, the freak stepped in for his little freakette!" The blonde snickers. I pull myself away from Eddie and storm off, through the side doors, and to the parking lot. I swing open my car door and lean over the steering wheel. I look up to see Eddie jogging towards me. He leans into the passenger side window.
"Can I come in?"
"Yeah, of course," he opens the door and sits in the seat next to me.
"I'm sorry sweetheart, I should've stepped in sooner, I-"
"It's fine Eddie," I dont mean to cut him off, but listening to him apologize made me feel worse. "God, I don't know how I'm ever going to step back in there," I chuckle, but my face is burning up red.
He looks down at his lap, fiddling with his hands before covering his mouth. "I'm sure you'll be fine, I'll be there for you next time, alright?"
"It's okay, Eddie, you don't have to fight my battles for me like that," I sigh. I play with the charm on my choker, my father had made it for me so long ago. He said it made me look mean and scary, like the badass little rockstar I am, that all the kids at my school wouldn't fuck with me when I wore it. That worked when I was a young kid, but not when you're 18.
"I guess I've just been fighting them off for years and I'm used to it, I'm sorry," He chuckles a little. "I don't know what your home town was like, but this is what small town Indiana is. I'm really trying to graduate this year, I wanna get out. All this cult talk and being an outsider since middle school, it's shit."
"Shit," I repeat. Looking up at him. "Where do you wanna go?"
"Fuck, anywhere that isn't here," He exasperated, sputtering into a smile. "C'mon, let's go back inside, you can't back down on your first day."
"I don't know," I trail off. He wraps and arm around me, and all the tenseness in my body seeps away. My soul was at ease in his presence, for the first time in my whole life.
"I haven't know you for very long, but I know you're strong, especially stronger than them," He looks deep into my eyes, a sweet smile laid on his lips. I sigh, but I can't help cracking one in return.
"Fine, let's go.
"Atta' girl!"
With a red dot on my back, I walk back into the school. The hyena’s still circled, but this time, I had a lion to fight them off for me. I got to spend the rest of my day with Eddie, at least until had to go back to work.
Thanks for reading!!!
its a little bit of a rushed ending but i didn’t know what to do 😭😭
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yoodokjas · 9 months
Note
What trope would you put Joongdok in?
i honestly think that when it comes to joongdok it would be much easier if i answered with the tropes i WOULDNT put them in 😭😭
oh boy here i go! let's start with two of the most obvious first:
1. matching outfits with opposite color schemes, and 2. opposites (leo & aquarius) attract (<- attract as in lowkey bordering in codependency)
yin & yang - not only are joongdok aesthetically yin&yang but narratively too (i mentioned in a previous ask that they're sky & earth too)
star-crossed - (if you believe in orv's sad ending)
life (and death) companions - is probably a trope on its own considering the meaning of the title. not only does it mean (i ran the term through a thesaurus so yall don't have to 👍🏻👍🏻) "a romantic partner with whom one is exceptionally or uniquely compatible or has a special connection" but the synonyms are also of the romantic variety ranging from (but not limited to) life partner, best friend, soulmate, spouse, true love, one's promised, significant other, love of one's life, beloved, heart's desire etc (long story short, pretty sick tbh. no wonder kr dudebros threw a fit in singshong's comment section over it. i get it) and what makes it infinitely funnier is that it started as crack being treated seriously 😭😭😭😭
anyway, continuing where i left off, Soulmates - kdj is the reason yjh exists. yjh is the reason kdj lives. (hsy wrote both of them in a way that they became each other's salvation hence their position of reader-protagonist gets switched in the epilogue and both of them have admitted that reading about the other's story has saved their lives)
everyone ships them/everyone can see it - uriel, gabriel, ljh, hsy, jhw, lsh, anna croft, persephone/hades (the third eligible candidate to marry kdj was yjh and you will never be able to convince me otherwise. also if you have an answer other than yjh ur wrong), yma (if webtoon dares not to draw the "oppa looks happy when thinking about that ahjussi" you'll see me on the news) the wenny king. heck even gong pildu, upon some consideration and by method of elimination, deduced that theres no way kdj has enough rizz to pull neither ysa nor hsy therefore who was left to be the one who helped kdj birth his "child" (kidified sp) ??? yjh obv 😭😭 and why would he question the possibilities of mpreg when hmo is right there anyway. heck hmo even told kdj that he should try it.
when one is hurt/dying/dead, the other rages, panics, is extremely distressed - (maybe there's a shorter way to say this like "who did this to you" but joongdok have ascended past cheesy romances 😝) disaster of flood arc, aftermath of dark castle, the fight with surya, 1863, aftermath of sp's kidnapping etc
hates everyone but you - sure yjh doesnt hate All constellations but he for sure hates all demon kings. (mini fun fact about me, up until joongdok rebranded my brain, i didnt like this trope)
aloof x low self-esteem = both emotionally constipated 🙄🙄
derogatory term becomes a term of endearment - fool/sunfish (bastard)
bickering like a married couple - is this a trope? well it is now
denial of attraction/closeness - just two men who most definitely never lie when it comes to their feelings
identity theft - without malicious intent (i hope!! *stares at all the atrocities kdj has committed using yjh's name*)
masterchef x disaster in the kitchen - very, very, very simplified version of the trope. wouldnt call kdj a disaster but definitely a worse cook than yjh (subtrope would be [pro-gamer x game tester])
famous x fan - lol "famous"
annoying x annoyed - (kdj: breathes. yjh: ugh drop dead. kdj: drops dead. yjh: wait no-💢)
A thinks B will be happy without him / B doesn't know how (doesn't want) to live without A - 51kdj seeing 49kdj leave with yjh and the others, thinking that he and yjh will set on a journey together to find tls123 / museum fight
will sacrifice everyone/everything for the other - *cracks knuckles* when 41st sys tries to give yjh a 2nd chance to save himself and his old companions and all he had to do was say that kdj isn't his companion. when kdj admits that 1863rd hsy's plan to see the ending of the scenarios is smart and well-thought out but because that world doesn't need yjh he doesn't cooperate. (side story spoilers below, but when you think about it long enough the side story came to be because yjh spread orv to lhh's worldline. all the deaths happening because yjh needs to collect a fragment of kdj's soul from that world)
speaking of lhh, reincarnation - now hear me out. not your typical reincarnation but bcs we know that 49kdj's wish was to reincarnate into someone that doesn't have anything to do with kimcom -> subtrope: doesn't want to be found / is found
amnesia - 0 is also not your typical amnesiac
god x god's favorite
age gap - theyre both the same age and simultaneously have age gap(s) make of that what you will
important symbol - (object) pocket watch
glucose guardian - listen!! listen!! sp/kdj and 0/51 exist okay
harem - sorry i couldnt help it
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