#the eternal gay struggle

[cheekbonered]

do you have a female friend you’re deeply jealous of because of some perceived superiority she has over you? as in, why would anyone look at you when they could gaze upon her? why would any male gaze you’re supposed to want rest on you when she’s in the room? if so, you may be entitled to compensation (ruining the friendship by growing increasingly bitter and then realising you might have been repressing something)

#every time i think im straight #the deep feelings of awe and obsession for another woman strikes me #bisexuality #comphet #too straight to be in a knitting circle to gay to pretend men are funny #the eternal struggle #what am i

[pealeii]

Do I not want to ship this gay pair because of my own personal preferences or because of my

deep internalized homophobia

#the eternal struggle 🥰 #shipping #mlm #wlw #gay #internalized homophobia

[nadinehunt]

🏳️‍🌈

@r4chelamber

nadine is holding up two shirts right now. one features a non-binary pun, and the other, a bi pun. they have been looking between them for a few moments now, before showing them off to rachel. “which one do i wear?” both are not very funny, which makes them both completely hilarious to nadine.

“why isn’t there a good way to wear two shirts at once with funny graphics? this is killing me.”

#r4chelamber #which gay part of me to show off #the eternal struggle #& ㅤ * ㅤ met you in a dream ㅤ ╰ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ main au.

[aroaceleovaldez]

Nico and Percy's dynamic through the series is eternally funny to me, because it's just. like.

Percy's having a constant mental struggle between his fatal flaw of loyalty with a promise he made to Bianca to protect Nico, versus his Big 3 kid desire to maim other Big 3 kids / Poseidon descendant urge to totally maim Nico specifically. He hates Nico so so much. He thinks Nico's annoying and weird at best, and creepy/sketchy when he's older. The only positive thoughts Percy has towards Nico are "He's Bianca's brother and Bianca was my friend and I owe her/He's Hazel's brother and Hazel is my friend and would kill me if I was mean to him," "He's a powerful asset and useful ally (if questionable)," and "He's kinda pathetic and I feel maybe a little bad about it." Percy has multiple occasions throughout the series where he strongly considers - and on one occasionally actually goes through with - throttling Nico.

Meanwhile, Nico is following around Percy like a lost puppy. He explicitly can never bring himself to even dislike anything about Percy no matter how hard he tries. He has a whole bit in BoO where he's mentally going "UGH he's so stupid BUT IT'S ENDEARING HOW DARE HE." He's totally smitten. He's making deals with his dad for Percy. He's making convoluted plans to help Percy stand a chance against Kronos. During the entirety of BoTL it's like he's playing tsundere - "I'm helping NOT PERCY SPECIFICALLY with this quest! Me helping Percy would be SILLY because I DEFINITELY HATE HIM." Then he proceeds to show up to Percy's birthday party to basically ask him on a weird date and spend the entire next book scrambling around trying to help him or protect him or impress him. And Percy could not give less of a shit.

Just. That dynamic is so funny to me. Percy is the founder of the Nico Protection Club in that he's the one they're all protecting Nico from and meanwhile Nico is throwing himself at Percy to the point where the literal god of gay love calls him out on it.

#pjo #percy jackson #nico di angelo #Percy shows up at CJ and squints at Nico like ''hm. why do i feel like i hate you? like i just wanna punch you in the face?'' #and Nico just immediately goes ''huh no idea anyways i have to go-'' and jumps into Tartarus #but not before he gives Hazel essentially a detailed explanation of ''this is Percy i cant say much but please dont let him die <3'' #and Nico's whole Tartarus trip was basically a whole ''im doing this so no one else has to'' #only for Percy and Annabeth to fall in like one book later and Nico proceeds to spend the next book internally screaming about it #and then Cupid calls him out on it and the next book #Nico's just like ''at this point im hoping i keel over within the next week just so i can force this dumb crush to chill the fuck out'' #Nico staring pointedly at Will: ''For my own sake i need to form another crush RIGHT NOW so i can finally get over Percy.'' #''this has been so bad for my health'' #Nico's crush on Percy is just too funny to me. horrible pick my guy. terrible job. love that for you. he could not be less interested. #Percy LITERALLY TRIES TO KILL NICO and ditch him in the underworld and Nico is somehow STILL like ''but i love him'' #Percy basically chokes him. beats up his dad. tells him ''go get smited by your dad for me.'' and ditches him. #and Nico's opinions/crush on him DO NOT CHANGE #though also Nico's reaction to Percy beating up his dad + skeletons is SO funny. his jaw is on the floor. he's flustered about it. #he just witnessed Percy be incredibly hot and proceeded to go ''yea i'll do anything for this man. collect reinforcements of 3 gods? sure'' #nico you absolute DISASTER with HORRIBLE TASTE. you can do better. raise your standards. #which tbh is funnier when you factor in sun and the star. Nico just wont stop crushing on guys who dislike him and everything he stands for

[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

[neil-gaiman]

I know you tweeted that you don't write much in the way of gay sex, but I wanted to offer my profuse thanks for the scene in American Gods. I read it in high school, when I was struggling with my own sexuality, and it marked me forever. It was the first time I read homosexual desire as something exciting and meaningful, rather than abhorrent.

Please know that you inspired a young, queer man to embrace his desires and write his own erotic scenes.

Thank you eternally for the stories 💜

I am so glad! You are very welcome.

[wormshirt]

As someone who uses a mobility aid and has muscular tension that cause me general body and joint pain and stiffness from the hips down on both sides what would kill me with doctor who wouldn't be the running it'd be the fucking stairs. They don't always have stairs in doctor who but oh boy when they do. I can run super fast and then inevitably injure my hips and suffer through it and keep limping along through the pain but if it's a flight of stairs between me and safety I'm so dead. If I don't take those stairs 1 step at a time my knees WILL lock or my muscles will throw such a massive hissy fit that it'll take me TWICE the time it takes your average person to go up those stairs and I will be killed or kinapped or put through some strange and unusual scifi horror by step 3. The doctor and I (limping) run down 50000000 hallways and we reach the end of a hall with only a reasonably sized staircase on the other end of it and the doctor immediately starts vaulting up the steps 3 at a time until he turns around and notices that I have stopped completely at the bottom of the steps to stare at him blithely. He starts trying to get me to go up the stairs or ask what the hell I think I'm doing and I slowly lower myself back down to the ground and cross my arms over my chest and begin reciting funeral prayers with a serene smile. The big evil monster comes after me and I am eaten. Badly. The doctor yells NOOOOO really loud and cries a little maybe idk and then is emo about it for like half a season until they end up back by the staircase in a season finale or something and it's revealed that the stairs are magic stairs that preserve the conciousness of any ugly ass bitch who hates staircases enough and the doctor is implied to have know this all along. and the doctor gives me some heartbroken major depressive disorder poster child look and a little speech about how they "couldn't have come back here for blah blah excuses reasons" and I smile sweetly and say "why the fuck didn't you have an emergency exit strategy or some shit incase the guy who uses a fucking cane couldn't do some shit like go up stairs super fast because he uses a fucking cane. Hello. Not even mad. Are you stupid. You are a timelord. Your people let your gay ass fuck off to who knows where because you're the dumbest timelord ever and they couldn't stand your stupid ass. I can't believe I'm stuck on this gay ass space station with this lame ass death for all of eternity because you didn't think that the guy who struggles to go up stairs would struggle to go up stairs. You wanna know what the alien said to me before he ate me. He said hey that dude you're here with sucks so bad and is stupid and gay and lame as hell. And I would have said 'yeah lol' but then he ate me. He ate me because of stairs doctor. Stairs." And then I'd stay forever trapped with my soul in that staircase just so I could spend the rest of enternity sending spam calls and telemarketers to the tardis phone. The doctor's investigating something outside an alien bar somewhere and sees ads like XXX Brittany Wants To Spend a NIGHT With YOU Sexy! Hot Singles in your area! Call here for a night of FUN! HOT SINGLE Xxeksifloryean Milfs Looking For a MATE in GALAXIES NEAR YOU!!!!❤️❤️❤️ and softly puts a hand on the posters and goes "I'm sorry I couldn't save you....." five seconds later jerry from *TOTALLY REAL* intergalactic statefarm NOT A FAKE NOT A SCAM calls up the doctor on the TARDIS phone to ask about the doctor's insurance info. Somewhere I kick an ugly ass step on a stupid fucking staircase and break my ghost toe. I hop around and start swearing.

#doctor who #dw #long post #the doctor #bangers #<-original post tag

[iblameashley]

Something to look forward to

Civilian | Male | Gay

2,607 words

Content: Angst, mention / depiction of blood, hospital recovery, mental breakdown, happy ending.

Follow up to: A Night, A Fight and the Price

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | Male/GN Reader

!!!SFW!!!

Price swoops in to save the day and take Simon away for medical attention at the 141 base. Later, you're made an offer you can't - and won't - refuse... after all, Simon is your friend and he needs you, even if he'd rather swear off tea for life than admit it.

Tag List: @a-sleepy-dissapointment

(Thanks to @loneghostwolf for permission to use this image)

It all seemed like a dream; or perhaps a nightmare. Simon had slumped over on his floor bleeding out as you frantically tried to apply pressure to his wound. Captain Price had arrived in what felt like an eternity but also in record time. He burst through the door with two other soldiers – both apparently medics.

They swooped in and took over, pushing you out of the way and stabilizing Simon as Price divided his attention between you and Simon. His gruff, deep voice was a stark contrast to his kind demeanour.

“Simon will be okay.” He stated in an even tone as he guided you to the kitchen sink.

Price helped you clean the blood off your hands as you fell into a deep brain-fog.

“We're ready to head out, Cap.” One of the soldiers called out as Price finished drying your hands.

“Rog, move out.” He commanded them, “I'll be down in a moment.”

Price turned his attention back to you as the soldiers hoisted Simon up and walked him from the flat.

“You did good, pal.” Price reassured you, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving you a firm squeeze. It snapped you back to reality.

“Are... is...” You stuttered to find the first question you wanted to ask.

“You did good.” Price repeats with a nod.

All you could do was nod, looking into his calming brown eyes. “Okay.” You managed to mutter weakly.

“I have to go, take care of Simon.” Price explained softly before walking out of Simon's flat, grabbing his mobile as he left.

You stood there silently for a moment, the blood stain still fresh on the floor, and the lingering smell of cigars filling the room.

You broke down; collapsing to the floor and bawling for hours as your brain tried to process everything that just happened. Your eyes burned and turned a puffy red and your chest heaved until you depleted the last of your energy and passed out on the cold kitchen floor.

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It was hard to say how much time had passed when the buzzing of your phone woke you. Your eyes struggled to open, heavy from the weight of events on your heart and mind.

You groaned as you rolled over and felt around for the phone.

“Shut up.” You rasped as your hand slapped around the laminate floor.

You had no choice but to focus your attention and look around until you spotted the mobile buzzing near the drying pool of blood. Your jaw clenched as you relived the moment again. You swallowed hard and turned away from the sight as you grabbed the phone.

“Unknown Number.” You muttered as you looked at the screen.

“Six missed calls.” You said weakly as the call ended and the home screen popped into place. “All from an unknown number.”

A text message came in.

Unknown: This is Captain Price. Please pick up the phone.

Your heart skipped a beat. How did he get your number? You thought about it for a moment, and then remembered that Price had taken Simon's phone as he left the flat. He must have grabbed your number from Simon's phone. Your heart sank as it feared the worst. You sent him a reply.

You: Sorry... I... It was a bad night.

You: Is Simon okay?

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You were surprised when Price had offered to bring you to the base as a visitor, but jumped at the chance if only to see for yourself that Simon was okay. You played at the 'VISITOR' badge pinned to your chest as you were escorted to the medical wing of the 141 complex.

You stood out like a sore thumb surrounded by soldiers going about their days. Every one of them flashed you a glance as you walked through the corridor and into the medical wing.

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Your heart sank into the depths of your stomach as you saw Simon laying on the bed with machines hooked up to him, beeping steadily away. His breath fogged up the oxygen mask in even succession and you timidly approached the bed.

“He's fine.” Called a familiar deep voice.

You turned to see Captain Price standing in the doorway, his expression and tone was flat and the smell of cigars once again filled your nostrils.

“He's just been sedated.” Price continued as he entered the room to take up position beside you.

“For the pain?” You inquired. It seemed unlikely Simon couldn't handle the pain considering he walked home silently and barely made a peep as he bled out.

“No.” Price replied bluntly. “To keep him in bed. The muppet would walk his arse out of medical claiming he was fine if we didn't.” He explained with a wry smile. “You're welcome to stay as long as you need.” Price continues, turning his attention to you. “I mean it. We'll set you up with quarters if you need.”

You looked at him quizzically, “Why?” you asked rather curtly. Your lips pursed and you looked down as you realized your tone.

“Because you're Simon's only non-141 friend.” Price said with a warm smile.

Your heart skipped a beat, or six, as you took that information in. His only non-141 friend? It felt strange to hear, to know, but it was true. You knew that much.

“I looked into you.” Price stated abruptly. “I know you can work remotely, so you won't miss any work time if you temporarily move on to base.” He gives you a half-smile.

“Totally normal use of military power.” You remark sarcastically, flashing Price a curious look.

“I did it for Simon.” Price replies, his tone oddly soft for a man of his rugged looks.

You let out a throaty grumble. You had mixed feelings about that particular approach, but you pushed all that down to focus on Simon.

“Thank you.” You finally said before making your way to the seat next to the bed.

You sat down in the chair, feeling the cold fabric mould to your shape. He likely had little or no visitors, and your heart sank deeper.

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After Price had left, you sat there in the chair for a while simply looking at Simon sleeping. He looked strangely peaceful and relaxed.

Simon's phone sat face up on the table next to his bed. It was charging and you couldn't help but pick it up and turn the screen on. No messages. No phone calls.

You looked over at Simon and bit the inside of your cheek. He deserves better than to be left alone. He should have something nice to wake up to.

It was decided, you were going to make sure to make Simon smile when he woke up.

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You: I met Price properly today, Simon. He's a nice man, gives off fatherly vibes, though the smell of cigars is a bit off-putting. Oh well. He joined me in your room while you slept. We talked a bit, but he had work to attend to, so he excused himself and said we could talk later.

You: Its been three hours now. You look quite peaceful, its a nice change from your usual gruff personality.

You: By the way, if you really didn't want to see that movie with me, you didn't need to go and get stabbed. lol.

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You: I met Kyle today. Or... Gaz I suppose. He's a really nice guy, chatty when he opens up. He came by to see you immediately after he got back from a [Redacted] mission in [Redacted] to obtain [Redacted]. I'm starting to think I don't have clearance for that information. Haha.

Gaz walked in the room, clearly exhausted from doing God-knows what. His eyes fell to Simon first and his expression dropped. It wasn't until he took a few steps forward when he saw you sitting in the chair, typing away on your laptop with the over-bed table lowered to a usable level.

“Hey...” Gaz said curiously as he approached you.

Your ears perked at the sound of his charming voice and you stopped working to look over at him. You could smell gunpowder and sweat, and his eyes looked puffy and tired. “Name's Kyle.” He says, extending a hand. “You can call me Gaz. Price told me Ghost – err – Simon had a friend staying here.” He smiled.

You took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “I didn't believe he had any outside the team.” Kyle joked as he took a seat in the chair beside you.

“Nice to meet you, Gaz.” You replied quietly. You shut the lid to your laptop.

“How's he doing?” Gaz inquired, tilting his head in Simon's direction.

You shrugged a bit, there hadn't been much change in his condition and the nurses wouldn't give you any updates. You were nothing more than a chair warmer and emotional-support human for Simon.

“About the same.” Is all you managed to tell Gaz. “Price says he's sedated to keep him from wandering, and that he should be okay in a week or two.” You explained.

“Brilliant.” Gaz smiles. “Glad to hear he'll be fine, and that gives me time to learn more about his mysterious friend.” He teased. “Care for a tea and a chat?” He asked, motioning for you to join him.

And with that, you two were off to the mess for some tea.

You: Gaz told me a joke, figured you might like it.

You: What sits in the seabed and has anxiety?

You: A nervous wreck.

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You: Got another joke for you.

You: What do you call a bear with no teeth?

You: A gummy bear.

You: I got to meet 'Soap' today. He's... yeah.

Soap had actually sneaked up behind you as you walked from your quarters to the medical wing one morning. You were already used to the sounds to soldiers walking and jogging around the halls, so you paid it no mind until a hand landed on your shoulder and spun you around.

“So you're Simon's wee friend!” He remarked with his perfect smile. “Been lookin' forward to meeting you in person.” He added before releasing your shoulder him its tight grip.

“Let me guess, you thought I was fictional.” You fired back with a mischievous grin.

Soap let out a hearty laugh and shook his head. “Nah, Simon is a good man once you get to know him.” Soap asserted with a nod. “I just needed to see the person who broke through his walls, s'all. Name's Soap, by the way.” He tacked on, giving you a pat and pushing you to walk with him.

“Do I even want to know why you're called 'Soap'?” You inquire, raising a brow.

“Its classified.” Soap joked.

“Of course it is.” You replied with a shake of your head.

“Going to see Simon?”

You nod.

“I'll join you.” Soap decided for you both. “So, tell me about yourself. What do you do? How did you meet Simon? What kept you around Simon?”

Soap fired a barrage of questions as you walked, barely letting you answer one before asking a follow up or new question.

You: He calmed down after a while. But the man can chat, that's for sure. He would even give Gaz a run for his money.

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You: What do you call cheese that isn't yours?

You: Nacho cheese!

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You: What do you call a happy cowboy?

You: A jolly rancher.

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You: What kind of music scares balloons?

You: Pop music.

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You: What did the ocean say to the beach?

You: Nothing, it just waved.

You: Met Laswell today. She was not thrilled to have 'a civilian' on base, but got over it pretty quickly when Price explained who I was. I barely spoke to her, but I've learned to never piss that woman off. Mad respect.

Laswell went outside for a smoke break after her initial irritation and conversation with Price. As she let out the first puff of smoke, you approached a bit causally.

She glanced at you curiously as she sucked at the cigarette between her fingers.

“You're friends with Simon, huh?” She muttered.

“His only civilian friend, I'm told.” You replied with a sigh. You proceeded to take a seat on the concrete half-wall nearby.

“What brings you out here?” Laswell asked as she leaned against the wall beside you.

“Needed to move around. Been sitting beside Simon for almost two weeks now.” Your tone is as weary as your body feels. It was something you couldn't admit to anyone on base, but even just watching over Simon seemed to drain what little reserves of energy you had left. You wouldn't abandon him – never – but it was a lot to handle mentally.

“Understandable.” Laswell sympathized. “How are you doing?” She queried.

She took a long drag from her cigarette.

“Not going to ask how Simon is doing?”

Laswell tossed the butt of the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out.

“I know how he's doing.” She fired back. She gave you a kind smile. “You're the fish out of water here.”

“I'll be happy when they stop sedating him and I can talk to him.”

You roll you jaw around and grit your teeth.

“I miss him.” You add solemnly.

“He's lucky to have you, you know.”

“I'm lucky to have him too...” You mumble.

You: Seems you have a lot of people that care about you. Laswell passed on this joke when I told her what I was doing.

You: Why should you never use a dull pencil?

You: Because its pointless.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You: Why didn't the sun go to college?

You: Because it already had a million degrees.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Simon woke up slowly, his head was throbbing and his muscles felt weak. He struggled to look around the room in the dim light. Simon slowly became aware of the machines hooked up to him and began to panic. He was vulnerable. At risk.

He strained hard to move, only managing to weakly pull himself into a sitting position on the bed. He let out a low gasp as the pain in the side of his abdomen seared through his body.

He looked down to see himself in a hospital gown. “Hmm.” He grumbled.

Then his eyes noticed you from his peripheral. You were on a curled up in the chair by the bed, head flopped to the side and gently snoring.

Simon couldn't hold back his smile seeing you sleep.

After a moment of his lingering gaze, Simon turned his attention to his surroundings. He quickly figured he was on the 141 base.

He pulled off the oxygen mask and pulled the wires from his body, shutting the beeping machines off.

He found his phone and flicked the screen of.

“Thrity-six text messages.” Simon mumbled in a raspy voice. “All from...” He looked back to you and another smile crossed his lips. He was too exhausted to maintain his usual emotional armour, and just enjoyed the feeling of happiness that washed over him.

Now to find out what you had sent him.

#gays #lgbtq #cod #cod mwf2 #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty #simon riley #sfw #ghost #simon riley cod #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon x male #simon riley x male reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x male #ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #captain john price #john price #john soap mactavish #soap #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick #kate laswell #laswell cod #story #short story #one shot

[regulusrules]

Ranking the best 10 Merlin episodes + a fic rec based on each one:

(absolutely not based on how gay they were) ((no order for the eps; they're all chef's kiss)) (((last two fics have a hold on me that levels the show itself; worth scrolling for)))

1. The Poisoned Chalice

Look. There is something just absolutely entrancing about introducing this episode in the first five of the entire show. Like, this hands-on was the sole reason everyone fell for those two idiots. It beautifully captured how the saving each other thing is reciprocal, because the first three episodes you just have to watch Merlin run around saving Arthur, never the reverse. Producing it early on in the show was the decision that, in my opinion, held everyone in their chokehold for eternity.

Fic rec: you are my favorite mistake (it can only be fate) by @multifandom-jess.

2. The Death Song of Uther Pendragon

I could go on and on for how this episode singlehandedly carried s5 on its shoulder. Like, okay I unfortunately love s5 with all my fucking heart, but this episode was perfect. Ghosts? Check. Banter? Check. POETRY?? Check check. A slap to Uther's face? Oh how beautifully checked.

It's so easy to recall how Arthur truly loved his father, but in this episode, the turmoil you see in his eyes from the actions of his father and how he resorts to saving the ones he loves (Merlin) over his father, is just too beautiful to be overlooked. Ever since Arthur became king, we see him struggle from his father's legacy. But in this episode, he begins to detach both consciously and subconsciously from him. Whether it's in his decision to save the old sorceress in the beginning, or to shun Uther's ghost, both the literal and the figurative, from his life any longer. This was one of the episodes that captured the true essence of King Arthur.

+1: the innuendos of this episode were 🤌. They knew what they were doing, you can't convince me otherwise. (are you threatening me with a spoon? / I'm teaching him some poetry.. he can't get enough of it! / what was that? h-horseplay. why don't I show you?)

Fic rec: My heart is readily yours by @regulusrules. (absolutely love how after all this introspection, i decided to throw it all away and made uther stab merlin in the fucking heart instead. but still it was my honourable attempt to shit on the finale and give them the happy ending everyone deserved).

3. The Sword in the Stone pt. 2

OKAY. This episode! Aside from how badass Merlin was in both pt.1&2, but here, especially in the part where us audience were impatiently waiting for the revival of the sword in the stone, there could've been nothing more perfect. Just like their adaptation of the round table scene, this was perfect in its own way for how different it was. They didn't make it so that people will finally find a king; they made it so that the people believe in their king. And more than that, for Arthur to believe in himself. With the estrangement and losing his crown, the writers gave him the best way to re-establish his inner glory. And Merlin being this guide; what more perfect culmination to their relationship?

You have to believe, Arthur.

Iconic.

Fic rec: Couldn't choose between Only Friend by @captain-ozone, and Fathom Me Out by @supercalvin. Brilliance ahead in both of them, I tell you.

4. The Eye of the Phoenix

Magic. Gwaine. Quests. Need I say more to explain that this was the show's holy trinity?

Fic rec: From Past to Present by flowersheep. (Prince Merlin. Archer Merlin. Perfection my friends).

5. A Servant of Two Masters

Look look; if there's an honourary wall of opinions for all the people who've watched Merlin, I DARE you to find just one who disliked this episode. Like, the series was so full of BS sometimes, but this episode was above all. The level of brilliance in this episode; showing Dark!Merlin, who's at the same time hilariously funny, and seeing him BAMF his way with Morgana, even when he's chained and tortured.. oh dear holy Lord. His "do me a favour, could you? let Arthur know." was able to steal all breath from my lungs the first time I saw it (and until now).

And don't get me started on the Protective!Arthur we got. Caring for Merlin, screaming for him when the rocks fell between them, silencing Agravaine immediately when he told him he's sorry for losing such a loyal servant because bullshit if he doesn't reign down hell before he loses Merlin. And ofc, Courage and Strength on their way to find Magic, which just filled my heart with an 'aaahhh!' moment, because we didn't get enough Gwaine-Arthur-Merlin shenanigans. And at last, the Hug™. Fucking screamed let me tell you.

It is an episode that truly showed everything; from comic elements to fluff and angst and everything. The only thing it lacked was, as always, giving Arthur the space to know. Because ffs what would they have lost if they made Arthur understand that Merlin's under Morgana's control? It wouldn't have exposed shit. It would've just been a plus to us to see Arthur caring for Merlin even more. They tried so hard that it completely backfired sometimes.

Fic rec: Still I Surface in Morning Light by @queerofthedagger. (I swear to you, anything written by this author, I readily throw whatever in hand to read it).

6. The Dragon's Call

Let thy gif caption speak.

No but really, that first episode was the stuff of legends. I could list down tens of tropes they did in just that episode alone. Honestly, no "family" show I've ever seen had started this powerfully. Just the music alone, the beauty of beginnings, not the CGI, was truly so gripping. Also bonus points for just Colin Morgan's sass abilities. None can compare.

Fic rec: This Time Around... series (incomplete) by Oneiric (lkdaswani). (this is a time travel AU, but the way the writer rewrote this episode was one of the best deviations I've read for an episode I already find near faultless).

7. The Sins of the Father

I might be subjecting myself to true wrath with my upcoming statement, but here we go:

S2 sucked.

From the beginning of the season, Arthur's shift in characterization from the honourable lovable prat of s1 to a letting Merlin act as a horse stool got me going wtf? It was like they deliberately ruined everything in their relationship and started out fresh just to force the Arthurian narrative of Arwen. And it's fine by me, truly, even if I'll never ship them, but they could've developed Arthur's character SO MUCH in that season beyond comic relief and romantic rendezvous.

Anyway so that I don't stray so much from the topic; this episode was, by fair comparison, the best in the entire season. By now it's pretty obvious that I gravitate towards all the episodes that give Arthur a semblance of agency. Him going against Uther and his maniac murderous agenda was the start of actually seeing King Arthur in front of us. Also, him listening to Merlin when he was on the verge of committing patricide was one of the things that gave me hope in how there's still hope in them. Even if they ruined it with making Merlin lie to Arthur, but the writers practically ruined every good episode with this.

+1: Morgause's intro was badass.

Fic rec: The Sins of the Father (and how to right them) by @cupcakezys. (what we deserved. to see arthur with agency, with an ability to decide for his future without being lied and deceived to).

8. Diamond of the Fucking Day

No matter how much I hate this episode, I can't, in good conscience, deny its hold on my heart. As I wrote before, there could've been no better magic reveal than this. And for all of my bitterness over their decision to kill Arthur, I sanely admit how it was a decision that insured the immortality of this fandom. It's been ten years since that episode aired, and I bet my ass off that it will still feel the same even after countless more decades.

Fic rec: literally the entirety of the fandom's fix-it fics. We all started from there, didn't we? Choosing only one would be so undervaluing to all the brilliance I've seen. However, my tags filter for it usually include: fix-it, angst with a happy ending, court sorcerer merlin, shitting on bbc writers 101, canon era, not canon compliant, everybody lives especially king arthur you mfs.

9. The Wicked Day

Throw me from the highest tower there is because every time I remember this scene, I just want to fade into the light. The sheer level of love and understanding shimmering between those two. Sometimes I marvel at the choice of bringing Colin and Bradley together, because no two could have achieved such chemistry, platonic or not, as those two did. This whole episode of showing Arthur's grief, and Merlin's desperation to heal it, was truly unforgettable. I try not to linger on its ending, Arthur denouncing magic for the millionth of time, but other than that it was a gem served to us on a silver platter.

Also seeing Uther finally die was a plus.

Fic rec: As much as I'd love to recommend my own fic for this, but honestly, whenever I get the chance, I will always take it to scream and wail about one of my absolute favourite fics of all time, which really isn't given ANY of the goddamn credit or attention or kudos it deserves. Beauty in the Ashes of Our Lives by Fulgance. I swear to you, you will never read something as beautifully heartbreaking as this. This fic resides in my mind rent-free. Basically any work by Fulgance is amazing, but this fic— oh God, my heart cannot take it sometimes.

10. Arthur's Bane pt. 1

Fuck, that episode was a masterpiece. You know, if it was all in my hands, I would've magic revealed at this particular episode. It was just.. the perfect opportunity. King Arthur in his glory, beginning of the season, enough time for Arthur to fully understand the depth of what Merlin did for him. Also, the range Arthur was given starting from here; God it's what we deserved. I always blame the writers for being inconsistent with his characterization (s2 and all), but they beautifully crafted it in the end, and it was their perfect chance to even explore the whole extent if only they made the magic reveal earlier.

Fic rec: Our broken pieces by @aramblingjay. Okay so this fic rec isn't necessarily linked at all to the episode, but I can't, in good conscience, recommend fics and not include it. Technically context wise it fits s5, for in it you see Arthur in his grandeur as king. This shall be my only exception because it's the only fic that was able to make me cry. Truly, I never shed tears, but in this, my heart stuttered. The fact that it is so unnoticed makes my blood boil because of how much praise it deserves. I can never recommend it enough.

To conclude, BBC Merlin has a powerful hold on everyone because of the fact that they knew how to eternalise it. It is significantly unique in its interpretation of legendary figures. I think I watched nearly all adaptations of King Arthur throughout the years, but even with how great some really are, to me none compare with this sword-swishing, banter-driven, CGI-messing, emotionally-killing 2008 show.

Honorary mentions:

| The Labyrinth of Gedref | Gwaine | Le Morte D'Arthur | Lancelot | The Coming of Arthur | The Moment of Truth | The Hunter's Heart | His Father's Son | The Darkest Hour |

[Short fic recs]

[Long fic recs]

#merlin #welcome to a long ass critical appreciation for my favourite show in the world #with fic recs because writers deserve longlasting fame too #arthur pendragon #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #ao3 #merthur #merlin x arthur #king arthur #merlin fic #did I say that I love these fics so much already? #merlin fic writers are a godsend #regulusrules metas #regulusrules recs

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

"https://www.tumblr.com/tbos-main/738719535451013120/for-the-scene-you-posted-that-is-from-the-other?source=share"

"I don't dislike Rhaenyra, I really don't. But it is BAFFLING to me that her struggles are 'I'm just a princess, I'm not even queen :(((( My life SUCKS :((('

Alicent's fans have the most mediocre opinions about Rhaenyra because they are only capable of victimizing Alicent. Also, during episode 7, when the eye incident occurs, Alicent and Rhaenyra haven't been friends for over 9 years. Alicent's only actions after the time jump are to pick on Rhaenyra and her children. Why should Rhaenyra care about Alicent? Alicent's speech in that episode is pure hypocrisy; she had already let Larys get away with murdering two people and stayed silent because it benefited her. Justice and duty can be forgotten as long as it benefits Alicent.

Alicent is also not the eternal victim that OP believes she is..

People who think Rhaenyra's struggles are "but I wanna be queen :(" really don't have good media comprehension. If we look at everyone else in HOTD the same way op is looking at Rhaenyra, then literally all of their struggles are "but I want that privilege!"

Rhaenys and Corlys want the throne or their blood to be on the throne. Viserys wants to be able to chill in his room with his figurines with no responsibility. Daemon wants to be Hand, the heir, or the prince consort. Alicent wants to chill with privilege and no responsibility at first, then wants her blood to be on the throne. Aegon wants to be prince with no responsibility or consequences. Helaena wants to chill alone with bugs and her kids. Aemond wants to be king.

Literally every person in this show wants to stay privileged but on their terms. That's not actually their issues and struggles, but if we're dumbing down Rhaenyra's story, everyone gets dumbed down too.

Rhaenyra has been demeaned and treated as less than because of her gender her entire life. She was forced into a marriage with a gay man who couldn't give her children while a majority of her worth still lay in her ability to give birth. Viserys never actually went out of his way to support her until his literal last day, he does the bare minimum to protect her or her children in court. She was abused by Alicent for a decade at least until she was driven from the capital. She was usurped, her children murdered, and was murdered by her brother. She is so much more than wanting to be queen, TG stans just hate to see that.

As for Alicent, she only cares about "duty and sacrifice" when it benefits her and/or her family. She clings to the morals of the Seven until it's her faction going against them. She's obsessed with her and Rhaenyra's former friendship until she can use it to try guilting/manipulating Rhaenyra.

In Driftmark, Rhaenyra was right on about Alicent. Alicent has been far from the saint her fans view her as and far from the martyr she thinks she herself is. She has abused Rhaenyra and supported Larys, allowed Aegon's bullying of Aemond and Criston's of the Velaryon boys.

Alicent should be asking herself where duty is and asking her faction where their sacrifice is. Rhaenyra has done her duty, she married who her father told her, she had children to be her heirs and Laenor claimed as his own as well (even though she had a lot of trauma surrounding childbirth). She has served on the small council despite how the men on the council don't respect her and Alicent constantly undermines her. Rhaenyra's only crime is refusing to sacrifice herself to serve the men around her.

Op purposefully twisting the events of the show to support their view that Alicent "always defended Rhaenyra" and "only did what she was told" is so frustrating. That view deliberately ignores that Alicent stopped defending Rhaenyra in episode five, the same episode where she chose to declare war on Rhaenyra. The ten year gap was her acting entirely independently from Otto. It also ignores how Alicent raised her children to hate Rhaenyra and her children, that's not defending Rhaenyra or doing what she's told, since Alicent had the most control over her children's lives.

Alicent isn't a perpetual victim, she's victimized by the patriarchy (show only), but quickly becomes a perpetrator of abuse and a constant supporter of the patriarchy. She sacrifices her own daughter in the name of Aegon's ascension. She hates Rhaenyra for not bending to the men around her and punishes her for it. Alicent benefits from bending to the patriarchy by second half of the season, and doesn't stop until she causes the Dance. She may work for the betterment of the men around her, but she does it of her own freewill after marrying Viserys.

#rhaenyra targaryen #anti alicent hightower #anti team green #anti alicent stans #anti team green stans #anti rhaenyra antis #team black #house of the dragon

[absolutebl]

hi there 🖐🏼 what are your recs for bl movies with great acting?

BL Movies with GREAT Acting

Specifically Movies? Do KBLs that were cut into movies count? Hum, I'm gonna make a judgement call given how few actual movies I have to work with and say if it holds as a "movie going experience" I can count it. I should say in order to really push this into the superlative acting space the BL aspect on many of these is... light.

His

Japan 2020 Viki

His is about being a grown adult and still struggling with coming out as gay. It addresses the consequences of life choices disingenuous to identity. Nagisa turns up on Shun’s doorstep with his precocious daughter in tow. This is a touch confusing to Shun since they were each others first love and ended badly. Shun has retreated from society, rejecting the world before it can reject him, already brokenhearted because without Nagisa he never had a reason to fight. Nagisa went the opposite way, tried to pretend to be something he was not and ended up with a daughter he adores and a wife who hates him. The acting is killer, Miyazawa Hio is sulky in the best possible way, the filming is beautiful and the setting unique and interesting...

I'm not wild about the ending. Moody arthouse smackdoodle is going to pretend that "ambiguous" is somehow unique and special rather than bog standard commonplace for narratives of this type. But endings are my hangup, not yours?

This is not really BL (the prequel was), so few of the tropes are used. You do not need to have watched the prequel.

Your Name Engraved Herein

Taiwan 2020 Netflix

This movie is fantastic but it is also seriously depressing. It’s a self acceptance journey that goes emotionally array on the alter of history, but if you wanna wallow in high quality acting and serious gay drama, this’ll do it. I would say it's not really BL, no real trope drops at all.

Okay those two I chose more on the strength of the acting than BL. These others are not going to be at the same standard/style.

If you want moee of the above level of drama, things get very sad in the BL world, so Love of Siam, Dew, Eternal Yesterday, Goodbye Mother, etc...

Restart After Come Back Home (Risutato wa tadaima no ato de)

Japan 2020 Gaga?

Atmospheric study in rural Japan meets complex family dynamics built on a romance framework of city boy meets country boy, grumpy/sunshine. It’s beautiful and icy sweet. Slow moving in places but ultimately worth the patience, low heat, low angst, and stunning. The acting is a touch stiff, in that Japanese reserved way.

This is the only BL movie, as a movie, that I could pull. There are others, I jsut don't think the acting is good enough.

So here are some highly rated short bingable series that are movie length (1.5-2.5 hours) but not really movies - BUT with killer acting. So they still might satisfy the itch. I places them in order of acting and filming quality, not my own personal preference.

From Japan

Old Fashion Cupcake

Tokyo in April is...

Life: Love on the Line (director's cut)

My Beautiful Man

I Cannot Reach You

Seven Days

From Taiwan

Red Balloon

We Best Love (esp part 2)

About Youth

HIStory 2: Crossing the Line

From Korea

To My Star

Long Time No See

The New Employee

Where Your Eyes Linger

More like this?

I want to shout out The Eighth Sense here too. It's longer than movie length but so well acted.

(source)

#asked and answered #BLs with great acting #movie bls #best bls #best of list #His the movie #Your Name Engraved Herein #Restart After Come Back Home #Old Fashion Cupcake

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 1 - Side A

Propaganda below ⬇️

Abuelita Alma Madrigal Propaganda:

There's a church in the Encanto as well as a priest and given how strong her grip is and how much of a control freak she is, I would very much doubt she'd allow people to believe in other miracles than Pedro's if she wasn't, herself catholic. Also I mean south american turn of the century family they're probably catholic.

Listen at least Alma is!!! The candle!! The importance of the church!!! The vibes are just there!!!! The idea of being a savior by sacrificing yourself (or at least your personality/grief) for your people? That’s SO catholic coded PLEASE

Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler Propaganda:

good lord where do i start. in the animated series he converts logan to catholisism and then fucks off basically thats the main thing he did there. i think one time they tried to make him a demon to explain how he looked but everyone hated that. he sold his soul one time to help his friends out after he died. he and logan have a weird little gay thing. he was a priest one time but he was made a priest by a fake bishop from a religion that hates mutants iirc so he just wasnt a priest. like 3 people have written him in a way i like and one of those is my friend just talking about how they view him.

wow marvel loves making catholic characters dress/look like demons

Kurt is a mutant who was born to mystique who looks a LOT like a devil (technically is half one but that cannon truth isn't real go back to bed), his mother dropped him off a cliff when he was born and he was picked up by a Romani group/circus (fuck old comics man) however he then narrowly escaped being sold to a freak show and found himself in a small German town. There he met a kind priest, who showed him God, and he quickly grew attached to the idea- However, it wasn't long before people began labeling him a demon and soon the whole town was against him with pitchforks and fire. Cornered and injured, Kurt thought this might be the end for him- maybe he would see heaven so long after finding it- but he was then saved by Charles Xavier who invited him to the X-Men. AND ITS BEEN SO MANY YEARS AND HE HAS BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH THERE. SO MUCH. SO GOD DAMN MUCH. BUT THE MOST AAAA THING TO ME CONCERNING HIS FAITH HE WHEN HE LITERALLY DIED AND WENT TO HEAVEN BUT THEN BECAUSE OF DRAMA WITH HIS FATHER HAD TO BRING HIS FRIENDS IN WITH HIM FROM THE BEYOND. THEN WITH ALOT OF TROUBLE THEY FOUGHT HIS FATHER AND THE ONLY WAY KURT SAW TO STOP HIM WAS IN A MOVE THAT STRIPPED THEM BOTH OF THEIR SOULS AND PUT THEM BACK ON EARTH. SO KURT CANONICALLY HAS NOW LOST HIS ABILITY FOR ETERNAL PEACE, LOST HIS VERY SOUL, TO SAVE PEOPLE- AND ALSO TOLD NO ONE NOT EVEN HIS GAY LOVER WOLVERINE.

Nightcrawler is a mutant vigilante who looks like a classical demon. He can't even go to church without people panicking and trying to exorcize him. Despite it all, he's so full of faith and hope and compassion, and he wants to believe the best of everyone. Also, he's bffs with an extremely angry Jewish sword lesbian. That has nothing to do with anything, but it's important to me that you all know that.

What if you were a devout christian and literally looked like the devil? He nearly became the pope, which was a plot by some supervillains that also involved faking a rapture? There is nothing like comics I swear to god.

A catholic who is half demon I don’t think I can better explain a struggle than that. But his character is so relatable to people who feel unwelcome with their congregation because of something that is a part of them but still feeling a connection to the faith. Kurt actively engaged in his faith and shares how his faith helps him through all the things he has faced in life and how he found a home with those of the church who leave the judging to God.

so they made kurt a priest briefly before deciding to retcon it, resulting in nightcrawler actually being part of a plan by villains to promote him to pope then reveal to the world that the pope is a demon. wild.

I have a side blog and a tattoo about him and i really really want him to win

Wisecracking devil-appearing devout Catholic with the Best superpower (teleportation)? HECK YES

German Catholic circus acrobat who looks like a demon & can teleport through a hellish alternate dimension with a puff of sulfur. Character of all time.

hes catholic and his dad is the devil. what could be funnier than that. also hes my silly little guy.

Nightcrawler is the world’s most fun catholic priest. I first was introduced to this kindhearted teleporting acrobat while he saved a boat full of stowaway refugees from inter dimensional pirates with swashbuckling gusto!

#encanto #alma madrigal #abuela madrigal #x men #kurt wagner #nightcrawler #marvel #cct polls #tumblr tournament #tumblr polls #tumblr bracket

[gaymormonmike]

GENERAL CONFERENCE BLUES

You tell me I am loved,

Accepted and that I struggle,

That you pray for me,

That you spend long hours

 debating my existence

and what to do with me.

You say I will be in Heaven but not the highest

Degree of glory,

That I can not be with my family.

That my covenant path does not go all the way,

Somehow it ends in a lower Kingdom.

Then I look around and see so many like me.

I am a gay cisgender man who is single,

 divorced after being sealed for time and all eternity.

My transgender grand daughter has no place to be in my church.

My single, unmarried friends have no place in my church.

But we are assured that we are loved, accepted and wanted.

I feel like the guy who came to the party thinking it was casual dress

And everyone is in tuxedos but me.

Where is my succor?

Where is my hope?

It was hard to find in General Conference.

I used to love General Conference,

Before I accepted my gay self.

Now I have the General Conference blues.

#queerstake #lds #tumblrstake #general conference

[dwreader]

A Meal to Remember by @iwtvfanevents

Part 2: I am suddenly Megan Ellison, a wealthy lesbian, my father is a billionaire who has allowed me to start my own production company to make films I want to see. Money is no object. Here are the fics I would adapt and who I would hire (bully into) directing.

1. Reformation by verseau - first of all, I would pay $1 billion to acquire the rights outcompeting Amazon, Netflix and Apple and I would make Betsy adapt the screenplay. I maintain this must be cinematic because Ldpdl’s hole needs to be experienced in 70mm imax AND I would not allow any countries to censor like they did to Florence’s boobs. This would be like an Eternal Sunshine/Blue Valentine/Two for the Road type romantic dramedy that jumps back and forth in time to show the couple’s struggles and progression, and the non-linear storytelling means it automatically becomes an Oscar frontrunner. I would try to hire Barry Jenkins first but he is occupied with The Lion King 2 at Disney so then I would go to Mia Hansen-Love to direct. Beyoncé does the soundtrack. I didn’t even have to ask her she just wanted to.

2. Part of Your World by weathermood - I will imprison Mr. Monsterfucker himself Guillermo Del Toro until he agrees to direct this film like I am Kathy Bates in Misery. He will read it and then be like okay I agree you don’t need to kidnap me I will make this movie. We are going full Avatar 2 level budget to make sure underwater scenes are believable cause I won’t tolerate bad Aquaman CGI. The budget balloons to $400m but that’s okay cause it makes $2.7b worldwide and there’s 2 sequels greenlit immediately cause the world wants to see Louis get pregnant.

3. A Potentiality for Corruption by vampdf - Guillermo is occupied with Part of Your World and its sequels now so I turn to Robert Eggers to help bring to life this gothic horror romance. It’s 3 hours long. Parts of it are in black and white and there’s aspect ratio changes that confuse and unsettle the audience. We debut at Cannes. We get a 47 minute standing ovation but also some walkouts and fainting in the crowd because some vanilla viewers couldn’t handle the ending, which is controversial but has everyone talking.

4. Cord of Communion by themasterletters- this has now become a #1 nyt best selling novel so we have a built in audience and they want it to be a tv show cause of its length and we can’t skip out on any important points. Every streamer wants it but I choose HBO cause of the prestige factor and I’m an Emmy whore. It becomes Sunday night essential viewing replacing Succession it’s like if The Idol was actually good. I hire many talented directors such as Raine Allen Miller (Rye Lane), Francis Lee (God’s Own Country), Gina Prince Bythewood (Beyond the Lights) and I make Rolin Jones be my showrunner. We sweep the Emmys. The episode where Lestat fires Louis becomes the new Red Wedding traumatizing millions.

5. Pieta by baberainbow - When iwtv the amc show ends, I hire Paul Verhoeven to direct a standalone sequel film based on this fic. It’s as insane as you could ever imagine. The Catholic Church is mad at us. It’s condemned by the Vatican and the anti-feminization police. They’re protesting outside our premiere like they did to Benedetta. It doesn’t matter cause it just makes the film an even bigger hit.

6. Hand to God by boltcutters - first I pay Ziska $1 billion to finish writing this. Then I go back in time to 1933 first to make Hollywood not adopt the Hays Code so we can have gay and interracial stuff in movies and then to 1946 so Howard Hawks can direct this Danlou version of The Big Sleep.

PSA: some of my links aren’t working cause I’m on my phone (on vaca) so please forgive me but y’all know where these fics are don’t lie!!!

#iwtvfanevents #a meal to remember #iwtv #fic recs

[dontbotherwiththepronunciation]

Warning: Religion, God-critical (that term makes me feel like I'm writing meta that bashes a teen girl or pretends she is the villain), nihilism, explorations of suffering according to abrahamic faiths and particularly christianity, canon fucked upness in Aeron and Theon's stories. LONG POST.

I've been thinking about the Drowned God. I know people usually connect catholicism with the faith of the seven, which is fair especially when looking at it as an institution, and the faith of the Drowned God gets compared more often to Scandinavian/Norse mythology, more specifically to Valhalla as the afterlife (although I think the feasts given by Ægir and Ran in Skáldskaparmál would be even more fitting, but that's only me nitpicking), but the catholic catechism sees suffering as something that is both redemptive and also empowering and this reminds me of Aeron and Theon.

Christianity on itself believes that suffering, when united with the Passion of Jesus, atones for one's sins and thus allows entry into heaven. Catholicism specially sees suffering as an inherent part of the human condition brought upon by human sin against God.

“As long as [Adam] remained in the divine intimacy, man would not have to suffer or die.”  - Catechism of the Catholic Church

But since Adam and Eve committed sin by eating the forbidden fruit (or as I like to see it in my I-view-very-important-religions-as-basically-high-fantasy interpretation, Eve chose agency & knowledge and cut the strings this divine puppeteer used to limit her with), suffering was casted upon them and all their descendants. And then, according to the incredibly specific official bible timeline from the Houston Christian University, 3974 years, six months, and ten days later (skdghsfbdhaaahahahahahah) Jesus was sent to earth to cause some havoc and basically tell everyone that the suffering, the struggle, the oppression and all the horrible things that happened to innocent people in our world would eventually have a payoff after death.

The more strict practitioners (ex. flagellants) used to (and some still do) find spiritual benefits when causing physical pain upon themselves. Corporal mortification was seen as an act that brought you closer to purity. Suffering made you ascend in the eyes of God. Suffering was encouraged. Suffering was noble.

Suffering was a promise of hope.

The promise of eternal life (and the eventual bodily resurrection) allowed people to believe that, as long as they placed their faith in Christ, the suffering would not be tied to a tragedy.

The phrase "God is Dead" first appears in Victor Hugo's Les Misérables but it became more popular through Nietzsche's The Gay Science (Insert SpongeBob hand gesture). A simplified summary of the themes explored in The Gay Science would basically be Nietzsche claiming that christianity invented an ideal inexistent utopia that is too farfetched from reality. He sees christianity as a common, anti-intellectual philosophy for simple minded people that enslaves its believers. But by seeing it as something inexistent and false, by "killing God", the illusion of divinity is lost and all the hope and consolation that came with it are gone too, leaving humanity in a state of tragedy; nihilism.

God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it? - The Gay Science

To some extent I feel like he is the reborn Eve in the narrative. By denying the superior force he feels he gains control over his own person, but is left in a world of pain at the burden of his existence being tied to mortality and purposelessness (oh, sweet paradox)

Nietzsche was a self-proclaimed nihilist although he didn't seem to want to be one. He saw nihilism as the result of the loss one felt at the realisation that life, and all the suffering in it, had no greater purpose. "God is Dead" was calling the readers into finding a way to cope with the situation.

And for anyone who started reading this because I mentioned the Drowned God, sorry it took so long to get here, but I relate all of this specifically to Aeron and Theon and their connections to religion. I believe in Theon's bind to the Old Gods and, as he is in ADWD, it seems he has come to vaguely believe in both of these faiths, although the Old Gods are more present in his story. Aeron though, is so reminiscent of this concept.

And I know that christianity is not the only religion tied to the faith of the Drowned God.

The Osiris myth is arguably the most important one in Egyptian mythology and I think the motif of "What is dead may never die, but rises again harder and stronger" is just as if not even more present in that one.

In it, Set murders his brother Osiris. The reasons behind the murder vary depending on source, but one of them portrays it as revenge for Osiris having sex with Set's wife, Nephtys. Set usurps his brother's throne while Nephtys and Osiris' wife, Isis, search for his body, then mummify and revive him. Personally I don't consider it to be very similar to the myth of the Drowned God but it feels more resemblant to it than Jesus' very normal "came back without a scratch" resurrection. Osiris doesn't get that benefit. He comes back bruised and bandaged, with death being visible on him.

Christianity also has refrained from sacrificing their own but Quetzalcoatl and Tláloc, aztec deities, would demand human sacrifice through drowning during Etzalcualiztli (the sixth month of the aztec calendar) and Tláloc specifically promised an utopic afterlife to those who had water-involved deaths, but even more to those who willingly gave themselves to the water. Celts also practiced drowning sacrifices, but I know too little about them to be honest.

What I am trying to say is, if actively searching, one could alway find similitudes to other faiths, but because abrahamic faiths have been the ones that prevailed through time and the ones I've experienced most, I will focus on them.

Alright, Florence play "What the water gave me"

Drowning, baptisms and water imagery

I wonder what it would be like to be a Catholic, to dip your hand into the cold water and to believe in its holiness. - The Moth Diaries (Yes, I read the Moth Diaries, shut up! It is what if Carmilla and Twilight had a child.)

Christianity is kind of basic when it comes to water symbolism, but it's loyal to its theme.

There isn't a lot to speculate on water, it "washes yours sins away" but there is a common pattern in characters that belong to the Bible that is repeated over and over again and somehow Aeron embodies it pretty perfectly.

We are confronted with characters who have lived sinfully.

On the other hand, I do wonder what would be considered as "sinful" according to the Drowned God. Their religion is passed down orally and has no scriptures that I know of, so a set of rules can be more ambiguous depending on whoever is preaching. Lust, greed, wrath and pride, all considered official sins by christian doctrine, are encouraged by the faith of the Drowned God in the form of salt wives, raiding and their beliefs of ethnic superiority. The only sin I can think of that is specific to the them is that Ironborn shouldn't kill Ironborn, but even that is absolved when water is involved since drowning another Ironborn is alright and a death near the water is considered a good death.

We are born to suffer, that our sufferings might make us strong. - The Prophet, AFFC

Suffering is also encouraged, so I am assuming that any type of hedonism would be seen as sinful too (which would-be contradictory to what I stated above, but alright maybe GRRM was a little weaker when it came to world-building this time or maybe I am misunderstanding something. If so, please correct me, I genuinely am curious about these topics), if that is the case, then yeah Aeron was sinful and has reasons to look down on his former self.

Young I was, and vain, but the sea washed my follies and my vanities away. That man drowned, nephew. His lungs filled with seawater, and the fish ate the scales off his eyes. When I rose again, I saw clearly. - Theon I, ACOK

Immediately, something like scales fell from Saul’s eyes, and he could see again. He got up and was baptised, - Acts 9:18

Here is one of the many character allusions I think one can identify in Aeron. Saul of Tarsus, disputed Apostle, leads a violent life persecuting early christians until lightning strikes him during one of his travels and blinds him. For three days he starves and spends his time praying until Ananias of Damascus comes to his rescue and baptises him.

It's one of the less obvious ones, but I just like how they used the scales-blindness imagery and while this storm was one at land, not at sea, there is another biblical character who shares more similitudes with Aeron.

As a kid the book of Jonah was one of my favourites, so of course I love Aeron!

A prophet, an equal, but weak in his beliefs, too tentative when he should be nothing but certain in his faith! God tells him to go overthrow Nineveh (east) and, because these prophets never learn not to contradict the narrative, he tries fleeing to Jaffa (west). On the way there, the ship he is traveling on is barely holding on because God has sent a storm against them. The sailors blame Jonah, Jonah takes the blame and goes "alright, you know what? Just throw me over board and the storm will cease." The sailors refuse, but Jonah goes overboard anyway. He comes back to the surface three days later reborn in the water as as a new man, now fully convinced to follow his path as a prophet.

Depending on the translation there are a lot of similitudes between the texts. Even the imagery used for describing settings is alike. I know religious scriptures get a bad rep because of all the atrocities committed in their names (valid, very valid), but viewed simply as text, they have some truly beautiful prose and the Book of Jonah is so vivid and precious, and it is very reminiscent to some of Aeron's chapters.

From inside the fish Jonah prayed to the Lord his God. He said:  “In my distress I called to the Lord, and he answered me.  From deep in the realm of the dead I called for help,/out of the belly of Sheol I cried,  and you listened to my cry./and you heard my voice.  You hurled me into the depths, into the very heart of the seas,  and the currents swirled about me;  all your waves and breakers swept over me. I said, ‘I have been banished  from your sight;  yet I will look again  toward your holy temple.’  The engulfing waters were at my throat,  the deep surrounded me;  seaweed was wrapped around my head.  To the roots of the mountains I sank down;  the earth beneath barred me in forever.  But you, Lord my God,  brought my life up from the pit.  “When my life was ebbing away,  I remembered you, Lord,  and my prayer rose to you,  to your holy temple.  “Those who cling to worthless idols  turn away from God’s love for them.  But I, with shouts of grateful praise,  will sacrifice to you. What I have vowed I will make good.  I will say, ‘Salvation comes from the Lord.’”  And the Lord commanded the fish, and it vomited Jonah onto dry land. - Jonah 2

The seaweed in his head, the belly of the beast (Silence/Sheol), the crashing of the waves, the engulfing waters.

I won't even really go into The Forsaken with the Jonah comparison, because to me the Forsaken is the most open "Jesus in the dessert" analogy, but I still find it compelling to imagine Jonah and Aeron, both inside the whale/ship desperately praying to their God. Only one of them finds salvation and it's not Aeron.

But asides from setting and aesthetic there are these:

The god took me deep beneath the waves and drowned the worthless thing I was. When he cast me forth again he gave me eyes to see, ears to hear, and a voice to spread his word, that I might be his prophet and teach his truth to those who have forgotten. - The Prophet, AFFC

Ears that hear and eyes that see— the Lord has made them both. - Proverbs 20:12

Otherwise that they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts, and turn and be healed. - Isaiah 6:10

They have mouths but cannot speak, eyes but cannot see. They have ears but cannot hear, nor is there breath in their mouths. - Psalm 135:16 & Psalm 115:5

There is a singer from my country, she wrote a song called "Thanks for life" and then killed herself three months later (Iconic behaviour). The song is still considered a "humanist hymn", which I think is morbidly hilarious. In the lyrics, she keeps thanking life for things that should be basic to life; for having eyes, ears, mouth and hands. I think there is something interesting in how these are all basic atributes most people are born with but these acts of gratefulness, at least in Aeron and Jonah's case are not made in bad faith. They are genuine and true.

 The Drowned God gives every man a gift. - The Prophet AFFC

Are these seen as the God's gifts too? If so, are these acts of gratefulness supposed to make the believers humble and less ambitious? Or is it just that the God is a niggardly one? We know of Aeron having thought his gift was that he could piss longer and farther than most, and later on he recognises the power of his speech, his eloquence. Surprisingly, Aeron is never stripped of that gift once Euron captures him.

His eloquence is his strength, through it he preaches, leads religious rites, advices lords and convinces others to join the faith. And of course, he also baptises.

Baptisms, baptisms, baptising, cleaning the sins way, water as a metaphor for blood, birth, rebirth, John the Baptist!

This is where the storm -> near death experience -> spiritual reawakening pattern ends, but the similarities become more clear when we recognise both of them as heralds whose strength lies in their reputation and their oratory, something both Euron & Herod recognise and it is what keeps them from killing him (or in Herod's case at least for some time).

I have mentioned on my blog that I don't buy a lot into the Jesus-Theon comparisons and I will mention it again later but, since I am a hypocrite, I will take the Theon-Jesus bait and use it as a prop for my Aeron-John thing. As of now there are just two instances involving Theon that actually make me think of Jesus:

Psalms 22

His baptism

Jesus baptism marks his place as "messiah" but it also announces the beginning of his true calvary. By having the Holy Spirit descend on him after the water has cleansed him, he accepts his destiny as his father's (God) lamb to the slaughter. According to Matthew's Gospel it is even Jesus who has to beg John to baptise him, although John is initially reluctant. After the baptism Jesus departs to the dessert knowing of the suffering that awaits for him. This is not the case for Theon. Theon initially doesn't even want to be baptised. It's almost like he is subconsciously trying to escape what is to come after the baptism: the anguish.

Lifting the skin, his uncle pulled the cork and directed a thin stream of seawater down upon Theon's head. It drenched his hair and ran over his forehead into his eyes. Sheets washed down his cheeks, and a finger crept under his cloak and doublet and down his back, a cold rivulet along his spine. The salt made his eyes burn, until it was all he could do not to cry out. He could taste the ocean on his lips. "Let Theon your servant be born again from the sea, as you were," Aeron Greyjoy intoned. "Bless him with salt, bless him with stone, bless him with steel." - Theon I, ACOK

I love Theon's baptism by Aeron. It goes badly and it's tragicomical. It feels like a mockery of Jesus' baptism. A satirised Monty Python type of scene.

Here he comes, our cocksure young man who sees himself as the chosen one, holding a promise of paper while thinking there is an entire comet heralding his return, here he comes, our prodigal son, all "Don't need no advice! I got a plan! I know the direction, the lay on the land! [...] Nuh-nuh-nothing can break-nuh-noting can break me down!" only to get cold feet and be made to kneel in the mud, annoyed at the custom that would have actually anointed him, and then having to blink the tears away because it hurts him. @/shebsart has a really beautiful and intense but also comical depiction of the scene and I really love it.

It's also a little sad. It shows a disconnection from what should have been his culture and faith. The saltwater washed Aeron's follies away. Aeron embraces it, he drinks saltwater, bathes in saltwater and would probably not mind it on his eyes. The saltwater nurtures Aeron, but to Theon it only gives pain.

Ok now, to

Reek, Aeron, Job and Jeyne, Falia and Job's wife

(I think a reading of The Book of Job could also be applied to Lancel Lannister with Amerei Frey taking the role of Job's wife and Jaime Lannister acting as Job's friends, but I won't write about him and even Aeron will be in second place. @/nosaeanchorage wrote meta about the religious journeys Theon, Aeron and Lancel experience involving trauma responses which I found to be very interesting and well formed, so yeah I'd recommend reading it!)

The book of Job has a theme in its story. Can you guess it? It's further suffering!

(In a very deep voice: Where were you when I feel from grace? A frozen heart, an empty space)

So, Job is this guy living a rather fulfilling and morally righteous life; he is happy with his wife and children, has a few friends, is wealthy and healthy and, most importantly, he is God-fearing. Satan tells God that the only reason Job is loyal to him and serves him so dutifully, is because God has been good to him. God gets insecure and tells Satan "alright, let's see if you are right. Go torture him a little. You can take his riches, his children and his health in that order. You can take pretty much everything he values, but keep him alive!"

Job becomes a miserable wreck of a man.

It's not a favourite of mine, but it has a pretty good interval of "pathetic wet kitten blorbo" and "angry, scornful almost defiant in his resentment survivor" so I still enjoy it. And it also opens the question on whether "divine punishment" is really something inherently based on justice and goodness, it defies the way many religions tend to preach that bad things can only happen to bad people and, unlike the suffering promised by Christ, there is no redemption to be found through it. Job at some point gets healthy again and his riches are restored, but this was not a given. The suffering is pointless unless he finds a meaning to it.

This doesn't really sound a lot like Theon or Aeron. Both of them were deprived of well adjusted, happy lives since childhood, but Theon's behaviour towards Ramsay sometimes reminds me of Job's feelings for God, and Euron literally claims himself to be a God.

Ramsay is never directly compared by the text or any characters to a God (well maybe he himself does, but that's arguable), the closest we come to such is this:

“The gods are not done with me,” Theon answered, wondering if this could be the killer, the night walker who had stuffed Yellow Dick’s cock into his mouth and pushed Roger Ryswell’s groom off the battlements. Oddly, he was not afraid. He pulled the glove from his left hand. “Lord Ramsay is not done with me.” - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

But Theon's fear for him sometimes makes me think of one. He is so terrified of Ramsay and sees him as this unbeatable force, but keeps telling himself and others that whatever Ramsay has done, as nefarious as it is, is an act of mercy and goodness. I know there are different interpretations to that behaviour. Some readers tend to believe that he has successfully gaslighted himself, others see it as a remnant of his sardonic and sarcastic sense of humour. Personally, I imagine it's a mixture of both. There is enough textual evidence for me to believe he does not truly think Ramsay is justified in his actions, but I can imagine how he might try telling himself that no punishment goes undeserved as a way of coping, which is what he tells Jeyne too.

In the Book of Job, our poor little meow meow goes through different reactions as his torture starts, many of them resemble Theon's thoughts, never fully by text, but very much in spirit.

He would crush me with a storm and multiply my wounds for no reason. He would not let me catch my breath but would overwhelm me with misery. If it is a matter of strength, he is mighty! And if it is a matter of justice, who can challenge him? Even if I were innocent, my mouth would condemn me; if I were blameless, it would pronounce me guilty. - Job 9:17-20

How long will you torment me and crush me with words?  Ten times now you have reproached me; shamelessly you attack me.   If it is true that I have gone astray, my error remains my concern alone. If indeed you would exalt yourselves above me and use my humiliation against me, then know that God has wronged me and drawn his net around me.  Though I cry, ‘Violence!’ I get no response; though I call for help, there is no justice. He has blocked my way so I cannot pass; he has shrouded my paths in darkness.  He has stripped me of my honor and removed the crown from my head.  He tears me down on every side till I am gone; he uproots my hope like a tree.  His anger burns against me; he counts me among his enemies.  His troops advance in force; they build a siege ramp against me and encamp around my tent.  He has alienated my family from me; my acquaintances are completely estranged from me.  My relatives have gone away; my closest friends have forgotten me.  My guests and my female servants count me a foreigner; they look on me as on a stranger.  I summon my servant, but he does not answer, though I beg him with my own mouth.  My breath is offensive to my wife; I am loathsome to my own family.  Even the little boys scorn me; when I appear, they ridicule me.  All my intimate friends detest me; those I love have turned against me.  I am nothing but skin and bones; I have escaped only by the skin of my teeth. - Job 19:1-20

That, the ambivalent conviction that they deserve to be punished, and the overall fear of their torturer's omnipotence are written similarly. Of course in Job's narrative the omnipotence is real, in Theon's it is only perceived, but so, so strongly.

And this is where Jeyne takes an interesting role.

Job's wife is a fun character and I admire her. To some extent she and Jeyne serve similar purposes in the story, since they defy Job and Theon's conviction of their fate being unescapable. Sadly, in Job and his wife's case, she is wrong because you can't defeat God and you can't escape him, but I still appreciate her condemnation of Job's passivity and God's supposed goodness. The text focuses on Job's pain but never on the collateral pain that reaches his wife. She might not have fallen sick, but since her living condition is tied to that of her husband she is affected by all this. She has lost her riches, her happiness, her children, and only because of God's whims, someone she begins to hate. She also begins to loathe Job and the way he keeps making excuses for God and justifying the tragedy that befalls them. So, she tells Job:

“Are you still maintaining your integrity? Curse God and die!” - Job 2:9

(fucking metal, I love her, iconic behaviour)

The holy scriptures are not very compassionate to women who defy men or God, they get vilified and punished, but I applaud that bravery.

In Jeyne's case, her defying of Theon's conviction that Ramsay is unescapable is done much more gently and the relationship between them appears to be one of mutual compassion; Theon often tries to victim-blame her in the same way he blames himself but never seems to truly internalise that, Jeyne apparently doesn't hold his participation in her abuse against him and considers him her saviour. But still! Jeyne, as meek and scared as she is, is the one who by constantly asking for help, by acting undignified in her suffering and not simply taking it without question, manages to water this seed of doubt in Theon's mind, even if he himself isn't fully aware of that.

And it's kind of fun to think how, although Jeyne and Falia are narrative props with similar purposes, it's Jeyne and Aeron who take the place of Job's wife. Falia is Job, fully sure that Euron is merciful and will treat her with respect and care for their children, that Euron will not forsake her, while Aeron is immediately telling her to run for her life.

Maybe because, unlike Theon, his faith is already placed in a God.

Jesus Christ & The Forsaken (and Lodos and Theon)

(Need new song...Wow a yard SAIL!)

Lodos

I'm going to clear the issue with Lodos very fast, because he too seems to be like a wink at Jesus Christ. Lodos literally claims he is the Drowned God's Son, dies, then supposedly comes back from the dead some time later like "'sup", leads a rebellion against the current ruler of the Iron Islands and dies again this time with all his followers being persecuted and killed, so yeah, he seems like a satirised version of Jesus Christ but there is not a lot more to that.

Theon

I have seen people claiming connections between the two but never in a manner I could agree with, and I feel so stupid because I don't get it. People sometimes compared his and Robb's relationship to Jesus & Judas, which aside from the suicidal thoughts post "betrayal" doesn't seem very alike. The "betrayal" was done for different reasons, the reactions to the "betrayal" are different, and the guilt also comes from different places. By placing Theon as Judas we also sanctify Robb in a manner I find almost insulting since Robb condoned and approved of Theon's torture by the Boltons. If I'm going to compare Robb and Theon it will be more to God & Satan, but even there it's only a superficial similitude.

Now, Aeron, Aeron, my love, Aeron!

My God, my God, why have thou forsaken me? - Psalms 22:1

“Still praying, priest? Your god has forsaken you.” - The Forsaken, TWOW

Even the title feels like a reference. The trajectory of Aeron's belief during the chapter resembles the psalms too and, although I never believe in anything I think, their similitudes are what makes me hopeful about Aeron's fate; the idea that he is not truly forsaken.

As hinted above, the Psalms begin lamenting themselves over the anguish that God is seemingly not stoping, yet as they continue the psalmist becomes even more convinced of his God being a merciful one who will provide a cure for his afflictions, one whom the world should praise.

For he has not despised or scorned the suffering of the afflicted one; he has not hidden his face from him but has listened to his cry for help.  From you comes the theme of my praise in the great assembly; before those who fear you I will fulfil my vows.  The poor will eat and be satisfied; those who seek the LORD will praise him— may your hearts live forever!  All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the LORD, and all the families of the nations will bow down before him, for dominion belongs to the LORD and he rules over the nations. All the rich of the earth will feast and worship; all who go down to the dust will kneel before him— those who cannot keep themselves alive.  Posterity will serve him; future generations will be told about the Lord.  They will proclaim his righteousness, declaring to a people yet unborn: He has done it! - Psalms 22:24-31

According to most interpretations, the psalmist himself is Jesus. This is the suffering of Christ and from Psalms 22:22-31 it is spoken by him after coming back from the dead. He encourages others, those who have witnessed his anguish, to believe. This is also what Aeron does once Falia is bound to the prow with him, he tells her of better times to come.

“Falia Flowers,” he called. “Have courage, girl! All this will be over soon, and we will feast together in the Drowned God’s watery halls.” - The Forsaken, TWOW

This also slightly mirrors Jesus and the Penitent Thief, who is crucified next to the Messiah and fears what is to come after death. He asks Jesus to not forget him.

Jesus answered him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” - Luke 23:43

It's so remarkable and moving to me how Aeron has always tried to protect Falia from Euron. He doesn't know her, if he were to have known her he would have probably looked at her with scorn, to some extent she has acted as an accomplice to Euron in his captivity, and yet...he promises this frivolous greenlander girl that the two of them will feast together...

The end of the chapter also carries christian imagery that seems to stem from Christ's crucifixion.

“Your Grace,” said Torwold Browntooth. “I have the priests. What do you want done with them?” “Bind them to the prows,” Euron commanded. “My brother on the Silence. Take one for yourself. Let them dice for the others, one to a ship. Let them feel the spray, the kiss of the Drowned God, wet and salty.” - The Forsaken, TWOW

When the soldiers crucified Jesus, they took his clothes, dividing them into four shares, one for each of them, with the undergarment remaining. This garment was seamless, woven in one piece from top to bottom.  Let’s not tear it,” they said to one another. “Let’s decide by lot who will get it.” This happened that the scripture might be fulfilled that said, “They divided my clothes among them and cast lots for my garment.” So this is what the soldiers did. - John 19:23-24

They bound Aeron Damphair tight with strips of leather that would shrink when wet, clad only in his beard and breechclout.  - The Forsaken, TWOW

The overall mental image summoned by that description is also rather similar to the typical depictions of Christ on the cross.

And even prior to The Forsaken, there are still some smaller, more superficial similitudes between the two.

Aeron lives sparingly, has no material possessions save for his waterskin and robe, he has a cult of followers devoted to him, and disregards governmental authority since he obeys to a higher power, one who encourages suffering in the same manner christianity does. Aeron fasts, goes swimming in cold water, drinks salt water, all this as a way to serve his God and become a living example of their teachings.

So yeah, in my opinion Aeron is the closest we have to an ASOIAF Jesus reference. It's not Theon, Theon's torture by Ramsay and the torture he imposes on himself afterward have no ideological purpose, it is pointless and unwilling. In my opinion, it's not Jon, it's not Beric, it surely isn't Robb, I hope it's not Dany (although I see a lot of abrahamic imagery in her (Moses + Lot's wife)), it's the Damphair. And I love that. I love how (according to the the author) one of the least sympathetic characters in this story has been somewhat equated to Jesus. A bold move, one that I've enjoyed a lot.

Anyway, in order to further develop this.

The Storm God, Euron and the Devil

Let's go!

I feel like Euron would appreciate this type of stuff he is flamboyant, weird and comical. If we ever get an ASOIAF musical I like to believe this could be inspiration for a duet between them.

Monotheism is a rare concept in ASOIAF.

The Many-Faced God could be the closest we have to a (explored in text) monotheistic religion, although it is monotheistic in the way Hinduism could be considered monotheistic: The belief in one supreme god whose qualities and forms are represented by a multitude of different deities, all which emanate from one alone. 

Out of the religions that are explored in the books none of them are really monotheistic, although some of them demand for their worshippers to worship them and no other.

Most real-life monotheistic religions have a type of "anti" to their god, who is not a god themselves, but is a being superior to humankind meant to drive them to perdition. They function more as a tool for testing human's moral compass and will to follow the true God than a foe. The word "Satan" means "adversary", but this is in reference to his relationship to humans, not to God.

In Goethe's Faust, God and one of his devils, Mephistopheles, make a bet and Mephistopheles is fully devoted to winning that bet. He does everything in his power to prove human virtue isn't true and that corruption will always prevail. The story proves he has a point. Faust does some completely despicable and heinous stuff and is very immoral, and still Mephistopheles loses anyway because God decides to pardon Faust's misdeeds and allows him to enter Heaven. Mephistopheles never stood a chance. He was fighting the narrative and the writer of the narrative and he could only be defeated by them. He is only a minion of God who doesn't comprehend his position and believes he is capable of surpassing a creature who is above all.

This is pretty compliant with christianity's views on the devil.

Hoverer, it is not the case with beliefs like those of Aeron and Melisandre. They don't regard the Storm God and the Great Other as mere petty minions doing the Drowned God's or R'hllor's dirty work. They see them as threats and all other gods as their petty minions.

"There are no gods but R'hllor and the Other, whose name may not be said." - Victarion I, ADWD

"Your Drowned God is a demon, he is no more than a thrall of the Other, the dark god whose name must not be spoken." - Victarion I, ADWD

The Storm God is considered an enemy of the Drowned God, and although his labour is similar to that of the christian devil (driving men/sailors into their doom), he seems to be his own creature.

And still! When comparing Aeron's role to Jesus Christ in the Forsaken, I can't help but think of Euron, the Storm God, and Satan as one.

“Kneel, brother,” the Crow’s Eye commanded. “I am your king, I am your god. Worship me, and I will raise you up to be my priest.” - The Forsaken, TWOW

(Not gonna lie, I think it's very fun how out of all the Greyjoy's the one whose name is directly derived from "God" is actually Theon, but alright, whatever...)

We don't really know what triggered Aeron's religious awakening. With Theon, Ramsay and his time in Winterfell is the easiest answer, with Aeron it's a mystery and I don't dare to say religion was a coping mechanism for Euron's sexual abuse or Urri's death because, based on what we know, the more plausible options are that alcohol and sex were the coping mechanisms.

We only know he went down in a storm and washed up ashore. On itself that is enough to be traumatic, so I don't know how much we should speculate on it.

A smile played across Euron's blue lips. "I am the storm, my lord. The first storm, and the last. - The Reaver, AFFC

I don't even have a theory, I don't have any proof or a structured idea. This just seemed remarkable to me. The concept that Euron might be involved in whatever happened during that storm is tempting and fun, nothing more.

Now, if Aeron is playing the role of Jesus, with Falia as the penitent thief during the "crucification", then I think I can claim Euron is taking the role of Satan; especially during The Forsaken.

After an undetermined, but apparently long period of starvation and isolation, Euron finally comes to Aeron, dressed in black and red, and presents the equivalent to the Devil's three temptations.

Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. The tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread.”  Jesus answered,  “It is written: ‘Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.’ ” Then the devil took him to the holy city and had him stand on the highest point of the temple.  “If you are the Son of God,” he said, “throw yourself down. For it is written: “ ‘He will command his angels concerning you, and they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.’ ”  Jesus answered him,  “It is also written: ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’ ” Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor. “All this I will give you,” he said, “if you will kneel and worship me.” Jesus said to him,  “Away from me, Satan! For it is written: ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only.’ ” Then the devil left him, and angels came and attended him. - Matthew 4:1-11

“That’s it, priest. Gulp it down. The wine of the warlocks, sweeter than your seawater, with more truth in it than all the gods of earth.” - The Forsaken, TWOW

“Pray to me. Beg me to end your torment, and I will.” “Not even you would dare,” said the Damphair. “I am your brother. No man is more accursed than the kinslayer.” - The Forsaken, TWOW

“Kneel, brother,” the Crow’s Eye commanded. “I am your king, I am your god. Worship me, and I will raise you up to be my priest.” - The Forsaken, TWOW

I'm not going to pretend they are the same, with exception of the third one, but even the others have small resemblances; nourishment of some sort after starving + trying to get the other killed, although the later one reminds me more of an encounter between him and Victarion.

Euron turned to face him, his bruised blue lips curled in a half smile. "Perhaps we can fly. All of us. How will we ever know unless we leap from some tall tower?" - The Reaver, AFFC

The last temptation, is the most interesting to me, because Euron has already distorted Aeron's faith into being chosen as King. He played at the edge of legality and won! And yet now, during The Forsaken he is experiencing a sort of existential defeat. Aeron is not being rescued by any god, but he would rather die as a martyr or accept even more torture and suffering rather than serve him. It doesn't matter how much Euron tries to convince him that his God has abandoned him, that he is a greater force, like Jonah, Job and Jesus Aeron refuses to abandon his faith.

And I think this persistence is what will keep him alive.

I've always found it very fun and interesting that Euron never threatens to cut Aeron's tongue out.

When wondering why, the Theon-Ramsay answer would be that Euron likes to hear Aeron's pain, which makes sense given how Aeron is a more targeted victim of his compared to ex. Falia Flowers. But Euron very clearly intends to gain Aeron to his side. He knows of the power Aeron holds in his voice and speech, of his reputation as a holy and respected man among the Ironborn, and how much of a waste it would be to simply throw away that power. Remember Varys' "[Cersei] knows a tame wolf is of more use than a dead one"? An eloquent priest is of more use than a mute one.

But this also backfires on him because since Aeron's integrity can't be broken, he manages to keep defying him and even continues spreading the word of the Drowned God, even as he is in a situation of mortal peril.

And still, even if the end of The Forsaken is somewhat triumphal, I can't believe it.

Yes, he is strengthening his faith, this obviously is a victory over Euron, his persistence and loyalty, but how long will it last? Weirdly enough out of my five favourite POV characters, Aeron is the one whose death I'm convinced of the least (sadly), and whenever I try picturing him after managing to get away from the Silence I can't help but imagine there will be a change in his mindset and I don't know what form it will take.

“Even a priest may doubt. Even a prophet may know terror. Aeron Damphair reached within himself for his god and discovered only silence.” - The Drowned Man, AFFC

Maybe it is because the chances of getting to my 30s are very narrow, and in the mean time I am in physical and mental pain, that I find there is something very beautiful and empowering about showing that the horrors are not always meaningful, and that they are continuous. The horrors are trying to live before, during and after the horrors.

So anyway, the reason I brought up Nietzsche way earlier in this is because I don't think the suffering in characters like Aeron or Theon is of nihilistic nature and it baffles me when people pretend it is. This is not suffering for the sake of suffering because suffering is inevitable and pointless and blah blah blah blah misery porn blah blah blah trauma porn blah blah blah moral outrage blah blah blah. It is suffering, it is inevitable, it can be pointless, and it makes a huge point in the narrative and the characters lives! And it is important to me that we see characters go through these things; to see them lose, grieve and hate, to see them being imperfect examples of victimhood, even if their feelings on the matter will vary. Some might attach some personal value to their trauma and others won't and both should be allowed to exist in media without people pretending only one of those is valid.

Theon's suffering is something very rare and precious to me because it serves no greater purpose. It started before he even met Ramsay and hasn't known at end ever since. I don't consider it redemptive, it's not a justified karmic punishment either. It carries no ideology and it's not for the sake of others. There is no consolation for him or anyone else because of it. The blood will coagulate, dry and be washed away, the wounds will scar and heal, and he will gain weight and muscles back and none of his mental issues will be solved. The torture doesn't fix him.

And I think that his possible outlook on it will be very interesting to see in contrast with Aeron's and their respective religious journeys. Theon's religious awakening is different and still genuine. It is in servitude to another faith that would be looked down upon by Aeron, and whom even Theon himself denied back in ACOK, mockingly referring to them as trees.

"Tell me true, nephew. Do you pray to the wolf gods now?" Theon seldom prayed at all, but that was not something you confessed to a priest, even your father's own brother. "Ned Stark prayed to a tree. No, I care nothing for Stark's gods." "Good. Kneel." - Theon I, ACOK

And I can't imagine an Aeron who, after going through an event this world-shattering (being tied to the prow of a ship while living unspeakable horrors, being drugged by the person who sexually abused him as a child and has now confessed to killing their brothers, one of whom Aeron seemed fond of, being confronted with the victory of a self proclaimed god whom he despises, and starting to form his own connection with a former mean girl whom he would have spat on, now co-victim), would be as judgemental to his nephew's newly awoken beliefs, even if they differ, even if he keeps viewing his own calvary as something divine, even if to Theon the suffering will never be a positive.

With all this said, I will admit I long for some evolution in Aeron's faith as the story progresses. I am open to pretty much every ending, but I love the possibility of a rupture between him and the faith that has been sustaining him for so long. Perhaps not a full negation of his God, but some questioning of his religion. The unsettlement of the "God is Dead" sentiment crawling in the cracks of his doubt.

So, simply out of curiosity in case anyone actually managed to get here:

#speaking #asoiaf #aeron greyjoy #theon greyjoy #euron greyjoy #ramsay snow #falia flowers #jeyne poole #ok yeah fuck it I am posting it #I know nobody really cares about this stuff and sorry for clogging the tags but I had fun doing this and it's been on my drafts for #a month or so #christiangirlera #/sarcastic #whenever I see people complaining about [REDACTED] in Theon or Aeron's story I just think of that post complaining about lesbianism in rgu #“Oh I love this but this detail ruins it for me. It shouldn't have been there.” #and then that detail is one of the core themes in the premise that is fundamental for the development of the character #“mIsErY P0®n iS Vo¥eUr|sTiC” #well guess what? most fictive media is vo¥eur¡stic!

[toxic-ship-tournament]

ROUND 3 / POLL 4

Lucille x Jo (@radioactive-dragonlover) vs Amaro x Calamari (@hottopicabbacchio & @corpsoir)

who makes up your ship?:

Lucille and Jo

why does your ship deserve to be considered the most toxic?:

Lucille is a rich woman who has nothing to do in her life, she's eternally bored and wishes for something new— something fresh to happen. Jo is a quiet woman with some repressed violent tendencies and who works minimum wage bug is struggling to make ends meets. One night, Jo decides to rob Lucille's mansion and kills her without meaning to in the process, escaping the scene anxiously thinking she's going to go to jail once the body is found. However, Lucille wakes up the next day, with the events of the murder burnt into her mind but her body spared of any wounds. Turns out getting killed is EXACTLY the spice in life she was waiting for! So she decided to track down and knock on her murder's door— not to rat her out, but to ask her to do it again. Jo wasn't really for murdering again, especially with how anxious she ended up getting in the aftermath, but begrudgingly accepts. And it seems that Lucille IS actually very fun to kill for her, too. Cue to Jo murdering Lucille on a Weekly basis, getting very Gay about it each time. Lucille get the thrill of death she wanted, and Jo gets an outlet for her violence. A relationship starting as purely transactional at first slowly turns into a murder romance. They're both kinda fucked up in isolation to one another but complete eachother awfully well. Like "you two are perfect for eachother but never pull anyone else into your bullshit" kinda deal. They keep eachother contained. You feel me.

ship tags/playlists/pinterest boards?:

Ship tag on my art blog ( nihonium-art ) : Undying love ( although fair warning for gore ) Playlist : https://spotify.link/TPbt2y12Syb

****

who makes up your ship?:

amaro (he/him, by hottopicabbacchio) calamari (he/they, by corpsoir)

why does your ship deserve to be considered the most toxic?:

Amaro used his stand (make you fall in love) on a lot of people, Calamari came around and he used his stand on them for one night too, but Calamari kept coming back after the effect wore off so Amaro continued to use his stand for a bit being afraid of him leaving/because he thought it would be fun. Eventually, Amaro realized that he had stopped using his stand on Calamari and actually fell in love with them. They have a good 3 year run where they're together and fine and in love UNTIL. one day going on a job for information (mafia business), Amaro is talking/flirting some of the information out of the guy theyre after and Calamari over hears some guys talking about how "Amaro is after another one" and how they had been affected by his stand power before. It gets Calamari thinking if Amaro had used his stand on them before (yes, but only at the beginning) and they start thinking that the whole relationship had been a lie. They get in a big argument - Calamari confronting Amaro while Amaro desperately tried to prove to Calamari he hadn't been using his stand for years - and they end up breaking up. After about a month, Amaro gets worried about not seeing Calamari around and goes to their apartment that he still haa the spare key too and goes inside to find him. Instead, he finds a mess and Calamari eating cold pizza in an empty bathtub alone. Calamari half agrees for Amaro to stay and help them clean, which they assume and know thats the only reason they would have come, and doesnt believe Amaro about their relationship no matter what he tries to say. Over time - a cleaning session maybe once a week or so with Calamari making as little talk to Amaro as possible and Amaro just wanting to make things right again - Calamari suddenly realizes that he might be falling in love with Amaro again and confronts him about using his stand again and tells him to show her to them. Amaro had made a vow to himself to not use his stand around Calamari ever again, but caves and shows Calamari that the swords (where his stand power is) are all still there. Currently, they are working on getting back to how they were before, but there is still Issues and Problems <3 They both want it back but Calamari still cant trust Amaro but Amaro had never been in love with someone like that before

ship tags/playlists/pinterest boards?:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4AcBeDHX48BYcmdda13KNL?si=fkg9IR4NT5Klw4bUt-0QoQ&utm_source=copy-link playlist by hottopicabbacchio, character tags on both op blogs under amaro avvoltoio and calamari pavone

#lucille x jo #amaro x calamari #radioactive dragonlover #hottopicabbchio #corpsoir #toxic ship tournament