#orange model management

[unholyeverything]

I just realised tomorrow marks the 7ths week of me being sick and feeling like garbage lol It's some ups and downs but generally it's been a while since I've been healthy and none knows whats up which is nice.

#been to the doctor so many times #and at least my general doc is trying but she cant figure out what's wrong #and the throat specialist I've been to twice in one month got a very helpful “sounds like stress and you imagine all” for me #like thanks i keep having my ear throat and nose inflamed constantly and nothing i tried so far helped but surely its stress #my doc suspected a virus but we also didnt find any active anti bodies #so i was just told to rest and was off work for two weeks that also did nothing #so i worked again even tho my doc was like maybe not but i got psychological issues being home with nothing to do #gotta go to my dentist tomorrow to see if the source is there #but im sure its my ears but I'll never go back to that doc #i was there twice a month cuz it kept getting worse and got a stress stamp #stress i didnt even have lately cuz i got a healthy fuck you all work motivation now #and now I'll lose all chance for promotion cuz i cant do my usual 200% and my bosses translate that with: she broken now bye #going great #also don't really have motivation to draw anymore #I started to build model sets but idk if anyone would wanna see those #I also got a cyst on my ovaries and got an appointment in july #that gives me serious pms like i never had it before but ok #someone knows a doc that'll remove the whole uterus i don't need that shit anymore #anyways in case anyone's been wondering where i am lately or if anyone even read this my asks are open if anyone wants to ask smth #or ask my OCs they live rent free in my head and are very precious to me #even my new car is named Michael #he's cute and my record so far been 190km/h #one day I'll do the 225 he can do #just get off the road that day pls #that car was the onyl thing i worked for so idk what to do with my life now #save for car repairs maybe #anyone wants a pic of my child #he's orange #I'm very proud of myself i managed to save up for him quiet fast #these tags are wild but I'm feeling a bit more energetic thanks to some plant supplements my uncle gave me

[phanchester]

people on twitter are complaining about paying for the kiswe livestream and it’s really fucking grinding my gears. why the fuck are you mad at dan making something he’s worked on for an incredibly long time available for every fan to see without that financial barrier? YOU chose to pay for it. dan is not a villain for making money off his project. plus it is clear from many of his tweets that he had wanted to make it public from the beginning, but he was discouraged by his management. he had to work hard to get it available on youtube - and he did it as soon as he could, as he said in one of his tweets.

paying for the livestream is no different than paying for a patreon. it’s the same type of model - videos available to you before the public. PLUS the livestream has so many other things! even if you DID just pay for the main package, which was without the orange carpet and q&a, you were able to comment live, get dan’s reactions, post video reactions… if you’re upset absolutely fuck off

edit: corrections because i wrote this in a flash of anger

main tickets DID have additional content including the orange carpet so no matter what ticket you got for the livestream you had that content (thank you @dreamingalto for pointing that out!)

his management wasn't necessarily discouraging him, but they did fail to sell the rights to bbc or other similar companies (read @goldenpinof's rb for further details)

in case anyone on twitter sees this, i would like to highlight what i said in the original tags that i am aware this is not a twitter phandom problem and phannies on twt are also complaining abt these type of people - as they should!

#ppl on twt are also upset abt these ppl btw #dan and phil #phan #phil lester #amazingphil #daniel howell #dan howell #danisnotonfire #wad #we’re all doomed

[bits-and-babs]

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐁𝐨𝐲 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Previous Joel Fics: Mule [5.1K], Atta Girl [10.2K]

Summary: Ellie steals one of Bills magazines and you and Joel decide to see what the fuss is about.

Word Count: 3k

CW: Possible spoilers for episode 3, but I haven’t seen it! Based on the game. Heavily inspired by my bestie @foxilayde. A much lighter fic than the last few, a little bit of dry comedy, a little bit of playful Joel, but also a little bashful. Consumption of porn magazine, companions to lovers(?), p in v sex, fingering. Not proof read.

Tease: “Can feel you squeezin’ me. You gonna c** for me?”

“N-Now Ellie, that ain’t for kids-“

“Woaaah!” Ellie had exclaimed, holding up the magazine rustling in her hand by her fingertips, her arm outstretched to take in the whole double page, “How- How the hell would he even walk around with that thing?!”

That had piqued your interest, eyes snapping up to the rearview mirror. Ellie was giggling, grinning from ear to ear as Joel turned in his seat to snatch the paper emblazoned with PLAYGIRL in red lettering from her hand.

“Would you jus’-“

“Hold your horses!” Ellie had insisted, “I wanna see what all the fuss is about!”

You hadn’t said anything at the time, chuckling at the way Joel’s cheeks flushed as Ellie asked all kinds of inappropriate questions. It was only when she discarded the pornographic magazine on the floor of the truck at the end of her smutty inquisition and fell asleep on the back seat upon Joel’s insistence that you made a note of where she had dropped it in the footwell.

Joel, having stopped to rest, slept in the front seat. His head tilted forwards; a gentle snore indicated he was out cold. With some courage and a little luck, you managed to grab the magazine without waking either of the sleeping duo and exit the truck.

Settling back in the bed of the pickup truck now and minding how uncomfortable it was to lean against the metal, you set a flashlight against the floor, open up the worn pages of the filthy magazine and chew nervously on your lower lip.

Of course, you weren’t to judge Bill for his sexuality. You never had before the outbreak, and there certainly wasn’t any point in being a bigot when the world had ended. In fact, thumbing through each crinkled page, you can’t help but thank Bill for his impressive collection of smutty male pages.

Each page had a collection of pictures and articles on everything from the ‘best sex positions for your zodiac signs’ to ‘average penis size of men around the world’. Clearly photographed in the 80s, based on the moustaches alone, each man photographed in a multitude of poses was muscular, slathered in oil, and donning the tiniest speedos while exhibiting the most prominent bulges beneath the aquablade fabric.

Ellie was right, how do they walk around with those things?

One, in particular, caught your eye; the sunset-orange speedos sat snug against the globes of his ass. The muscles in his back were defined, rippling with each of his poses. They were so clear beneath his golden tan you could probably label each picture like an anatomy textbook. He was pretty, and he made your face warm up.

“That your type?” A gruff, rumbling voice makes your body jolt in shock, inhaling a petrified gasp.

Joel had stepped out of the truck while you were distracted by the glutes and pectorals of the gorgeous male models, catching you off guard as he walked up behind you. He crossed his arms over his chest, biceps straining the sleeves of his denim shirt.

“Mhm- N-No! No, I was just reading about how standard American men have a less-than-average dick length,” you lie smoothly to cover up being caught red-handed, using some of the data you had read a few pages back. “What about yours? Is your moody personality compensating for something?”

“You ain’t funny,” he answers flatly, refusing to rise to your childish jabs as he climbs up into the truck bed with you. You catch a glimpse of the pistol buried in the waistband of his jeans, and your pulse races faster than it had with any of the round bums you’d seen in the pages.

“I’d say I’m hilarious. It’s the trauma of experiencing The End. It builds chara-cter,” you ramble, only stuttering when Joel manages to pry the glossy papers from your hands. His eyes scan over the page with a look of disinterest.

“But outta date, don’t you think?” He grumbles in that grumpy, man-child way he does that always has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. He’s pointing at the very 80s-style porn staches.

“Dunno, wouldn’t exactly call your facial hair ‘trendy’,” you scoff, watching him flick to the page titled in bold capitals: EXCITING SEX TRICKS TO TRY!

It’s ridiculous. You’re both grown adults, and it’s not as though the two of you were born during the outbreak. You’d both been through high school, and no doubt had sexual partners before Cordyceps took hold of the world. However, the prospect of talking sex with Joel Miller was mortifying.

You can feel the heat creeping up your throat as his eyes scan the sections of information with such indifference that you’re almost sure that he’s bored. Perhaps he was. It wasn’t as though you had caught him taking some time to himself during your great journey.

Joel is so lost in the writing that you allow yourself a moment to take in the slope of his nose, the slant of his cupid's bow framed by his greying moustache. Beneath his creased, frowning brow, his long lashes surround the deep brown of his eyes as they flick back and forth across the page. He was a handsome man. Was there no one waiting for him back in the Boston QZ? He’d never sa-

“The fuck is guddlin’?” Joel speaks out, shocking you from your thoughts with a start. You blink slowly, probably looking really fucking stupid as you choke on the words stuck in your throat when Joel looks up at you with a quirked brow.

“I-“

“I mean, I know guddlin’ in a fishin’ sense,” he interrupts, pointing to the page and prodding it with the tip of his finger, “Not in a-… Not in this sense, though.”

“Does-… Does it not explain?” You ask him quietly, your mouth suddenly very dry. Joel gives a light shrug, his eyes wandering over the page in search of a definition.

“Oh- Here,” he points out. He takes a second to read, his tanned skin tinged with pink as the words sink in. “Uhm… It’s- Well, it’s-“

Poor Joel looks as though he’s seconds away from an aneurysm attempting to explain the bizarre sex act without actually saying it. You scoff, snatching up the crinkled magazine and reading over the asterisk in small print at the bottom of the information page.

‘To insert one's finger(s) into a woman's vagina to pleasure her digitally while simultaneously having penile-vaginal intercourse with her.’

You pause, your lips parting as you look at Joel with a weak laugh. He’s rubbing at the back of his neck, eyes cast somewhere on the horizon in an attempt to avoid your own. He’s as embarrassed as you are, it seems, clearing his throat with a weak chuckle.

“Well,” he mumbled, eyes flicking to the magazine, “Must’a been good for it to end up in that.”

You nod slowly, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you glance down at the black and white print that appears to all blur together in embarrassment. “Mhm.”

You can feel your pulse between your thighs, your skin tingling beneath what you assume is Joel’s gaze. It’s crude, utterly filthy, but you can imagine the stretch, the feeling of his weapon-calloused fingertips coaxing your g-spot as he slowly sinks into you.

Slowly, with trembling hands, you close the magazine with a nervous laugh, discarding it with a half-hearted toss over the edge of the truck bed and onto the roadside. “Stupid shit anyway…”

Your aimless comment is met with silence, and you’re far too humiliated to face the notion of looking at Joel. You imagine he thinks you’re insane, having caught you reading and enjoying this filth.

“… Take it you ain’t tried that before?” Joel’s gruff voice cuts through the sound of the crickets in the surrounding grass, and you can’t help but laugh, simply shaking your head and avoiding his gaze.

A delicate brush of skin against your ankle sparks something raw up your spine. You look at it quickly, seeing Joel’s fingertips tracing the rough circumference of the joint beneath them. Your skin prickles pleasantly, and you look up at your partner- your smuggling partner- through your lashes.

His expression is firm, but his eyes betray his outward calm display. They’re flickering between your lips and eyes, his exhale slow as he attempts to force out some words he appears afraid to put out into the atmosphere.

“Do you… Do you wanna try it?”

It’s haphazard, delivered clumsily, and so utterly unlike Joel. You can see the cringe in his expression when the sentence settles in the air, and your heart lurches when you see he’s sincere. That he wants you and that he’s letting you know after years of hiding it from you.

God, you don’t even give him another second to doubt himself. You’re scrambling into his lap, straddling it and pressing your mouth to his in a kiss that hurts more than it pleases, his teeth scraping your lower lip and your tongue tracing his own.

You can feel it through the thin, worn denim of his jeans, the jump of his cock when you settle your crotch down against the seam. His hands are vicious, grasping handfuls of your thighs, your ass, your hips. He could bruise the shape of his fingerprints into you, and you’d thank him, would beg him to put you through the pain again to brand you as his.

He groans out your name into your mouth, but it sounds more like a growl rattling in his chest. You’re fumbling in the low lighting with his belt buckle, the clinking of the clasp bringing you relief when you free Joel’s hips from their leather confines. It’s almost frantic, the pace you set as you try and fail, try and fail before you successfully pop the button of his jeans and yank them over his hips. There’s not enough time to rid him of them completely, so Joel settles with the waistband resting just above his knees.

“C’mere,” Joel husks, his lips brushing yours as he speaks and forces your cargo pants over your hips without even bothering to let down the zip. It hurts a little, smarts, but it sparks something desperate in you when you realise it’s pulled down your underwear too, leaving you exposed to his gropes.

One hand grasps the globe of your asscheek, giving a brutally harsh squeeze. The other sinks between your thighs. Joel’s groan of delight when he finds the insides of your thighs soaked causes your cunt to throb before he’s even touched it.

"Is that all me?" He asks you, his voice dipping to a deep, spine-shuddering hum. He sweeps the calloused pad of his index fingertip up the inside of your thigh and through your pussy lips. You can hear the wetness there when he notches against your clit, when he sinks the very tip of his fingers into your entrance. "That all me, or did you like the pornstache more than I realised?"

You usually would scoff in Joel's face, tell him to stop being so ridiculous and self-absorbed, but he's slowly circling your frayed bundle of nerves with his thumb, and your jaw is slack. You can't even think of a witty retort, just grasping feebly at the collar of his denim shirt.

"I'm gonna take what I want from that lack of response," he fills the silence for you, an infuriating smirk settling on his lips as he sinks his fingers inside of you.

The lack of resistance and eagerness from your cunt catches you both off guard, Joel groaning in delight as you take the length of his digits so easily. "Fuck~”

You whimper out Joel’s name, thighs trembling on either side of his lap as he coaxes his fingers towards him inside of you and wasting no time in finding the spot that would bring tears to your eyes.

“Ah,” he breathes, a smirk playing on his lips when he sees your torso crumple inwards as his touch brushes something electric inside you. “Ah- that’s it, ain’t it?”

It’s pathetic. You want to answer him, even sob out wordlessly as the wave of pleasure crashes through you at the delicate touch, but your words are stalled in your throat as Joel circles that sensitive wall inside you with his nimble fingers.

“C’mere,” he growls, seeing your expression contorted desperately and deciding he can’t wait much longer. One hand is still busy with building your orgasm, and his other clumsily pulls down his boxers and exposes his ruddy length.

Joel gives you barely a moment to absorb what it is you see, managing to process the pink tinge to the velvet skin of his cockhead and the smear of precum that glistens under the low lighting before he’s hoisting you over him, knees on either side of his hips.

It’s filthy and disgusting and raw, the way he uses his free hand to sweep his cock across your clit. It sparks something dangerous deep inside your abdomen, another wave of increasingly unmanageable bliss that wraps around your spinal cord and constricts your lungs. You barely choke out his name, your fist punching his shoulder as if to say, ‘stop teasing!’ before Joel sinks into your wet heat with a broken rasp of your name.

Tight. Everything is coiled up so tightly inside you as the width of Joel’s cock-head pushes past your entrance, your walls swallowing him and squeezing him as he sinks in slowly. Your fingernails are digging into his shoulders through his denim shirt, tears of bliss welling in your eyes as he fills you completely. All the while he continues to circle and poke and prod at your g-spot, simultaneously building up your orgasm and wrecking you.

“That’s it,” he husks, breathless as he helps you settle down to the hilt of his dick. He’s nudging your cervix, and you feel so impossibly full that your body is trembling around him, pushed to its absolute limit as your tears stream down your cheeks. They drip from your chin, leaving deeper wet stains across the faded blue of his shirt.

Then he’s shoving his hips upwards and into you, and it’s like you can’t hold onto him tight enough. You’re scrabbling for some kind of grip that can brace you against the simultaneous stimulation of his thrusts and his fingers circling something mind-numbingly raw inside you. The rusty parts of the van creak beneath the motion, and between your slurred curses and weak cries of his name, you’re trying to warn him to be quiet, not to wake Ellie.

You can barely manage to coax him on, eyes rolling back and forehead falling forward onto his shoulder as you give in entirely to the creeping orgasm that picks up your spine.

“C-Can feel you,” Joel stumbles over his own words and laughs, his cock twitching inside you as he continues to drag in and out of your abused pussy, “Can feel you squeezin’ me. You gonna cum for me?”

You want to slap him. Want to make him walk to Pittsburgh with this cocky attitude, this cavalier facade that is so unlike his usual brusque persona. Instead, you’re keening for him, nodding your head against his collarbone and squeaking out your best impression of a ‘yes, Joel, please, please!’

Shit- it’s coming. You feel it racing through you before he even delivers his devastating blow. You think it can’t get any more intense, that it can’t feel any better than this, until he’s pushing his hips upwards and manoeuvres his hand to brush his thumb against your swollen, sensitive clit.

The print of his thumb doesn’t even make it a full rotation before your orgasm comes roaring forwards, slamming through your body to the point it’s almost painful in the best way. You’re quick to smother your scream of his name, biting down hard on the denim fabric at Joel’s throat and releasing the devastating shout of his name into the fibres between your teeth.

Poor Joel stumbles with how hard your body clamps down on him, his galloping thrusts reduced to sloppy stutters of his hips as a grating, pained groan rattles through his ribs beside your ear. Distantly, you can feel him pulsing inside you, filling you until his cum is spilling down the sides of his cock.

“God-“ He chokes out, voice catching in his throat as you heave for breath. It’s not as though he has the energy to lift you from him, still buzzing. You’re somewhere else entirely, vision blurry and consciousness far outside the dermis walls of your body.

Slumped against Joel, you focus on breathing. How do you do it again? In and out… In and out. It’s embarrassing, the way he’s left you unsure of essential bodily functions. The ease with which he’s numbed your mind and body.

Ironically, though, he makes it easier to find your way back to yourself. His steady, albeit heavy, breathing ticks like a metronome, easing you down from the impossible high you’ve ascended beneath his touch. He smells like salty sweat, like mud that cakes his boots and the truck's tyres.

“You think maybe we should pick that magazine back up?” Joel mumbled into your hair, oddly quiet and almost shy despite the blunt delivery of the query.

Pausing, you glance up at him through your lashes and catch a tinge of embarrassment on his cheeks. He’s staring down at the sidewalk next to the tyres, no doubt eyeing up the pages strewn across the cement flags.

“… Well,” you whisper, voice hoarse, “You never know what survival skills we might need. With your blueprints for Molotovs and upgrading weapons and my articles on ‘bizarre sex positions’, we’re bound to survive the apocalypse-“

“Alright, darlin’,” Joel attempts to speak you down from your amused ramblings, made awkward by the crudeness of the conversation once again.

“I mean, what the fuck is the ‘Pretzel Dip’?”

“Fuck if I know,” he admits with an air of chagrin.

“… You’re not much of a playboy, are you Miller?”

“Shut up and put your pants on.”

END

@hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @astroboots @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @hold-our-destiny @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina

#joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x reader #the last of us #hbo the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #1k+ club

[authorhjk1]

Pool Party

(Lee Ahin X Nancy Mcdonie X Male Reader)

You look one more time at the document, lying in front of you. It's Friday evening. Everyone else is going to enjoy the weekend. You sigh as you get out of your seat. Your weekend is going to be quite hectic.

"Sajangnim."

Mi-ra makes you lift your head.

"This is the report from the Diesel headquarters in Italy."

You take the thin binder out of her hand. Flipping through it, you scan the numbers.

"And here is the final draft for the Korean Air contract."

A way bigger folder this time.

"Thank you, Mi-ra."

You chuckle as you stand up.

"Now I have something to read before going to bed."

Your secretary smiles, while she bows.

"If you need any assistance over the weekend, please let me know, sir. I will gladly help."

"Thank you, but I'm sure I will manage. You are going on a trip with your boyfriend. I don't want to hold you back."

She nods, a glad smile on her face.

"Thank you, sir. I'm really excited."

"Where are you going?"

"My parent's neighbors have a big get together. We are invited."

"Ah, I see."

The two of you continue to talk as you walk towards the door.

"So, you are going back to Busan, then?"

"Yes, I am."

Mi-ra takes your jacket off the coat stand.

"I always wanted to go there, but I haven't found the time do so yet. Thank you."

She gives you your jacket, before you open the door for her.

"I'm sure our neighbors would love to invite you next year."

You laugh at her joke, before closing the door to your office behind you.

"I'm heading out for today. You can get off work now as well.

"You can always call me, sir. In case something comes up."

"Don't worry about it. I need you here next week. Fully recharged and energized. I won't call you."

Stepping through the front door, you immediately realize, what Ahin has made out of your agreement. If you only knew she meant this weekend. You groan as you hear the loud music echo through your house.

After taking your shoes and jacket off, you walk down the hallway. It seems Ahin's speaker is inside your living room. Putting your briefcase down on the kitchen counter, you see that Ahin made cookies. Probably for her guest. You don't bother asking her, putting one of them into your mouth, while taking another one. The warm cookies make the chocolate on the inside melt.

You savor the taste, walking into your living room. The sight of your dinner table almost causes you to let the second cookie fall out of your hand.

You never expected Ahin and her friend to play poker. You never expected her friend to be this sexy and alluring. And you never expected the two of them to sit at your table, barely wearing anything.

While the young brunette is still wearing denim shorts, your girlfriend is showing off her beautifully sculpted body. Since you are standing behind her, you have a good view of her naked shoulders and back. And especially her butt cheeks.

There is no way she is sitting like this without purpose. She must have known you would come home eventually. And she must have known you wouldn't be able to resist her. Her body perfectly on display in this colourful bikini.

Her hair looks somewhat like cotton candy and her nails match that colour.

Ahin's friend is wearing a blue, orange top, which is hiding her midriff. She looks just as beautiful as the woman in front of her. Her aura is model like and you realize she must be one of Ahin's ex band mates.

"Do you give up?"

Her voice is barely audible over the loud music.

You see Ahin shaking her head. It seems like none of the two noticed your appearance yet.

"Show me what you got."

Taking a step closer, you can see Ahin's friend revealing her cards. Two pairs. Your girlfriend shifts around in her chair, before revealing her own hand. She only got a pair of eights.

The brunette's evil laugh makes you chuckle as she pushes a full shot glass towards your girlfriend.

You check your watch. 7pm. Isn't that a little early?

You walk closer as Ahin tilts her head back. Only now you see the bottle of tequila standing on the table.

Standing right behind her, the brunette looks at you. It is obvious that this isn't exactly their first round and she lost a couple of times already. She gives you a slight smirk, but doesn't say anything.

Ahin groans as she puts the glass down.

You reach forward, wanting to scare her. Ahin jumps as she feels your hands on her naked shoulders.

"Yah!"

She is about to turn around, but you sneak your arms around her midriff, right beneath her chest.

"Hello, sexy."

You hear her chuckle in your ear as she slightly turns her head.

"Hi, daddy."

You knew this was coming. But you're glad the bottle of liquor isn't as empty as you thought at first. The two of them couldn't have drunk more than two or three shots each. Still, you don't know their tolerance for alcohol.

"Wanna play with us?"

Ahin kisses your cheek.

"I have a lot of work to do this weekend. I can't afford getting drunk."

She pouts at you, before struggling to get out of your hug.

"Fine. Don't play with us then."

She seems hurt as she collects all the cards from the table.

"I don't have a problem with playing. I'm just saying I can't drink."

"Or are you scared you are going to lose?"

Ahin's friend grins at you, obviously challenging you to a play.

"What am I betting? I'm not gonna drink."

You pull out the chair at the head of the table. Ahin to your left, her friend to your right.

"And no, I don't have cash on me right now."

"Why don't you bet your clothes?"

"Nancy!"

Ahin looks at the brunette and you expect her to yell at her further. Instead, she shuffles the cards.

"He is still MY boyfriend."

You see Nancy rolling her eyes.

"Come on. You told me about your agreement. He is allowed to fool around."

Watching the two of them, you wonder what Ahin told Nancy about you.

"Fine."

Your girlfriend shrugs her shoulders. First, you think that's all she has to say on the matter. But you quickly find out that Ahin has more tricks up her sleeve.

Her toes reach your leg, slowly starting to dance over your skin. Their purpose clear.

Ahin deals two cards to everyone, while her foot makes its way up your leg.

"Shouldn't we all bet the same?"

Nancy raises an eyebrow at your innocent question.

"Don't you think your girlfriend would have a small disadvantage?"

Looking at Ahin, you know the brunette is right. Except for her bikini, Ahin isn't wearing a thing.

"Do you want to keep drinking then?"

"No."

Ahin shakes her head.

"I hate the taste."

You grin, while Nancy laughs at her.

Ahin places the five cards in the middle of the table. A king of hearts, an eight of spades, a seven of spades and a queen of clubs.

The two women check their cards and so do you. A two of clubs and a three of spades. Well, that's a great start. You sigh internally, while trying to read the girl's faces. This isn't the first time you play and although there is no money on the line, you want to win. Having the chance to see both of them naked is enough motivation.

Ahin frowns, while Nancy seems to like her hand. You don't know how well they play, but you doubt they would fake their facial expressions.

"I bet a sock."

Nancy looks around the table, unable to hide her grin. Ahin is visibly mispleased. Because of her hand, or because she has barely anything to offer. Or both.

"My tie."

There is still room for improvement. And you want to undress the two of them as soon as possible.

You look at Ahin. She shifts around in her seat, about to give up. Unbeknownst to you, Nancy wiggles her eyebrows mockingly at Ahin, before slowly sliding her left hand over the table in your direction. Although Ahin doesn't mind sharing you, she doesn't want to give up without a fight.

"Guess I'm gonna start drinking again."

Ahin pours herself a glass, but not without her foot now resting on your knee.

"Isn't that a little unfair? You could drink the whole bottle and still be dressed."

"I doubt she can drink that much, Nancy."

The brunette shrugs her shoulders.

"We will see."

She takes a card from the pile next to the revealed cards. She smiles, before putting one of the old ones, face down, next to the pile.

"I keep going."

"And what are you going to bet?"

"My other sock."

Nancy watches you as you take the next card.

A three of clubs. At least it's a pair. If you are lucky, Ahin doesn't even have that.

"I bet a sock as well."

Ahin takes a card as well, before putting one back. She sighs, before reaching for Nancy's shot glass. She fills it without a word.

You look around, before you motion Nancy to show her cards.

With a smug grin, Nancy places her cards on the table. A king of clubs and an eight of hearts. Two pairs.

You show your own cards. A lousy pair of threes.

To your surprise, Ahin's face suddenly changes.

"Got you!"

With a laugh, she places her own cards on the table. A king of spades and a queen of hearts.

You sigh as you start to undo your tie. Nancy bends under the table, reaching for her socks. Her denim shorts are tightly hugging her cheeks, you turn your head, hoping Ahin didn't catch you staring. Leaning down as well, you take off one of your own socks.

Putting it on the table, next to Nancy's, you are surprised, when Ahin suddenly reaches for them and starts to put them on.

"What are you doing?"

"This is only fair. I started with a disadvantage."

Ahin puts on your sock and one of Nancy's. She let's your tie dangle from her shoulders.

Nancy reaches for the cards, ready to start dealing. You realize that this might not be as easy as you thought it would be.

"I bet my pants."

You look at Nancy. After winning her socks back, she lost them to Ahin again. You are already sitting in your chair without your tie and an unbuttoned shirt. You lost it to Nancy, but now you got it back.

"I bet my shirt again."

You look at your cards. You currently have a flush, confident that you are going to win this round.

"I bet my second sock."

Well, it's yours to be exact.

Nancy puts her cards on the table. A straight. You show your own cards. Nancy's smile drops and Ahin frowns again. Although, you don't really trust her face anymore.

Your girlfriend sighs and puts her cards down. Two pairs. You take your sock back, before turning to Nancy.

"Are you going to watch me take them off?"

You shrug your shoulders.

"Might as well."

"Fine."

You see her winking at Ahin, before standing up. Leaning back, you watch Nancy undo the button on the front. She turns around, bending forward.

You feel Ahin's toes glide over your crotch as Nancy slightly wiggles her hips. Turning back for just a moment, you see Ahin watching her as well. Her chin resting in her hand, her elbow placed on the table.

Nancy makes a show out of it. She slowly reveals her round butt, while slightly swaying her hips from left to right. Her thick thighs look invitingly delicious. Looking over her shoulder, she makes sure that you are watching. Her bottoms match her top. Blue and orange in the same pattern. Nancy's ass seems slightly fuller than Ahin's.

The brunette throws her denim pants onto your lap. Your girlfriend's foot is still doing small circles on your crotch.

Once she sits down, Nancy reaches for the cards, ready to shuffle them again. You have to look into Ahin's eyes, needing to tell her to stop moving her foot. She looks at you with fake innocence, smiling at you.

Nancy deals the cards. You look at yours. A king of hearts and an ace of hearts. A good start.

You see both of them smiling as well. Are they fooling you? Or do they actually have good cards?

Nancy reveals the five cards in the middle. Looks like you have won this round. Time to finish this game quickly.

"I bet my shirt, my pants and Nancy's shorts."

You pretend to hide your grin, hoping the two of them would think you are bluffing. Ahin scoffs.

"You seem really confident."

You shrug your shoulders.

"Fine."

Ahin looks down on herself. She is still not wearing much.

"I bet my last sock."

Nancy shakes her head.

"You have to bet the same amount."

Your girlfriend glares at you.

"Alright. I bet both of my socks. And..."

She looks down on herself again.

"And my bottoms."

Finally you are getting somewhere.

"What are you doing?"

Nancy looks at her with suspicion.

"What do you mean?"

Ahin fakes her innocence once more.

The younger one rolls her eyes, before looking at her cards. After seeing the two of you bet so much. And after watching Ahin take another card, she eventually does the same.

"I bet my..."

It's her turn to look down on herself. You hide your smile as you see her face when she realizes she isn't wearing enough clothes.

"I... I bet my top and my bottoms."

Ahin shakes her head.

"One more."

"I don't have anything."

"That sucks for you."

You honestly don't quite understand, why the two of them have started to become so competitive. If this is about having sex with you, wouldn't it be smarter to lose first?

"Than I'm gonna..."

Nancy realizes that you already brought the tequila to safety, after Ahin lost a round and had to take three more shots. You gave her water, which made her feel a little better. Sleeping with a drunk woman isn't the same as with a sober one. Plus, it feels like you would take advantage of her. But now, Ahin seems alright again.

"No alcohol anymore."

Nancy looks at you after your comment.

"Fine."

She glances at your crotch, before looking at Ahin.

"I bet my mouth."

A slight smirk plays around her lips.

"What?"

Ahin's voice is a little louder than usual.

"If you win, I'm gonna eat you out."

Nancy says that as if she has done that a hundred times already.

"If your boyfriend wins..."

She trails off, but places her left hand on your thigh.

You feel yourself harden underneath Ahin's foot at the thought.

"We said we would only bet clothes and tequila."

She definitely felt it too.

"So what?"

Nancy faces you.

"You have almost more clothes on than the two of us combined. Which means, we will need something to make it fair, right?"

Ahin senses your inner conflict. Of course you want to side with your girlfriend. But a blowjob from her model like friend?

Before you can speak up, you hear Ahin's voice.

"Fine. I will raise you though. I bet my top, too."

She reaches behind her and pulls at the bow on her back. Ahin's bikini top comes loose. Except for a little more cleavage, it doesn't reveal much more, still held up by the thin straps on her shoulders. But the message is clear.

"It's not your turn y-"

You try to ease the tension, but you are interrupted by Nancy.

"I offer my thighs."

You turn towards her.

"You can touch them, fuck them,"

Her voice suddenly turns into a whisper.

"Cum on them."

"Yah!"

Ahin looks at her with fire in her eyes.

"Nancy Jewel Mcdonie!"

Is that her full name? For some reason, her name makes Nancy seem even sexier.

"What is it Ahin?"

She glares back at your girlfriend.

"I-I"

She stutters, trying to come up with something.

"I will- I will let you fuck my throat. You can cum as often as you want."

Nancy scoffs, while you try to remain calm. What is happening right now? Are the two of them doing this because they actually want you, or just because they don't want to lose to each other?

"That's boring, girl."

Nancy leans forward to push Ahin's foot out of your lap. She places her hand on your clothed cock, squeezing it slightly.

"You can have my pussy. Fuck me all day, baby."

Her brown eyes stare into yours as she bites her lip. For just a second, you are entranced by her, before Ahin jumps out of her chair.

"Yah!"

She takes your chin and turns your head towards her.

"Use me. Use my body all night. Do whatever you want with me."

Ahin leans forward, her lips next to your ear.

"Every hole you want."

"Girls, I-"

And once again, Nancy interrupts you.

"That's lame."

She places her hand over Ahin's and makes you face her.

"I will ride you. I'm gonna rock your world and you don't have to lift a finger. You can just enjoy my pussy."

She leans forward too, whispering into your ear, just like Ahin.

"No one has ever been in my ass before."

You finally take both of their hands and remove them from your face. Ahin seems to think about more stuff she could bet.

"I will let your cream pie me. Breed me."

She looks at you, trying to act innocent again.

"Please?"

"Both of you stop it. I-"

Nancy quickly disappears underneath the table. Before you can react, the brunette is kneeling in front of you, her hands undoing your belt.

Looks like you won this round in more ways than one.

Ahin is visibly trying to do something too. But is not quite sure, what exactly.

"You weren't lying, Ahin."

You hear Nancy's voice under the table as she pulls off your pants and traces the length of your clothed cock with her finger.

"Why would I?"

You look at Ahin, who is still trying to think about a way to beat her friend.

"Wow."

Nancy coos as she pulls down your boxers.

Your girlfriend suddenly whispers into your ear.

"Remember the rules?"

You immediately reach down. You stop Nancy from kissing your cock by grabbing a fistful of her hair, holding her in place.

"You promised, you would never sleep with someone but me in this house."

"Hey..."

You blend out Nancy's voice, trying to remember that day in your office.

"No. You said, I'm not allowed to invite anyone over. Last time I checked, this was your idea."

You know that this was Ahin's only way of getting what she wanted. She pouts at you, releasing her poor choice of words.

Looking at her for a second, you come to a quick conclusion. This is not about who invited whom. It's about the respect you have for Ahin. You are not going to fuck anyone but her in this house.

"The pool?"

You wink at her and Ahin catches what you are implying.

She nods, a devilish grin on her lips.

"Would you let go of my-"

This time it's you who interrupts her. You get up from the chair, while letting go off her hair. Your pants fall to the floor, before you reach for Nancy under the table. She is barely taller than Ahin and not noticeably heavier.

Picking her up with ease, you feel Nancy's around your neck.

"Where are we going?"

She smiles at you, still thinking she won.

Unbeknownst to her, Ahin is rushing towards the glass door to open it. Before Nancy can react, she is already flying towards the pool.

With a loud splash, she hits the water, making Ahin the only contestant for your attention. Your girlfriend quickly gets rid off her top, before pushing you towards one of the wooden deck chairs.

As soon as you sit, Ahin is already sitting between your legs, leaning forward. Her lips touch your tip as she starts to stroke you.

"Fuck."

She kisses along your shaft.

"Why does this turn me on so much?"

You chuckle at her as she starts to take your cock into her mouth.

"Yah!"

You hear water splashing. Looking over Ahin's head and her beautiful ass, you see Nancy at the edge of the pool.

"That's cheating!"

With her mouth full, Ahin is unable to reply. But she shakes her head vigorously, making yours roll back.

"Ahin..."

You groan as she keeps going. Reaching forward, you have to hold her head in place. A week ago, Ahin found one of your soft spots. Since then, she started to use it to her advantage, whenever she needed you to cum quickly.

Just like right now. You keep her face pressed into your crotch, so she can't do anything. That results in Ahin choking as you stuff her throat with cock.

Nancy gets out of your pool, her body dripping wet. Her wet hair makes her look more mature and that small drop on her nose almost makes you laugh.

Once she reaches the two of you, she gives Ahin's naked ass a playful slap. It makes your girlfriend's body rock forward, making her take even more of your cock. You watch how her full cheeks absorb the impact.

"Since Ahin is busy with her mouth, let me use yours."

Nancy bends down, giving you a nice view of her ample cleavage, before capturing your lips with hers. You taste a faint hint of tequila on them as Nancy forces her tongue into your mouth. Unwilling to let her get the best of you, you pull her on top of you. The brunette stumbles forward, crashing into you.

You hear a muffled protest from Ahin, but you are too busy making out with Nancy. Your hands explore her wet skin as you let them glide along her waist and her back.

While your tongue explores her mouth, you hands start to get used to her body as you girlfriend's friend lies on top of you. You feel her chest pressing against you, her hand in your hair.

The two of you eventually have to break away for air.

"Those pictures Ahin send, don't do you justice."

Nancy starts to kiss your neck, her other hand sliding underneath your opened shirt.

"What kind of pictures?"

You are curious what Ahin says about you.

"A picture of you in a suit."

Nancy kisses your neck.

"A picture of you in the shower."

She gives you another peck.

"And a picture of your cock halfway down her throat."

The brunette looks up at you.

"I hope by the end of the weekend, I will have enough pictures for myself."

"Weekend?"

You thought she would stay to spend the night. At most.

"Yeah. More than enough time to take a picture of my face, covered in your cum."

You hear Ahin choking as you unconsciously thrust your hips upwards. The thought of cuming on Nancy's face makes you push Ahin's face further into your crotch with one hand, while the other starts to squeeze Nancy's tits over her top.

"You like them?"

You nod, before watching her pull her top up. It's now bunched up over her tits as she pushes her chest towards you. Opening your mouth, you capture one of her nipples, flicking your tongue against it.

Nancy moans, while you feel Ahin bobbing her head up and down. You enjoy her tits, switching between them occasionally. While Nancy keeps tugging at your hair everytime she moans, you realize that you might be coming to the end too early.

You slowly push Ahin off your cock, unable to defend yourself from one last lick of her tongue, which almost makes you cum.

"Ahin..."

You sigh, thinking she probably knows how close you are. She gives you a knowing grin, licking her lips.

"Switch places."

You try to buy some time, not wanting to cum too early.

You watch the two of them change position. Ahin is straddling your upper body, while Nancy starts to focus on your cock as she kneels in front of the deck chair.

To wonder, when Ahin possibly could have lost her top, is a waste of time. You immediately enjoy her naked chest as she leans forward. While you let your hands explore her mounds, your mouth is tasked to pepper the skin on her neck with kisses.

Your girlfriend moans as you find the spot that makes her melt. Her head is rolled back as you mark her skin while tugging at her nipples slightly.

Then, you feel Nancy's tits around your cock. They are bigger than Ahin's, but not big enough. You can feel her fingers on the upper side of your cock as she closes the gap. Her soft flesh around you feels warm and cold at the same time. Probably because her chest is wet, due to the water from the pool.

Nancy slowly starts to glide up and down along your shaft. Her tits squished together, making sure you enjoy the feeling of them wrapped around you.

At the same time, you start to take Ahin's nipples into your mouth. Just like Nancy did before, your girlfriend holds onto your hair with one hand, tugging at it occasionally.

"God yes."

She sighs as she feels your lips and tongue all over her chest. Her skin is a little softer than Nancy's.

The younger girl on her knees makes you groan as you feel her lips wrap around your tip. Everytime the tip of your cock leaves her cleavage, Nancy captures it with her mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, before she moves upwards again. Her steady rhythm suggests that this isn't her first time doing this.

You feel Ahin's biki bottoms rub against your abdomen as you keep pleasuring her. The slight wetness on your abs exposes her need for release as her clothing starts to become damp.

You realize that, since the night on Halloween, you weren't able to enjoy her pussy properly. Of course you fucked her since then, but because of your tight schedule, there wasn't much time to pleasure each other as much as you would've liked.

You place your hands on her thighs, slowly pushing her upwards. You see Ahin smirk on top of you as she realizes what you're doing. Your mind is still not completely on the task as Nancy makes sure you can't concentrate properly. Her ample tits wrap around your cock perfectly, the warm flesh makes you groan occasionally.

After a couple of moments, you finally get Ahin into the right position. Your hands are now placed on her cheeks, holding her up right in front of your face, while her legs rest on the backrest behind you.

You lick her bottoms, tasting her juices on the fabric, before looking up at her. Ahin's eyes glisten with lust as she sees you underneath her, ready to eat her out.

"Would you mind?"

It takes her a second to comprehend what you mean. With shaky fingers, Ahin clumsily undoes the ties on her bottoms. You can feel the heat coming from her body, especially her core.

You sometimes have a hard time believing that Ahin gets turned on by you fucking other women. But right now, with Nancy's tits wrapped around your cock, Ahin seems like a horny mess. Once her bottoms fall onto your chest, you see her lips glistening with her juices.

You pull her body further towards you, almost making her sit on your shoulders. Ahin moans as she feels your tongue licking her labia. Her hands are holding onto your hair as she tries to calm her body.

While you start to eat out your girlfriend, Nancy makes sure you can't focus properly. She kept up her rhythm the whole time up until now. Now, she is staying in place, her tits mostly wrapped around the lower half of your shaft. Her mouth is busy with sucking you off.

The combination of Nancy's mouth and tits around your cock is something you usually don't experience. It makes you groan, which sends shivers up Ahin's spine.

Your girlfriend is enjoying the feeling of you devouring her pussy, while her friend works your cock. Ahin's hair is a mess by now. It's hanging into her face, blocking the view. The rest of her body is starting to fail her as well. Her legs are starting to buckle. Her core is burning up and her breathing becomes faster.

While you slowly push Ahin towards her orgasm, Nancy has had enough of sucking you off. In contrast to Ahin, you haven't given her pussy any attention at all yet. Seeing you eating out your girlfriend, makes Nancy even wetter. And jealous.

She quickly gets rid of her bottoms, before inserting a finger into her own pussy. It only takes her a couple of moments, until she is completely wet. After Ahin telling her so much about you, there is no way she can keep her eyes off your cock.

Nancy straddles you, while you bring Ahin towards her high.

"Fuck!"

Your girlfriend shakes as you make her cum. You hold her securely, since her position isn't really safe.

After Ahin's body relaxes, you are about to put her down. You suddenly feel Nancy's pussy lips tease your shaft.

Without having time to prepare yourself, your eyes roll back as Nancy sinks herself onto your cock.

"Gosh, that's big."

She moans as she feels her pussy getting stretched by your cock. It has been a couple of months since Nancy had a proper fuck. Her pussy immediately clenches tightly around you.

"You've got a great cock."

Nancy shuts her eyes as she keeps lowering herself onto you. You see Ahin looking over her shoulder at her friend, studying her facial expressions.

"You look so hot riding him."

You can't see Nancy, but you can almost hear her smirk.

"I promised I would ride him."

And so she starts. Her hips meet yours whenever she slams down. And you feel her hands pushing against your abs whenever she pushes herself upwards. Her walls wrap around your cock like a sleeve and you are unable to do anything but lie in your chair.

You only realize that you are still holding Ahin, when you arms start to grow tired. With closed eyes, you try to put her down, not wanting to make her fall. You can almost feel Ahin stare at your face as she watches you. She bites her lip, loving the way your face twists in pleasure.

Once your girlfriend finally gets off of you, she returns her attention to Nancy.

"Oh my god. You are creaming all over him."

You open your eyes to verify Ahin's observation.

Your cock is slowly becoming covered with cream as Nancy is literally creaming. Her pussy feels tighter than before and yet she rides you more smoothly. Her head is tossed back, while her nails dig into the skin above your abs. Her mouth hangs open in a silent scream.

"This looks so good, baby."

Ahin leans over you again, capturing your lips with hers. The kiss is messy. There is not a hint of affection and love. Only lust and desire. Ahin slightly bites your lower lip, before you force your tongue into her mouth. Your hand is intangled in her hair, pulling her down to you.

The kiss becomes more sloppy, when you start to feel that familiar feeling inside your stomach. Nancy keeps riding you, her pussy keeps creaming around your cock, making it glide up and down on your shaft.

The young brunette has slightly changed her position. She is now squatting over you, her hands still on your abs. This way, she somehow manages to take even more of you inside of her.

You groan into the kiss, signaling Ahin that you are about to cum.

The sound of your phone ringing saves you. Not necessarily because you have to answer it, but it distracts you from Nancy's pussy.

"D-D you mind?"

You mumble into the kiss, while holding onto Nancy's hands, which are still pressing against your abdomen.

Ahin breaks the kiss to go back inside and get your phone. She can't help but watch though. She keeps her eyes on you and Nancy, while slowly walking backwards.

"Ahin..."

You motion her to hurry as you start to try to get Nancy off of you.

"I have to answer this."

As if she doesn't hear you, Nancy rides you like a crazy person. You can see how much cream she is leaking. Your whole cock is covered in it. It looks like you came in her, but you know you are barely holding on.

Finally, Ahin comes back with the phone.

"Nancy..."

She doesn't stop bouncing on you, while moaning occasionally.

"Let me take care of her."

Ahin hands you the phone, before attacking her ex bandmate. She holds her in place, while kissing her. You see her fingers rub on her clit.

"(Y/n) speaking."

Nancy's eyes are shut as Ahin plays with her, while covering her mouth with her own.

"Hello. I'm Cho Won-tae. I'm afraid we have to reschedule our meeting."

You close your eyes, unable to watch the two girls on top of you.

"That's-That's alright. What date and time do you have in mind?"

You feel Nancy tensing up around you as you hear her muffled moans.

"What do you think about Sunday?"

"I think that should work."

You almost groan as you feel Nancy's pussy clenching onto you, while Ahin keeps rubbing her clit.

"I don't have my calendar with me at the moment, though. Let me come back to you, once I've checked which time works for me."

"Alright then. I will be awaiting your call."

In that exact moment Nancy decides to cum. Her body shakes on top of you. Her walls hug you tighter than before.

"God! Fuck!"

You hear her muffled scream as she orgasms.

You do your best to hold on. And to be quiet. You can't afford getting caught by the CEO of Korean Air.

As Nancy's pussy contracts around you, you try to finish the call as fast as possible. Once you are able to hang up, you throw your phone away before holding onto Nancy's thighs. She has come down from her high, looking slightly out of it, while Ahin stands beside her.

"What was that?"

"I-I couldn't help it."

She sighs breathlessly, her skin slightly covered in her sweat.

"I can't help this either."

You sit up, pushing Nancy off of you. She stumbles to her feet. But before she can say anything, you turn her around and bend her over the chair.

"Be quiet and take it."

You push yourself inside of her again, rocking her body forward. Nancy moans as you start to fuck her from behind.

After a couple of thrusts, you realize she is having too much fun for your taste.

"Ahin."

You motion for her to walk in front of Nancy.

Your girlfriend gets the hint, sitting down on the chair right in front of Nancy's face.

"Make her cum. And maybe I will forgive you."

Ahin's eyes sparkle with amusement and lust as she sees Nancy lowering her head. Moans start to leave her mouth once she feels her friend's tongue pressing against her clit.

You reach forward, holding Nancy by her neck, while pushing her further into Ahin. Driving your cock in and out of her, you slowly start to feel that familiar feeling again. It subsided, when you got the call, now it starts to come back. You let out your frustration on Nancy for not being able to cum earlier.

Ahin has to hold the brunette's head in place while you pound into her. Her tongue is barely able to keep up as you push into her again and again.

Nancy is a mess by now. The cocky poker player is gone.

Whenever you retreat out of her pussy, you see how she is creaming on your cock. The natural lubricant helps you to fuck her harder. To fuck her deeper.

Your hands start to leave red marks on her hips as you keep pulling her body towards you while you thrust forward.

"Oh god! Please!"

You hear her moan loudly. But this time it's not muffled by Ahin's mouth, but her pussy. Your girlfriend is obviously enjoying this as you see her head rolling back. Her pink hair is flowing down her back while she bites her lip, trying not to moan.

The feeling of your upcoming orgasm increases as you keep fucking Nancy from behind. You dig your nails into her pale skin, leaving small marks on her waist. After a couple of more thrusts, Nancy has given up on pleasuring Ahin. Her head is flopping around to the rhythm of your thrusts, while her hair is flying in all directions.

Ahin is trying to make herself cum with her fingers, while watching you fuck Nancy's brains out.

"Almost there!"

Ahin's lips move, but it sounds like Nancy said it. Or did they both?

You concentrate on the task at hand. Making Nancy climax and then cum on her thighs. Like she promised. You had your eyes on them as soon as you heard her offer. Her pale skin and full flesh more than just inviting you to paint them.

"You fuck her so good!"

Ahin cums first. She arches her back as she plunges her fingers inside her pussy one last time. A high pitched moan escapes her lips as her pussy contracts around her fingers.

Only a couple of thrusts later, Nancy joins her friend in her orgasmic state. Her head falls onto the chair as her knees buckle. She cries into the chair as she cums hard on your cock. You feel her pussy squeezing your cock again and again. It makes you light headed.

And it makes you cum too.

You pull out, before flipping Nancy over. Lying on her back, her head rests in Ahin's lap as you tower over her.

You jerk yourself off with two last pumps, before shooting your load. Nancy's thick thighs get hit by your cum as you stain her pale skin. The brunette moans as she feels your hot seed on her body.

"How are you doing this?"

Ahin asks as she cums on your cock again.

It's Sunday now. Nancy has stayed the weekend. Like she promised. The two of them did their best to distract you from work. And to fuck you.

When you finally finished work on Sunday evening, you closed the deal with Korean Air, cream pied Ahin at least thrice and came almost on every part of Nancy's body.

You are unable to answer Ahin's question now as Nancy keeps riding your face. Her pussy hungry for release, her hips bucking towards you.

Ahin is riding you, just like Nancy did two days prior. Instead of lying on the chair, you are lying on a towel on the wooden deck.

The two girl's riding becomes faster. One of them tries to make herself cum, while the other tries to make you cum.

Nancy almost suffocates you with her thighs as she orgasms on your face. Her juices leak out of her as her mouth pronounces the lewdest sounds.

You feel yourself close to climaxing as well. You reach around Nancy, trying to find Ahin's waist. Once you get a hold of it, you lift Ahin up and down in your own rhythm. It's way faster and harder than how she rode you a second ago.

"Fuck, yes! Use my pussy!"

The weekend has been great. You finished all your work, are now the proud owner of an airline and had sex with Ahin and Nancy more often than you could count.

"Give her all your cum. I want to have some, too."

Nancy coos, while her thighs rub against your head. Her pussy is still hovering right above you. You lick at it, unable to resist your urge to make her cum again. The reaction is immediate as Nancy hisses.

At the same time, Ahin becomes undone around your cock. Her pussy twitches, contracts and tries to milk the cum out of you. You finally give her what she wants. As Ahin shakes on top of you, you paint her insides with cum. You see stars as you feel Nancy's thighs around your head simultaneously.

You will be definitely having breakfast by the pool tomorrow morning.

______________

Hello everyone!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. You can keep requesting until next weekend, then I'm going to start the polls for the December special.

#kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #ahin momoland #momoland #nancy momoland #lee ahin

[seoltzuki]

Later

mina x gn reader

fluff, suggestive sorta, not proofread

Entering the suite, your hands brim with bouquets for Mina, the vibrant petals of orange, pink, and white nearly obscuring your view. Carefully, you navigate through the room, finding a spot on the antique vanity to set them down.

In the bustling scene of stylists, makeup artists, and assistants, everyone exudes a sense of fatigue yet they’re still committed. Glancing around, you search for Mina, as you overhear praises from her manager. Following the voice, you maneuver around the cables from the ring lights, making your way to the balcony, anticipation building with each step.

You reach the door and there she is, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. God, she’s so beautiful. Despite the casual luxury of her attire her relaxed demeanor contrasts with the elegance of her surroundings.

Leaning against the concrete railing of the balcony, her hair dances around her face, framing it like a halo, her eyes sparkling.

She strikes another pose, effortlessly shifting her stance as you lean against the door frame, completely in awe by her presence.

A graceful swipe of her hair to the side, and then she sees you. In an instant, her serious model demeanor fades, replaced by a gummy smile that lights up her face as she catches sight of you.

Another picture is snapped, capturing Mina’s radiant smile as she poses effortlessly. The manager excuses themselves, disappearing back inside, likely to discuss the schedule with the rest of the staff.

“Hey,” she sighs softly, pulling a hand out to reach for you. You walk up and gently take her hand in yours, answering back with a simple, “Hey.”

You both gaze at each other, small smiles playing on your lips, each showing a hint of shyness. Despite the passing years, you both still can't help but feel a rush of giddiness whenever you're together.

"How was the photoshoot?" you ask, but then you can't help but add, "You look breathtaking, have I told you?"

She giggles and squeezes your hand. "Yes, you did," she replies with a playful smile, "and it went well." She then looks down at her outfit and asks, "Do you like my clothes?"

You look down at her plain t-shirt, then her jeans, and suddenly, your gaze lingers a little longer. God… the way the Fendi undergarments peek over the waistband of her jeans and the tantalizing bit of skin showing in between… Gosh, what you’d do to bite that skin there—

“You’re staring, y/n,” Mina interrupts, her voice pulling you back to reality. She stretches back a bit, giving you a better view, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

You clear your throat, feeling a bit flustered by being caught, and quickly regain your composure. “Sorry,” you say with a chuckle, “I got lost in thought for a moment. But yes, I do like your clothes. They always leave a lasting impression.”

Mina raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eyes. “Oh? And what kind of impression are they leaving on you?” she asks with a smirk, leaning in closer.

Your cheeks flush as her proximity sends a flutter through your stomach. "Well," you start, your voice dropping to a husky tone, but then you can't help but tease back, "that's actually rich coming from you, Miss I have a staring problem."

As you tease Mina about her staring tendencies, a playful glint intensifies in her eyes. She leans in even closer, her breath warm against your skin, and murmurs, “Well, maybe I can’t help staring when I’m looking at something so irresistible.”

Your heart skips a beat at her words, and before you can reply, she closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a soft, teasing kiss. It’s brief but electrifying, sending a surge of desire coursing through you.

You pull back slightly, a smirk playing on your lips. “Careful now,” you whisper, your voice laced with mock warning. “We don’t want to give the whole staff a show.”

Mina chuckles, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Who says I mind putting on a show?” she retorts, her fingers tracing playful patterns on your arm.

Despite the temptation, she knows you’re right. With the entire staff bustling about inside, it wouldn’t be appropriate to take things any further. But the tantalizing promise of what could be hangs in the air between you.

Reluctantly, you pull away, but not before pressing a lingering kiss to Mina’s cheek. “Later,” you murmur, your voice low and husky with anticipation.

She smiles, her own lips tingling from the kiss. “Definitely later,” she agrees, her eyes alight with promise.

She then kisses your jaw, a soft smile gracing her lips, her shy demeanor returning. You can’t help but be drawn to her sweetness as you pull her along with you, leaving the balcony behind.

“I ordered fries, by the way,” you grin, your hand lingering on the mesmerizing hint of skin you so badly want to bite.

“Did you bring the ketchup?”

“Of course, my love,” you reply, a cheeky twinkle in your eye as you dig into your pocket, pulling out a small ketchup pouch. You hand it to her with a playful wink.

One last longing glance is shared and you both warily return to the bustling suite, the memory of your stolen moment on the balcony lingering in the air like a sweet secret.

Later.

#twice imagines #twice x reader #kpop imagines #gg x reader #twice scenarios #gg imagines #twice smut #mina x reader

[lovers-rck]

Ellie giving her gf flowers is so cuteee, how would Ellie react if it was the other way around and it was Ellie’s girl giving her flowers

sjqkxuwnsnxiyawjduw ed8 im in love with her its embarrassing

☆

"wait, wait, wait" you say as you grab ellie's arms, stopping her

"what?" she says, her voice muffled by your skin as she kiss your stomach "i don't care if you haven't shave"

ellie licks a portion of your skin, playing with the elastic of your shorts.

"it's not that" you replie, sitting in the bed and looking at the confused face that ellie makes. her eyes are looking just the way they look when she is horny; a bit sleepy, heavy and dark.

"i got you something" you say, getting up from the bed and heading for the door. ellie tries to stop you from getting up from her side by intertwining her fingers with yours, failing in the attempt.

"what?" she murmurs, the warmth still inhabiting her body, a sign you can easily recognize from her rosy cheeks "you can show me later"

you laugh and shake your head, leaning against the back of the door, "wait here"

so ellie listens to you. she takes the opportunity to adjust her shirt and comb her hair with her fingers, a couple of knots hinder the process but she manages it.

a few seconds later she hears your footsteps on the stairs. ellie makes a mental note to buy something for you too on her way home.

"can you close your eyes?" you say from the hallway, ellie hears you but doesn't see you.

"sure" ellie swallows, nervousness and excitement taking hold of her. she loves gifts "they're closed"

you enter the room to find ellie sitting on the edge of your bed, her eyes are closed and her fingers play between them. when she feels you close, her hands move to your waist, an almost involuntary movement that ellie's muscles memorized at your presence. you feel her thumb lightly caress the exposed patch of skin where your t-shirt was lifted.

"okay" you murmur "you can open them".

and she does. when she opens her eyes, she finds a small arrangement of flowers in your hands, a shiny paper wrapping around the flower bodies.

ellie loves them. they are pink, orange and white orchids, with vibrant, eye-catching colors. ellie doesn't consider herself an expert on flowers, or at least not the ones she can't smoke, but she can become one for you.

"do you like them?" you murmur.

her hands leave your waist to grasp the bouquet, her bruised fingers contrasting against the delicacy of the orchids. you watch as her cheeks redden even more and her body language goes from carefree to a more timid one.

you loved seeing that side of ellie. more shy, more intimate.

"come here" she says, and when you do she grabs your hand and pulls you close to place a kiss on your lips, the bouquet resting in her other hand "they're lovely, thank you" she murmurs against your lips.

you just smile and reciprocate the kiss, which ellie wastes no time in intensifying. she opens her mouth, inviting you to do the same, and when she does you feel her tongue caress your lips and her hand move to your neck. somehow, ellie manipulates your body so that you end up sitting on her lap and her kisses get wetter, the sound of saliva and shaky breaths echoing in the room.

in between kisses, ellie grabs one of the flowers from the bouquet and places it behind your ear, admiring you. you smile and act like those accessory models on TV, shaking your head and posing "how do i look?"

ellie pretends to analyze the look, her index finger tapping her lips in a thoughtful gesture "mmm" she murmurs "worthy of being eaten out"

"ellie!" you say, tapping her shoulder. ellie laughs and sets the bouquet down on the mattress.

"what?" she says, resuming her kisses but this time on your neck "i didn't lie"

and ellie takes your silence to resume what she was interrupted from a few minutes ago by laying your body on the sheets.

#ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #tlou

[cerastes]

I really love official art with Doctor in it because they are invariably, consistently a Creature in it

This one, for example, is a nice day out with a squad and a half. Amiya is there because of course they are going to bring the daughter along, plus it’s on company dime and she’s the CEO, you have Rhodes Island’s Handsomest, Elysium, making sure to ‘accidentally’ pose and take off the sunglasses all model like for the photo, you got Ceobe with the bright cord Reeboks, Specter right out of Dorohedoro with the Athletics ‘94 and a summer rich girl kinda fit to contrast, sipping on orange juice, Exusiai in the Toycore fit that she somehow manages to rock prim proper, and then,

Doctor with the cute pins, a special white, elongated summer visor under the hoodie that makes you wonder how many helmets and in how many colors do they own, brown ears to match with Amiya, of course, pondering the absolute SHIT out of that pamphlet for a 3-star deployment in the amusement park,

And the Schrödinger’s Adidas tracksuit. Where do the stripes begin? Do they just... Fade? Orange socks? No wonder W and Ines are terrified of this maniac. Who is this creature?

#arknights #doctor #specter #ceobe #amiya #elysium #exusiai

[here2bbtstrash]

the shape of your body (explicit)

genre: fluffy slowburn smut

pairing: jimin x reader

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

word count: 24k 🙇‍♀️

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

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

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

read on AO3!

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just wish you knew him, too.

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

Well, you know a few things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the train stops moving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Definitely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you pay them for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You in grad school too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”

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

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

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

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

Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

“You just did,” Yoongi notes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

“Fucking asshole!”

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

“Yoongi?!”

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

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

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

“What about the coffee shop?”

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

“What about the bar?”

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

“What about the—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

“Is this about the penis?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gay together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess so.”

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

Another invitation, you realize dumbly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was fast.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

“When are you done with classes today?”

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“White and sparkling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s hear it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”

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

~*~

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Subway Boy, huh?”

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug. “I guess. It’s new to me.”

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

“I think so, yeah.”

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

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

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

“Is Joon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will,” you promise, and you do.

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Met?” he guesses, teasing.

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

“The Louvre?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hobi?”

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

“Jimin?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In a bit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmurs.

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

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

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

Jimin’s hands grip your thighs as he shifts and starts to move, starts fucking into you with long, slow strokes that make your pussy flutter, as if to urge him in deeper.

“It’s good?” he checks in again, voice tight, clearly holding himself back.

“So good, baby,” you breathe, “please fuck me.” A smirk flashes over his mouth at your manners, so polite when you ask to take it, and then he snaps his hips into you and you keen. “Fuck, please, just like that.”

He does it again and again, hands pressing down on your thighs to keep you folded up under him as he fucks you. The angle is just right for the thick head of his cock to pound into your g-spot with every stroke, and your back arches as your walls grip tight to him.

Jimin echoes your gasps with his own, swearing under his breath as you squeeze around him. He’s thrusting deep-deep now, and your hips shove up towards him for all of it, your thighs trembling as you take every inch. You’re dripping down his length every time he pulls back, wet enough to soak the sheets beneath you.

The pleasure, the pressure as he fills you up is so overwhelming that your hands reach, clinging to anything they can find. A pillow, the bedsheets, the flexing muscles in his forearms. Your moans come unabashedly now, underscored by the slap of skin on skin, the thud of the bedframe knocking into the wall. “Jimin, Jimin, baby.”

“Yeah,” he pants, choked up like he’s close. “Love it when you say my name.”

You sit up a little, folded legs shifting to wrap over his hips, and your hands come to his face to pull his mouth down to yours. His movements stutter as you kiss him breathlessly, and the brush of your tongue over his must be just enough to make him come undone. With a grunt of effort, he thrusts hard into you one final time, and his shoulders shake as he fills up the condom.

You kiss him again and again, your lips pulled into a smile against his as you tangle a hand in his hair, made messy from sleep and sex. Jimin’s body weighs heavy on top of yours as he drops his head to your shoulder, breath coming in short heat-bursts over your collarbone.

“Fuck. Been a minute.” He presses a kiss there, another to your neck, a third to your jaw. “Do you want to keep going?”

Your eyes widen at the question. “I— can you?”

A soft flush paints color in his cheeks, and he’s suddenly a little shy. “Yeah, I can. If you want. Or we can stop.”

You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your noses bumping. “I kinda felt like I was getting close again.”

He smiles. “Then let me finish what I started.” There’s a bit of shuffling as he moves to the edge of the bed to remove and tie up the used condom, then reaches for the box to retrieve another.

As he tears open the foil and rolls it on, you watch and consider all of him. This body that you know from every angle, that you’ve studied like a textbook, that holds the boy who stepped onto the subway and changed your life and made it better. This body, made to be adored, to be respected and cherished and filled up with love. This body, chosen to be shared with you, to be held by you, to be near you.

That’s all you want, you realize as he rolls over, brown eyes blinking sweetly at you. This body, and all that it holds: the darkness and the light, the pain and the beauty, the soul that so perfectly fits with yours.

“Turn over for me?” he asks softly. “I want to spoon.”

This round is easier, slower, your bodies molding together, shaky from effort and sensitivity. You twist over your shoulder, tipping your head up for a kiss that turns into a shared gasp as he presses into you again. Your walls are swollen enough to be tender, and the stretch of him, the way he fills you up entirely, makes your eyes roll back.

As he starts to grind his hips into you, his hand snakes down between your thighs before you even have to ask. You hook a leg over his to allow him better access and gasp when his cock slides even deeper into you from the new angle.

“So good,” you manage as two of his fingers work circles into your clit, matching the same slow-stroke pace. His tongue slips into your mouth, and with his cock rubbing insistently against your front wall, it doesn’t take much. Pleasure overwhelms you in a hot rush as he so easily pulls you apart again.

“Jimin.” Your voice is nearly a whisper, your walls starting to pulse. Your head tips back against his shoulder as he fucks and rubs you through it, his hums of encouragement buzzing through your body, your hips shuddering. “Baby, oh god.”

Jimin’s strokes start to falter, and then he goes still, your cunt aftershock-fluttering around him as he comes again, groaning your name.

A brush of daylight through the blinds makes your eyes heavy, and they drop closed as you lean into him and breathe through the comedown. You don’t know how long you lay there like that until his kisses pull you back earthside, dotting over your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw. You tilt your head up and he finally finds your lips again.

With a deep grunt of post-sex effort, he rolls over, leaning off the edge of the bed to deal with the second condom. A shiver dots up your spine at the loss of his body next to yours, and you tuck into his side when he lays down again, throwing an arm over his chest to better nuzzle into the crook of his neck. The heat of his palm makes you sigh as his hand rubs gentle circles against your back.

Something cracks open inside of you, warm like his touch, like the sunlight bleeding through the window. You can feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat under your hand, and it’s everything, all of him, that makes the words rise up in your throat, undeniable.

“Jimin,” you breathe, “I l—”

A loud bang on your bedroom door makes you flinch, and you roll over with a grimace as Yoongi shouts from the other side. “If you’re finished, just so you know, you left a fucking pan on the stove. Could’ve burnt the house down while you were in there deflowering each other.”

Your jaw drops open and Jimin’s eyes go wide, and you collapse against each other in a silent rush of laughter. You’re surprised when Yoongi’s voice comes back, a little softer this time. “Also I brought some bagels back from work. If you want any, better hurry before Namjoonie eats them all.”

The charged moment has passed, and the words sink back down inside of you. Making a promise to tell him soon, you wrap yourself tighter around Jimin’s side with a smile. “What do you think?”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’ll never say no to a bagel.”

“Come on then,” you murmur, tilting up for a final hit of affection. The kiss he leaves on your lips makes your heartbeat flutter, like the shudder of a subway car.

#jimin smut #jimin fluff #jimin x reader #jimin x y/n #bts smut #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts fanfic

[officialrocketjumper]

HOWDY EVERYONE- so excited to FINALLY be able to show off my piece for this year's Bumbleby Big Bang!

Unfortunately no accompanying story as of yet- but I really hope you guys get to read it someday! The premise involves Yang cursed to be trapped inside a sword, which was an idea I KNEW I had to make move.

Details and development stuff under the cut!

Lots of fun collaboration with the author, Celeste! We worked together to find the look-of-picture, Blake's outfit, how the Grimm look, the style of the sword, the whole shabang! I'm really happy with how it all turned out!

When I first saw all the prompts, even before claims opened, I got to work on a handful of exploration pieces based on some of the summaries, to decide which of the stories I was interested in would be the best fit. Here's the initial idea for this one I put together over a lunch break:

After showing Celeste, we got to work finding the look we wanted! Went back and forth a bit and found this great look for Blake! Also shoutout to Pinterest boards for visdev inspiration I love you Pinterest boards.

Just about everything stayed to final anim, with the simplification of getting rid of that purple cloth hanging from her belt, (since I already had the rope ends to think about working with), and the light purple strap across the chest, since leaving it out would simplify the linework on her chest.

The sword also went through a bit of change! Celeste had the idea of Yang making the sword catch on fire, which I LOVED. I went with a split design so we can see the fire more clearly start from the hilt and grow to cover the whole blade.

And from there we brainstormed animation ideas! I went all over Youtube for video reference of sword work (that would be complex enough to be interesting, but short enough to be manageable). I found something we liked from Motion Actor Inc., a channel I've used LOTS for both personal and professional work (I work in 3D Animation, for those who don't know). I edited this together, to see the action from multiple places at once, which gave me the idea for that camera move that's in the final anim!

Now for the fun part! Make that badboy MOVE. For the cam turn, the first frame she's in the air I'm referencing the top left video, and the frame she lands I'm referencing the bottom left one. While she's airborne I'm just inbetweening that! No reference for the Grimm, just wanted it responding to her attacks, but I end up tweaking the roughs later on to make the block feel stronger.

Then from there we had to actually figure out Grimm designs! Nimona had just released, and Celeste and I loved it, so she asked if I could take some inspiration from Nimona's shadow form! GLADLY. Here's what I came up with!

I was going between how the movies and comic designed Nimona, really loving the almost liquid shadow of the movie, but also how the comics had this broken up/held together rougher form. Celeste liked the second to last one the best! The original plan was to have it leave a wispy shadow trail like the concept art, but to simplify the animation we left it solid instead!

Next up is tiedown! Basically just getting the roughs more on-model, so the lineart comes out nice and clean. I've also transferred the new Grimm design to the base from earlier, and fire's also outlined orange so it reads clearer. (SPOILER- if you look REAL close here, you can see Yang visible in the fire! I liked the idea of Blake's slash also doubling as Yang throwing a punch. The idea is in the concept art earlier but now it's working with the action.)

Next step- final look of picture!! I asked Celeste for sources of inspiration to draw from when thinking about environment design, and we got Nimona, She-Ra, and Owl House! Used each of those as springboards for shading style, colour palettes, and how the fire would look!

From there, we kept the straight trees/bush/lake/foreground greenery from the first one, the blues from the second, and the fire from the third!

Once I had this frame, it was a matter of working backwards and making the background work pre-camera turn (which was ABSOLUTELY the most challenging part of this process). Learned a lot doing this! Procreate isn't quite equipped to make something like this efficient, but I'm pleased to say that Dreams would make something like this easier in the future (keyframing objects instead of hand-drawing/spacing duplicates by hand, for example).

From then on it was just colouring the lineart, adding shading, and finishing up the background! Beginning-to-end this whole process was beginning of July to end of October!

I had an absolute BLAST putting all this together. Here's to next year where I find a way to do something even more ridiculously complicated!! It's fun!!!

#rwby #bumbleby #bumbleby big bang #bbb2023 #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #(technically!!! look at the fire!!) #officialrocketart #officialrocketanimates #greatest hits #HOOO WHAT AN UNDERTAKING #so glad I came up with an idea pretty outside of my comfort zone but having the CLEAREST idea on how to execute it #means things went smoothly it just took a Long Time #AND I LEARNED LOTS #hope you guys can read the story one day!! its dope!! #bonus bonus fact for tag readers i didn't put in the post proper: i showed the rough pass to ANIMATION INDUSTRY COLLEAGUES for feedback #shoutout to ioana and v love you both lots #ioana for tightening up the rough pass and suggesting i smear the sword #and v for notes on my sword smears #okay i hope you guys enjoy!!! #it has been true for ages now but The Bees Motivate Me To Create #and in these trying times i thank them for that

[ferociousmochis]

HEY GIRL! so so so happy you are back bby <3

Can we get some soft Alex? Maybeee childhood friends trope, but Alex was an ass and now he wants her bad? Also virgin reader if possible xx

Regrets and Roses

Alex Turner X Fem!Reader

Warnings: long ass story bit, fingering, multiple orgasm, penetrative sex (p in v), a little bit of sad stuff, oral (fem receiving), praise, virgin reader

It was never one of those "love at first sight" stories, in fact, love was out of the question, or so you thought. 

You and Alex had known each other practically your entire lives. Your moms were best friends, so you'd subsequently grown up together. You were sandbox friends, spending weekends in each other's gardens, while your mothers sipped tea on the patio. They always playfully joked about how you’d surely get married one day.

But, that's not to say that you always got along.

Alex always teased you, especially in high school. The truth is you'd had a desperate crush on him when you were younger, and when he became too cool for you, it broke your heart. You knew you would never be one of the glamorous girls he took to school dances or the models in the magazines he flipped through with his friends. Alex wasn't the most popular guy, but he still had some merit and always a girl or two on his arm. 

Of course, you couldn’t possibly imagine telling him how you felt. However, you never were quite able to hide your feelings, always wearing your heart on your sleeve. It was almost sadistic how he knowingly played with your emotions every chance he got. Every family function was torture knowing he would always be there, pestering you to no end. 

As time passed you both grew up and the past faded away. You both occasionally crossed paths at first but once Alex’s career took off you veered off in completely different directions, following your passions. You weren't surprised when Alex became the world-renowned superstar he always wanted to be. The lifestyle suited him, at least the hair gel and the groupies did for sure. 

You'd opened a little flower shop on the corner by your childhood home. You lived and breathed it. It was everything you'd ever dreamed of as a little girl materialized before you. You worked day and night tending to your greenhouse and working on arrangements. 

Alex quickly learned being a rockstar wasn’t all it was choked up to be. I mean sure he adored it, traveling the world and sharing his passion with roaring crowds who fell at his feet but the trail of broken relationships and drunken hookups he left behind him solidified his feelings of loneliness. It became impossible to find a genuine connection; the screaming people out in those crowds, the girls in his bed each night, and every new face he met knew him as Alex Turner this sultry rockstar stage creation he’d made for himself like a beautifully decorated mask. He tried to fill the gaps but that was hardly possible.

Despite his busy schedule, he always made time to reach out to his parents back home. His mother called often, still always worried about him traveling so often so when the phone started to ring he already figured out who would be on the other line. The sun prodded harshly through the loosely drawn curtains, illuminating his bedroom in an orange glow. Rolled over strenuously, the soft white sheets falling from his bare chest. His head was pounding, a reminder of the night's activities, along with the unknown woman stirring beside him. He rubbed his temple harshly before picking up the phone. “Good morning, dear!”, his mother chirped on the other line. He managed a groggy greeting in response, prompting his mother to reprimand him for not getting enough sleep. 

She loved to chat. Most times he thought she just loved the sound of her own voice, but he always indulged her, knowing how much she missed having him around. She was going on about her flower beds when she mentioned a name in passing that he hadn’t heard in years. “Y/N L/N?”, he inquired. “Yes of course?” She replied matter-of-factly, before resuming whatever trivial topic she was babbling about. The memories struck him like a brick to the back of the head. You hadn’t crossed his mind in a long time. 

He recalled your first day of high school together, the way you blushed every time he looked in your direction. You were always so sweet and tender. How you waited to walk to school with him that morning, and how he left you at your doorstep as he went about with his new friends,

The time he flirted with you just to get answers for that week's math assignment,

The time he brought his latest fling to your family’s dinner party just for laughs.

He winced at the memories and the many more that followed. The guilt weighed on him for how horribly he treated you. Yet you were always there at his beck and call, despite each cruel act. Your only crime was loving him and not meeting his standards. Maturity smacked him in the face as he was forced to face the reality of his actions. 

“How’s Y/N?” he blurted. His mother was caught rather off guard by the question, “Well her shop’s doing fantastic, you know she's just so sweet, she helps me prune the hydrangeas every spring-”. “Her shop?”, he questioned. “Her flower shop, dear”, his mother replied confusion lacing her tone. He couldn’t help the smile that crept up his lips. You always loved flowers, meddling about in your front garden with his mother and your own.

Consumed by his thoughts, he could hardly concentrate on his mother’s ramblings. He couldn’t help but type your name into the search bar, he had to see how you were doing. A social media profile popped up, but the photos simply had to be someone else. Yet they had your name scrawled on each one. You weren’t the shy nerdy teenager anymore. Your once geeky appearance turned soft and divinely feminine. You were inexplicably beautiful. He sat in shock for a moment, a dumbfounded expression hanging over his face. Your warm smile sat illuminating his phone screen, his eyes flicked back to the woman in his bed. Truthfully he didn't even know her name, she was a reflection of his lifestyle. Extravagant pleasures felt empty and meaningless without someone special to share them with.

Your cute little shop was tagged just under your name, he couldn’t help himself. 

When the order came in you were positively shocked. You quite literally lept for joy, your small shop certainly held its own but this was the largest order anyone had ever put a request in for; 10 large bundles of baby pink roses, each tied with a white ribbon. You set the date for two weeks from now and joyfully began fluttering about your greenhouse

Your nerves pricked with excitement as you jumped out of bed. Today was the day you were expecting the big client and you were ecstatic, to say the least. You'd been in contact with them for a few weeks now and they had insisted on meeting in person to take a look at some of your rose color variations and check up on the progress you’d made. They detailed in their email that they'd been planning a lavish event of sorts and it would be incomplete without your large collections of sweet, colorful roses.

You almost skipped through the door, flipping the closed sign resting on the doorframe to open. The start of your day was pretty standard. Mr Atkinson stopped in like clockwork every Sunday. “Your usual?”, you smiled handing him the prepared bundle of lilies and baby’s breath. “Until the Mrs. gets tired of me”, He chuckled, his cheerful wrinkly smile always warmed your heart. Just as you turned back to the old man you caught a glimpse of him. A vision trick of the past. 

The soft, familiar sound of your delicate laugh melted him almost instantly as he set foot in the door. His demeanor remained confident until he saw you look back at him. When your eyes met he saw the color drain from your face, a sight that felt like a punch to the gut. You tried to shake your nerves as you resumed your conversation, saying farewell to the old patron. You turn back to face him, feigning a smile. “I’m here for a large order of arrangements..”, he trailed off, you were more beautiful in person. Your cheeks were rosy and your hair looked so soft, he couldn’t help but be infatuated with you. “Right this way sir”, you nodded plainly.

As you lead him through the little shop, he takes note of everything. The scattered pots and vases, the colorful flowers, and the sweet scent of fresh blooms in the air. It all brought back memories of when he used to tease you relentlessly for loving them so much. His heart aches with guilt and regret. “You seem quite famous around here nowadays,” he asks hesitantly, trying not to stare too much at your beauty. “I’m hardly famous, sir, I believe you’re the celebrity out of the two of us”, You respond politely. The formalities stung. It was as if you’d severed all ties with him, refusing to even use his name. You lead him back into one of the greenhouses with the many bundles of roses strewn about the tables. 

“Well even if you’re not famous to everyone else, you’re certainly famous to me” He replies sincerely, “Your flower arrangements are truly amazing.”. “Thank you sir”, you quietly replied. You were almost afraid to say his actual name, it brought back too many painful memories from your childhood. 

He watches as you carefully place the last of each individual flower into its respective spot within the arrangement. The sight of your delicate hands working so gracefully fills him with a mixture of longing and regret. He loved sharing his music with the world, he wasn’t sure if he could ever get enough of the rush, but he couldn’t shake the itch of what could've been had he stayed behind and lived a simple, peaceful life with you. “You know.. I never thought I would come here today,” he admits quietly, unable to keep the sadness from creeping into his voice. “But seeing you like this..”, he continued, “I wish things could have been different”.

You almost grew angry, feeling like he had the audacity to say such things after everything he put you through. “Well, sir, you certainly made things this way”, you reply coldly, keeping your composure even. His heart sinks at your response, and he knows your right. He should have reached out sooner before he left Sheffield, but fear and pride held him back. “I know I wasn’t the best person back then, Y/N” he admitted shamefully, “I can’t even begin to apologize for the pain and humiliation I’ve caused you.. I want to be better- seeing you like this makes me want to be better, I’ll make amends in any way I possibly can.”. “I’m not sure if that’s possible now, Alex”, your tone of voice wasn’t angry or aggressive, if anything it was tired and saddened. 

His eyes meet yours, and they brim with genuine remorse, “Maybe not fully, but I want to try anyway,” he says earnestly, taking a small step closer to you, “I want to make things right between us”. “I gave you that chance many years ago, and you burnt me”, You sighed, averting your eyes, “You left scars on my heart that will never fade, I’m not sure I can open myself up like that again”. He takes another step towards you, his expression pleading. “Please give me another chance, Y/N”, his voice cracks slightly as he speaks, revealing the depth of his emotions, “Let me show you I’ve changed, that I’m not the same person I was before.”

Years ago you would’ve given everything to hear him say that, but now you hardly know what to say. “I-I don’t know”, you manage to stutter out. He reaches out and gently touches your arm, his fingers lingering against your skin. “Please..”, he whispers, his voice dripping with vulnerability, “give me the chance to prove I’m worthy of your forgiveness”.

You think about it for a few seconds. Maybe he’s different now, you suppose it won’t hurt to find out for yourself. “Okay”, you sigh, “I’m free after I close up here”. He perks up instantly, looking like a kid on Christmas, “My hotel is just up the street, the bar has some half-decent food?”. You accept, biting back the ghost of a smile threatening to creep upon your lips. He nods gratefully, “Thank you, Y/N”.

The workday flies by as a mixture of anxiety and anticipation consumes your thoughts. You walk home, opening your door with a soft sigh. You sat at your vanity, styling your hair for the night, decorating it with a simple ribbon. You painted your cheeks with a light blush and fluffed out your eyelashes with some mascara. You picked out a dainty white sundress littered with small flowers. The material was light and soft against your skin, making you feel almost as if you were floating with each step. When going through your closet you spot a dainty matching set of lace underwear. With a small smile, you took it out deciding you wanted to feel extra pretty tonight, even if no one else got to see them. Nervous doesn’t even begin to describe the way you're feeling, you certainly hadn’t expected the day to unfold the way it has. You slip on some heels and grab your purse before slipping out the door.

You yelp, startled, as you bump into him. He feels awful, grabbing hold of your forearms to steady you. “I’m so sorry!”, he gasped. He was wearing a linen, baby blue button down with the first couple buttons unclasped, a pair of dark trousers, and leather dress shoes. He held a single daisy in his hand, your favorite. He smiled a warm goofy smile, the small flower adding a gentle touch of charm to his already charming demeanor. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist stopping by to escort you over”, he explains, holding out the flower towards you.

You blush at the gesture, accepting the delicate flower. Perhaps he really has changed. You walk down the street side-by-side as he cracks some bad jokes and talks about the people you used to know. A faint smile spreads across your lips as you loosen up to the idea of being around him once more. As you chat about old friends and acquaintances, he can sense the lingering tension starting the fade away from your body language. His own nerves began to ease with yours, and soon you’re both laughing and enjoying each other company from cozy barstools.

“So tell me,” he asks, leaning forward with genuine curiosity, “what brings you the most happiness since those days?”. “Nothing too exciting, but I enjoy the simplicity of being a florist. You know I always loved tending the garden”, You smile, siping a martini. He nods understandingly, appreciating your passion. “That's wonderful”, he replies, taking a sip of his own drink, “it must be incredibly rewarding to create something so delicate and breathtaking”. “You could say that”, you smile. His sincerity appears so genuine, making it easy to forget who he used to be. His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, it feels as if time stands still. In that moment, he truly sees you. 

He swallows hard, trying to find the words to express how deeply moved he is by the person you’ve become in his absence. "You're truly amazing, Y/N," he says softly, reaching across the table to take your hand in his, "I can't believe how far you've come.". The contact makes you nervous like a teenager on their first date, “Thank you, Alex”. “And thank you for giving me the time of day, even when I didn’t deserve it”, his eyes are full of emotion as he gazes into yours, seeking reassurance and validation of the newfound connection you’ve established. You remain speechless at his response. Noticing your silence, he sucks in a deep breath and continues, "I promise to do everything in my power to prove to you how sorry I am for the way I treated you.", His voice is raw with vulnerability and honesty. Alex has always been poetic, always having a way with words. It was one of the things that made you fall for him years ago. You smile back warmly, nodding in response. 

You spent the night chatting over drinks and mediocre food. Hours upon hours had passed and as the dusk faded into night, you found yourself alone in the corner of the dark, empty bar. The more intoxicated you both get, the more he grows curious about what you’ve been up to while he's been gone. "Have you been seeing anyone since.. well since I left?", he asked. You thought back to the many hands you’ve rejected throughout the years, "Well no, I've just been trying to focus on the business I suppose..". He seems relieved to hear that you haven’t settled for someone else during his absence, and his expression softens further as he takes your hand in his again. "Well I'm glad to hear that," he says honestly, squeezing your hand gently. "Because if there's one thing I know for certain right now, it's that I never want to lose you again.", his eyes hold a depth of sincerity and longing that speak volumes about the feelings he's harboring. 

You nervously shift, “Alex.. I still am not completely sure about this”. He looks at you intently, his expression a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "I understand that it might take some time for you to trust me again," he says gently, "But all I ask is for the opportunity to prove myself to you along the way. To show you that I've really changed". “Okay,” you agree cautiously, a small smile painted on your lips. His face lightens up once more with relief and excitement, and he leans in close, pressing a tender kiss on your lips. "Thank you," he whispers against your mouth, "For giving me another chance.". This gesture causes your cheeks to burn a bright red “Please know that I cherish this moment and every moment we share from now on”, he brushes a strand of hair away from your forehead with tenderness, before placing another gentle kiss on your cheek.

You look into his eyes, filled with intense emotion and the overconfidence of alcohol. Love from the past bursting through the many walls you’d built around your heart. For the first time, you can see your feelings reflected in his eyes. You take a shaky breath before you cup his cheeks, pulling his lips to yours.

At the touch of your lips on his he responds eagerly, wrapping his arms around you and deepening the kiss. The intensity of your connection is palpable, and it feels like time has stopped as you explore each other's mouths with growing passion. When you finally break apart for air, you both gasp for breath, your faces flushed and hearts racing. You glance around at the quiet room before turning back to him, your eyes projecting your desires, “I never got over you, you know”. His eyes widen in surprise at your admission, he hesitates for a moment before asking softly, "Really? But...after everything I did to you?". He can't help but feel a mix of gratitude and confusion as he processes what you’ve just said to him. “It was always you, Alex”, you whisper softly against his lips. As he listens to your words, feeling a wave of emotions wash over him: guilt, happiness, and a profound sense of gratitude. He cups your face in his hands and looks into your eyes, "I don't deserve this," he says honestly, "But I'll do anything to make it up to you." His voice is thick with desire, and he leans in for another soulful kiss, pouring all of his desperate feelings into it. 

He breaks the kiss once more, gasping for air, “Come with me,”, he urges, grasping your hand. You follow him closely as he leads you down a winding hallway until you reach his room. Once inside he turns to face you, his eyes burning with lust as he takes in your beauty. He reaches out to run his fingers through your hair, savoring the silky texture beneath his fingertips. "God, you're stunning," he murmurs, "And I can't believe I almost let you go.". 

He leans down to capture your lips once more, his kisses deep and hungry. As Your passion intensifies, he leads you over to the bed, setting you up on the soft mattress as his hands mold to your curves. You nervously grasp his wrist, “Alex- I haven’t ever been with anyone..”. You’re shy and embarrassed by the fact, but he responds with understanding and gentleness, “That’s okay”, he reassures, “we don't have to-”. You cut him off as you press your lips to his, catching him by surprise. He moves closer to you, his body pressing against yours as he begins to explore your skin with his hands, learning your curves and contours as you tangle in the darkness. You gasp at the unfamiliar sensation of his hands on your sensitive body. 

He watches your reactions, continuing to caress you gently, gradually building up to more intimate touches as he learns what makes you tick. His voice is low and soothing as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. “Trust me,” he says softly, “I won’t hurt you”. You slowly undress each other in a gentle mess of kisses and longing touches. With each passing moment, you fall deeper into each other's arms. You reach out to him, your fingertips gliding down his toned chest. He gasps at the touch of your hands on his skin, feeling a surge of heat coursing through his veins. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you even closer, returning the favor by tracing light patterns across the small of your back. “You’re incredible, Y/N”, he whispers, “So perfect”. His hands trail down your back to the curve of your ass, the contact making you whimper quietly. He leans down, capturing your lips once more, his kisses deep and hungry. You kiss back with a newfound sense of confidence. He takes note of your eagerness to please despite your lack of experience. He continues to explore your body with tender care, palming your breasts softly. His fingertips drag down your thighs, “let me show you just how sorry I am”. 

He sunk between your thighs, your sickly sweet perfume and the lustful scent of your sex mixed together, tormenting his senses. He couldn't help but bite back a groan when he reached your pretty pink panties, the sight of them made his cock throb. He lifted your hips up towards his face, his lips brushing against the lacey fabric. “You wear these just for me?”, he murmured against you. You released a shaky breath, catching your bottom lip between your teeth as you timidly nodded in reply. God, he couldn’t help the way his eyes rolled back at your shy admission. He kisses you through the fabric, his touch remaining gentle. His warm tongue dragged over the growing wet spot. You weakly prop yourself up on your elbows, just to catch his dark, longing gaze peering over between your legs. The sight alone made you shiver, which paired with the feeling of his hot breath on your skin made your brain short-circuit. He abandons your cunt, lapping at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, kissing and licking you all over. His fingers glided up against your panties, the heel of his palm grinding against your sensitive cunt. The friction made you whimper softly into the tension-thick air. 

Your sweet sounds prompted him to pull the flimsy fabric down your legs. You’d never felt so exposed, that you couldn’t resist the urge to press your legs together in shame. “Don’t hide from me, pretty girl”, He whispered, running his large palms up your legs to meet at your knees. He slowly pulled them apart, admiring your glistening pussy. “So fucking perfect,” he muttered breathlessly. He didn’t waste much time burying himself between your thighs, littering tender kisses across your skin. Soft pecks turned into hot open-mouthed kisses, searching for the bead of your clit. He can feel it throbbing between his lips, like a faint heartbeat against his tongue. It's a feeling unlike anything you’d ever experienced, like lightning bolts firing out of every nerve in your body. 

He rolls his tongue around the small bud, giving it special attention before kissing his way down to the pool of wetness at your entrance. Your pussy is practically crying for him. His tongue prods your tight hole as you squirm against him. You whimpered loudly, pressing back against his face. His elegant nose bumped against your clit with each motion and it was perfect, he was perfect. He wants to take it slow with you, push and pull you through all the great things about sex, but you make it so hard for him to control himself. You whine sharply, your clit now more needy than ever and he’s neglecting it- oh you poor thing. He can’t help but groan against you, you’re so fucking wet and needy for him- him, and only him. 

He ends the agonizing torture, moving back to your clit as it begs for his undivided attention. He wants to make you climax so hard you see stars. The mere idea of seeing your face all twisted, eyes screwed shut, and jaw hanging slack- it was too inviting to resist. You're so sensitive it takes very little effort to wind you up quickly. He suckles your clit, until your thighs are shaking between his hands. You cry out, unable to suppress the desperate moans slipping past your lips. “Alex..”, you pant, your eyes half-lidded and spilling with desire. “I know, love”, he murmurs against your skin, the vibrations sending shockwaves throughout your body. He can tell you're getting closer by the second. His hot tongue swirled rough circles against your clit, his knuckles turning white as he holds you against his lips. You feel the tight muscular tension in your abdomen snap suddenly. Your back arches off the mattress and your hands grasp the sheets for stability as you’re body is set aflame. He holds you in place, working you through your first orgasm. You were a writhing, wet mess beneath him, he couldn’t help but swell with pride. “You're doing so good for me, such a good girl”, he praised, planting a kiss on your inner thigh. 

He pulled back slightly, admiring his work for a moment. Your pretty pussy was begging for him, but you weren’t ready for that yet. His nimble fingers lightly traced your slit, gathering your slick on his fingertips. His eyes flicked to yours, making sure you were okay before moving forward. Your eyes were droopy with desire, your lips wet and plump, and your hair a sexy mess against his pillow. “Please..”, you choked out, your voice still shaky as you came down from your high. He satisfied your whimpers as he worked his middle finger inside. The stretch stung slightly at first, the cool metal of his ring biting your tender flesh. “God- you’re soaking”, he groaned, adding a second finger with little resistance. His hands were made for you, they filled you so perfectly. His long, dexterous fingers knew just how to make you feel things you hadn’t known were possible. Your chest heaved as he thrusted and scissored deep into you, your gummy walls sucking him right back in each time. He almost wanted to watch you fall apart in his palms, but he would save that for another day. For now, he needed to be inside you more than anything.

Satisfied, he crawls on top of you, your noses brushing against each other as he meets your eye. “I’ll take care of you”, he reassures, his lips brushing against yours. Despite all he did to prep you, you couldn’t be prepared for his size. You felt as if you were coming to pieces as he split you apart on his cock. Tears begin to well up in the corners of your eyes as you try to accommodate him. “Are you alright?”, he asks softly, “If it hurts too much, just tell me, okay?”. He pulls out slightly before pushing back in, repeating the process until he bottoms out. He stalls for a moment, giving your body time to adjust to his size. You grasp his shoulders and nod reassuringly, signaling for him to keep going. He flashes an intoxicating smile and picks up his movements. He showers you with affection and praise. “You’re doing so fucking good, love”, he moans breathlessly, “You feel so good”. You run your nails down his forearms lightly, your mind utterly drowned in this newfound pleasure. 

His movements grow more confident and assertive as he gets lost in the sensations of being buried inside you. You squirm beneath him, calling out his name in strained whimpers. He feels your grip on the sheets, seeing the intensity of your expression as you struggle to contain your pretty sounds. He increases his pace, driving himself deeper with each thrust, “Yes.. that's it.. ” he groans, urging you gently, “Don’t hold back- let me hear you.”. The newfound pace makes it impossible to keep quiet. Your eyes roll back as you find yourself moaning and babbling his name like a broken record. You find yourselves completely consumed by each other in a fiery display of desire. 

He watches each reaction intently, taking in the effects of his actions on your body and mind. His own arousal intensifies as he witnesses your pleasure. He’s never felt that way with anyone before and he pushes himself harder than ever, determined to bring you to the peak of ecstasy. You feel your muscles tightening, a small knot of energy growing steadily in your belly. He can feel the tension as your body grows rigid. He bites his inner cheek, trying to keep his composure as your cunt tightens around him. With a final surge of energy, he drives himself into you until the crackling heat of his body is toppling over and he can no longer hold back his approaching orgasm. He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, whispering your name. Your bodies tremble as you hold each other through your climaxes. You lay together in each other's arms, basking in the afterglow of the experience you’d just shared, feeling a connection that transcends words or boundaries.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you under the covers and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Alex?”, you ask quietly. “Yes, Y/N?”, he replies, brushing a thin strand of hair from your eyes. “So,” you began, “What were all those roses really for?”. He chuckled softly, “For you, dear. A bundle for each year I missed-”, he planted a soft kiss on your lips, “-being right here by your side”.

This is so different from the usual so I hope it doesn't totally suck- I'm sorry babes. Thank you for the request tho- I enjoyed the challenge of switching things up!

Not edited, so I'm sorry if there are mistakes!!

Love ya! <3

#alex turner #arctic monkeys #alex turner fanfic #alex turner one shot #alex turner sexy #alex turner smut #alex turner gif #the car #the last shadow puppets #fanfic #smut #oneshot #smut oneshot #one shot #female reader #fem!reader #x reader #am arctic monkeys #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #tlsp #eycte era #the car tour #the car era #choking #+18 or +adult only #smut warning #smut writing

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — ASTRONAUT! GOJO x MISSION CONTROL! FEM READER

Your job description entails taking care of one (1) astronaut on his way to Mars. It doesn’t say anything about falling in love with him. 

wc — 1.6k

tags — the beauty of space (and Gojo Satoru), rom com, fluff

When you’re assigned to Gojo Satoru, the first thing you hear is ‘good luck’. It’s Nanami who says it. You suppose he would have strong feelings, being one of the few men who were going up there with him. 

They’re in the news constantly now. Of course they would be - brave pioneers of the new frontier. The first men to attempt a Mars landing.

Even for you, who sees them every day, it’s hard not to get caught up in the mythos of it. Glory burns bright and beautiful around them, a halo born of the knowledge that they’ll someday be in history books. Maybe you’ll be there too, a footnote riding on the coattails of their fame. 

They take care of humanity’s future, and you take care of them. Mission Control doesn’t have the esteem the astronauts do, but your jobs are just as important. You’re proud of the work you do. 

Though sometimes, your work is just silly. He is, anyway. 

“Helloooooo? Mission Control, come in.” 

“You’re not supposed to use the main line for personal matters, Satoru,” you remind him, a smile twitching at your lips. Director Utahime thinks you’re too soft on him, but you can’t help it. It must be terrible to be stuck up there for months, even if he says he loves it. 

You’ve seen his interviews. Gojo Satoru, golden boy of the astrophysics department at one of the most prestigious universities in the world. A prodigy, the youngest ever Nobel laureate for his work in quantum particles and space time. 

When he first declared that he would be going on the Mars mission, the world erupted in an uproar. He had transformed an esoteric field of dusty archives and chalk formulas into something real people cared about and tuned into his radio show to hear, even if it originally started because people loved his charming face. 

It was too risky. No one wanted to lose such a young talent to the vast and uncaring cruelty of space. 

Gojo heard these concerns, shut down his radio show, and appeared outside headquarters the next day without an appointment.  

Some say he’s pushy. Some say he’s determined. Whatever they think, one thing is true. Gojo Satoru gets results, which is why administration always lets things slide when it comes to him. Even when he clutters up the main communication line trying to talk to you. 

“If you wanted to get me alone, you could just say so,” he jokes, before he switches over to your private comm. 

“Mhm,” you hum. You’re distracted, doing your daily check on his vitals. 

“Looking at my heart again?” 

“Yep! All good, though I’m going to ask you to take a double dose of vitamin c tomorrow.” 

“Come on,” he moans. “They’re terrible. You’d think with all the scientists we have they’d manage to make it taste a little more like actual oranges.” 

“You know how hard it is to make things that last in space,” you tell him. 

The thing about Gojo’s genius is that it’s hard for him to understand others. He can do anything if he puts his mind to it, so hearing ‘no’ and ‘it’s impossible’ simply doesn’t compute to him. It’s why he started his radio show, or so he told you. He dreams of teaching people to see the world through his eyes. 

His beautiful eyes. 

Your cheeks heat. That’s not something you should be thinking about, but lately, it’s been getting harder and harder. You spent almost all your time with him, after all. 

As much as you try to be professional, you’re not immune to his stunning beauty. You know the voice on the other end of the line belongs to an man whose features are nothing short of otherworldly. He could be a model if he wasn’t an astronaut. He could be anything, actually, but you know why he chose this. 

The first time you heard Gojo speak on space, you fell in love a little bit. With him and with the cosmos. 

He’s the one who teaches you that the stars we see are already dead and gone. That light and time are intertwined in ways you didn’t understand before, that the little pinpricks of gold in the distance have fizzled out years ago and are reaching you now only as a eulogy. 

You tuned into his radio show on a whim, wanting to get to know the man you’ll be working with better. You stayed because his love for the universe is magnetic. 

Gojo’s favorite thing about space is infinity. He was a proud supporter of the alien theory. There had to be some life out there, in that great vastness. Anything is possible in space, he says. There might even be a planet where he can float or unleash devastating destruction with just a flick of his fingers. 

Before long, you were listening to his voice explain worm holes and cosmic inflation any spare moment you got. He was with you on the commute to work and in the shower while you scrubbed your hair. It was Gojo’s voice that lulled you to sleep every night, slow and relaxing in his special bedtime series. 

So you’d known him long before you met him. In your first real interaction, where he was so quintessentially Gojo in a way that completely put Utahime off, you laughed. His eyes widened, surprised by your reaction, then his lips split in a toothy smile. 

“At least one of you has a sense of humor,” he quipped, making a lifelong enemy of Utahime and a lifelong friend of you. 

You’re the only one who can put up with him, so when Gojo had been chosen for Project Ares, you landed an adjacent job as his handler in Mission Control. You’d known you’d work on Project Ares for a while now, but not that you’d be working so closely with him, or that it would feel so right. 

Of course you would be his handler. It was as natural as Gojo becoming an astronaut, which you’d always known he’d manage. It’s Gojo, after all. He would go change the future of humanity, and you’d keep him tethered to Earth. 

It had been a relatively easy few years, for a space mission anyway. Anything short of death was considered optimal in those conditions. You hadn’t realized you’d miss him like this, however. All this time, and so much of it was only his voice. In a way, it was reminiscent of the days before you’d met, hearing a beautiful mind work through the radio. 

“Oh, Houston?” Gojo calls through the line, singsong. “We have a problem.” 

His lighthearted tone doesn’t deceive you. You’re up in a second. 

“Satoru? Satoru? Come on, talk to me. What is it? You okay up there?” 

“I’m experiencing heart pains,” he says, letting out a low grunt of pain. “Palpitations.” 

Your blood runs cold. 

Space is Gojo’s passion. You’re happy he gets to pursue it. But in these moments, you wish he’d never heard of astrophysics because in space, you can’t reach him. If he gets hurt, all you can do is talk to him. 

He’s said he appreciates it. 

“It’s nice, you know? Gives me something to listen to other than the voices already in my head.” 

“Should I schedule a virtual visit to the psychiatrist, Satoru?” 

You joke around, but you know that’s all you can be for him. A voice in his helmet. 

Your hands are creeping towards the switch that’ll open your communication line to Nanami. At least if something happens, Nanami can actually get to him. 

“Fuck,” Gojo whispers. You freeze. You’ve never heard him talk like this, his voice low and raspy with pain. “It hurts.” 

“Tell me where it hurts, honey,” you murmur back, your voice instinctively lowering into something syrupy and sweet. Comfort comes naturally to you. You’ve always been a doting personality. It’s part of why they chose you for this assignment, other than, as you learn later, Gojo’s insistence that you be his line to Earth. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“It aches, sort of?” Gojo says. “Happens when I hear- ugh.”

“Hear? Hear what? If you can’t tell me, I can’t help you, sweetheart.” You have no idea where these pet names are coming from, but they just burst out of your mouth, as if tenderness for him is uncontrollable. Is it because you’re scared it’ll end like this? The chance of whatever you feel for him dying unspoken terrifies you. You wish you’d told him sooner. 

“Happens when I hear your voice,” he says. Is that nervousness you detect in his voice? 

Suddenly you have a very clear idea of what he’s playing at. 

“Satoru,” you say very calmly. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to call Nanami and you can explain it to him.” 

A flurry of panicked noises on the other end. “No, wait, no, don’t do that! I can explain. Just. Give me a second.” 

Ragged breathing. 

“Okay,” he admits. “I didn’t think this through.”

“Satoru.” 

“I’m sorry! You know how I am!” 

You do. Which is why you’re not immediately calling Utahime over to reprimand him. 

“I was going to wait,” he says. “This isn’t very romantic.” 

“I would say that’s more because I thought you were going to die from a heart attack in space than anything else, but go on.” 

“Sorry,” he says. “I love you.”

You were half-expecting it. After all, he’s right - you do know him. Somehow his straightforwardness still catches you off guard so badly your knee jerks and slams right into your desk. It’ll leave a nasty bruise when you check in the shower later. Most things are too soft to be picked up by your mic, but that was definitely loud enough. 

“…You okay?” Gojo asks, hesitantly. 

“When you come back to Earth,” you explain to him in clipped tones, “I am going to gut you. Then we are going to go on a date.” 

#sera writes #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojou satoru fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

[andypantsx3]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI : MASTERLIST

please be respectful! do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or otherwise share on other platforms. all my reader characters are fem + afab unless otherwise specified. please see individual fic posts for nsfw ratings and other warnings!

bakugou writing tag | universal masterlist

MULTI-CHAPTER

incendiary (30K) : complete

When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it.

you’re the one that i haunt (15K) : complete

Ghosts aren’t real. At least, that’s what you tell yourself when the spirit of pro hero Dynamight suddenly starts haunting your apartment.

statistically significant (24K) : complete

You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

cover shot (through the heart) (16.5K) : complete

For years, you’ve been the only assistant in the business equipped to handle foul-tempered supermodel Katsuki Bakugou. That is, until he catches on to your weak point.

war paint (28K) : complete

Desperate times force you to disguise yourself and join the kingsguard. When a suspicious string of crimes strike the palace, however, Captain Katsuki Bakugou starts paying extra close attention. (A Mulan AU)

savvy (17.5K) : complete

You’re a business course third year who’s good at being bossy, organized, and data-driven. You just want to use your business savvy to help all heroes. Well, all heroes except one. [smutty one shot follow on: defiant]

barbarian-verse au (various) : in progress

You find yourself traveling with barbarian Bakugou. Things get complicated quickly.

ONE SHOTS

fruit first (ask questions later) (3.6K) - gn!reader

When the grocery store you’re in becomes collateral in a villain attack, pro hero Dynamight comes to your rescue. When you become armed with a handful of oranges, however, someone may need to come to his rescue…

abs-olutely worth it (3.5K) - gn!reader

You’re an amateur hero photographer whose shots of Bakugou’s abs keep going viral. Everything is going great…until Bakugou catches wind of it.

defiant (4.5K)

There are a lot of benefits to managing your pro hero boyfriend, but dealing with the PR nightmares he generates is not one of them. After Katsuki gets way too mouthy with a hapless reporter, you take it upon yourself to put him in his place. Katsuki, however, has other ideas. [a smutty oneshot companion to savvy; you do not need to have read savvy first!]

DRABBLES + PROMPT FICLETS

general bakugou x princess reader (1.1K) -> part two (3.2K)

Your father is ailing and with no sons in his lineage, your country risks dissolution and open war if you do not marry. There is only one man you can stomach the thought of assuming the throne.

always (1.5K)

Best friend Bakugou helps you through a breakup.

todobakureader domestic fluff (1K)

The sound of muffled arguing in the kitchen wakes you up on Saturday morning.

destruction (1.6K)

"Are you this stupid on purpose?"

wine & dine (0.3K)

“Oh my god, I am gonna fuck whoever made this apple pie so hard they see stars for weeks.”

always first (0.7K)

“It’s not a double date, we’re just third and fourth wheeling."

just can’t weight (0.8K)

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?" + gym bro Bakugou

personal chef (0.4K)

Living with Bakugou is like living with your own personal chef.

fan art (0.2K)

Bakugou has an embarrassing secret (ft super cute art from Merms!!)

#character: bakugou katsuki #andie's writing

[azure-cherie]

🔸Positive things people say behind your back 🔸

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Hello , i hope you are doing well, this is a general reading so take what resonates and leave the rest , thank you so much for letting me read your energy, engaging, commenting, reblogs and feedbacks are very appreciated and help me to get better in what i do and also help me in picking your energy better . I'd be grateful for it <3

Pile 1 :

People think you're very grateful and kind , that you have a vibe that is very hard to find , they admire how genuine you are and how when you're angry you let it out and when you're sad you let it out you don't keep it within yourself you rather accept the emotions, you don't run or supress the negative emotions but treat them like your friend . They say that you are someone who is actively healing their shadow side and they are so happy with your progress. They also consider you are a conformist and someone who is sophisticated and we'll behaved at most times . That you are genuine and have no two faced actions. They love the mole on your face and say that you can try to be a model because of your long legs. Your face glows and radiates the elegance that can win hearts and it's such a win . They would love to be friends with you they are tired of hating you.

Chanelled words & placements:

Porsche , blue berry, down to earth , new in town , old city girl , merkantilism , copper, susan, lord have mercy , Virgo 6th H , rahu 12th , Venus - mercury, asteroid hekate prominence, asteroid Vishnu prominence, chitra Nakshatra , Bharani nakshatra.

Pile 2 :

Very first thing i get is they love the way you cook , maybe you upload pictures and damn these people wanna have some. Hey call me over as well ;) , they say you're very talented and can make so many things . You don't realise right that how powerful your creativity is it brings deep realisations to people like it reminds me of a surrealist whose channelled art brought so many realisations to the people . You are a dream girl you have a very different kind of vibe , you have this sense of freshness to you that's so lovely . You're someone who can guide others and give them real advice and that's honestly so admirable, they say that they admire your choices like they really follow what you wear for example you bought some boots and then the others start buying that too you make things worth using . You're really a star

Chanelled words and placements:

You're so fine , doja cat , euphoria , gentle , tailor , mocktail , enigmatic, prophetic, lavish , mutuals , Osiris , cancer , 6th H , gemini , asteroid Persephone/proserpine prominence, Uttara Phalguni Nakshatra, moon dominance.

Pile 3 :

What people admire about you is your presence how you can light a room up and how brave you are , you can take up any responsibility and ace it. You always wanna be perfect you're a 10 and that makes you so likable , they like your lips and the lipstick you use . Your dad might be influential, you give the vibes of young money . They say how pretty you look in light colours, they love your money management skills , you're light hearted and don't take things seriously they really like that as well about you . They say that you smell good and are very keen with cleanliness which is really good . You're so fun when your walls are shed and your guard is down , they see how beyond the guard you're a very fun person. They want to take trips with you . They like how generous you are with money . Tip : don't be too selfless hold your ground .

Chanelled words and placements:

orange , marchantia, Ophelia , dancing queen , mid - day meals , cookies , medium , mindful , mediator , tip toes , fine grip, dark feminine , Saggitarius, 3H , 2H , 7H , Virgo , Aquarius , revati nakshatra.

Pile 4 :

You actually have so fine grip on people's minds , your words stay with them for a long long time , they really admire your intelligence so much, they feel like they can ask you anything and you will have an answer to it , you're like so cool , so intelligent, conversations with you never feel boring or stagnant. They admire your way of motivating people, they really love your car and your skin. Your skin is so beautiful and supple , i think you could be in the astro or tarot community as well people really admire your knowledge. Your mom wants to say she's proud and she's sorry for behaving to harsh , and your flowers that you grow in the garden feel so nurtured by you . You are divinely blessed.

Chanelled words and placements:

Dior, mirror , coquette, cute , rabbit , dancing in the dark , beauty and the best , marinate , lashes , belly dancing, Taurus , 11th H , 9th H , asteroid siren prominence, asteroid kleopatra prominence, mercury dominance Jupiter dominance.

#pick a picture #pick a photo #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pick a card #pac reading #pac readings #pac #tarot community #intuitive tarot reading

[crybaby-bkg]

I thought about this earlier but couldn’t fully piece it together but like…………model Bakugou, or even pro Bakugou who does his contractual obligations of modeling, and being his photographer for a shoot. it’s a more raunchy one, his breakout shoot to show he’s as x rated as they come. and they get you to capture him, set up the scene and find the props because you’re known for your amazingly styled ideas and sets every time.

one scene where he’s laid back in bed, surrounded by black silken sheets that he balls in between one of his thick hands. the other arm is behind his head, propped up on two fluffy pillows, his chin tilted up where you snap pictures above him on a ladder. one leg is kicked out, flexed, and the other is bent at the knee. the best part about the whole thing is that he’s naked—or at least, alluded to be. he’s covered in orange and green flower petals (that he protested the entire time) around his waist and down to his thick thighs. the pictures you take from this angle are damn near lewd, with how he pouts his bottom lip and gives those fuck me eyes to the camera.

another scene is him in just his underwear, tight and white in color, makes your face warm whenever you catch the faint sight of his brown tip through the fabric. but you direct him to turn his back to you, hold up the lightweight prop of the world in his hands, bend at the knee, rest it on his shoulders. it’s not as raunchy as the other pics, despite your eyes immediately jumping to his plump ass, but the pics still make you hot under the collar when you edit them.

other scenes include capturing him at a bathroom counter with sex hair, a makeup painted on hickey on his neck, and low eyes aimed at the camera. include him laying on his stomach with his face in his hands, a single carmine eye peeking out, with the tiniest smile you managed from him after the shittiest joke. you realize later, that he only laughed because he was starting to grow fond of you, which was made apparent after you finished his pictures and sent them to his team.

he texted you the next morning, tell me more of your shitty jokes and I’ll let you photograph me again. it’s his way of flirting, you guessed, but still found yourself googling the top fifty corniest jokes ever told.

#why is coming up with scene ideas so hard #anyway he’s pretty and he knows it #—new treat in the streets! 🍫 #bakugou treats! 🍬

[sad-endings-suck]

blue eye samurai popped off so hard in every department, but this post specifically is a shoutout to the character designers who manage to put so much personality, life, and uniqueness into each and every character to create a signature art style, while still maintaining realistic-like proportions and features that are more reminiscent of live action than animation.

not a single character with speaking lines or more than 3 secs of screen-time looks anything like any other character unless it’s intentional (i.e. resemblance between family members). not only are there so many different body types, but no one’s body is ridiculously proportioned. some characters are very thin (heiji), others are very large (shogun’s emissary), some are quite powerfully built (chiaki)… but then there’s everything else in between!! mizu is very lean and androgynous, and she definitely has muscles, but she’s not ridiculously skinny, nor does she greatly lack softness in her torso, hips, and chest. mizu very much has a woman’s body, her proportions are just not exaggerated to make her look overtly masculine or overtly feminine. unlike some other animes that would absolutely give mizu ridiculously defined muscle mass and 8-pack abs, or maybe a 10 inch waist and huge boobs (that she magically hid completely with some diy fabric bindings and a dream) and then credit those choices to “art style”.

ringo is on the bigger softer side physique-wise, and his body is a perfectly normal human body that any normal person may potentially have! akemi and taigen are both conventionally attractive within the story, but even still, neither is the perfect personification of masculine or feminine “beauty”. yes akemi is very petite and slim, with a more hourglass shape, but she still very much has a body type that some real people naturally have. she has a stomach! and i don’t mean that she has a protruding stomach, i just mean her stomach actually exists. so does mizu’s, even if they both have small flat stomachs, they still very much don’t have itty bitty anime waists. though they are both slender women, they have actual room for organs and ribs in their torsos!! or on the other end of things, there’s taigen, who may be very athletically built, but again, it’s not to an impossible degree or standard. he still very much has the build of a real human person, not a comic book hero with a 12-pack. even fowler, who is on the heavier-set side (presumably from his lifestyle, surviving famine, etc) also has strength to his build that many other characters do not, indicating he does keep up with his training and is very much physically dangerous.

and that’s just the body diversity! we are shown characters and character models of young adults, mature adults, babies, seniors, young children, older children, teens, etc. women in their 40s/50s/60s (madame kaji, lady itoh, “mama”).

hell, the fact that the art style can be so consistent throughout, and yet akemi looks like she’s been rendered in watercolours, whereas taigen appears as if he’s been painted with acrylic is crazy!! or how well the show is able to convey that mizu very much looks like a woman, yet it also convincingly shows us how she’s able to pass as a man through a slew of details is amazing. such as her more androgynous features, her height, a scarf to hide her lack of adam’s apple, hat to conceal her features, orange tinted glasses the cancel out the blue of her eyes, baggy pants and boxy top to hide her silhouette, poncho and sword positioned to give the illusion she takes up more space in the world LIKE A MAN WOULD and so much more.

It’s just so beautiful to see, not only because it speaks to the skill of the creatives and the level of care and attention to detail with which this story was clearly made, but also because it proves you don’t have to “choose” between a distinct art/animation style and diversity. by combining animation and live action, and using the best aspects of both, blue eye samurai has managed to capture something that no other animated production I’ve seen, has (no, not even arcane). and that is allowing the personhood and character of a live action actor/model to come through in the character they are portraying. no matter how much beautiful animation i watch, there is almost always some level of “default” face, body type, height, or facial features that are consistent across every character, and blue eye samurai proves that this is not just due to “art style”. it’s a limitation of the medium of animation (to an extent), or at least, it was.

we live in an era where plastic surgery, photo/video retouching, workout supplements, trendy scheme diets, beauty consumerism, etc, are at an all time high. so it’s such a relief to see an animated project of all things choose to reflect real human appearances in its work, and not only that, but do so without ever commenting on it. as an animated project, it could “beautify” its characters as much as it likes to make them all same-face/same-body conventionally attractive, and excuse it as their “art style”. but blue eye samurai does not do that. they said “no, we can do better. we can do way better” and they did. the way bes is shot leaves no room for women (or anyone) to be sexualized or objectified, regardless of how much nudity and sex there is in the show. it demonstrates that sexuality and sexualisation are in no way inherently synonymous. there are no unnecessary comments about a character’s body that feel off or not in tune with the social perceptions of the time period in which the story is set. it’s just amazing to see.

#blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai meta #taigen blue eye samurai #akemi blue eye samurai #fowler blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai art #blue eye samurai animation #bes mizu #bes akemi #bes taigen #bes ringo

[dduane]

Hey DD! My friend and I were looking at the graphic you have for the All the Wizardry bundle. We're both on the Curiosity science team, and we're curious (pun intended) where the model came from. Every time I see it it makes me smile :)

(chortle) I was impressed with it too when I first saw it, though the maker doesn't explicitly come out and say that's what they're modeling.

It turns up over here at Daz3D: "Mars Rover." And the maker seems to have done a pretty good job. It's fully rigged, and everything that ought to be able to move, does.

...When I was working on A Wizard of Mars it occurred to me that wizards with an interest in the Red Planet would be up there covertly interacting with the machinery on a regular basis—usually with puffer brushes and/or carefully-shielded cans of compressed air to help keep solar panels clean (or cleaner...) when observed weather conditions on Mars offered them sufficient cover to let them exploit the "plausible deniability" factor. (Because the last thing they'd want to do would be to mess up the science.)

So when it came time to do the cover for the New Millennium edition of AWoM, it seemed to me that the best thing to emphasize would be the concrete reality of what we'd put up there. Therefore a wheel of that Rover model appears on that cover.

The Rover also turns up occasionally, as you've seen above, in promotional stuff for the Ebooks Direct store; such as this 2017 ad for a summer reading sale.

(And yeah, if the orange-redness of everything is emphasized... oh well, it's a trope, and sometimes you just surrender gracefully and lean into those.) :)

BTW, the rather blown-out image of Mars displaying on the right side of the Wizard's manual in the AWoM cover above is a relic from older editions of the book: a render I did using laser altimetry and radar terrain data from the Mars Global Surveyor probe. There's a scene in the book where one character gets really annoyed at another and uses wizardry to drop a small ocean's worth of (ancient) water on the Oceanidum Mons region in an attempt to get rid of her. This attempts to show how the region looked in the immediate aftermath.

...I really need to re-render this now that Terragen has upgraded its planetary-level cloud management. :)

Anyway, I'm delighted you liked the Rover! Thanks for letting me know.

#Mars #A Wizard of Mars #Curiosity #Young Wizards meta