#and neither of those backgrounds looked professional lmao but look now there is NO background fuck that

[freebooter4ever]

This is the final. The composition turned out much better and i think it looks more like me in reality. I might've made myself prettier than i actually am but whatever, remember the old medieval artist and his self portrait of frothy blonde curls.

Also entertaining because i remember when i took this photo it was while sitting in the giant tree beside the town library and some teen boys walked by laughing and pointing at me as i sat there taking like 20 selfies trying to catch the wind in my hair at the right moment. If i get a j*ob with this as my profile pic i'd say the mild humiliation was worth it.

[well-shit-im-a-morosexual-now]

"Recipe for Disaster" sounds like a perfect title for MC and Mammon lmao

Human cooking channel youtuber AU! Hear me out!

Mammon's a model who made a YouTube channel to come across as more relatable and get more fans (earn more money). During his first ever video he makes a stew for lunch out of anything and everything he finds in the fridge while talking about what it's like to be a model etc. (Time is money and he's all about efficiency and that includes multitasking). And the concoction he creates is so bizarre that 90% of the comments are talking about his food rather than his actual modeling career.

Mammon has a nose for sniffing out the newest schemes business ideas if nothing else so his whole channel becomes dedicated to making bizarre food out of whatever ingredients he has at hand and feeding them to his less than willing brothers. His channel grows in popularity (it helps that not only do all his brothers look like super models they're also some of the weirdest people anyone has ever seen. Half his viewers are convinced they're all just characters that these guys are playing. Some of them have theories that all the brothers are based off a sin, kinda like that one spongebob theory. One of his subscribers swears that one of the brother's- Stan maybe? actual name is Satan and everyone else has just been hearing it wrong)

MC has a much smaller channel, at first they use it to talk about tips for photography (HC that MC is a photographer and all those professional pics of the brothers on Devilgram that could only have been taken by someone else was actually taken by MC) and then it pretty much becomes a vlog where they rant about one of their roommates (Solomon) and how he set the kitchen on fire three times during the last 5 days but still happily ate the burnt food (charcoal. It was charcoal at that point). It eventually evolves into a channel of them fixing Solomon's nightmare fuel food and making it something actually edible and this actually makes their channel grow somewhat. (And no it's not just people coming in to catch the occasional glimpse of their other roommate's shoulders)

Eventually Mammon gets a comment saying MC should fix Mammon's food.

He goes on a full rant about how there's nothing to fix and his food is good so what if it's so spicy one of his victims brothers passed out that one time that's just cause they have no taste.

He ends up watching MC's latest video then and ends up binge watching them all through the next few days and getting a stupid crush

Someone links MC to his rant video, and they make a video on how all his recipes seem really unique and how they'd never have thought of that by themself and they don't actually look hazardous to humanity as a whole like Solomon's food is but here's how you fix it so that it's actually edible and won't make you meet God

He sees this and isn't sure if he should be giddy because they praised him or pissed off because they tried to fix his creation. He obviously chooses the latter and rants about them while making something that looks suspiciously radioactive

MC replies with a video complimenting all the ingredients he chose and explaining them while simultaneously calling him an idiot for dipping his bare hand in boiling water to take out potatoes and ending it with a suggestion to get pot holders to drain the water and take the potatoes out after they cool

He replies with a video about how he's not gonna waste money on pot holders when his hand works just fine before he makes chocolate sauce and black licorice mashed potatoes and uses his bare hand to fish out the potatoes just to spite them.

MC replies with a video on how to fix the dish so the flavours won't clash while still keeping the essential ingredients but doesn't mention his hands

He gets a set of bright yellow pot holders and (to be on the safe side) oven mitts with little crows on them ("because your hair looks like a crow's nest") in his P.O. box.He uses them in his next video to make a batch of ketchup and peanut butter cookies

MC fixes another one of Solomon's messes that ended with something with the same consistency of glue stuck to their ceiling while happily snacking on ketchup and peanut butter cookies

This back and forth goes on for a bit, Mammon refuses to change his recipes but they still silently exchange gifts

Obviously their (now shared) viewers notice and start calling out for a collab

MC agrees immediately but Mammon refuses (he's shy fuck he couldn't imagine meeting them face to face) but the draw of money (not their puppy dog eyes in the last video!) makes him agree. They discuss the details over email and agree to do it at his house because he's got the bigger kitchen

They meet at his house and it's awkward at first because he's red af and can't meet their eyes and all his brothers are crowding the doorway to the kitchen and giggling but once the filming starts they fall into an easy routine. They riff off each other and move around the kitchen comfortably as if they've been working together for years. That doesn't mean they don't still argue though, but there's no hostility in it. Mammon gives out the idea of his latest recipe and MC plans out the specifics so that they can execute it. Since it's their first video they make something small and work together easily. Their spicy mayonnaise cupcakes turn out perfectly and are actually good considering none of the brothers are rushing out of the frame.

They are asked for more collabs and they do because they had fun in the first one. The viewers now have to watch two obviously pinning idiots being disasters in a kitchen together. (Just because MC can fix recipes doesn't mean they aren't a mess). They have to watch Mammon go from blushing and stuttering to casually offering MC his finger to lick when he gets icing on it. They have to watch MC going from lowkey flirting to pulling out brightly coloured clips and pinning back Mammon's bangs while his hands are kneading dough. They have to watch the brothers slowly warm up to MC until they're being treated like they've been part of the family from the very beginning (yes this includes viewers catching the first few seconds of an hours long lecture that MC gets from Lucifer). They still have their own channels but they also start up a new channel called 'Recipe for Disaster'. This channel also has vlogs of them randomly buying ingredients for their next cooking video.

Of course there are the rumours and speculation of whether or not they are actually dating, people shipping them, Levi comes up with a ship name, others saying how weird it is to ship real people. MC and Mammon neither confirm it or deny it. During the early days before they had a joint channel Mammon would loudly protest to any such claims while MC just fondly smiled in the background. And sure now he refers to MC as his partner a lot but he could easily mean partner in crime against the food pyramid.

Their viewers finally get their answer when MC one day walks out into one of Mammon's videos in sweatpants and one of his shirts, sleepily kisses him on the cheek and he doesn't even twitch as he says "Mornin' Babe" and continues with his monologue while they grab the milk and walk off frame. They don't even stop to think about whether they should edit it out because they've been dating for one and a half years now. But obviously everyone freaks out and just - Mammon reading the comments with MC looking over his shoulder:

"Heeeeey? Did people just not know we were, ya know, datin'?"

" ...that's weird."

"Wasn't our first video on Recipe for Disaster me tellin' them you were my partner?"

"Yeah weird...the Internet's full of freaks. Remember that time they all thought you were a demon and started mailing holy water?"

"Yeah, what the fuck was that 'bout? Stan got fuckin' pissed!"

I'm tired af & I'll do the rest later! Pls let me know what you think tho❤

[pasteljeon]

Nymphet Garden 02: Apple Blossoms (m)

Apple Blossom -  Malus pumila is an ancient plant with ancestral origins in Central Asia. Long associated with the story of Adam and Eve in the garden of eden, the apple is forever deigned as the symbol of temptation, glowing a fiery red among the garden, yet it may also be depicted as the the sign of rebirth when Christ is portrayed with the fruit.  With both interpretations battling for dominance, the boys themselves will have to decide if you are the bringer of sin or virtue.

➟ Based off this request: I’d like to request a multi-part fic with the reader being a solo!idol and the bts boys perhaps being big fanboy of hers? I’d love to see your take on this. I’d love some down and dirty smut too please! from @/stxrlxghtsora

➟ Summary: He was just a fanboy, they got dragged into it, and so blooms your love story.

➟ Pairing: OT7/Reader, non-idol!BTS, idol!Reader

➟ Warnings: *pours holy water over self* switch!reader, dom!namjoon, sub!yoongi, multiple orgasms, oral (male receiving), overstimulation, daddy kink, creampie, sloppy seconds, lowkey pwp lmao

➟ Length: 5.3k

➟ In collab with @/sugarcookiesandsins - please give her some love! ♡♡

➟ Notes: hellooo lovelies, hope you enjoy this next part! Both Jae and I are both very busy now that second term has started but we’re trying our best to deliver what we’d promised. Please bear with us! 

Prologue. Prev. Next (links are still broken, please refer to my masterlist)

.

.

.

Since that day at the studio, almost everyone had noticed the shift in relationship between the three of you. Skinship was as common as air, neither boy hesitating to pull you into a hug or to lean up against you when you sat down for dinner on late nights. The other boys could do nothing but share questioning side-glances at each other in the hopes that someone, anyone, knew what the hell happened to cause this transformation. But the two males had made a silent agreement on their way back home that night; in order to protect your reputation, and theirs, they would not tell anyone about this, not even the boys they considered their brothers.

You were not oblivious to the change and the slight jealousy rising in the other boys, but you promised yourself that you would come clean soon. For now, you simply wanted to relish in the feeling of being loved in the purest way possible as the three of you curled up together, watching a movie that had long faded into background noise.

.

.

.

It had been a week, and you had started to become curious about the rumors regarding Yoongi and Namjoon. They had been working with your producers for a while now and it seemed like they got along really well; not a single complaint fell from their lips. In fact, it seemed like they couldn’t stop praising the two for their work, going on for hours about their lyrics and seemingly supernatural ability to create the perfect beats.

Your curiosity reaching its peak, you snagged a drive from your desk and made your way over to the studio that company had decided to grant them for the time being. It was not as personalized, but it had the basic equipment they needed. You were in comfy clothes, trying to fight the heatwave that seemed to mug up the entire building, something about the air conditioning being faulty. A pair of your training shorts and a tank top that let the air caress your skin keeping you cooler than most, yet still exposed.

Stopping outside the studio, you listened in the crack of the doorway, a familiar melody reaching your ears. You knew they were involved in the album, but to the point where they would be editing one of the main pieces. Still you smiled; you trusted them enough to know that they would do nothing less than perfect on it. Leaning back, you rapped on the door, not loud enough to disturb their focus but loud enough that someone could hear. Only moments later did the door swing open to the wide eyes of Namjoon, who glanced back at Yoongi leaning sideways to catch your eyes from behind him.

Both boys seemed just as affected by the heatwave as you were, opting for muscle tanks and basketball shorts.

“Hey guys! I was working on something, but no matter what I do, something still feels off. So, as the resident production geniuses, could you help?” Your tone was subdued, embarrassed to be asking for help and interrupting what seemed like super important work.

Seeing them still blankly staring at you, you rushed to apologize, thinking that they were annoyed at you for appearing unannounced. “Oh! I’m sorry. You must be busy. I can go ask someone else.” you quickly backtracked and turned to leave, until you felt a warm hand encase your arm and pull you back. It was Yoongi who had gotten up during your ramblings and tugged you into their studio space.

It was pretty bare, save for the two cushioned office chairs standing to attention in front of the computer screens. The pale company logo was illuminated by the soft lit keyboard, the sound equipment glowing sporadically in different colors. It was pretty similar to yours, save for the lack of posters and missing bookshelf with your overnight supplies for those nights when the trip home was just too far.

Lithe fingers let go of your wrist to snatch the harddrive in your hand. “Let’s see what you got, Princess.” Namjoon’s deep voice echoed in the small room and felt closer than the three feet distance he was standing at. Still, you were a professional, and you weren’t about to let some baritone, good-looking man throw you off your cool.

You smiled a little at the nickname. “Feel free to listen, just don’t be too harsh. There’s a reason I don’t produce everything for my own album,” you giggled remembering the reactions the first time you tried. You had grown since then, courtesy of the producers of your company who you hung out with from time to time, but there was no way you were ready to actually show the world anything.

Seeing that both boys had occupied their chairs, you opted to plop down on the black sofa against one of the walls. Leaning your head back, you closed your head and relished in the song playing in the speakers. It was along the lines of your album, a grind-out song that set the mood with a saxophone punctuated with synth melodies and heavy background beats. You had been feeling in the mood considering your newfound relationship with Jimin and Jungkook and the album in general. Losing yourself, your petal lips parted and sang along, throathy and breathy, just as the song required.

Once the last resounding note faded with the fleeting image of you singing, you opened your eyes to two men, who seemed very into the music. Their mouths were parted slightly with lips red and swollen from biting as they watched your throat move with each sound.

Deciding that you would ignore their flushed states, you raised a single eyebrow as you broke them from their reviere. “So. What do you think? I like it, but there’s something missing I feel.”

Yoongi was the first to catch himself, and cleared his throat before slipping back into work mode as he began dissecting your work, commenting on the melody. Namjoon refused to break eye contact with you when you turned to ask him what he thought. Then like waves breaking on white-sand beaches, the expression receded, only to be replaced with a challenging eyebrow-raise.

Something in you told you that Namjoon knew exactly what you were trying to do; though you were hardly being subtle. Yet that same voice also whispered the quintessential truth - that he was willing to participate in whatever little play you were putting on for their benefit.

You tilted your head towards an unassuming Yoongi, who was keenly avoiding you by focusing on your music. Namjoon only nodded, once.

“Mm. I like that new sound, Yoongi. It's an echoer right? How about we add it behind the main chorus?” You glanced back at Namjoon, a conspiratorial smile lighting up your face as you motioned. His turn now.

“That would sound dope! Wanna try it hyung?” Namjoon couldn’t hide his smile either. You were definitely more interesting than he expected.

You got up from your seat, and approached Yoongi from behind, delighting in the tiny squeak of surprise that you elicited with you leaned against his chair, making a seat from one of the unoccupied arm rests. He leaned away, much too away of the presence of your bare thigh pressing against his arm, but his retreat was blocked from the other side by Namjoon, who leaned in under the pretense of viewing the screen.

“Have you … been working out?” You ran a hand down his arm, squeezing his bicep lightly. You thumbed the dimples of his shoulder blades, marvelling at the expanse of his chest. Yoongi licked his lips, eyes lidded as he leaned into your touch.

“Just a bit,” he rasped, voice a rumbling pressure beneath your fingertips as you flattened a palm over his stomach, trailing it up slowly.

“Breathe,” you whispered, lips brushing over his neck. Yoongi exhaled shakily, plaint as his head rolled back, dark gaze never leaving yours as he rumbled your name. You giggled as his pale skin flushed against your fingertips that had traveled up to his cheeks, cupping them gently before you leaned down for a kiss.

Namjoon took that moment to shift, his basketball shorts suddenly very uncomfortable for him as he watched you weave your magic around Yoongi. It was fantastical, like your singing, like your dancing, hell even the way you moved was unreal. Yoongi suddenly realized that he was not the only male in the room and jumped when he felt Namjoon wriggle, pulled quickly out of his fantasies.

Jerking his head back, he tried to pretend that the last couple minutes had not happened, but those attempts were stopped as Namjoon took the initiative to hold Yoongi down by the waist. It was overwhelming, the large warm hands on his waist contrasting the soft digits stroking his skin at the sensitive juncture when collarbone met neck. His head was too busy trying to make sense of the situation that he didn’t notice when you pulled the chair away from the desk and spun him to face you. Setting yourself firmly on his lap, you raked you nails lower until they just caught on the elastic of pants, so close to his hardening member. Your eyes met Namjoon’s over Yoongi’s shoulder and you let loose a small smirk. “He seems to like it, doesn’t he Daddy?”

In all honesty, the ‘Daddy’ bit was guesswork based on what you had seen of the man, but with the way his jaw clenched, you could tell that Namjoon didn’t mind it one bit. Still keeping your eyes locked with Namjoon, you leaned forward and latched your lips to the smooth expanse of pale skin within reach. You eyes fluttered closed as you sucked a large hickey just below Yoongi’s collarbone. Feeling quite satisfied with your work, you moved to another spot, opening your eyes again as you forced Namjoon to watch you suck more blossoms on the producer.

Yoongi, threw his head back in ecstasy, colors spinning around in his head as he tried to swallow reality. Your teeth nipping at his skin introduced just the tiniest bit of pain before it bloomed into pleasure when your tongue laved the abused spot.  He let a loose curse slip as he felt you move with calculated precision, your hands never stopping their piano playing on his ribs.

Namjoon felt his cock pressing against the confines of his boxers as he watched you, wide eyes contrasting with the sinful actions of your mouth. There was mirth in those crystal depths, like a child playing with their favorite, but there was something darker, more mature hiding behind it all.

“It seems he does, Princess.” Namjoon’s voice seemed to have gotten deeper than you had ever thought possible, but you didn’t mind as the sound waves went directly to your core, causing them to leak just a little. Imagining that voice and mouth between your legs sent more shocks to your system as you moaned against skin. Pulling back from your artwork, you admired the contrast of purple against alabaster, lovingly tracing each mark with a nail, only pausing when Namjoon groaned out, “Why don’t you ask him baby? He can use his words.”

Focusing back on the limp man, you looked deep into his eyes as you questioned him. “Did you like that sweetie? Did you like my lips on your skin, marking you with my teeth?” Crude as they were, they were a wake-up call for the elder man. Half-delirious with your scent surrounding him, he gasped out a quick answer. Anything to feel you closer to him like before.

“Y-yes. I l-liked it.” Yoongi paused for a moment, clueless on what to call you, your name sounding wrong in that moment. And any other name that came mind still made him feel uncomfortable. Still, there was one he could try, the name had lived in his head since the day he saw you perched on the throne with Jungkook kneeling before you. “Can you do it again, Mistress?”

“Are you going to be a good boy for us?” You purred, teeth scraping his earlobe. A shudder racked his body, nodding mindlessly. “Yes,” he murmured.

You rolled your hips, Yoongi letting out a choked gasp as his head fell against the rest, fingers ghosting over the curve of your waist. “M-may I touch you, Mistress?” He groaned.

“What do you think, Daddy?” You carded a hand through his dishevelled black locks, Namjoon hovering over you as he dipped down to seal his lips over your bare shoulder, suckling gently.

The man in question hummed, parting with a satisfied pop as he admired the bloom beneath your skin with satisfaction. “No,” Namjoon murmured, brushing back your tresses. “I don’t think he’s earned that privilege quite yet.”

Yoongi gritted his teeth but did not object, arms dropping to rest limply at his side where he curled his hands into fists.

“Come here, baby girl,” Namjoon lifted you up easily, your legs coming to wrap around him automatically. The feeling of your wet heat pressing against his throbbing length had him grunting as he settled onto the other chair, with you tucked snugly on top of him.

“But I wanted to play with him more,” you whined, pouting as Namjoon slipped a hand beneath your tee, pulling it up as his large hand palmed your bra-clad breast.

“Are you going to listen to Daddy’s orders, baby? Or are you asking to be punished?” He rasped, his mind lost in the thousand things he could do and the thousand fantasies he could make reality in the next moment. Still, his voice never lost that dominant tone that forced you from one producer into the lap of another.

Namjoon took a moment to soak in the image of you. Hair mussed, lips a swollen mess, and completely at his mercy. He cupped your face in his hands, running the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, a small groan erupting as you kitten licked his finger in response.

Only being used to constant action, this prolonged moment of silence made you feel awkward so you decided to bring his attention back to the part of you that yearned for him most. You squirmed in his lap purposely letting your core brush the bulge in his pants. “Help me. Help me feel good, please.”

His hands flew down to your hips and gripped them tightly to stop them from bringing him closer to his high. Seeing you dominate Yoongi had already put him on edge, and your begging wasn’t going to be resolving the issue anytime soon. “Patience, baby girl.” You relished in the pet name said over you. “Let me enjoy looking at what’s mine.”

Looking up, you locked eyes with Namjoon again, a small gasp escaping you at the emotion in Namjoon’s eyes. There was happiness, as if he had completely forgotten about the erection digging into your thigh, and there was peace, like if he died in this very moment, he would have no issues with it.

He ran his hands higher along your torso, catching your tank in his hands and tossing it to the side, your bra following quickly before he latched to nipple, giving it same treatment you had given to Yoongi only moments ago. His other hand grabbed your other breast and fondled the soft flesh, enjoying the weight of it against his hands

The feeling made you grind yourself against him once again, fervor lighting up your muscles to bring you that sweet, sweet release that you craved. His movements stopped immediately as your mind flashed in warning. “I said that you need to wait, Princess.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I won’t do it again.” You mewled out, willing to do whatever to get his hand moving once again. He tapped you once on the ass, before pushing you in the direction of Yoongi.

“Of course you won’t baby. Because you’re gonna be helping out Yoongi hyung.” You pouted at Namjoon, dissatisfied with the ache between your legs that should have disappeared long ago. Still, a strangled moan cut you off. Yoongi was just watching you, the way your breasts moved as you made your way over to him, the way your lips parted to take in air, the red on your skin, proof of the strong emotions running through your veins.

Kneeling before him, Yoongi would only gasp at the view. He was a man, and not an inexperienced one. He had dreamed of you before, as despicable it was to admit, but no dream could ever compare to the real thing. Wordlessly, he looked on as you dragged your fingers down the front of his chest, not forgetting to catch his nipples through the fabric, making him arch his back. You hooked your digits on the edge of the shorts and the boxers, and dragged them down.

His cock sprang out and smacked against his chest, the sound pushing your blood pressure to higher echelons. Once the articles of clothing had been forgotten in a random corner of the studio, you wasted no time in wrapping your fingers around his base. Yoongi could only hiss in pain, holding back the urge to release all over your beautiful face. You would look so good painted in his cum.

Still, a single glare from Namjoon stopped any fantasies he had. He knew his place, but it became hard to remember the specifics when you started moving your hand up and down, squeezing intermittently and following in stroke with a slight scrape of your nails.

With his shoulder covered in your marks, and hooded eyes boring into your own, Yoongi looked good enough to eat. With one hand still on his cock, you turned slightly to Namjoon. “Can I taste him, Daddy?”

“I don’t know. You should be asking him.” Namjoon had already stripped down, lounging on the couch and lazily stroking his own member to the same rhythm of your hands

Yoongi wasted no time. If he was able to get your mouth as well as your hands, he would lack nothing in that moment. “Yes. For the love of god, yes. Please. I wanna feel your mouth too.” His words came out rushed as if had been waiting the entire time to say them, and it would be no surprise if it had.

A single nod from Namjoon was all it took for you to lower your head. One hand remained at the base, while the other reached under and fondled his balls. You bobbed your head once you have managed to take in a decent amount, sucking in to hollow out your cheeks. Yoongi jerked against your hold, letting go of the chair to tangle himself in your hair, pulling your head further down until you felt him hit the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex. Saliva escaping the corners of your mouth and running down the length of his shaft.

“Yoongi.” A name. That’s all it was, but that’s all it took from the boys’ self-appointed leader. Yoongi removed his hands from your hair and placed them back at his side. He clenched them into fists, nails digging into his palms as he continued to watch you make a meal of his cock. Letting go with a pop, you licked your lips.

“Was that good?” Your kneeling figure looked back at Namjoon expectantly. He was still in the same position as before, one hand thrown haphazardly on the back of the couch and the other still wrapped around his cock.

“You’re doing great, love.” He lifted his hand from the couch and crooked a single finger in your direction beckoning you over. “Let’s let Yoongi rest for a while, Princess. Can you come help me now?”

You squeezed Yoongi once more before approaching Namjoon, losing your shorts and panties somewhere along the way. Crawling on top, you allowed your dripping cunt to coat his cock arousal, your own juices provided lubricant. “Can I put it in, Daddy? I wanna feel you.” You rocked your hips, just barely catching the tip every time you moved.

“Make me feel good, baby girl.” You sank down at his approval, not caring about the slight burn that was quickly replaced with pleasure as you felt full. Not wanting to stop, you began moving up and down, this angle reaching depths that you had never thought possible.

A strangled sound of frustration tore itself from Yoongi’s throat as he watched you thrust yourself back onto Namjoon’s cock. You had teased him to the limit before abandoning his cock to satisfy your own ache with Namjoon. Now he was stuck in his chair, the fabric sticking to his damp skin, as he tried to achieve some relief from the pain of his throbbing cock, but the air provided no relief and after experiencing the wonders of your mouth, he doubted that anything less would do.

A loud moan drew his gaze to your figure on the couch, clothes littering the floor, as you rode Namjoon like your life depended on it. The male’s palm gripping your hips to help you find utopia on his body as you threw your head back in pleasure.

“You’re almost there, Princess. Can you make Daddy come for you?” Namjoon gritted his teeth through the feeling of your tight walls clenching around his cock.

“P-please, wanna feel you fill me up,” you whimpered, burying your face in his neck as you nibbled on his skin, laving at the sheen of sweat that coated it. “Want you to come inside.”

“Shit,” he hissed, a strangled moan ripping from him as he came hard, white painting his vision as he rode out his high. “Let go, baby. I’m right here.” With shaky fingers, he blindly reached between the two of you to twist at that sensitive bud. You shuddered, crying out his name before you followed in suit, walls clamping so tightly around him Namjoon struggled to breathe, his cock twitching as he squirmed from the overstimulation.

“M-Mistress.” You rolled your head to the side from where you were resting against Namjoon’s shoulder to meet the desperate gaze of Yoongi. His lips were swollen, crimson-bitten and he looked positively fucked out, chest heaving and thighs spread apart, member achingly hard and dripping obscenely with precum, pooling on the studio floor and against his stomach. Yoongi looked at you pleadingly, nerves frayed after having been edged and touch deprived for hours.

“Please, please touch me,” he sobbed. “I need to come. It hurts.”

You peeled yourself from Namjoon slowly, the man smirking at you as he cupped your sex, carefully ensuring his cum remained inside you as you hitched a leg over Yoongi. He moaned in sheer relief as you pressed your heat against his pulsating length. As you sank down, he rocked into you, unable to help himself. God, everything was so wet, he was practically fucking Namjoon’s release back into you with every thrust.

“Fuck,” Yoongi mewled, scrabbling at your hips. “‘M sensitive! C-can’t hold it, I’m n-not gonna last!”

“Come,” you panted, digging your fingers into his chest. Yoongi writhed beneath you, back arching as he shot his load deep into your caverns, warmth spreading through you as you collapsed against him.

You blinked up sleepily, Namjoon’s smiling face appearing above you as he started wiping you down gently with a wet towel, helping you slide on your panties. You cringed at the stickiness, their combined release trickling down your thigh.

Yoongi peered up at you, a lazy grin playing on his lips as he offered you his sweater, something he’d actually forgotten a few weeks back, reaching behind you to reclip your bra and tug it on.

“Thank you,” you whispered. Yoongi redressed slowly, lethargy coursing through his veins as he slumped back into his seat, you straddling him and resting your head against his chest. Namjoon took a seat behind you, hugging you close as he nuzzled the juncture of your neck.

You knew what was missing. It wasn’t anything in the song at all. It was these boys. With that realization, you let yourself go, focusing on the here and now, and the comforting scent of Yoongi’s cologne and Namjoon’s comforting touch.

[marmaladiva]

Partners, Pt. 1

Pairing: Jimin x Yoongi (some NamJin here and there)

Genre: College!AU. Pretty fluffy. Silly. Eventual smut?

Summary: Yoongi is a photography student. Jimin is the Dance student that has to deal with Yoongi’s two left feet. Namjoon is Yoongi’s best friend and filthy rich for no particular reason.

A/N: Kill me this is my first BTS fic. Honestly not sure where this is going. Wish me luck lmao. Dubiously edited. If you actually like the story feel free to drop suggestions for things that should happen.

The gritty sidewalk beneath Yoongi's feet was as clean and clear as the blue sky above him. The lawns around him, less so. Every breath of wind brought new leaves tumbling down dry and brittle, mixing fall colors into the green grass. It was getting colder outside, with the brisk autumn wind buffeting him from either side. Some of the stray leaves fell onto his beanie. The cold air surrounded him and seeped through his coat, making him shiver, But he still couldn't bring himself to push open the looming doors in front of him. His legs felt like they'd been frozen to the ground. It seemed even his own body knew that going inside would only lead him to disaster. Even they were trying to keep him from the dark and horrible fate that would meet him inside. But of course, his conscience had other ideas.

Damnit, You promised Namjoon you'd do your best. What sort of shitty person backs out of being best man at his best friend's wedding?

Guilt began to stir around in his gut and a deep, resigned sigh joined the fall wind.

"You owe me for this, Namjoon...."

The doors were heavy and solid like the brick walls that surrounded them. It took all of his strength to push them open. Did the building not want him there either? He squeezed through anyway, slipping into the foreboding building. What greeted him were long, deserted halls. It was a dimly lit place, with  posters for art festivals, concerts, and internships lining the walls. He had expected it to be like this. Earlier that day he had checked when the last class finished so he could speak with an instructor without running into any other students. He didn't need anyone to know he was here anymore then he wanted any dance students to see him tripping over himself. See, when Yoongi came to Sihyuk Art Institute, he had made a firm resolution never to enter this building, or even to speak to anyone from the performing arts department. He had come here to learn photography, NOT to dance. Dancing required moving. Moving in a graceful, coordinated manner. Yoongi didn't like moving, and was neither graceful nor coordinated.  He didn't even dance at parties, where the dancing was more just performing mock pornos than actual dance. Then Namjoon stumbled into his dorm room to announce he was getting married to his boyfriend, Jin. Despite how happy Yoongi had been to hear the two were finally getting together, and that Namjoon had even asked him to be his best man, Namjoon’s family was wealthy and showy. Namjoon would’ve rathered kept the wedding small he said, but his mother had taken the reigns, and she wasn’t leaving anything out. Her son and her soon-to-be son in law would have a luxurious wedding suited to her son’s status. That meant flair, formality, and most troublesome, a first dance. Not even a cute cliche first dance with some sort of overdone pop song, an actual waltz. And as the best man, Yoongi was being forced to participate.

Yoongi had quietly refused the group lessons Namjoon offered him that his mother had arranged. Namjoon seemed sheepish about the whole thing to say the least, and wasn’t particularly comfortable bringing up his overflowing assets. Even being his best friend, Yoongi had only visited his house (*cough* mansion *cough*) twice. So to avoid both Namjoon’s mother breathing down his neck and any discomfort Namjoon might have because of that, he thought best to decline. The only problem is that left Yoongi without anyone to teach him. He’d tried YouTube, which was useless, since he didn’t have anyone to dance with. He thought about getting professional lessons, but he was a poster boy for starving artists. There was no way he could afford one. The dance department was his last hope. So, he had his carefully drafted plan: get in, find the dance instructors office, ask his questions, get out. Of course, he had no idea if he could even get private lessons at this school. But at least if there was someone here that could teach him, it might be within a student's meager budget. Perhaps a TA or a student looking for extra credit might be assigned to him, but he'd rather not have to face that. A teacher would be used to watching people trip over themselves, but the dance students here had to be immensely talented just to get in. He didn't need a stuck up elitist to lecture him on his form, he just needed to know the steps.

Exactly where the teachers offices were was also something he found himself needing to know. There was no map or directory for the building in sight, and he had already been wandering the halls for a good 5 minutes. Yoongi was prepared for this though. Yoongi was always prepared. He knew he couldn't count on there being a guide for the building, that's why he made his own map. He had studied the student directory for at least an hour that morning and created a detailed set of instructions on how to get to the office in the shortest time possible. Taking the map from his pocket, he easily found the office and went on his way.

Well, he would have, if it had brought it. A bag of rocks dropped into Yoongi’s stomach when he felt the emptiness in his pocket. He checked his other jacket pocket, not there. His backpack? No. His jeans pockets? Not there either. He double checked everything, still not there. He even checked the fold of his beanie. Every time he was greeted with emptiness, the empty hole in his gut also grew. He had forgotten his directions in his dorm room, or the cafeteria, or his class, or dropped it somewhere in the street, and even after staring at that map for ages, he couldn't remember where the office was at all.

"shit..." The small word drifted through the hall, echoing in the still, vacant halls. It couldn't be that far right? All he could do was look. The building wasn’t THAT large. He picked the direction that just felt right, his footsteps resounding on the linoleum with each step. As he went farther and farther, the more similar everything seemed to become. Fuck, how long did this hall go on for? Why did a building devoted to dance even need to be this big? How many students did they have? What good will dancing do you in the long run? Yoongi couldn't think of a single reasonable, safe career you would need a dance degree for. But then of course, going to an art school in general wasn’t a reasonable, safe choice, and it wasn't like his position was any better. Art studios in Paris were Yoongi’s goal, but he'd probably end up shooting weddings in Daegu, if he even was that lucky. He could smell the office job on the metaphorical wind. Hear the tragic ending to his dreams in his hearts metaphorical soundtrack. It was really quite clear. He could hear the bass trudging and rolled slowly along in his heart, like his own heavy steps. Someone sang along, sad and desperate. High and gentle notes, yet with the same tragic depth of the background track, singing of love and loss. It was steady, measured, and refined. And.....and actual music someone was playing. Well, it better be real, or he might have to consult a psychiatrist. Maybe the art student life had just finally broken him. Part of him wanted to find where the music was actually coming from, though with his luck it’d probably be a weirdly scheduled final or a class going late. He'd poke his head in and there would be thirty others, all wondering why this short, squishy guy with the squinty eyes was interrupting them and their dance session. Yes. Definetly not worth it. So he definitely shouldn’t be where he was right now, standing in front of the room the music was coming from.

In this classroom, gravity must have been lessened by half, because through the window in the door he could see the person inside was floating. All those things he had heard in the music, the feelings and depth of sound, it was all here in front of him in the form of a single dancer. The young man moved quietly across the room. His steps weighed heavy in time with the beat while somehow still retaining a level of grace Yoongi did not think was physically possible. Abandonment, anticipation, desire, it could all be seen in the way his arms reached out as if grasping for something just out of reach, in the way he could seem to run across an eternity without even taking a single step, in an expression that seemed as if if he had swallowed up every sorrow in the world. All Yoongi could think about was how much he regretted not bringing his camera with him. That he couldn’t capture every perfect motion for an eternity. Every music note was being crafted by the dancers movements. As the song came to a slow halt, the student sank slowly to the ground, falling in slow motion. Like that, it ended. The world came back into focus around Yoongi. The magic was done. Everything was quiet, frozen. At least this, I have to catch this moment. Yoongi pulled his phone quietly from his pocket. He felt like any sound could tear apart the stillness in the air before he had the chance to seal it away. Slowly, he raised the phone to the window, focusing on the boy lying on the dance floor, chest heaving. The camera's sharp snap broke the spell. Things could be heard again, the silence had been trapped in his phone, and the boy had seen him.

fuckfuckfuck this is why you don’t take pictures without asking first. Run, run now before-

"Oh, hey!" The younger man laughed awkwardly as he opened up the door to the classroom. "Did you wanna come in?"

Now that this guy was standing in front of Yoongi, he got a better look at who it was he had taken the picture of. Short, with a squishy face like a kid. The goofy, nervous grin was like a child's too. Like he'd been caught setting up a prank on a Hyung, but wasn’t feeling particularly bad about it. What was very decidedly not childlike was his body. The thin black t-shirt he wore did nothing hid the toned muscles underneath it. Yoongi was struck with the thought he'd like to take pictures of this guy again. When the small photographer realized he was staring he quickly looked towards the floor, struggling to remember what it was the dancer has said.

Wait, what did he ask again? Did I want to come in? No, no I don't want to come in. The last thing I wanted was to come in.

"Uh, yeah. I do."

And he was inside. The room was smaller than Yoongi had expected. Still plenty of room for a class of 20, but maybe not the 30 Yoongi had expected. The mirror stretching across the wall gave him a perfect view of himself next to this stranger. Yoongi stood there awkwardly, bundled up to his chin in a coat and scarf. Squishy from head to toe, and with a face to match. The way he bent slightly under his heavy backpack remind him of a hermit. And then there was the boy in front of him, comfortable, muscular, and honestly, sexy. The gap in appearance only made him feel more awkward.

The dancer was the first to talk.

"So what brings you here? I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you a new student? Oh, my name's Jimin by the way." His voice didn’t carry any of it’s previous nervousness. Though Yoongi was still itching to remove himself from this position, “Jimin” had seemingly recovered his confidence. Maybe he'd realized the crazy guy staring at him was not a stalker, but actually just an uncomfortable marshmallow.

"Uh, Yoongi, nice to meet you. I'm actually looking for professor Sungdeuk...? I need to ask him some questions...." Yoongi tried to sound as casual as possible. If Jimin could treat this situation like it was normal, then so could he.

"Oh professor Sungdeuk?" Yeah I can show you where he is. His office is just down the hall.” Jimin looked yoongi up and down for a moment, face filled with curiosity. “Are you a new dance student?" Yoongi had to stifle a laugh at the idea that Jimin could honestly imagine him dancing. "No, no, not at all. I'm just trying to find some affordable private lessons for something..." The moment he said it, he regretted it. The moment the words had left his mouth, Jimin’s eyes had lit up with excitement. "Really?? What sort of lessons? I'm studying to become a dance teacher. I wanted some experience, but all the TA positions are filled. Maybe I can help you!" Yeah, this kid was way to excited about this. But….maybe he could. Waltzes weren’t supposed to be hard, what he had seen this dancer doing must be much, much more advanced. But the idea of stumbling around in the same room as this person, a person he had just seen seem to defy the law of physics he was so able, he couldn't imagine ever being able to dance near him. "No it's fine, I'll just talk to the teacher." Jimin shook his head disapprovingly. "But see, professor Sungdeuk will definitely try to recommend you to one of his classes. Or maybe to a private studio. Those are both super expensive. I'm barely making it by myself, and you're not even doing it for your degree, right?" He grinned wide, eyes crinkling up around the edges. “But see, I'll teach you for free! It can be anytime, anywhere, just be my student." In a way, this is exactly what Yoongi had wanted. Only one person had managed to see him, and that person was not only offering to teach him, but to teach him for free. Maybe he'd be able to eat more then the cup ramen he had projected in his budget. Yoongi wasn't ready to give into this guy just yet though. "You don't even know what I want yet, are you sure you can teach me?" Jimin laughed with more confidence then he probably should’ve had. "The real question is what I can NOT teach. I can teach you to do anything but twerk.” His laugh this time was practically a giggle, “that’s a joke, I'm a master twerker." Yoongi couldn't believe what he was about to do. Out of everything that could've happened, this is the last thing he would've expected. He was anxious, which made this guys cheeriness slightly irritating. But under all of that, there was still a small optimistic voice yelling out from the back of his mind. "this is what you wanted!" He was overly excited, weirdly confident, and honestly intimidating as hell. But what choice did he have? "Alright, teach me"

[desertchicken]

on good, painful conversations and learning how to “grow up”

i’ve done no work this weekend but somehow I’m okay with that, and I’m okay with the prospect of getting up tomorrow morning and starting on my problem sets. and what i mean when i say things are okay, is to say i’m still in the process of learning how to live in the strange cognitive space of being overwhelmed by everything i’m learning about the world, being conflicted about ideology and future aspirations, comparing myself socially/academically/professionally to those around me and finding myself wanting but also

also being okay with finding what I’m interested in pursuing, the things i’m passionate about, and acknowledging my own limitations. and accepting the fact that i’m a social and emotional being, and actually reaching out and having difficult but necessary conversations with the people i love, to actually show them i care about them in a way that neither trite nor ironic. to acknowledge my own laziness and sensitivity and inability and fear of forming opinions about things, and to guide myself towards improvement in a way that’s neither too soft nor too harsh.

what I mean to say is

what i mean to say is i haven’t written in a while, so my thoughts about things are difficult and tangled but i’ll attempt to process a bit here. maybe it would be better to wait till after finals week, but there’s just so much right now, that I thought it would be good to unload while it’s still fresh:

i had lunch with jiwon and we talked for a long time about gender expectations and being in math/econ. it was after the analysis exam (harrowing emotional experience pt. 3, one more to go) when we just kind of laid on the tables and shared in our anxiety about our exams...but somehow that conversation about marriage/the future/gendered expectations, her talking about coming from a low-income background, talking about how she feels distant from her hs friends because of the very distinct trajectories their lives have taken, was just such an unexpectedly beautiful conversation that left me deep in thought about a lot of things (even when I’m exhausted, i’m so eternally grateful for these conversations that still find me and sustain me, with close friends like maya and iyanu, with “acquaintances” like frances and jiwon and theo and minh quan and alex and peter, little by little, in degrees of comfortability and vulnerability)

and somehow that conversation in particular and hearing about jiwon and how someone like her would be okay with not getting married and having children, and just hearing her say that was so...relieving, almost? after the strange anxiety that’s gripped me recently about finding an s.o., just seeing someone who has professional and academic ambitions similar to mine and not being in a relationship and not actively searching for one was comforting in a strange way, and I think i will accept where I am right now and be okay with my youth and being “alone”, so to speak, but in the presence of these people who I am learning from continually

on a completely unrelated note, a. gave me a hug after the analysis exam. he initiated it, and it was very normal and platonic. it’s just i didn’t expect it from him, of all people.

i still haven’t replied to lem i’m not sure how i should bring it up i feel like complete and utter shit but then that’s what happens when you’re a shit like me so please respond in the future to messages promptly thank you and good bye

that night we had a conversation with people in fellowship which was probably one of the most uncomfortable discussions i’ve been in for awhile, and that’s saying something. it was about the whole multi-ethnic and racial dynamic in fellowship, and on some scale it was a microcosm of the political conversations we’ve been having and i’ve been thinking about on campus as a whole: the tension between “calling out” and persuasion, respectability politics sort of thing, anti-blackness and depoliticization in asian-american communities, and so on, and so forth. i spoke once and it wasn’t that great and i know it wasn’t about me, but i guess some things that made me uncomfortable that I mentioned to iyanu later on in the brunch we had the day afterwards:

the sort of implicit “good ally/bad ally” dynamic, esp. in the context of asian americans/asian american boys

the extremely uncomfortable place of being explicit but also not really about calling out the first year asian american friend group for being exclusive and non-asian poc who might feel uncomfortable with that friend group

somehow a talk like this is “mandatory”, but the mandatoriness is implicit, and some people find it more mandatory than others but is “politicization” a sort of hobby? are the stakes too high? (perhaps this is a horrible characterization to make but the nature of the convo almost reminded me of the whole “good christian/bad christian” dynamic in a lot of conservative christian groups

but also i understand why students like iyanu/esther/lindsey were angry, and i’m just very confused sometimes about what our community ought to prioritize

in the end it was probably something jeremy said that made things make sense to me, and it’s that it’s not even about anti-blackness or race in particular, it’s the fact that members of fellowship care only about things that affect people close to them, and don’t really care when it doesn’t. so it’s a community issue. it’s a lack of community engagement, a sort of imbalance of emotional labor, which would make any relationship fall apart. so i guess i see the point of being uncomfortable, and i’m very glad i went. 

on a related note i walked out afterwards just feeling so drained and kind of done and confused and not knowing how to process, and i’m so glad i met theo on the way who had just had a conversation with pj about the whole irreconciliable anti-blackness talk. and so we stood in the oldenborg hallway for a good two hours (didn’t feel like two hours) and just had this really intense conversation again about colonization and genocide in Christianity, and anti-blackness in asian communities but not only that but anti-blackness as a way of civilization, and it was just...i still need to process that more and there’s so much there to think more and read more about 

had brunch with iyanu the next morning and it was a difficult but extremely necessary and good conversation trying to unpack the fellowship discussion last night. i’m so grateful for her. she asks me why i keep coming back for these talks, and i realize the ugly truth that i probably wouldn’t care about these things if it wasn’t for the fact that i befriended people who weren’t asian my first year. i don’t think that makes me any “better of a person”. i hope i will never succumb to that belief. but also...that’s the whole thing about being a “good ally” and a “good asian american” though i’m not sure what I think and feel about that whole thing again 

went to the workers’ delegation protest. felt extremely uncomfortable chanting again. i don’t know what to believe sometimes. i probably should have gone to the sociology sit in as well, but I really don’t know what i believe and i need to begin taking ownership of my opinions. i think i should have gone to the sociology sit in, because it wasn’t about alice goffman, it was about transparency. anyways, i stopped by at the sage tank presentations an hour earlier, and felt very keenly the divide between different student groups on campus. students presenting their entrepreneurship ideas to gain approval from rich alumni, and later on other students shouting down oxtoby and marching around bridges. i wonder if it’s possible to be a part of both those worlds. it’s a bit jarring to think about at times

all of friday and saturday was just too much so i spent the evening laying around in my bed watching movies and looking at facebook. read the story of some little girl who got cancer who’s a friend of a friend, and she died in january. cried. watched silenced/crucible. cried so hard i got a nosebleed and felt profoundly angry at the injustice of the truth, the deep, profound injustice of abuse. (and slowly coming to terms with the fact that i feel things, and that it’s okay to base my beliefs upon emotions as long as they are grounded in fact, and being okay with feeling emotions and being human in general). which i mean, kind of helped in a way, but also i just thought about death a lot and i need to feel nice things as well. and being angsty but also learning how to grow up and have conversations with people and to balance realism with idealism and to never cease being indignant at the pain of the world... 

my aunt from shanghai visited today and we spent a surprisingly long time over dinner and in the oldenborg lounge talking (in my hesitant chinese, lmao) about self-sufficiency, charity work vs. sustainable development, inherited wealth vs. the whole “pulling up by the bootstraps” ideology, communism and capitalism, economic systems and injustice and everything. i don’t think i agree with her about everything but it was interesting to hear an opinion from someone who lives in a foreign country and also is not from my generation. and i’m grateful that she considered and responded to and was very respectful of my opinions, and that she never dismissed my ideas as the fallacy of youth or whatever. it felt very much like a discussion between “adults”, whatever that is. i feel old in a strange way that is also indicative of my youth. (though she did pay for my meal, cause she said i wasn’t working yet. lmfao)

called my parents last night and talked to them awhile about similar things. if there is anything i’m grateful for, it’s that my parents (esp my mom, probably cause she’s less busy) are progressively becoming more and more interested in discussing politics and philosophy and aapi identity and antiblackness and whatnot. even my dad is becoming more comfortable in our new mostly-black church. 

and i guess there’s not that much more than that, other than the fact that things are not necessarily becoming easier to deal with, but that i’m slowly learning how to deal with them in a way that’s not destructive to myself. maybe i’ll write about susan neiman and her book later. I still feel strange about missing out on things like the whole aamp ceremony today, seeing hanna’s pictures on facebook, hearing about people’s summer plans and internships and successes and whatnot.

but what can i say about this whirlwind of a year, of this semester? another whirlwind of a year? i will probably write more about this as the school year winds down to more of a close, but strangely enough, even though things are more difficult and stressful sophomore year has overall been a much more...lively and enriching experience(?) than my first year was. perhaps it’s the way that i was so terrified and anxious my first year of “making the most” out of my college beginning that instead i lost a lot of opportunities, and that my newfound desire to not give a fuck this semester has helped me beyond measure. what can i say, other than the fact that my world has, as I hoped for when i graduated high school, expanded far beyond the one i knew before. between skyping and having lunch with tannenbaum and sarkis, deepening friendships and intense conversations with friends and mentors in ppcf/aamp but also now in my math classes, learning not only the language of politics but now also how to stand by my own opinions, to come to the realization of the harsh, ugly reality of what the world truly looks like but also to never lose sight of the hope blooming in so many of the people i’ve come to know and love here, to feel the intimate pain of loneliness but also to learn how to openly express my love, to count and make the most of my blessings instead of comparing what i have to those around me and my friends back home because

because i’ve learned something about myself: that i’m sensitive and easily overwhelmed and i take a lot of time to process information, that the littlest things like these conversations hold so much meaning for me. but also to learn to accept my own seriousness and sincerity, but to take it with a grain of salt as well and be okay with lightness but never chastising myself in the whole “angsty teen” way of being misunderstood about being complex or needing to be someone i’m not

there’s just so much here, there’s so much, and i’m tired but also deeply grateful for what i’ve learned here and am continuing to learn, for my capacity to learn.