#please appreciate shadow's eyeliner

[find-your-flame]

knuckles hat alt + a shot of the marking he has underneath his shirt (exists on both versions), and shadow with the yellow eyes he has in Team Sonic Racing Overdrive

hero forge is supposed to be for D&D minis but honestly i just use it as 3D fullbody picrew. anyway gang

[urdreamydoodles]

Can you please make an X-Men with a goth reader?? With Logan, Scott, Remy, Rogue, Pietro, etc.

We need more x men that can handle a goth baddie 😭🙏

X-Men x Goth!Reader

How the X-Men react to their gothic s/o

Wrapped in dark elegance, your presence is a mystery, a shadow that moves beside them.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Rogue, Erik Lehnsherr, Bobby Drake, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Laura Kinney & Wade Wilson

Oh my god, thank you for this prompt. I hadn't thought of that yet, and now I'm in love. (And yes, the X-Men need a goth baddie) Hope you like it <3

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- Logan was immediately intrigued by your dark, edgy look. He’s always appreciated individuality, and your gothic style is no exception. There’s a look of quiet admiration in his eyes whenever you’re dressed up in dark attire, heavy eyeliner, and your signature accessories. He finds it a refreshing contrast to his own rugged appearance, and there’s a glint in his eye every time he sees you dressed to the nines in your gothic style.

- Despite his rough-and-tumble nature, Logan has a soft spot for taking care of you when you’re adjusting your outfit or fixing your makeup. He’s rough with his own appearance but becomes surprisingly delicate if you need him to hold a pin, help fasten a corset, or even steady your eyeliner in a moving vehicle. Logan finds a sort of pride in your style and will gruffly mutter about how you don’t need any of it to look “kickass” — though he never actually tells you to change.

- Logan has always been a bit protective, but seeing you in such unique attire intensifies that instinct. Whether you’re out in public or at a party with other mutants, he’s hyper-aware of anyone staring too long or making a comment. Anyone who tries to criticize or judge your appearance will face Logan’s steely glare, and if anyone dares to say something unkind, Logan will growl out a curt, “Watch your mouth.”

- Logan takes you on adventures in the forest, where your aesthetic is at home against dark trees, shadows, and the moonlight casting a pale glow. He notices the way your love of all things dark blends so well with nature, and he’ll sometimes surprise you with gifts like black roses or unique stones that he finds during his travels. There’s an unspoken connection between his wild spirit and your gothic beauty, and he feels that keenly.

- In private, Logan can’t help but be a little captivated by you. When you’re together, he takes a moment to admire you in the shadows, noticing the details in your clothing, jewelry, and makeup. He’ll run his fingers over your darkened nails or twirl a piece of your hair, finding the gothic aesthetic mysterious and alluring. He may be a man of few words, but the way he looks at you says it all.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- Remy was charmed from the moment he saw your gothic look. He’s always been drawn to unique personalities, and your dark, striking style caught his attention immediately. He’s often complimenting your bold choices and teasingly asks if you’re trying to cast a spell on him with your bewitching look. Every time you add something new to your ensemble, he’s the first to notice and give an enthusiastic approval.

- Remy loves accessorizing and will often gift you trinkets and jewelry that he thinks match your aesthetic. He has an eye for detail and will go out of his way to find vintage rings, unique chokers, or bracelets that fit right into your gothic wardrobe. Sometimes he’ll even joke that he “borrowed” it from a wealthy socialite, adding a bit of thrill to each item he gives you.

- Whenever you’re out together, Remy makes it clear to everyone around that he’s proud to be by your side. He doesn’t mind being the center of attention, and he revels in the way people stare at the two of you together. Your gothic style, paired with his smooth Cajun charm, makes you both an irresistible sight, and he absolutely loves the dramatic effect you create as a couple.

- Remy isn’t shy about getting involved in your look either. He’ll sometimes join you in wearing darker colors, occasionally adding a dark coat or some subtle accessories to match your aesthetic. And whenever you put on darker lipstick or smudged eyeliner, he’s quick to lean in, smirking and saying, “Chere, you tryin’ to make a bad boy outta me?” before sneaking a kiss and smudging your lipstick.

- At the end of the day, Remy loves the way your dark, bold look contrasts with his playful nature. In private moments, he’ll trace his fingers over your jewelry or adjust your lace gloves, smiling in admiration. There’s something about your mysterious beauty that makes him feel even more protective and infatuated, and he’ll often pull you close, murmuring about how he’s got a taste for danger — and you’re exactly his type.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- Kurt is utterly enchanted by your gothic style. To him, it’s a beautiful form of self-expression, and he admires your ability to embrace it so wholeheartedly. His own appearance has always set him apart, and your willingness to stand out with your unique look makes him feel seen and appreciated. He’ll often tell you how striking you look, calling you his “dark angel.”

- While Kurt’s aesthetic might be different, he secretly loves trying out some gothic-inspired touches when he’s with you. Whether it’s a spiked bracelet, a dark cloak, or even dabbling with black nail polish (after much convincing), he’s open to stepping out of his usual look to match your vibe, finding it fun and endearing to share in your aesthetic.

- Kurt is deeply respectful of your style, and he’s fascinated by the meaning behind the gothic elements you choose. He’ll eagerly ask about your jewelry, your makeup, or why you love dark colors. He listens intently to your answers, often seeing your look as a form of art and self-expression. He sees beauty in everything you do, and that extends deeply to your appearance.

- When you’re both out together, Kurt keeps an arm protectively around you, teleporting you out of crowds if he senses anyone staring too much. He knows how judgmental people can be, and he wants you to feel as comfortable and safe as possible. He’ll often take you on night-time adventures, leaping across rooftops with you in his arms, knowing you’ll love the thrill of the city under moonlight.

- Kurt loves your aesthetic so much that he’s inspired to draw you. When he has free time, you’ll catch him sketching in his notebook, creating little drawings of you in various gothic outfits. He never tells you about it until you find his sketches by accident, blushing furiously when you compliment his work. He’d say shyly, “Vhy wouldn’t I vish to capture such beauty?”

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- Scott’s first reaction to your gothic style is one of quiet fascination. As someone who’s usually by the book, he’s intrigued by how unapologetically yourself you are. He’s not exactly one for bold fashion statements, but he admires your confidence and individuality, often finding himself silently captivated by your unique look. He might not say it often, but his lingering glances are unmistakable.

- Scott quickly becomes a bit protective when you’re out in public, especially if people stare or make comments. He’s the type to subtly position himself between you and any potential gawkers, his arm hovering near yours in a quiet but firm show of solidarity. He respects your aesthetic completely, and he doesn’t tolerate any negativity directed your way.

- While Scott may not share your love for gothic fashion, he’ll still make an effort to understand it. He’s the type to do his research and might even surprise you with knowledge about gothic subculture, books, or art. He takes your interests seriously and often engages in thoughtful conversations, eager to understand the things you’re passionate about.

- Although Scott isn’t one for grand gestures, he’s deeply supportive in his own quiet way. He’ll surprise you with thoughtful little gifts—perhaps a book by a gothic author you admire or a vintage item he thinks would suit your style. His love language might be subtle, but he’s always thinking of ways to show his appreciation for the things that make you unique.

- Behind closed doors, Scott’s admiration for your gothic look becomes a little more apparent. He’s endlessly fascinated by the contrast between his own controlled, structured personality and your bold, mysterious beauty. He’ll sometimes run his fingers through your hair, admiring the way it frames your face, and he’ll tell you in his own reserved way just how much he’s in awe of you.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- Jean is fascinated by your gothic style and sees it as a beautiful, creative way to express yourself. She finds herself admiring the little details in your attire, the dark layers, intricate jewelry, and the way it all complements your personality. Her curiosity often leads her to ask about your fashion choices, eager to understand what each piece means to you.

- Being empathetic and open-minded, Jean appreciates how you embrace a style that isn’t necessarily “mainstream.” She’ll often compliment you, giving you a gentle smile and reminding you that she loves your unique style. She finds it refreshingly bold and admires how it reflects your inner strength and individuality. Jean occasionally likes to join you in trying out darker makeup or accessories to match your aesthetic, finding the experience fun and bonding.

- Jean’s powers make her sensitive to people’s thoughts, and she’s hyper-aware of the judgmental looks or whispers when you’re both out in public. She’s quick to reassure you telepathically, sending you warm, encouraging thoughts if she senses any discomfort from you. Her presence always feels like a supportive, silent reminder that she’s by your side, and she has a way of making you feel completely understood.

- Sometimes, she’ll surprise you with little gifts that fit your gothic style—a delicate black pendant she found, a book of poetry she thinks you’ll love, or a flower carefully chosen to match your look. Jean’s attentiveness shows in every thoughtful gesture, and she genuinely enjoys finding ways to make you feel cherished and accepted.

- Jean often finds herself captivated by the way your gothic aesthetic contrasts with her own. In private moments, she’ll softly tell you how beautiful and mysterious you look, her gaze filled with admiration. She’ll gently brush a strand of hair from your face, whispering about how she feels lucky to be with someone as unique and bold as you.

Anna Marie aka. Rogue

- Rogue adores your gothic style and finds it incredibly cool. She’s all about breaking the mold, so seeing you embrace a bold, dark aesthetic instantly impresses her. She’s the type to playfully nudge you and say, “You look killer, sugah,” whenever you put together a particularly striking look, and she often asks for style tips to incorporate some gothic elements into her own outfits.

- She loves joining you in shopping trips for gothic clothes and accessories. Rogue has a thing for statement pieces herself, so she’s always on the lookout for something edgy that could match both of your styles. She’s especially drawn to things like dark leather jackets, silver rings, and anything that screams “rebellious”—finding it exciting to shop with someone who has a taste for the unconventional.

- Rogue has a protective streak and won’t stand for anyone disrespecting you or making you feel out of place. If someone stares too long or makes a comment, Rogue has no problem giving them a sharp, intimidating glare. She’s fiercely defensive of your right to express yourself, and she’ll always make sure you feel comfortable and safe being yourself around her.

- Your gothic look and overall vibe sometimes make her feel a bit soft around you, and she loves that. Rogue admires your confidence and how you carry yourself, and she’s grateful for the quiet strength she feels from being with you. Sometimes, when it’s just the two of you, she’ll sit close and tell you how she feels like she’s found a kindred spirit in you—someone who isn’t afraid to stand out.

- In private, Rogue is endlessly affectionate and attentive. She loves taking in all the little details, like how you accessorize or the particular makeup you wear. She’ll sometimes brush her gloved hand across your cheek, marveling at how stunning you look and making you feel like you’re the only person in the world. With you, she can be her true, unfiltered self, and she’s grateful for that.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- Erik is immediately intrigued by your gothic aesthetic. He’s a person of elegance and sophistication, but he appreciates when someone dares to be different. He’ll often give you a thoughtful once-over, his piercing gaze lingering on you in silent admiration. Though he doesn’t say much at first, he finds himself fascinated by your unique look and style.

- Erik’s keen intellect often leads him to inquire about the historical roots of the gothic subculture, and he listens intently as you explain its influences. He sees a lot of strength in your choice to embrace a bold, non-conformist style and has a profound respect for your commitment to your aesthetic. He’ll occasionally surprise you with antique jewelry or rare finds that match your taste, finding a sort of thrill in choosing gifts you’ll treasure.

- When you’re out together, Erik is a silent but powerful presence, always by your side and subtly protective. Anyone who dares look down on you or make a judgmental comment will quickly find themselves on the receiving end of his steely glare. He values self-expression and has no patience for those who would try to undermine yours, making it very clear that he respects you fully and will tolerate no less from others.

- He has a refined appreciation for your style, often drawing parallels between it and his own preference for timeless, dignified looks. In private, he’ll run a hand over a piece of your jewelry or trace his fingers along the intricate details of your clothes, remarking in a low voice about how well it all suits you. He finds your appearance mesmerizing and genuinely enjoys the aura of mystery you bring with you.

- Erik doesn’t often show vulnerability, but with you, he finds himself at ease. He admires how your gothic style reflects resilience, a quality he holds dear, and he sees in you a kindred spirit—a reminder of strength in individuality. When it’s just the two of you, he’ll quietly express how he feels lucky to have found someone who embraces the world with such fierce independence.

Bobby Drake aka. Iceman

- Bobby is absolutely fascinated by your gothic style. As someone who’s always been a bit playful and lighthearted, he finds your dark, brooding aesthetic to be thrillingly different from anything he’s used to. He’ll often tease you affectionately, calling you his “goth queen” or “dark angel” in that playful way only he can pull off, genuinely admiring your commitment to the look.

- He’s endlessly curious about your fashion choices and will often ask questions about the different elements of your style, from the jewelry to the makeup. Bobby isn’t afraid to experiment either—sometimes you’ll catch him jokingly trying on your rings or attempting your dark eyeliner just for laughs. He loves getting you to crack a smile, even if it means looking a little ridiculous himself.

- Bobby is all about hyping you up in public. He finds your look incredibly cool and will proudly show you off whenever you’re together. If people give you weird looks, he’ll throw an arm around your shoulder and declare, “Yeah, that’s my goth babe—jealous?” His lighthearted energy brings a fun dynamic to your relationship, making you feel completely accepted for who you are.

- Despite his own upbeat personality, Bobby finds your gothic aesthetic deeply captivating. He’s fascinated by how well it reflects your personality, and he often jokes about being “entranced” by your dark, mysterious look. Sometimes, he’ll even ask if you could show him a bit more about the gothic subculture, genuinely interested in learning about something that means so much to you.

- In quiet moments, Bobby is surprisingly thoughtful, admiring your makeup or your choice of accessories in a way that’s tender and sincere. He’ll tell you that you look amazing and that he’s lucky to have someone so unique and bold by his side. Beneath all his jokes, there’s a deep respect for your individuality, and he genuinely loves how your gothic aesthetic adds a layer of mystery and allure to your relationship.

Wanda Maximoff aka. The Scarlet Witch

- Wanda is deeply drawn to your gothic aesthetic and feels an immediate kinship with you. She’s familiar with the feeling of being different, of standing apart, so she instantly understands your choice to embrace a darker look. She loves how your style is unapologetically you and finds comfort in how it resonates with the magic and mystery she herself embodies.

- Wanda is genuinely captivated by the intricacies of your look. She’ll admire the subtle details—maybe a delicate, ornate ring or a shadowed makeup look that speaks to your artistry. Sometimes she’ll playfully use her magic to make a small dark aura shimmer around you, a soft, enchanted touch to match your aesthetic. It’s her way of embracing your uniqueness and showing that she appreciates every part of you.

- When you’re both out together, she’s proud to be seen by your side. If people stare or pass judgment, Wanda doesn’t let it affect her. She’ll take your hand and give you a knowing smile, her quiet confidence making you feel fully accepted. Her serene presence has a calming effect, and you know you’re safe with her, free to be yourself without any need to explain or justify.

- Wanda loves sharing her own story with you, talking about the darker aspects of her past and the magic that’s sometimes misunderstood by others. She feels like you understand her struggles and admires how your gothic style speaks to resilience and defiance. Sometimes, she’ll create small magical gifts for you—a necklace that glows faintly with enchantment or a rose that never wilts, gestures to show her affection and appreciation for who you are.

- In private, she’s incredibly gentle and open, drawn to how your darker style balances her sometimes chaotic world. Wanda will often express how much she cherishes you, how your individuality and strength help her feel more grounded. She finds comfort in your presence, and there’s a deep, almost otherworldly bond that connects you both, as if she’s found a piece of herself in you.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

- Pietro is absolutely fascinated by your gothic look and finds it incredibly cool. He’s the type to whistle and tease you, calling you his “gothic queen” or “dark angel” with a big, proud grin. Your style is so different from his fast-paced, casual vibe, and he loves how it sets you apart from everyone else he knows.

- He loves showing you off and finds joy in watching other people’s reactions when they see you two together. Pietro has a protective streak, so if anyone gives you a weird look or mutters a snide comment, he’s quick to shut them down with a snappy comeback. He’s proud of your unique style and makes it known that he wouldn’t want you any other way.

- Pietro’s energy is a fun contrast to your aesthetic, and he often makes it his mission to get you to crack a smile. Whether it’s by jokingly trying on your dark lipstick or attempting your makeup style (usually ending up with eyeliner everywhere), he’s always trying to bring some lightheartedness into your day. He loves that your seriousness balances him out, and he always feels like his life is a bit more exciting with you in it.

- He’s incredibly curious about all things gothic and will often ask questions about your music, style, or favorite bands. Sometimes, he’ll surprise you by blasting one of your favorite gothic rock songs while you’re together, just to show he’s been paying attention. He’s always eager to learn more about what makes you tick and is genuinely interested in understanding the darker elements of your personality.

- In quieter moments, Pietro will tell you how lucky he feels to be with someone who’s so unapologetically themselves. He’s a bit of a show-off, but around you, he’s sincere, openly admiring the depth you bring to his life. He loves the contrast between your mysterious vibe and his vibrant personality, and he feels like you’re his perfect opposite, bringing balance to his world.

Laura Kinney aka. X-23 / Wolverine

- Laura’s first reaction to your gothic style is quiet fascination. She’s not one to comment much on appearances, but she admires how self-assured you seem with your unique look. She respects individuality, and your dark aesthetic quickly becomes something she associates with strength and resilience—a reminder that you’re someone who can stand out and face the world on your own terms.

- She’s very protective of you, especially if you’re out together and encounter anyone who looks down on your style. Laura doesn’t tolerate any disrespect, and if she senses anyone judging you, they’ll get a deadly glare. Your relationship with Laura is based on mutual respect, and she’ll go out of her way to make sure you’re never made to feel lesser because of how you look.

- Laura isn’t one for big gestures, but she shows her affection in small, meaningful ways. If she notices a new accessory or makeup look, she’ll give you a subtle nod of approval or say, “You look nice.” It’s her way of showing that she notices the little things and that she values the care you put into your style. Occasionally, she’ll even ask for your input if she wants to try something different with her look, trusting your judgment.

- Sometimes, Laura’s curiosity gets the better of her, and she’ll sit with you to ask questions about the gothic subculture. She respects that there’s a deeper meaning behind your aesthetic, and learning about your interests helps her feel closer to you. She listens intently, taking in every word with her characteristic seriousness, and it’s clear she appreciates the passion you have for your style.

- When it’s just the two of you, Laura lets her guard down and shows a softer side, often complimenting you in her own way. She’ll tell you that you’re “different from anyone else,” and coming from her, it’s the highest praise. With Laura, you know you’re accepted fully, and she values the unique presence you bring to her life, finding comfort and strength in the dark beauty that defines you.

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

- Wade is absolutely thrilled by your gothic style and finds it ridiculously cool. He’s the type to immediately start calling you his “dark and mysterious love,” and he’s not shy about showing you off. He’ll take you anywhere and everywhere, proudly bragging to anyone who’ll listen about how awesome you look. He loves that your aesthetic stands out and often tries to “match” you in his own chaotic way.

- Being Wade, he’s constantly trying to make you laugh, especially since your serious demeanor intrigues him. He’ll crack jokes, do silly impressions, and make exaggerated compliments about how you’re his “queen of darkness.” He’s always trying to get a smile out of you, relishing the challenge of breaking through your stoic exterior, and finds it endlessly amusing when he actually succeeds.

- Wade also loves dressing up to match your gothic look on occasion, though his interpretations are… creative. He’ll try on dark makeup or leather jackets and end up looking like a rock star from the 80s. Despite how outlandish he looks, his attempts are always genuine, and he adores the way your aesthetic complements his unpredictable personality.

- Wade is surprisingly sensitive to how the world judges appearances and takes it personally if anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way. He’s fiercely defensive of your right to express yourself and will launch into a full-fledged speech about how amazing you are, shutting down any naysayers with his trademark over-the-top theatrics. With Wade, you know you’ll always be celebrated for exactly who you are.

- In private, Wade will tell you how he admires the confidence and mystery you carry with your style. Beneath his antics, there’s a genuine admiration for your strength and individuality. He’ll hold your hand, make eye contact, and tell you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him, adding with a smirk, “Even if you look like you might summon a demon any second.” It’s his way of saying he’s completely smitten, and he loves you just as you are.

[shabre-legacy]

For the kiss prompts: 46 for Tyrenic/Jemsyn and/or 23 for Leikael/Corso

So I borrowed Jemsyn to write this for the prompt. I'll do a post for the Leikael and Corso one after I finish it. For now, enjoy Tyrenic/Jemsyn. If I wrote him ooc please let me know and I'll fix

Tyrenic leans on the arm of his target, a tall Weequay currently ordering another round in the dark club. It wasn’t a high end place, but the kind of fancy that still allowed the sleazy and criminal customers among their clientele. Various dancers were scattered around the room, in lifted cages, on platforms and scattered across the floor.

Tyrenic himself is a lightly dressed as any of them. A pink fishnet crop top that’s almost too small and a tiny pair of leather minishorts that clung to the curve of his ass and finished off with a pair of pink and black stilleto heels, tall under the toe as well as the heel. It made him just a couple inches shorter than the seven foot tall at least Weequay.

He had his eyes made up with glitter shadow, mascara, and heavy eyeliner giving him a perpetually hooded eye expression and a gloss that made his lips look plumper and more kissable then usual. He looked cheap, blowjobs for a pat on the head and a puff of a deathstick cheap; which was exactly what he’d wanted when he walked into the club. It hadn’t taken long for him to convince everyone that he was a new dancer, and even less time when he located his target to convince the man to ‘buy’ him for the night. He feels exposed like this, like everyone is staring at him and not for the usual reasons. It’s exciting, but also makes him nervous. He’s glad he brought Shelerik in as backup. Knowing the other Jedi is in the crowd, playing at being just another patron, but keeping an eye on him is reliving. Nothing that bad can happen, at least not anything he doesn’t have to go along with to maintain his cover. This was important enough to withstand some uncomfortable moments, or a lot of them, with this guy.

He carefully keeps any trace of discomfort off his face as his ‘date’ downs another shot and yanks him in, one hand dropping down to grope Tyrenic’s ass, the other holding his neck possessively as he kisses him, it’s sloppy, with too much tongue and a bit gross, but he goes along with it. Placing a hand on the Weequay’s chest and arching into him, he’s being paid for this after all. It takes a few minutes before the man decides he’s had enough for now and hands their drinks to Tyrenic and starts to guide him towards the dark back corners by the hips. As they make their way through the crowd, some of the other customers jostle them, the target shoved away a moment as a tall Mirialan is shoved into Tyrenic’s shoulder, almost knocking him off his heels. The man catches him around the waist and pulls him upright again, using the moment to drop his head and whisper “Your soldier’s here. Alcove down the hall past the bathrooms.”

Tyrenic just drops his head back letting a simpering smile fall over his face as the target moves back to him. “I appreciate the catch handsome, but unfortunately, I’m all booked for tonight. I’ll be around tomorrow if you’re still interested. I promise it’s a good time.” He half turns to look at the Weequay with hooded eyes. “So which one’s our table again?” He waits until they get there and he sets the drinks down and his target sits before bending over to whisper in his ear. “I’ll be right back and we can start this private party.” The man glares, but Tyrenic dispels it with a nudge from the Force and a wink. “Fresher.”

He makes sure to swing his hips more than necessary as he struts through the crowd, slipping into the hall and making his way to the alcove. He hadn’t had time to let Jemsyn know he was on planet, or going undercover, let alone what type of undercover work he was doing.

The Mirialan Mandalorian is pacing across the small alcove as Tyrenic quietly steps inside. He turns quickly and steps close, grabbing onto Tyrenic’s forearms and looking in his eyes. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

Tyrenic looks down at him, the heels emphasizing the height difference, a flirty grin on his lips. “No baby, I’m fine. It’s all fine.”

Jemsyn relaxes a bit, only for the concern to be replaced with a restrained anger. “Ok good. Tell me what the kriff that was? I come in for a night out and I find my boyfriend, making out with some random guy who’s got his hands all over you!” He steps back, folding his arms and staring Tyrenic down.

Tyrenic takes advantage of the height difference to lean over Jemsyn, resting his arm on the wall. “Don’t worry love.” He drops his head till he can whisper into Jemsyn’s ear. “I’m undercover, that man is part of a network grabbing alien refugees from Coruscant and other core worlds and selling them to the empire. We got the info on our way back and didn’t have time to contact you or anyone else before we had to jump into action. He’s got specific tastes and I fit the bill best.”

Jemsyn didn’t look convinced. “And that involves making out with him how? Couldn’t you go in as a buyer or potential business contact?”

Tyrenic sighs. “Wish we could love. But he never meets with contacts he doesn’t know without an introduction and we don’t have time to get one. But he pays a dancer almost every time he comes to a club and the drinks make him chatty. I let him kiss and grope a little, keep him talking, as soon as I get what I need, I signal Shelerik, he steps in and makes the arrest and we use the information to shut down the network.”

Jemsyn nods slowly as he absorbs what was said. “I still don’t like it, but I understand. Try to give me some warning next time you have to do something like this.”

Tyrenic nods before dropping his head to kiss and nip at Jemsyn’s neck. “I promise I’ll make it up to you later. How does a private dance in one of those lounges sound?”

Jem looks up at him with a familiar heat in his eyes. “That sounds wonderful cyare.” He deliberately looks Tyrenic up and down slowly. “I have to say, I like this look.”

Renic preens at the praise. “Glad you approve. I haven’t worn some of this since I was like 16.”

“You are very pretty and I love the way these shorts just cling. Stars you are pretty, all dolled up slutty like this.”

Tyrenic drops his head and his voice, husky and sensual, dripping in promises. “Give me another hour or so to finish up and I’ll be your personal slut for the rest of the night.”

Jemsyn seems conflicted, excited by the idea but not happy about Tyrenic going back to that Weequay. “I’ll hold you to that, but first…” He grabs Tyrenic and twists quickly, slamming the taller Jedi against the wall and stepping between his legs. He leans up at the same time he pulls Tyrenic down and kisses him. It’s desperate and devouring and perfect, Jemsyn pours all of his jealously into the kiss, making sure Tyrenic remembers exactly who he belongs to.

Tyrenic moans wantonly into the kiss, dropping his arms around Jemsyn’s neck and kissing back just as fiercely. His tongue tangles with his lovers as time stops around them. Eventually they are forced to break the kiss to breathe, only for Jemsyn to immediately attach himself to Tyrenic’s neck seemingly intent on leaving hickey’s for Tyrenic to walk out with. Tyrenic uses the last bit of his mental fortitude and will to drag himself up and out of reach. “Later love, after I’m done, you can leave all the marks you like.” He leans down and captures Jemsyn’s lips in another deep kiss before he pushes against the wall and slips out of Jemsyn’s arms. He turns and winks as he waltzes away, his hip swaying in his heels. He couldn’t wait to get this done and finally be able to put on a real show for the person who actually mattered.

[cevansbrat0007]

Easy, Baby

Summary: Ari just wants to do his part to help you relax.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Fingering, Bubble Baths, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: This random bit of Ari goodness is dedicated to @curls-and-eyeliner, @blogbog710, and @writer84. As well as anyone else who could use some love after a long day. Not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. Thanks for reading!

___

“Hello..?” You push open the partially cracked door to your bathroom. “Ari, are you in here?” Clad in only a pink satin robe – a gift that had been waiting for you on the table when you’d gotten home – you take a tentative step inside.

Only to stop short when you’re greeted by the sight of candles strewn about the dimly lit room. For a moment you stand in the doorway, content to watch the flames dance as they cast intimate shadows along the walls.

“Welcome home, Bird.” Your man smiles at you from his perch on the edge of the tub. He dips a finger in the water, testing the temperature. “I see you found your gift. How’s the fit?” Satisfied that it’s to his liking, he turns off the faucet to give you his full attention.

“It’s…it’s great. Gorgeous, actually” You respond, absently toying with the garment’s belt. “But what’s all this?”    

“Just a little something to help you relax.” Ari simply shrugs before motioning for you to do a little twirl, which you do. He groans low in his throat when he gets a good look at your ass. “You said you had a long day. Which may or may not have come at the end of an even longer week. So I thought that…” 

He trails off before rising to his feet to bridge the distance between you in three long strides. Using two fingers he tilts your chin so that you’re gazing into his eyes. You don’t need him to tell you that you looked tired, not when the exhaustion you felt was written so plainly all over your face. 

 “I just thought that we’d see to it that you got a good night’s sleep.” Ari leans in to gently brush his lips over yours. It’s not quite a tease, but nonetheless, you find yourself offering up your willing mouth for more. 

Right now you wanted everything that your thoughtful Beast was willing to offer. Plus a little extra.

“I’m okay. But I could use more kisses though.” Standing on your tiptoes you go to nip at his jaw, relishing the deep growl that rumbles in his chest. “Now, please.” 

Instead of giving in like you expect him to, Ari pulls away – eliciting a whine from you before you can stop it. You’re just about to tell him that you’re willing to forgo sleep in favor of satisfying another, much more primal, urge when his hands suddenly begin undoing the haphazardly tied knot on your robe. 

“Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re not in charge right now.” A wolfish grin slowly spreads across his handsome features as he slides the garment off your shoulders, content to let it fall to the floor at your feet.  

“But –” Granted, he rarely ever let you be in charge. But still… 

“Hush.” His tone, while soft, brooks no room for argument. “Now, let’s get you into the bath while the water’s still warm.” Picking up your now nude body, he carries you to the tub before gently lowering you down into the heated depths.

It was your favorite feature – this custom built fixture that was big enough to accommodate both you and your mountain of a boyfriend. 

You can’t help but sigh in bliss as the water envelopes you, acting as a soothing balm for your weary muscles. “You coming?” Your eyes slowly droop as Ari makes quick work of stripping off his clothes, tossing his black sweats into a random corner of the room. 

“Now, I’d have to be awfully stupid to refuse an offer like that.” 

Less than a moment later, your man helps you sit up so that he can join you. Water sloshes this way and that, threatening to spill over the edge out of the tub as he gets settled. And then his thick arms wrap themselves around your middle, tugging you close so that you’re resting against the broad expanse of his chest. 

“Comfortable?” Ari’s large, slightly roughened hands go to massage away any residual tenseness in your shoulders. He presses a sweet kiss against the shell of your ear, enjoying the way you shiver at his touch.  

“Very.” Your head falls to the side to grant him greater access to your throat. He buries his nose in the crook of your neck, letting his teeth graze over your thrumming pulse. His chestnut brown locks tickle your skin as he continues to lavish you with his own special brand of attention.

Some days you were so incredibly grateful to belong to this beautiful man. He always took such good care of you – worshiped you, even. Ari Levinson was the type who prided himself on loving his woman in all the ways she desperately needed to be loved.

“I can practically hear the wheels turning in that beautiful mind of yours, Bird.” Ari whispers a feverish litany of kisses down the back of your neck, emitting a low moan of pleasure as he does. “What’s going on up there?” 

Your man was starving for a taste of you. And he was becoming hungrier by the second. But before he took you in all the ways he’d spent the day fantasizing about, he was going to see to it that you were sufficiently relaxed. 

Right now nothing else in the world mattered. Not work. Not deadlines. Nothing. It was just you and Ari. The two of you, together against the world.   

“It – it’s not all that important. At least not really.” You tell him, lifting your arms out of the water to wind them around his neck from behind. “You’re what matters, honey.”

“Oh yeah?” One of Ari’s hands leaves your shoulders to dip between your breasts, his wandering fingers pausing briefly to pinch your nipple.

“Yes. What really fucking matters is that, after a terrible fucking day, I get to come home to you and…” An unexpected lump forms in your throat. “...We get to be together like this. I’m just so unbelievably grateful for that, you know?”

Ari hums in approval as he moves on, tracing a sensual path along your skin. His hand splays across your belly so that he can draw you closer to his body, letting you feel the physical proof of his unquenched desire. 

“You sure seem happy.” You muse, arching your back when you feel his eager fingers find their way below the water’s surface in search of new and exciting territory. A small whine escapes when he parts your sensitive folds to play with your aching clit. 

“Always am when I’m with you.” He rasps, his tone laced with satisfaction as your hips buck sharply, sending water sloshing over the side of the tub. “The way I see it, I’ve gotta do everything in my power to keep you in my home and in my bed. And if it means I have to subject myself to a little bubble bath every now and again to make sure you never think of leaving me, then so be it.”

You let out a snort before you can catch it. Sometimes your boyfriend was capable of conjuring up the most ridiculous scenarios, including the occasional one that had him convinced that he didn’t deserve you.      

Fucking bullshit if you’d ever heard it. Your handsome beast had clearly taken one too many blows to the head. 

“Ari…” You murmur, your voice filled with quiet amusement. “I think that for this to be a bubble bath there’d have to be, oh, I don’t know, some actual freaking bubbles. And you’d – ooh!” 

One sly finger enters you, slowly pumping in and out of your inviting heat. Ari then uses his free hand to lift your leg up and onto the edge of the bath, opening you up to his hedonistic assault. Soon a second digit joins the first, curling and twisting inside you as he works to find your spot.

That special spot he knew would have fireworks and magic dancing behind your eyes. 

“Now look here, woman.” He growls as he slowly increases his pace. “You’ve got a lot of pretty smelling, frilly shit to choose from in that closet. Any man could get overwhelmed, just like I did. So how about you do me a kindness and pretend we’re swimming in some bubbles, okay?” His teeth go back to nipping at your ear, playfully sucking the lobe into his warm mouth. 

“O–okay, Beast.” The soft mewl spills its way past your lips as the heel of his big palm begins to grind against your swollen bud. “Aww, fu–fuck! Ari!” Your hips move in time with his erotic ministrations as he pushes you higher and higher. 

You feel the coil in your belly tighten, pleasure steadily coursing through your veins. Meanwhile, your man’s hand remains on your thigh – holding you open for him. Forcing you to take everything he’s hellbent on giving you.

“Swear to God, you’ve got the tightest, sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.” Ari’s sinful whisper has your eyes fluttering closed as your fingers reach up to tease your nipple, sending white-hot sparks shooting straight to your core. “Did you know that? Hmm?”

“Ungh!” You whine, your hips jerking in his hold as your man continues to play your body like you’re his favorite instrument. Your hand then cups your heavy breast, wantonly kneading the tempting weight as goosebumps breakout across your heated flesh.  

Fuck! This was too much!

You try to pull away as the sheer force of your pleasure threatens to overwhelm you. “Aww. Don’t go runnin’ on me, Bird.” His grip on your thigh loosens so that he can once again wrap a muscled arm around your waist to keep you still. “Don’t run. Not unless you want your Beast to give chase.” 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Comes your breathless chant as he continues to stoke the flames of your passion. “God–fuck–Ari–pleeease!” You wail as your mind is robbed of all sense. 

You were so desperate for release. So fucking close you could practically taste your impending orgasm. And then your man picks that moment to slant his mouth over yours, catching a wild sob as it bubbles its way out of your chest. 

“Easy, baby.” Ari soothes, his tongue sweeping past your lips to dominate your mouth. “That’s it. Give me a good one.” He briefly pulls away to nibble his way along your jaw, teasing you to the brink. “Be sweet and show me you can do as you’re told.” 

“Oo–fuuuck!” You cry as you crest over the edge of hedonistic madness into bliss. More water spills out of the tub and onto the floor, but you’re beyond caring right now. 

Ari always made you want to be so good for him. He craved your submission the same way you craved his rewards. And he was never one to disappoint. 

He doesn’t stop, determined to push you even further. Your chest heaves as raw, unfiltered ecstasy makes your body sing. Ari’s heavy erection rests against your back, his cock twitching when notices the way your toes curl. It’s a deliciously carnal reminder of the exciting pleasures yet to come.          

Only when the haze begins to clear do you finally notice how cool the water has become. But Ari isn’t done with you, not by longshot. 

“That was a good one, Bird.” He leans forward to turn on the tap, all the while continuing to lazily pet and caress your still spasming cunt. “Bet it tasted even better.” You don’t respond, you’re brain too busy balancing your frenzied, buzzing nerves.  

“I’m going to heat things up. While we wait, how about we see if you can give me one more like I know you can, hm?” Ari whispers a kiss across your damp brow. It’s followed by a sensual brush of his fingers over your sensitive clit. 

“That way your Beast will know when you’re officially nice and relaxed.”

END

[kedsandtubesocks]

Your boyfriend is missing - but that shouldn’t be a cause for concern… right?

pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!reader

wc: 5.6k

warnings & tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. dark elements. roleplay that can be read as yandere like behavior, heavy prey/predator, stalking, moment of home intrusion, fear & knife play, sexual allusions, a lot of licking and spit, finger sucking, themes of terror and fear, feral Gojo, aftercare, reader is called (doll, pretty, baby, angel) also everyone is alive & nothing hurts AU…if I missed anything please let me know

a/n: this is my second submission to Willow’s Haunted House Collab! To be honest…this is my first time writing content like this so I’m a little nervous about posting this piece so I appreciate you taking the time to read and hope you enjoy! Also big thank you to @willowser & @skeletoncowboys for being the best (and worst) little devils on my shoulder to get me to write this

You’re still surprised Shoko knows this many people. But then again a part of you isn’t.

The Halloween party fills every inch of her nice Tokyo apartment. The array of colored lights dance against the wild costumes and you wonder if you’ve slipped into a pocket of wonderland.

Taking a sip of your drink you also now curiously wonder if your faux blood sucking boyfriend has fallen down a rabbit hole himself.

The original plan was to go in matching couples outfits. But once your slightly erratic boyfriend spotted the dracula outfit at the costume store his grabby hands immediately snagged it.

“I’ll look hotter in this one. You understand right, angel?” Satoru triumphant grin said enough.

Begrudgingly, you did. And you couldn’t deny how gorgeous he looked.

White summer cloud hair slicked back, the realistic fake vampire fangs he wore, and even borrowing your eyeliner to add shadow like depth around his piercing baby blues -

He was the dream of every dark supernatural romance novel.

Now among the blaring music and excited chatter of the party your handsome vampire has slipped through your fingers.

Your feet are starting to ache and your soft bed is calling you home. So you decide to scan the crowd for him.

From your spot in the kitchen your attention flickers out to the thick of the party in the living room. You spot Haibara laughing so bright and looking adorable in his spooky scarecrow costume. Nanami stands beside him, simple devil horns on top of his head and a slightly amused grin coloring his distinguished features.

Geto, dressed in his rather impressive phantom of the opera costume, has been attracting a small crowd. He sits on the couch telling scary stories with the others around him. The look of both a composed storyteller and eager listener paints his handsome face even with the mask covering half his face.

Your eyes continue their search among the party.

Along the stretch of the wall lined with grand windows stands an ink blot like figure.

The apartment’s dim soft lighting mixes with the fun colorful lights strung up. Strange shadows fall among the space and at times you’ve caught it playing tricks on your eyes.

Except you clearly can focus on the striking presence across from you.

The stranger wears an all black cloak that makes them stick out against the windows.

And they wear a ghost face mask that completely obstructs any hope of discovering who this is.

The mask stares out so blankly and it’s a bit unnerving.

People chat unphased. A small group even starts an impromptu dance circle at the new upbeat pop song playing. Everyone exists unaware, or possibly uncaring, at the strange presence of the ghost face.

Yet this person stands so still. The mask also seems to be staring directly at you.

It could be someone needing a small break from the party the same way you lingered in the kitchen alone.

Then ghost face lifts a gloved finger up to the mask’s lips.

Shh…

A strange flutter you can’t fully describe rises in your gut. You simply brush off the action as someone being funny.

You now leave the kitchen to fully hunt for your missing boyfriend.

“Have you seen Gojo?” You ask around but the answers are all the same.

“Nope!” Haibara’s bright response comes with an unworried smile.

“No thank goodness,” the same answer comes from both Nanami and Utahime.

“Maybe he turned into a bat and flew away.” Geto, ever the teasing jokester, has you rolling your eyes.

Shoko jokingly even says “who?” when you ask her.

Now you think your boyfriend has decided to be childish and hide in the bathrooms or closet. Because who else would try to be funny and run away during a party but Gojo.

Shoko, with a carefree wave, grants you free range to explore her place.

You’ve been here plenty of times, but now with so many people in the space an annoyed edge bubbles in you. You want to go home. Now you’re having to peek around hoping to spot your ridiculous boyfriend. And there are no signs of him.

Annoyed and frustrated you snag your phone to simply message him.

[Where are you?!]

It takes a moment, but a message comes in from ‘My Bestest Most Handsome Boyfriend Ever.’

Said boyfriend simply replies with one lone emoji.

[🤫]

Another message rushes in. It again is nothing but emojis.

[🤭😘]

Simmering annoyance doubles, tempting to turn into frustration, and you rapidly message him back.

[Satoru I wanna go home and if you keep up this up I’m leaving you]

You’d call a ride or see if someone can take you back. You would leave him here.

A notification chime comes.

[let’s play a game baby 🤍]

[oh so me trying to find your ridiculous ass around Shoko’s apartment isn’t a game?]

[so rude!]

[but maybe it is 😜]

You call his phone. It goes straight to voicemail and you want to scream.

You angrily type out another message and hit send.

[fine whatever, you do whatever you want I’ll see you at home]

His reply rushes in surprisingly fast.

[head home angel, I’ll see you when I get there 🤍]

Now that sparks a strange curious peak in you.

But still so annoyed you angrily close your messages. You’re about to head out of the corner of the hallway you’ve been hanging out in.

So deep in your thoughts, you take one step and run into someone -

The ghost face stranger.

You thankfully don’t collide into him. However, your step falters seeing how close the person is to you.

The black robed body fully faces you, their back to the party, as they stand so direct.

“Oh, uh excuse me.” You mutter and avert your eyes worried as you slide past the stranger.

Not a sound comes, not even a reply. The chilling silence, the looming presence, the dark shadow blocking out the light, it feels like you’re trying to tiptoe past something dangerous.

Out of the hallway you check your phone again.

Still nothing from Gojo.

“Fine, stay here.” You huff out loud thinking maybe he’ll hear you.

A soft whisper of your boyfriend’s voice comes.

“…Baby…”

It cuts through the party even on the gentle breeze you heard it. Quickly you look around, but nothing. Still no sign of Satoru. You glance over your shoulder to check behind you.

Instead of being at the previous spot in the highway, ghost face now peers out from the edge of the hallway's entrance.

The plastic hollow mask continues staring so directly at you that a strange unsettled alarm twists your stomach.

It couldn’t be….

But then again…

You shake away curious and cloudy thoughts wanting to form. Turning on your heels you rush to Shoko’s side and announce you’re going to head out.

Nanami, like a true golden knight he should’ve dressed as, offers to drive you home. Haibara happily decides to tag along. Before you head out, a message alert rings from your phone.

[Come find me downstairs!]

You groan. Of course he managed to slip away from the apartment entirely.

“Sorry guys. I’ll meet you two down in the garage. I think I know where my idiot ran off too.” You sigh and thankfully Nanami understands with his saintly patience.

As you slip into the hallway, the noise of the party fades into a muted soft hum.

After navigating Shoko’s labyrinth-like apartment building you arrive at the main floor downstairs. And of course, your boyfriend again is nowhere to be found. In fact, the beautiful sleek modern lobby is vacant. Normally someone sits at the front desk that is currently empty. In the dark evening, the quiet lurks with an unsettling hollowness.

So you quickly message Gojo.

[where are you??]

No response.

You should’ve known this was going to happen.

The eerie silence, the lack of commotion in this normally occupied space, a strange anxiety swarms in your chest. It drains out the annoyance you had for your boyfriend because now, you just want to leave.

Not wanting to stay here anymore you simply head to the elevator and press the button for the garage.

Footsteps echo behind you and you turn.

Behind you is the ghost face stranger.

Standing so terrifyingly still a chill runs up your back as if you’re staring down an actual ghost, trying to process if this being is real or not. The hollowed out eyes, the deep morphed wide frown, all of it intensifies against the pristine lobby.

Then ghost face tilts their head. The small movement seems so innocent, curious even.

The elevator dings its arrival. Hesitantly you step into the lift while trying to keep your eyes on the stranger.

Once fully inside, a moment of pause comes. It again is just you and the mysterious figure staring at the other.

Suddenly, as if possessed, ghost face runs straight towards you.

Fear rips into you visceral and dizzying. You choke on a scream. Faster and faster he approaches. You shakily scramble to slam on the button to close the elevator doors.

The black robed stranger races closer.

The doors start closing. An arm outstretches hopeful to stop the elevator and terror sinks its fangs into you.

The doors however shut fast.

You’re left staring at the white masks unflinching. The doors fully shut and you watch ghost face disappear out of sight.

The elevator ride is quiet, but your loud heartbeat drums rapidly in your ears. The taste of fear in your mouth has you wondering if you unknowingly transformed into a small creature fleeing from a monster in the woods.

You exhale slowly trying to steady yourself.

The garage thankfully arrives quickly and Nanami and Haibara already wait for you there.

“Are you alright? You seem shaken up.” Nanami notices you with keen eyes.

“Yeah!” You lie as truthfully as you can, even summoning a smile to add to it. “Just feeling a little under the weather now. So I’m just ready to get home.”

That appeases Nanami and the three of you head out.

“So did you find where Gojo went!?”

“No.” You sigh, answering Haibara’s bright question.

“I’m sure he just got called away somewhere and forget to tell you!” He positively suggests.

“Or he’s just playing a trick on me thinking he’s being cute when he’s actually just being a headache.” Your dull annoyed comment has Nanami snorting amused and it warms you.

It helps as a chill air breathes into the dark evening. Softly, a distant rumble of thunder comes. A storm approaches. As you head up to the apartment you already happily think of cozy blankets to end the night.

“Satoru!” You call out.

Silence greets you. So much for meeting you at home.

You start the search again. The bathroom, the extra guest bedroom and even the guest bathroom are all once again Gojo-less. You even check underneath the bed and feel silly when you open up the laundry hamper thinking he could have squeezed himself in there as a prank.

But you realize you would’ve at least heard ridiculous giggling at this point. So, you give up.

Ready to turn in for the night you exhaustedly slip out of your costume and into cozier clothes.

You also decide to try calling your dumb boyfriend again. You left your phone charging in the kitchen and head back to grab it.

A flash of lightning comes, a bright surprise illumination dancing from the window. It draws your attention away for a split moment.

You turn and now before you the ghost face masked stranger stands in your kitchen.

Terror seizes you and you freeze in its grasp.

Ghost face’s presence in your warmly light kitchen reminds you of someone taking a sharpie and placing a solid swipe against a scenic painting. It is a terrifying distortion.

“Satoru.” You snap even though your voice wavers.

The masked stranger shakes their head.

No.

“Sorry doll,” You don’t recognize the voice replying to you. It’s deep warped and distorted. Plus your boyfriend never once called you that - doll.

“Don’t know who this Satoru guy is, but he’s lucky gettin’ to come home to you.” The deep and static like masculine voice purrs.

Your heart drops into your stomach

Now truly staring at the cloaked intruder, you realize how large ghost face is. His broad shoulders fill out the space and he radiates an imposing looming force.

Your eyes stay focused on him but you realize if you move fast, you could maybe reach your phone charging.

So you bolt with all your might.

But the masked man is faster.

In two rapid steps he stops you. With a gloved hand the stranger yanks you into his hold. A scream almost escapes you. But it’s knocked out when ghost face curls around you from behind.

A strong sturdy arm wraps itself across your chest.

“Now now doll,” the intruder tsks light. “And here I thought we could play a lil’ game.”

The gleam of the knife comes first from the corner of your eye. Then, the pointed tip starts running up the side of your body with a delicate leisure ease.

Your eyes go wide as the large kitchen knife effortlessly tracing up a path closer to you. It drags across your clothes, slow and unbothered in its pace.

“You know,” ghost face muses. “You really are a cute one.”

A twinkling glee leaks into the distorted voice.

“Let’s play that game I mentioned, yeah?” He continues.

Your throat goes dry as the knife now drags easily up your chest closer to your face.

“I’m a big fan of hide and seek.” The masked man purrs.

The solid arm that was across your chest now slides up allowing his gloved hand to softly curl around your neck. There is no pressure, just the simple chilling sensation of his presence against your skin. It’s a reminder that at any moment he could tighten his hand on your throat.

“You’re just so cute that I wanna chase ya and keep you forever.” His voice manages to drop deeper, entrenched in something dreadfully haunting.

“I’ll give you five minutes to go run and hide,” he whispers softer and deeper. The white plastic of the mask gingerly scrapes against your face. Your body coils a tense knot of emotions you can’t even seem to sort through.

“And then, I’ll go and find you.” His voice oozes out a rich low confidence.

Then cool metal presses against your cheek. Your eyes snap down and find a knife lying flat against your face. Your heart trips over in itself.

Confused panic now clashes with something dangerously dark you dare not name. It only worsens when a gloved thumb strokes your throat soft, reverently, and a heat licks up your body.

“Get to hidin’ doll… run.” Ghost face whispers.

Then he violently rips himself away from your body and like being unleashed from a cage you bolt.

You don’t even turn around to look at the masked man. Instead you dash further into the apartment.

Your first thought is to crawl under one of the beds. But your heart pounds so fast that any true proper thoughts get scrambled.

All you can think of is the closet, the large walk-in closet you share with Satoru.

Rapidly you rush inside it. You wonder if you should hide standing up along your boyfriend's large amount of tall clothes that could possibly hide you.

Until you spot it - a wonderful carved out space you can crouch in.

Once you wiggle your way in you try settling into the space. Breathing slowly in and out you try to gather yourself together. The length of Satoru’s clothes you hope will work as a cover or even a makeshift barrier to hide you.

Safe within the smell of the cologne lingering on your boyfriend’s clothes, you close your eyes to settle yourself down even more.

You sit in the silence. Tension crawls on your skin.

Time begins feeling sticky and the minutes seem to all glue together. You don’t know how long you’ve been in here or how long you will be.

Then heavy boots slowly march into the bedroom.

Your eyes snap open. The footsteps are leisurely, imposing. Your heart jolts hearing every step.

A slow dread that has been spilling into you like an hourglass now shatters as the footsteps draw closer to the door. Out of panic you can’t help but move your hands over your nose and mouth to keep quiet.

The door creaks open and your heart stops.

Your body tenses up at the sight of the black thick boats stomping into the closet.

Then the light of the closet flickers on illuminating the space.

“You in here, pretty?” the masked man calls out.

The air in the room evaporates as you stay as quiet as you can.

From the way his boots shuffle he seems to be glancing among the hanging clothes trying to find you in the space you thought of hiding in earlier.

A sigh comes from your masked intruder, soft and defeated almost.

He starts walking out of the closet. You rationalize that he must already be bored of trying to find you here. A small dosage of relief fills your body. Your eyes even shut close again as you exhale.

You take a moment to gather yourself in your sheltered space.

Simply breathing in and out, your hands stay against your face to keep you quiet.

Wearily you open your eyes.

Ghost face now kneels before you and peeks at you through the dangling clothes.

You’re thankful your hands still clutch over your face because you let out a small squeak of a scream.

His gloved waves at you gently and teasingly.

Before you can move, before you can even stand up, firm hands dart out. Ghost face grabs your ankle and drags you out of your little hidden cave.

Your body slides out with such ease, without any hesitation. You can’t even process how fast it happens. All you can do is stare up at the looming man above you staring down with the hollowed out soulless eyes.

His entire frame, large and imposing, blocks most of the light from the closet. It bathes him in a hauntingly eerie superposition of a black stain against a sun.

“Hi there doll,” He coo’s. “Knew you couldn’t escape from me.”

His gloved hand reaches out and holds your face firm.

The knife’s sharp edge drags up your body, a slow and casual pace. Your heart crawls into your throat as you lie beneath the power of this haunting force.

It’s simply you and him.

And then the ghost face mask man suddenly giggles.

It’s a playful giggle you know so well that not even the voice distortion can hide it.

It’s the one you hear whenever you trip over your own shoes, or when your boyfriend happily steals your fries…

“Satoru.” You breathe out steadier than you expected. A range of emotions tingles all over your body.

“No.” The voice replies but there's a twinkle in the tone now. “It’s me…scary ghost face man!”

“Satoru.” You repeat firmer.

“Who’s that? Is that your boyfriend? He sounds hot.”

You roll your eyes and are about to sit up when ghost face instead sits back releasing his firm grip on you.

The hand previously on your face moves to the mask and lifts it up.

Even before the rest of his face is revealed you spy the widest toothy smile ever. The mask completely slides up and now shining blue skies stare at you.

The eyeliner he put on earlier for his vampire costume is now a smudged mess from the heat of the mask. It paints him in a grunge like appearance that unfortunately for you looks devilishly hot on him

Still, you can’t help but pout at him.

“You should’ve set a timer. I don’t think you waited a full five minutes to let me hide.” You challenge as you start taking off his gloves.

“Yes I did! I even went and took a few selfies on your phone to let the time run!” Satoru challenges back pouting.

Of course he took pictures.

You can’t help but snort. However as you slide off the thick black gloves, your eyes gloss over a bit. The high, the adrenaline, the fantasy, is fizzling away.

Before you can even say anything, Gojo cries a dramatic sob. He flops down to lie completely on top of you.

“Satoru!” You wheeze as he clutches onto you like a childish koala.

Dramatically loud, Satoru wails your name. He rubs his sweaty face against yours. Yet, his bare hands hold you so delicate.

“Are you okay?” Your boyfriend gently asks genuine, low and cautious as if someone else can hear him.

You nod on an exhale. Your body strangely enough feels comforted with the weight of your protector against you.

Your face turns to burrow against his. The scent of his skin, the soft warmth he constantly radiates, all become a lifeline guiding you back.

The sensation running through your body reminds you of walking out of a haunted house attraction or even finishing an intense scary film. Those types of experiences become a way of facing terror as something fleeting, giving you a moment of fear without truly being in actual danger. It’s why you had even jokingly suggested this play in the first place.

Satoru and you had been costume shopping when he first tried to jump out and scare you. Instead he wore a ridiculous deformed bunny mask.

You simply stared at him bored and told him how ridiculous he looked.

“Aw! Where's your Halloween spirit babe?!” He cried.

You shrugged then went back to glancing at the adorable witch costumes.

“Maybe if it was another mask I saw you chasing me in I’d get scared.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice dipped in an intrigued low purr. “You want me to chase you around?”

“Satoru!” You had hissed in embarrassment and even swatted at him.

Gojo leaned down closer making sure nobody heard him as he whispered to you.

“It’s okay, angel. I kinda wanna chase you around too.”

The true serious conversation that occurred at home after that shopping trip led to this exact moment and you still can’t believe it.

Earlier in the week Satoru had coyly suggested wearing the ghost face costume instead of his vampire one. You had playfully shrugged and didn’t think he was serious.

But of course, you shouldn’t be surprised at anything your boyfriend does any more.

“I still can’t believe you managed to change at the party without me even knowing.” You comment.

“Oh that was easy! I just used Shoko’s private bathroom. I even told her to play along if you came looking for me. She also called us sexy freaks.” Gojo happily chirps, a bit proud, and your face heats up so fast you want to claw it off.

You could never look at Shoko again for the rest of your life, but you would manage.

Satoru shifts now to slide you better into his arms as he maneuvers to rest on the floor beside you.

You and him clutch each other warm and tight.

“As fun and hot as this was…I don’t like seeing you look genuinely scared.” He mutters softly against your forehead.

“You had been doing so good and looked so brave. I felt proud. But when I got you in here, you really did look so spooked.” Gojo continues. His voice trails into a soft tone you’ve learned is reserved only for you.

You had been scared, got caught up in the atmosphere.

“You just did your job a little too well.” You joke with a dry chuckle.

“Obviously.” Gojo scoffs. “Did you expect anything less?”

He really is a terror in his own way and you playfully pinch his side.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get too scary. If you did, I would've had to call my strong sorcerer boyfriend to beat you up.” You tease.

“Oh? Your strong sorcerer boyfriend? Are you sure he isn’t the strongest?” Gojo muses bright.

“Not really.” You grin.

He scoffs.

“You might as well have just taken the knife and stabbed me with it because your words have injured me!”

“Heal yourself then mister strongest sorcerer .” You deadpan.

Playfully Gojo lightly bites your cheek.

“But are you okay… Really?” His tone holds a tenderness and undertone of worry.

“I am, I promise.” You squeeze him firm and tight, even begin rubbing your hand against his shoulder.

“Are you feeling okay?” You ask firmer now.

Gojo nods, snuggling his face closer to you.

There on the floor, you and Satoru decompress. You find it comforting. After such a high adrenaline play, simply resting with him on the floor feels as if you are easing back into your skin. It’s the solidity of reality settling.

“Wait, how did you manage to change your voice?” You perk up curious.

Satoru happily whips out a simple handheld voice changer.

“I wanted to go all out.” He proudly explains with a beaming grin.

“Please tell me you didn’t use a real knife, did you?”

“Of course not!” Gojo shrieks insulted. “I bought a real fancy prop one online when I ordered my fangs!”

For some reason the thought of him spending money on an expensive movie like type prop makes you almost squawk in horror.

Satoru even playfully stabs your side with the fake knife. The poke comes hard but does nothing and you swat at him annoyed now. He snickers gleefully, a devilish gremlin.

His large calloused hand slides up your face. It kicks you out of your thoughts and your attention flickers back to Satoru.

Your boyfriend stares down at you with an interesting gleam in his eyes. His oceanic eyes are like that of a hunter gazing at its prey with a collected composure trying not to jump and consume.

On top of his cloud hair the ghost face mask still sits.

Satoru Gojo leans above you a beautiful terror of a sight. The gleam from the closet’s light illuminates a faint halo-like glow around him. It also electrifies his bright blue eyes. The black kohl liner now even makes them stand out even more.

The dormant arousal that had simmered earlier now reawakens raw in your body as warmth trickles across your skin. Your eyes even haze over as they stare at his soft lips.

Before you can even say anything, Satoru sweeps down fast and low. A creature striking fast, he captures your lips with his.

His tongue without hesitation licks into your mouth with a devastating dizziness. You clutch onto him tight and desperate. He’s kissing you like you will fade away at any moment, or like he’s enjoying his reward.

His lips chase after yours so messily, sloppily and without any finesse. Teeth click and even spit seems to slip more and more around your mouth.

Suddenly he starts licking at the spit that’s coated your lips and corner of your cheek. He seems possessed as he simply licks at you without any care. Gojo slides his tongue down to your jaw and tastes the salt of your skin.

He nips and bites softly at every inch of you he can reach. You’re reminded of a beast trying to consume with a feral want. A prickling heat now scourches across your body.

Caught up in that same frenzy Satoru kisses down your body over your clothes until he reaches your shorts.

Wearily you open your eyes to glance down at him.

Between your legs is a sight that melts your brain. With his holy angelic eyes, electrified and blown out, along with the terrifying ghost face mask on his cloud head, Satoru is a blissful frightening sight.

He breathes out your name, a ghostly whisper.

Cerulean eyes are now bottomless oceans as he kisses your core over your shorts repeatedly. You whine breathless and desperate, wanting him closer. Glancing down, you see Satoru once more stares up at you with a devouring hunger that has your eyes closing overwhelmed.

He fucks you there in the closet. The taste of it is wild, a frantic claim.

You and him end up entangled with each other, sticky and exhausted still on the floor. The clothes hanging above create a soft canopy.

Satoru’s fingers run up your arm tender while you rest in his arms.

“Who knew the ghost face mask was gonna do that for us huh? Guess Shoko was right. This really means we’re really a pair of certified hot freaks now.”

You screech a horrified sound and want to pummel your annoying boyfriend.

“What!? This is hot as hell baby!” Gojo argues back proudly, almost smug, and it only makes you angrily wiggle away from him.

Of course he keeps you firmly captured in his strong hold and doesn’t budge an inch.

“What if we try this again but with another mask?” Satoru asks dreamily.

“You’re already a clown, you don’t need another mask.” You reply.

“BABY!?” He sobs out absolutely horrified and dramatically hurt. You laugh and curl tight against this stronghold of a man.

“You wound me! I absolutely for sure have internal bleeding right now!” He continues sobbing while he burrows his face against the top of your head.

Being on the floor for so long starts aching so you slowly sit up. Gentle warm hands begin rubbing your back while you stretch. Glancing around at all the discarded clothing littering the floor, you spot the ghost face mask. In the heat of the moment your fingers had carded through Satoru’s soft hair and the mask slipped off.

It so innocently yet hauntingly stares out with those vacant hollow void eyes. A strange urge crawls up your neck and sinks its fangs into you. Grabbing it you turn back to Satoru who stares up at you with a dreamy softness.

“Oh?” He catches the sight of the mask and sits up. His curiosity sparks awake playful and fast. “What do you have in mind?”

You softly shush him and gently slide the mask over him.

With it completely covering his face, knowing fully it’s him and not having to pretend, does break the illusion.

However, it cracks open something new that is dangerously raw and hungry.

Your thumb strokes the side of his face where the soft latex of the mask covers his cheek.

Leaning forward you kiss him over the mask. You taste the annoying synthetic fabric of the mask. Yet a wild heat comes when you feel his lips through the fabric. Satoru’s hands slowly run up to your shoulders to hold you as you kiss him through the fabric.

It ignites a delirious frustration that feels so good. His mouth desperately tries to feel you against the fabric that quickly starts to get wet.

Another raw idea flashes in your mind. Softly you pull away from his lips. You think of Gojo and how his tongue claimed you in a flurry.

So with a soft tentative kitten like attempt, you lick at his lips through the mask.

Something wild unleashes itself in Satoru. He rapidly sweeps you into his arms with his godly strength and simply lifts you up from the floor. His lips moan against yours.

“Keeping this on.” Gojo slurs as he rapidly moves you and him towards the bed.

You shake your head rapidly agreeing. The plush bed hits your back.

Above you, once again the ink stain presence of ghost face stares down at you. Your fingers do ache to run into his hair, across his delicious undercut. But those simple aches are crushed against the clear sight of your Satoru as ghost face. You vividly see Satoru’s broad shoulders, feel the touch of his bare hands caressing your thighs so intently.

“I caught you fair and square, my sweet little treat.” Now it’s his voice, unmodulated and clear as crystal, cooing triumphant underneath the mask.

“Now… I think I wanna unwrap you again.” Gojo whispers and it slices under your skin deliciously.

Beautiful debauched arousal rapidly consumes you as you claw at him wanting him closer.

“You like knowing it’s me under here, baby?” Satoru continues. His fingers begin kneading into your soft thighs, anchoring himself to your body.

His long fingers softly swipe into the slick arousal pooling between your legs and a whimper flutters out of you.

“Me too.” Gojo whispers, almost admitting with a quiet glee.

“I like knowing I'm under here getting to chase you, knowing I’ll always catch you and have you all to myself.”

Pulling his fingers out, they shine coated in your wetness. He slips them under the mask. Suddenly the sound of him sucking fills the room and your mind melts even more.

Satoru groans, drunk on pleasure. Even with the mask hiding his face it somehow heightens the moment and you claw at his arm firmer.

Taking the hint, Gojo slides fully between your legs to draw closer to you. He now takes the fingers in his mouth to slide them into yours.

Your eyes close and roll back. You suck on his wet fingers covered in his spit and the faint linger of your arousal. He begins grinding against you and you moan needed more of him all over again.

It's delicious and dark, this beautiful cobweb of desire you and Satoru are caught in.

“That’s it, angel. Let’s keep enjoying our fun little fright night, yeah?” Your ghost face lover purrs and as you sink into lust’s heavenly darkness, you find you couldn’t agree more.

[lipringlrh]

kiss you forever - lrh

summary: luke wants you to do his eyeliner for his show.

pairing: luke hemmings x genderneutral!reader

an: this won the poll thing i did so please lmk if you like it :)

word count: ~800

requested:

feedback appreciated!!

…

You had barely reached the venue and Luke was already pulling you into his dressing room. He was hurrying around everywhere, stressing over every little detail.

He wasn't usually this anxious but he was playing in Sydney tonight and wanted everything to be perfect. His family was here and you'd be joining them shortly, you just couldn't help seeing Luke beforehand.

You were dragged towards the mirror and watched as he sat down in the twisty chair. He moved the height down so your head was above his and then proceed to grab a few items off the counter. He held them in one hand, reaching the other out to grab yours and manoeuvre you into standing between his legs. His head was just below yours, looking up at you. He grabbed your other hand, wrapping it around a thin tube, before taking the lid off for you.

You stared at him blankly, waiting for him to give you some instructions. He sighed, wrapping his hands around the hand which held the tube, pulling it towards his face. "Need you to do my eyeliner, angel."

You just looked at him, tilting your head to the side, trying to calm him and tease him at the same time. He sighed and pressed a kiss to the side of your face, "pretty please."

You nodded smiling, before focusing on his eyes. He had a pretty shimmer plastered all over the lids, and multiple dots from where he had failed to take off the previous failed attempts at the eyeliner.

You grabbed the wetwipe packet from the counter, taking one out and folding it into a small square. You dabbed it at where you could see the marks, making sure to miss out the eyeshadow as much as possible.

When you finished, you picked up the eyeshadow palette, hoping to reapply the product you took off. "Which shade did you use, lu? S'really pretty."

He pointed towards the shimmer in the top left and moved to grab the brush he used, then refocused back at you. You're sure that was the first time he took his eyes off of you since you started.

You reapplied the shadow quickly but carefully, Luke struggling to keep his eyes closed for the few seconds you needed him to. His hands found your waist, grabbing you and moving you ever so slightly closer.

You finished, and moved closer to him letting Luke pass you the eyeliner again. "What look are you going for?"

"M'thinking maybe a small wing? Subtle but you can tell it's there." You smiled up nodding at him. You reached your hands up to cup his face, bringing it closer to yours.

You brought the pen up to his face, beginning the eyeliner. You dragged his face closer again, making sure there's no chance you screw up.

You finished and turned his head to either side, double checking your work then admiring it and Luke simultaneously.

You had yet to realise the close proximity of your faces but Luke had. It took everything in him to not kiss you in that moment. You were holding his head up in your palm and he couldn't think of anything that could make him melt more.

His cheeks were stained a deep red and his eyes were flicking all around your face, from your lips to your eyes and back again. You noticed this, then how close you were, and felt your breath get stuck in your throat. You eyes were pinned on his lips, wanting nothing more than to kiss him. You needed to speak; to say anything, yet Luke consumed all your thoughts.

"You look so pretty, Lu." You whispered as though it was a promise. Your thumb was moving against his cheek, brushing over his lips, sending butterflies into his stomach.

"S'all you lovie." He whispered back, so quiet you almost missed it. He leaned in closer to you, tilting his head and letting his lips meet yours. It was soft and sweet, making warmth overtake your whole body. His hands moved from on your waist to wrap you in a hug, letting you move to rest one of your legs over his in the chair. You couldn't help but grin into the kiss as your stomach erupted.

You pulled away, hoping the feeling would linger on your lips. Luke's cheeks were burning, "I could kiss you forever, you know." You giggled in response, pulling his jaw up to meet you in a kiss once again. You let your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly on his curls, letting you both get lost in the moment once more.

…

requests are open and feedback is appreciated!

[ozaitheestallion]

You said you immediately saw Ozai as being played as a drag queen?? PLEASE elaborate I'm so interested in the way ur mind works 🙏

Okay so maybe I’m just incredibly fucked up and deep down the queer horror rabbit hole (I’ve been watching a lot of Dragula, American Horror Story and classic horrors lately), but the second you start looking at Ozai through a drag, camp, “classic Disney villain” lens, it’s hard to see him any other way.

Like I watched this show as a kid when I originally aired and like basically everyone, I was absolutely terrified and sickened by Ozai, the shitty dad and ultimate big bad villain who is also not even really the main villain, right? Like that’s Azula or Zhao or whoever. That’s how basically all of us original viewers saw him and how a lot of new viewers still do. Fair enough. Not inaccurate.

However, I didn’t do rewatches of the show again, not until the revival in interest over COVID. I hadn’t rewatched it even once since it originally aired and so therefore I expected my viewpoint to change…but nowhere near as drastically as my view of Ozai did.

I’m not saying Ozai is written to be viewed as a drag character, because of course he isn’t, but as I said, once you start looking at him through that specific lens, you won’t be able to see him any other way.

He’s kept in the shadows unless we need a dramatic scary reveal. He’s constantly making dramatic, prose-filled speeches for the benefit of…like…no one lmao like most his scenes are one on one confrontations. He has a very dramatic design, being a conventionally attractive man yet has that fuck ass goatee, the best eyeliner in the country and more detail put into his hair than any other character gets.

He does his whole reveal as the Phoenix King that goes off without a hitch, perfectly rehearsed. This was a surprise to no one but Azula. He got every damn person in the palace in on this stupid reveal. They already know he’s going to become a new ruler with a new title. They already know. This isn’t for their benefit. He did an entire reveal just for the benefit of his kid. If there’s one thing a queen loves, it’s a dramatic unnecessary reveal.

As he fights Aang, he just keeps making these speeches that a child will either not be interested in or too far away to even hear or appreciate, yet he keeps going anyway.

Right up until the end and then going into the comics, he’s dramatic, bitter and playing everyone against each other even though he has absolutely nothing to gain anymore. He puts Zuko and Azula against each other and antagonises Ursa even though it will gain him nothing and do nothing except kill time. Insults for the sake of insults and mess for the sake of mess. The fact insults of far greater power can be thrown back at him in his position is something he doesn’t even consider. Just messy for the sake of being messy and evil for the sake of being evil.

Ozai would fit nicely alongside classic queer-coded Disney villains like Ursula, Scar, Hades, Maleficent and Captain Hook.

He’s so dramatic and so over the top with his cruelty, his crimes and his villainous actions, yet is completely and utterly committed to the bit he’s doing. There’s no self aware clever jabs like Azula or obvious moment of “look at how ridiculous he is” like with Zhao. Ozai and his writing are completely committed to what he’s doing and burning down the entire world literally by hand, and at no point is it questioned. It’s like watching Divine in a John Waters film. This is simply what the character I doing and you’re the ridiculous one for questing them.

Ozai takes himself so seriously and so literally and is so very offended and genuinely surprised when he’s questioned and called out, (like why on earth would he think burning his son’s face is a valid teaching moment or burning the entire earth kingdom will in any way be a good start to his new empire), that it becomes camp.

This is…extremely long and meandering and tbh I don’t think there’s any way for me to really clearly define why I view Ozai as an example of a classic queer/drag coded villain. If you don’t agree and do take his portrayal as an abusive father and an imperialist tyrant seriously and that’s how you prefer to view the story, then by all means do that. I’m not trying to change your mind.

I’m just saying that sometimes our views of things can change dramatically as we ourselves change as people, and sometimes those changes are extremely entertaining, nonsensical and fun to explore.

Like the IT remakes, some unspeakable horrors can also be viewed and enjoyed as queer adjacent comedies if you look sideways and saying. And sometimes the unspeakable horrors are better that way.

[ask-the-pale-elf]

Tav had bought some box of makeup from a little shop,they touched the wooden box it had pretty delicate carvings on the borders and it had the faint scent of honey coming from it. The materials where clearly hight quality and looked luxurious, the old woman from the shop was an expert and chose a box of items that would compliment their skin tone and eyes, her eyes glinting with happiness, she clearly took pride on her trade.

They payed the 200 gold and thanked the shopkeeper and gently put the little box into a bag and wondered back into camp, trying their best to not be seen by anyone, slightly coy at their new purchase. and after not attracting much attention to themselves they changed into the cutes tclothes they had, and started to apply the makeup. most of it wasnt so difficult and they seemed pleased with it, but when they had to add the damned potted lipstick with the brush, they felt defeated as nothing looked right, when they heard someone standing quietly in front of their tent.

"Hello? who is it?" Tav triest their best to sound composed as they take off the lipstick with a damp cloth.

(Im sorry about my english lmao, I hope I didnt mess up too much)

Despite your best efforts to hide your latest purchase, Astarion's perceptive eyes landed on the makeup box you purchased earlier. His interest piqued when you immediately rushed into your tent, it would be oh so selfish of you to keep your find all to yourself. Astarion sought to remedy that.

He leaned his arm against the supporting beam of your tent and looked in, "Darling, I can't believe you kept this from me!"

His faux shock was emphasized by his hand being dramatically placed over his dead heart, "You bought all this makeup and didn't think to invite me? Shame on you!"

After revelling in the fake scandal, he made you scooch over and his nimble fingers hovered over your new collection. Then something else catches his eye, he sees you in your adorable little outfit and your attempts at applying the lipstick, "Oh darling... I. Am. Offended! That you didn't ask me for help. I am the expert on beauty within this camp after all, so.."

He gingerly plucked the potted lipstick from your hands and examined it, "Oh it's been a few decades since I've last used this but... I know exactly how to use this to make you absolutely gorgeous."

He gently pushed you down onto your back and loomed over you, "Don't get the wrong idea, I need a better angle for this. Now close your eyes~"

As you do as he says, you hear the gentle clinking of bottles and feel gentle brush strokes against your skin. If you try to crack one eye open, Astarion scolds you by bapping your eyelid with a dry brush.

The moment he gets off of you, you hear some shuffling within the tent. The moment the shuffling stops, a familiar voice brings you back, "I do hope you're not sleeping, my dear. Open your eyes."

The moment you sit up and open your eyes, you're met with yourself. Your lips delicately painted red, as if they were kissed by a rose. Your eyes accented by black eyeliner also, deepened by eye shadow that complimented your skin. It was subtle yet head turning.

With a mirror in hand facing you, Astarion preened at his latest creation, "I think I've outdone myself, now hold your applause-"

A moment passed and you could feel his impatience emanating through the air, "Don't wait too long, I do love a little appreciation for my work."

[angelshimaa]

✧·𝅄 ۟— mha masterlist :: bakugou katsuki

key :: ♡ fluff | ✧ angst | ༊ comfort

disclaimer :: spam liking doesn’t help at all, only increases shadow-ban possibility. please do not spam like— spam reblogging is appreciated <3

━━ shorter works

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[a-m-pyra]

First Burn: Ch11 Wole Wolta (American McGee's Alice/Lies of P)

Mr. Mitchell was especially pleased to be able to lend P one of his frock coats from his college days. P felt as if it gave him a huge, indescribable joy, especially when it turned out that it only needed to be shortened by a couple of inches and Mrs. Sharpe was happy to take care of it. 

P felt the tension and tried to relax it by stretching his fingers. He went without Gemini, without his guide and companion, whom he had with him from practically the very beginning.

He was supposed to go with Alice, and what he wanted to do today only made him tremble more. He fought puppets, Corpses, God himself — he was not afraid for a moment. Fighting was natural.

Feelings were something new, something scary that P was still learning — he didn't want the confession to scare her. He also didn't want to hurt her if it turned out that this was all just another one of his lies.

If he manages to get even a word out.

P, Gemini, Otto, and Mr. Mitchell were waiting on the first floor for both Mrs. Seymour and Alice. They stood by the stairs until they both appeared — luckily, they didn't have to wait long. Each of them was shocked by the unusual sight of Mrs. Seymour, who came down first.

Her usual red and black color gave way to purple and silver. P saw Mr. Mitchell's eyes well up with tears.

“So many years,” he whispered, his eyes moving over her.

“Thank Alice. She convinced me to make a small change.”

“Just like old times.” He wiped the corner of his eye. “Lilibeth would be happy.”

Mrs. Seymour laughed and hugged Mr. Mitchell tightly. After a while, Alice's voice rang out, asking if she could show herself now.

P's mouth parted when he saw her. He admired her beauty and how much it added to the dress she wore. His eyes appreciated her elegantly pinned hair, curled into tiny curls, and how warm purple eye shadow and black eyeliner complimented her gorgeous green eyes. How her tea rose lips curved into an uncertain smile.

“Is it friendship or love?” Otto said, but P didn't hear even a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Otto easily noticed the sparkle that lit up in their eyes when they looked at each other, felt the tension that suddenly developed between them, and, judging by the glances of Alex and Jacob, they felt the same.

“I'm going to lose my mind if nothing happens today,” he said to Gemini as he watched the four of them towards the door.

“I guess we can only hope that one of them will take the next step.”

Otto just nodded.

P felt a little cornered when he saw so many people heading towards them — all around Mrs. Seymour and Mr. Mitchell's age. There were endless hugs and kisses on the cheeks — and when he felt a little out of place, Alice smiled and giggled.

“I don't understand,” he whispered, and Alice looked at him. 

She wrapped her arm around his and pressed her cheek.

“Remember how I told you about the big party at the lord's banquet?” P nodded. “I'm guessing these are former teenagers who attended this party.”

Now it made sense. He looked around at all the people who were jumping around Mrs. Seymour and Mr. Mitchell and saw how happy Mrs. Seymour looked. Truly happy — in a way he had never seen her before. There was usually something behind Mrs. Seymour's joy, and now he understood it. A kind of bitterness. Despite her excellent sense of humor, her wide smile and her contagious laugh, there was something about her that was more bitter than distillate.

“You said on Mabon that Mrs. Seymour likes to take decisive measures.”

“Yes. That's what I said.”

“What did Mrs. Seymour do?”

The smile on Alice's face immediately faded. She pursed her lips slightly as she watched Mrs. Seymour and Mr. Mitchell begin to plot something.

“Even I don't know the whole truth. She never wanted to tell me what she really did.” She tightened her fingers on P's arm. “Weird, unexplainable things had been happening for several weeks prior to my own investigation, when I returned to confront Bumby, there were police waiting for him and rumors were already circulating on the East End…”

“What rumors?

“Seymour is so determined to give them a happy ending that she would sell her soul to the devil and curse Bumby to achieve it. — I know these words by heart.” She sighed and looked at him. “No matter what she did to put him in his place, it wouldn't compare to the crimes he committed. Whatever she decided to do, I'm not going to judge her because I know she did it in good faith.”

“Even if she hurt someone?”

“If she hurt him, he absolutely deserved it.”

He took a breath, then raised a smile as Mrs. Seymour and Mr. Mitchell returned to them with smiles on their faces.

“Let's go to the hall and then we'll think about what to do next,” Mrs. Seymour said, and the four of them walked towards the banquet hall full of people.

People mostly stood in smaller groups and talked or snacked on appetizers. People Alice's age and younger didn't necessarily pay attention to the music and dancing — rather, people Mrs. Seymour's and Mr. Mitchell's age and older did. P, however, didn't miss the fact that they were starting to think about something, looking around the room and planning something.

When Alice decided for them to sit on one of the sofas, Mrs. Seymour just smiled and soon disappeared with Mr. Mitchell into the crowd of people.

Holding her so close felt good. He felt her touch through his clothes, her perfume, heard her voice speaking softly to him, right next to his ear.

He felt chills running through him. Her giggle made him smile. It was good to see Alice so happy.

After some time, he noticed that a lot of people were leaving the hall — especially the younger ones.

“What do you think is going on?”

She shrugged, then stood up and held out her hand to him.

“Let's find out.”

He laughed and grabbed her hand, letting her lead him behind the crowd. They reached a not very large room where a lot of people were entering. We could hear familiar singing, a chorus of voices, the tramp of shoes and lively music. When they managed to enter, they saw Mrs. Seymour, Mr. Mitchell and two boys standing on an extremely massive rectangular table. Mr. Mitchell played the accordion, Mrs. Seymour played the guitar and sang. One of the teenagers played the trumpet, the other played the violin. There were so many people that they could barely find a space. 

Mrs. Seymour waved at them, smiling broadly and then returning to the performance. 

They had fun. When P open up — and Alice, too, when she realized that no one was paying attention to anyone here — he felt more alive.

He couldn't contain his laughter, amusement, and overall joy at dancing with Alice. Sometimes she apologized when she bumped into him because of someone else, sometimes they just started laughing together.

They knew some of these songs, singing with Mrs. Seymour. Some of them had already sung during the Sabbath, and P could hear some of them when Mrs. Seymour hummed to herself. P was in love with the familiarity of it all. No one really cared how he danced, no one really cared about the declarations of love they sang to complete strangers. P thought about a completely abstract situation — whether Carlo and Romeo would like it.

During one of the songs, a forest of hands appeared, clapping to the rhythm.

P wondered if, if he were a real boy, this was what his life would be like. Not a fight to the death, but fun, joy and living life to the fullest.

Alice must have noticed a change in his demeanor because she placed a hand on his cheek and looked at him worriedly. P, however, simply grabbed her wrist and decided to kiss it to assure her that everything was fine. 

Seeing his smile, she returned it, feeling her heart leap at the sight.

“Wole Wolta, boys!” They heard and looked at Mrs. Seymour. “Roughly!”

There was the sound of a violin and an accordion. The couples swirled, and P also decided to make Alice dance. 

They felt the same tension between them again. They didn't take their eyes off each other, they didn't realize when they held their breaths or when their foreheads touched each other.

They stopped, their ears pounding. They weren't even sure if the music had ended.

“I need to get some air,” she said, and P nodded.

They went outside to the garden. The cool air hit their shoulders and P decided to throw his tailcoat over her shoulders. They sat on one of the benches, silent for a moment.

“I feel like I should tell you something,” he whispered, and Alice looked at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“What do you mean?”

He grabbed her hand, glancing at it out of the corner of his eye. He looked at her closely enough to notice a few old, pale scars. He rubbed them with his thumb, wondering how he should start. Confessions were not his forte. Although, he had an idea how he could tell her.

“Because Geppetto… I mean, my father, didn't bind me to the Grand Covenant, I'm able to do things that other puppets can't do. I don't have to obey the creator, I can lie, develop feelings,” he emphasized the last two words to let her know what he meant. Judging by the quickening pulse beneath his fingers, Alice knew exactly what he was getting at.

“Can you lie?”

“Let's just say I have a special talent for this.”

There's that tension again. She looked at him with slightly lowered eyelids. She was so close, he could look at her and appreciate every detail of her face. 

“Then lie to me.”

He felt his heart speed up.

“I don't care about you, and I really don't want what I feel for you to develop.”

She scanned his face, lingering on his blue eyes that stared at her like a puppy.

She covered her mouth with her hand and burst into tears. P didn't quite understand. He let her hug him, tucked her into him and stroked her back.

“Can…” she paused, thinking for a moment. “Can we take it slow?”

A weight lifted from his shoulders. 

“I'm happy that… but I can't. That's... too fast. I just need a moment to move on.”

P nodded.

“I completely understand.”

She pulled away and let him wipe her tears and lightly touch up her slightly blurry makeup.

“Thank you and…” she looked into his eyes again, “I think I feel the same.”

P immediately thought that if something was going to change, he was willing to give her all the time in the world to be ready. Time has no importance in this case, and he was ready to delve into the romance gradually, learning about subsequent levels at the appropriate time.

Fireworks lit up the sky, and P buried his face in her neck, enjoying the feeling of her hands running through his hair.

[stayarmytinyzenmoa-l]

NCT Spooky Season [Day 8]

Mirror Troubles

TW: Vampires, Implied Assault (Turning into a Vampire), Some implications of depression Genre: Romance, Light Comedy Pairing: Lee Ten x Reader YN Pronouns: Not specified Word Count: 1.0K Prompt: Vampires. What more is there to say?

[NCT Masterlist] | [NCT Spooky Season Masterlist] | [Yesterday] | [Tomorrow] [Ao3 Link] | [Wattpad Link]

Notes: Random ish but I've been so into Castlevania recently. Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in these actions. The idols mentioned in this work are meant to be seen more as face claims rather than the actual idols themselves.

Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Thank you for reading!

"No, no, you're missing it," you shook your head and Ten groans in frustration. "Ten, why don't you let me-"

"No! Absolutely not!" He shakes his head and holds the brush in his hands again.

"Wait, at least let me wipe off the part you missed," you held the cotton in your hands and leaned over the sink so you could erase the eyeshadow on his cheek and his eyes move over to look at you. "Why are you so adamant on doing it yourself anyway, it would be easier if I helped you.

"Because I have an eternity left, I should at least find out how to do eyeshadow."

"Okay, well, why are you using a mirror, then? You can't even see yourself."

"I need to for the vibes, (Y/N)," Ten rolls his eyes, stating it as if it was obvious. "You wouldn't get it, you can see your own reflection."

"Well, yeah, but is there really no other way to see your reflection?" You leaned against the bathroom counter.

"Unfortunately not, not even in bodies of water," he shook his head and held the brush to his face again.

"Maybe try feeling for your eyelid first this time instead of just going ham, Ten," you offered.

"Yeah, yeah," he do so and, for the first time tonight, he successfully spreads the beige hue over his eye.

"Hey! That's the way!" You congratulate him and, with a small smirk, he does the other eye. You could tell he was excited with the way his fangs slightly poked out of his smile. Since Ten had been, rather unceremoniously, turned into a vampire he'd been in a sort of slump when it came to things he used to enjoy doing and you'd been trying to help him every step of the way, providing support whenever you can, and slowly Ten had started picking up those activities again. The only one that he hadn't was makeup, which both of you tackled now.

"Okay, now eyeliner."

"Alright, settle down, cowboy," you held your hand out, "one triumph at a time, you already got base and shadow done, eyeliner might be a whole different ballpark without a mirror," as you explained, Ten shook the liquid eyeliner bottle in his hands.

"It'll be fine," he says.

"How on Earth are you going to get them even?!"

"I was a pro when I was alive, I'll be a pro undead," he says confidently. But you were still worried, you were worried that even a slight mistake will send him back in his cocoon and undo all the work you'd been putting out. Ten was right, he was a pro back then, hell, he even did your eyeliner, so even a small mistake now might spell catastrophe.

"Okay, Ten, if you say so," you leaned back on the counter so you could see him work and, again, his eyes move over to you.

"Could you help me though?" He asks quietly, focused on getting the small brush to start on the middle of his eyelid.

"Of course," you lean over closer to him so you could see better, "you're right at the middle."

"Good," he places the brush against his skin now, slowly tracing it along his eyelid and, hey, he was actually pretty good at it! Until he got to the end of his eyelid.

"You wanna wing it?"

"Yes."

"Okay, what kind?"

"Just a straight one."

"Okay," you shifted on the counter as he dragged the wing out and, "stop." He does so.

"Alright," he says without removing the brush, he has to get the angle right. "I'm trying to move off of muscle memory here."

"And so far you're doing really well," you nodded, but Ten still hasn't moved his hand. He takes a deep breath and, slowly, he brings the brush back, "and stop," you said quietly just as the brush hit the crease of his eye. And now came the hardest part of the wing, filling it in.

"If I start coloring outside of the lines, let me know," he says.

"Of course," you watched him fill in the wing slowly and you had to say that you were impressed, he really still was a pro. He puts the wand down and turns toward you.

"How is it? It's not ugly, is it?"

"Ten! It looks really good!" You turn his face so you could see it better under the light. "You've still got it!" You encouraged him and he let out a sigh of relief, habitually turning to the mirror and seeing only your reflection. "Think you can do the other eye?"

"Not with these shaky hands I won't," he holds his right hand up and you notice the slight tremor in it, "I was so scared it'd look bad," he shakes his head.

"I get that but, hey, it looks sharp," you commented, bringing your head slightly lower so you could look at him. "Kind of a statement too, one-eyed-eyeliner."

"It kind of is, huh!" He holds a hand to his cheek. "Alright, let's go out."

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yes! I'm in a good mood, let's go clubbing."

"Right now?!"

"Yes." He walks out of the bathroom and you followed him quickly.

"I have to get dressed!"

"Then hurry up before I change my mind," he rolls his eyes and turns to you only slightly, lips upturning into a slanted smile when he sees your bigger smile. You couldn't help but be happy, this was the first time he willingly chose to go out since the incident.

General Tag List: @stopeatread @bat-shark-repellant @raeincitizen @umbralhelwolf @yangsrose @kazooms @sadcoffeecritic 

NCT Tag List: @cherrylovr @minjiville 

If you want to be added to either tag list or removed just send me a reply to this post, and ask, or a DM and I’ll add you as soon as possible!

[basmalahasad]

Week Three - Zula Rabikowska

Untitled, 2021

The shot was taken with a small aperture and a narrow depth of field, possibly ranging from f/1.4 to f/2.8, resulting in an obvious "bokeh effect" in the background and a lack of finer details except for the subject. The lack of distortion indicates that this shot was taken with a standard lens. It's also photographed at eye level, emphasizing familiarity and connection. The subject is almost in the center of the frame, with a slight lean to the right, adding a dynamic aspect to the composition. Curves dominate this photograph, as seen by the subject's sweatshirt, hair, eyeliner, smoke, and even the lip expression. These curves provide the image flow and organic movement. Zula additionally used warm, natural light from the subject's right and front. This lighting arrangement contrasts the well-lit subject with the very dark background, drawing attention to the subject and creating a visually pleasing focus point. The standard lens and eye-level perspective provide the impression that the viewers is engaged with the subject on an intimate and relatable level. The subject's central-right placement provide a feeling of balance and a subtle sense of movement, offering some interest to the overall arrangement. The use of light on the subject against a dark background draws attention to the girl's features and expression, generating a strong visual contrast that represents a sense of individuality or uniqueness. It also gives the image depth and dimension, highlighting the subject's appearance.

The series "Nothing But a Curtain"

The portraits in the series are mostly of people from the "Eastern Bloc." These portraits depict the people in a variety of events and perspectives and are usually accompanied by private possessions or symbolic artifacts. The aim of the series is to shed light on the impact of cultural and gender stereotypes on their lives and explore the long-term effects of the Iron Curtain and the downfall of communism. Furthermore, the series investigates how these individuals navigate and express their gender identities in a constantly evolving sociopolitical setting. Zula expertly uses a Kiev 80 camera, which was made in the Soviet Union, to create a distinct and classic appearance in her photos. According to her, the camera's metal shutter produces a "curtain" of light in the photographs, adding a symbolic element to the subjects and making the images more iconic. This approach is similar to the Pictorialist movement of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. Pictorialism, like Zula's images, prefers the subject to be in focus with everything else in the image blurred. Each portrait is framed and composed in a unique way, with some subjects shown in close-up and others in environmental contexts, yet the subject is always the center of attention in all the photos. These decisions contribute to the subject's uniqueness and diversity, showcasing her skillful eye for photography. Zula's use of warm and dreamy light effects unites the portraits as one story, creating an inviting atmosphere that draws viewers in. The accompanying written material serves to provide a meaningful context and greater depth to the images. It effectively sheds light on the series' objective, the artist's journey, and the larger social and historical backdrop. It is especially significant in a topic where many people may not have the background information to understand the work's meaning. By doing so, it elevates the photographs from mere portraits to a reflection of the diverse realities of people in the region. This expanded perspective helps to enhance the viewer's understanding and appreciation of the images.

My Photographs

Side Harsh Lighting: This casts an intense shadow, highlighting texture on one side while concealing all features on the other. This heightens the image's drama and intensity. The image has a dark and gloomy vibe, and the shadows and hidden elements provide a feeling of mystery and suspense. This type of lighting is often seen in mystery, thriller, and noir films such as Se7en.

Direct Harsh Lighting: This produces a strong shadow as well as very bright highlights. It produces a stronger contrast and can make the apple look more intense and vibrant, accentuating its texture and features. This draws attention to the subject at hand and gives them the appearance of being in the spotlight.

Soft Diffused Lighting: Diffused lighting, created by a softbox or natural light, provides soothing, and even radiance. This smoothness and consistency gives the fruit a sense of calmness, making it appear inviting and delicious.

Warm vs. Cool Lighting: Warm lighting produces a cozy and nostalgic environment that is great for making fruit feel inviting or romantic. Cool lighting creates a sense of quiet and detachment, making the fruit look fresh or cold like it is in a fridge.

[gardeniashellfire]

Souls & Flowers: Chapter 2 earlier concept.

Just the general jizz on how the story was going to go and how the 3Jinracha would meet.

Chan is well respected Mafia leader, very feard, known everyone and everything thank to been here for so long. He only trust his soulamtes, for the time been, it's just Jisung, who he met long ago as secretary of one of the companies that run under his side of the terf.

They are known as CB97 and J.ONE, an unstable duo in the scene, but one day their world is shaken when they go to a fashion show in the GOT7 territory facing two new players in their arrangement, a bodyguard who was watching over one of the models, the taller having his mark displayed as he walked the run way, BamBam telling them he was also a dancer known by them as Jinnie, and if they stayed a little bit longer they could appreciate him.

They did, in a turn of events, they made eye contact with the dancer, the club was shocked when the golden light shined bright across the room, the bodyguard eyes, who Jisung heard hia code name was Spear B. widen as he looked at the dancer, you could appreciate three flower been covered in the golden rim shining in the fluorescente lights. A magnolia, a daisy with white and orange and spider flower.

The dancer looked pleased in some sort, still maintaining eye contact with them two he whispered something to the body guard, the shorter one signing as the dancer did it's job. It was obvious to everyone what he was doing, their eyes where glued to him as his movement seduced them, worse part it was working.

Once he finished, a fine coat of sweat decorating his body, they bodyguard got on stage and carried him, looking at them two, a silent sigh for them to follow him.

The laughs and giggles of Jinnie where beautiful, as they got closer, they heard the cheers of glee and joy, his seques suite jingles as he hugs Spear B,

"Oh! Finally, finally finally, Binnie!" the shorter one (by a lot) hugging him with a sweet smile, his face was more clear in this light setting, his hair was shoulder length, a beautiful blond with pastel pink highlights, his makeup was slightly ruined, eyeliner and mascara running down his eyes, his eye shadow had smudge glitter all over his face with pink and red accents, Spear B eyes finally landing on them, and it happened again, the glow, the warm, the feeling of completeness.

The black haired man smiled, soft as the one he gave Jinnie.

"Their are here, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin...

I just notice that Hyunjin job was always on my mind, it took quite a turn tbh.

[thelanternlight]

15 Questions for 15 Mutuals

Got tagged by @ ongoingpanicattack , wooo! I’m really bad at these but here we go!

Are you named after anyone?

Yes, paternal grandfather. I have his first name as my middle name. I do not believe in naming children after living people in general though, and I also think that at the age of 30 everyone should be required by law to choose a new name for themselves.

Do you have any kids?

Thank the maker I do not.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

me? never

When was the last time you cried?

I got a little teary eyed at a documentary about Miss Cleo last night because she went through so much and was just trying to be a person doing good things.

What's the first thing you notice about people?

I’d love to say something about their character but I can’t lie, my eye tends to notice attractive features first especially if they’re trying to highlight those features (e.g. if they have pretty eyes and they’re wearing eyeliner and eye shadow, etc).

Eye color?

Blue

What sports do you/have you played?

When I was in elementary school my friends tried to get me to play soccer after school once. I liked it a lot but I didn’t know the rules and they all did, so I just went about my business shortly afterwards. Then in middle school I was on the track team but after a few practice afternoons I found that I enjoyed playing hookie a lot more. Like a lot more.

Any special talent?

I like to think I have a few, but writing is kind of my thing. I write books. Please feel free to click on “books” up at the top menu if you’re on my main site (TheLanternLight.com).

Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings. I used to really appreciate a sad ending or something poignant but fuck that shit. Real life is enough of a drag, let me feel good.

Do you have any pets?

A little baby angel princess cupcake lovemuffin sugarbooger dog.

How tall are you?

5'11

Favorite subject in school?

English

Dream job?

I do not dream of having a job. But I would love to be appreciated for my writing. Especially with money.

I’m sorry, I know this sucks. Lol :/

[ashwhowrites]

Eddie's girl

Plot- the party agreed on 1 thing only, do not let the new girl meet Eddie Munson (fluff)

Master-list

Steve and Robin were talking at the counter about his latest date. Well, Steve was, and Robin was mocking him.

 “I'm telling you, she was insane. She poured half the container of salt on her noodles. Who goes to an Indian restaurant and gets buttered noodles? " Steve complained.

Robin rolled her eyes and said, "Jeez, Dingus, you have such real problems in the world." As she checked in, all the tapes were returned.

 The pair's eyes rose when a shadow casted over the countertop. There stood the most gorgeous girl they had ever seen. She had her hair styled nicely, a smokey eye look, eyeliner sharp as a knife, and cherry red lips. Her arms were warmed by a leather jacket; a band tee lay underneath, and they guessed jeans would be covering her legs if they could see. Maybe a pair of sneakers to go with the look. She had her fingers decorated with chunky rings and black nails.

Steve felt drool hit the bottom of his chin. This girl looked like someone who knew how to ruin your life, and he wasn't mad about it.

Robin felt a blush creep on her cheeks. This girl looked like she'd ruined Robin's innocence with one touch, and she wasn't mad about it.

Then she spoke, and it sounded like heaven on earth. "Can you tell me where I can find the horror section?" Her voice was soft, in contrast to how she looked. She stood tall and confident.

The pair of them rushed to go around the counter. Robin stomped on Steve's toe to get ahead. She smiled proudly as Steve clenched his foot with a gasp.

"Follow me," Robin stated as she led the gorgeous girl to the section where horror movies were placed.

As Steve was checking her out, well, the movie as well. He spoke up, "So what's your name?" Robin leaned in close to hear the answer.

"Oh, it's Y/N." She answered with a smile. She could sense the pair were in awe of her, so she threw a wink on the way out the door.

 "She so wants me." Steve melted into the floor.

"Please, the wink was for me," Robin scoffed.

Steve rolled his eyes, "geez Robin I must have missed the part when she said she was a lesbian. " Robin punched his arm and went on with their work day. Both are thinking about her.

~~~

Dustin was biking to the grocery store to pick up food for the cat. His mom was in some mood about being scared to leave the house, so a trip after school was on his radar. 

Eddie offered to take him, but he felt like it would be an inconvenience to make him drive him to the store and then back to the school to get his bike, but he appreciated his offer.

Dustin was walking down aisle 3 when he collided with a body that was coming around the corner. The person dropped everything in their hands.

"I'm so sorry," he quickly apologized as he picked up the bags of popcorn and candy off the floor. He went to give him to the person when he looked up and saw the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, including his ex-girlfriend Suzie. 

With a sweet smile, she answered, "No worries, cutie." Dustin smiled, braced teeth and all. He could feel his cheeks turning red and butterflies in his stomach. She looked older and more mature, and he loved it.

He didn't realize he'd been staring until she waved her manicured hand in his face. He snapped out of it. "Oh yeah, sorry again. I'm Dustin. Are you new around here? " He asked. It's a small town, and he felt like he'd seen everyone.

That damn smile came across her face again. With a smirk, she held out her hand, "The name is Y/N and I'm in town for my spring break. I used to live here but moved for college. " He was in awe of how her voice comforted him like a hug. He could smell her sweet perfume as he shook her hand. It was soft and the cold metal of her rings made him shiver. He's a freshman and she's in college. It'd definitely never happen, but you can't blame a guy for having a crush.

 ~~~~

Lucas was practicing his shooting at the park when he saw a girl walking a dog. He was dribbling the ball with Jason when he caught her eyes. The ball was stolen by Jason, as he was distracted. 

"Lucas bro, I stole that way too easily. You got to pay attention. " His words went on deaf ears. Jason looked at him, puzzled, and followed his gaze. And he understood now.

 A girl wearing a small tank top, her belly button pierced. Tattoos covered her arms and bracelets lingered on her wrists. She was gorgeous. She was walking closer to them as her dog quickly moved ahead of her.

 She got close enough that the pair could see she was generally beautiful. No makeup covered her skin. She was naturally breathtaking. Jason quickly threw the ball near her feet. He pretended it rolled there on its own. He jogged up with an apologetic expression, "Sorry, lost sight of the ball."

The girl looked up at me with a smile and said, "Oh, it's all good. Are you boys on a team or something?" She pointed to their basketball shirts with the team logo on them. Lucas ran over to join the conversation. "Yes, we are. Practicing for the championship game."

Jason quickly grabbed the ball and introduced himself, as well as Lucas. They both learned the girl's name was Y/N and she used to attend their high school when she lived here. Jason technically wasn't single anymore and Lucas had a complicated thing going on with Max, but you couldn't blame a guy for staring.

~~~

It's been two days since everyone was smitten by the girl in their heads. The group was meeting at the video store to wait for Steve and Robin to finish their shift before they headed to Steve's house for movie night.

When Dustin arrived, Robin and Steve seemed to be arguing.

" Steve I'm telling you, she's not interested in you. She was looking at me. " Robin huffed, to which Steve answered with an eye roll.

 "Once again, Robin, nothing about her screamed lesbian."

"People don't always look like lesbians, you dingus."

Dustin cut in—"what are you two fighting about today?" He asked as he placed his hat on the counter.

Steve stood tall, "Well, this hot babe was totally checking me out and Robin had the nerve to think she was checking her out. Which she so was not. "

Dustin's eyes lit up as he remembered the beautiful stranger he ran into. “Speaking of hot babes, I ran into this gorgeous girl at the grocery store. She smelled like a flower. " He gushed.

Steve cringed, "Dude, that's weird." Dustin rolled his eyes and huffed.

"What's weird?" Lucas asked as he walked up.

"Dustin, smelling cute girls at the grocery store." Robin answered as she flipped through a magazine .

Lucas laughed and agreed. " I saw this hot chick covered in tattoos walking her dog the other day." 

Robin began to wonder how randomly everyone was smitten by a girl. "Wait, all of us met a mysterious girl at the same time?" She asked out loud.

Everyone seemed confused about what she was asking. She rolled her eyes. "Guys, was her name Y/N?" To which everyone answered "yes" at once.

They all looked at one another.” Oh come on. Do you all like her? " Steve pouted.

"Like you had a chance, dude. I hear she's in college, too smart for you, " Dustin teased," to which Steve answered, "and too old for you." Dustin pouted at the truth in it. Lucas laughed, but it was cut off when Robin cut in,

 "And you have a girlfriend, so no for you. Which leaves me left”. Lucas rolled his eyes.

 All the guys said at the same time, "She's not a lesbian!" Robin held her arms up in surrender. " We don't know for sure." She tried to explain.

Then it all clicked in Steve's head. "Shit." He cussed. The group looked at him confused.

" She can't meet Eddie." He added to their confused stares. Dustin frowned, "Eddie's not a bad guy. Get over it."

Steve shook his head. " That's not what I meant. She is totally his type. The confidence, the tattoos, rings, leather jackets, and band tees. He'd go after her in a second. And with his looks, good hair, and dumb band, he'd so win. " Steve pouted harder as he crossed his arms.

 " Agreed. Let's plan to keep her away from Eddie Munson. "

Speak of the devil, and he will appear."Keep who away from me?" He asked as he walked up to the group.

The group went dead silent. Eddie started to get confused as everyone refused to make eye contact with him. He almost felt like he hadn't said anything out loud when Steve spoke up. "Dustin's mom. She'd freak if she met you and wouldn't let you hang with Dustin anymore."

The group quickly agreed with nodding heads. Eddie frowned, "Why, what's wrong with me?" Well, that backfired. Now Steve felt like an ass and Dustin quickly tried to save him.

 "Nothing at all. She's a very old-fashioned woman who thinks guys with long hair are no good. " Eddie nodded along, eyes questioning the group silently. He didn't believe a word that was said, but Lucas quickly turned the topic to basketball. And the weird interaction was not brought up again.

 Until the same thing happened that night as the group watched their movies. When Eddie excused himself to go to the bathroom, the group was talking in quiet whispers. Laughing, giggling, and slight arguing. He couldn't make out a word they were saying, and by the time he was close enough, they all went silent. He watched them closely. Everyone was pretending not to notice his stare and acting like the movie was the most entertaining thing they'd seen. " What's going on?" Again, silence. "Guys, seriously?" No one spoke up. Eddie was starting to feel very unwelcome in a group he thought were his friends. He was quiet the rest of the night, just as they all had been.

 The next day wasn't any better. Eddie was returning a horror film and was hoping to talk to Steve or Robin about what was going on. He spotted Robin, and she smiled at his entrance. He smiled back and handed over the movie .

Robin's smile was slapped off her face when she saw the title. It was the same exact movie Y/N rented a few days ago. She rolled her eyes. Another thing they'd have in common to talk about/

Eddie's big brown eyes didn't miss the smile vanish and eye roll. He felt his heart sting a bit in his chest. What has he done wrong? "Did I do something?" He quickly asked. Robin's head shot up with a quick smile. "Oh no nothing. I just hate this movie." and typed in the return. Her eyes were confused to see that it came up under Y/N's name. She eyed Eddie but kept quiet. The computer must have been glitching. She has not, nor has anyone seen them together. There's no way he'd met her and already had a date.

Eddie didn't quite believe Robin at all, but he let it go. As he headed to the shelves for a new film, he spotted Steve. "Hey Munson, how have you been?" Steve waved with a big smile.

Eddie eyed him suspiciously and said, " I'm fine. But what's up with you? And everyone else? You are all being weird with me."

 Steve shot the idea down and said he was just imagining things. But Eddie knew for a fact he didn't imagine Steve looking over Eddie's shoulder, a big grin lighting up his face, then back to Eddie with fear. Eddie went to question him again when Steve grabbed Eddie's hand and dragged him to another aisle.

Steve couldn't let Y/N see he was talking with Eddie. She'd come over to say hi and fall in love with the curly head next to him. So he dragged him into another aisle. "I think these movies are a better fit." He wished he had looked at the aisle first, because they were smack in the middle of the little girls' section. The racks are filled with pink princesses and unicorns. Eddie coughed awkwardly.

 "Yeah, little girl movies aren't quite my thing, Harrington." Steve laughed along, a blush on his cheeks. "You're right. Sorry about that. I thought you'd want to try something new. " And once he saw Y/N walk out the door, Steve quickly left the aisle without saying anything. Eddie felt his shoulders slump. There it was again. Leaving him in the dust without saying why.

~~~

 Eddie went to the one person who he knew couldn't lie to him, Dustin. He cornered him in the hallway, by his locker. "Alright Dustin, tell me what's up with everyone before I shove your hat up your ass." He threatened

Dustin knew it was an empty threat, but he still shook in fear. A loud fake laugh left his throat, "Eddie, nothing is going on. You're just being silly. " Dustin was sweating underneath his hat. His palms were wet and his heart raced with anxiety. He wasn't good at lying to Eddie. It was like Eddie had these eyes that could see right through you. With another look, Dustin cracked.

 “Okay, there's a new girl and she's totally hot. And everyone has a crush on her, and none of us can go after her, except Steve, which sucks. But we didn't want to tell you because you'd so be her type and we didn't want you to start dating her. Because then I'd have this crush on your girlfriend and later it would be weird when you got married and had ki-" Eddie cut off the kids' rambling with a hand to his mouth.

"Slow down. I have no idea who you are talking about, so I definitely won't be getting married next week. and seriously? You guys were so afraid of competition that you all iced me out. That's so stupid. "

Dustin nodded, "It does sound stupid when you say it out loud." Eddie let out a laugh. “I'm sorry. And I know they are too. "

 Eddie winked at the apology and said, "I'm so going to use this against Harrington."

~~~

 As Steve walked into work the next day, he was racked with anxiety. Robin could sense her friend was under great stress as he paced and stared down the door. 

"What's wrong with you now?" She asked as she picked at her nails.

"I'm going to ask her out." Her head snapped up at that. She had a huge disagreement on her tongue when Y/N walked up. A huge smile was sent to the both of them.

 Before she could say anything, Steve blurted out, "Would you go on a date with me?" 

All three of them went silent. Y/N was caught off guard by the sudden question. Robin was shocked Steve got the words out, and Steve was amazed that it came out in a real sentence.

 Before Y/N could speak up, a teasing voice came from behind her. laced with humor and mockery.

"Harrington, what are you doing asking out my girlfriend?" Eddie wrapped his arm around her shoulder with a smirk.

 Robin and Steve's jaw dropped. Their heads were filled with questions. Before they could ask, Dustin was running in, "Steve I'm sorry I spilled. I couldn't hold it an-Eddie? Y/N? " He looked at them puzzled, then his eyes grew large as he saw them cuddled close.

"EDDIE ? Y/N? " He screamed. Eddie covered his ears and Y/N laughed. She was very confused about what was going on.

"Um, what's going on?" She spoke up, from underneath her boyfriend's arm.

"Steve was asking you out on a date, honey, and you didn't answer him yet." Eddie knew he sounded like an ass, but this was just too good. Everyone was smitten with his girlfriend, and he didn't blame them. He was hooked on her the second he met her in high school.

 "I think we've got the answer, Eddie," Steve said, blushing. He spoke with a sharp tone.

"Wait, so you two are together? Since when? How do you know each other? " Robin asked, she thought Y/N was decently new to town.

"Oh Eddie, we go way back. We met in Hellfire during our sophomore year. We were best friends, then started dating in our junior year. We've been together since. " She smiled at the group. She loved talking about Eddie; it was one of her favorite things to do.

"You made a good impression, babe. You have gotten all my friends to crush on you within seconds of meeting you. " Edie smirked proudly. He finally had something in his life that everyone admired. And he was going to soak it all in.

Y/N blushed. She knew she was a pretty face, but she had no idea that everyone was so infatuated with her. "Wait baby, are these the friends that were making you upset?" She asked as she looked up into his eyes. She noticed his cheeks turning red. She embarrassed him. "Shit, sorry." She mumbled something into his neck as she shoved herself into his chest. 

He cuddled her closer, "It's fine and yes, they are. They probably didn't want us to meet because you'd fall for my good looks and guitar skills. And Stevie here didn't want the competition. " Eddie smirked towards Steve, who sent a death glare to Dustin in return.

 Y/N giggled at the explanation, "Well, for starters, Steve, you are a very handsome guy." Eddie cut her off with a pout, "Excuse me." She put her finger to his lips in return. 

“And I am flattered, but Eddie is it for me and that won't change. And for the rest of you, Eddie adores you, and I wish you hadn't singled him out because of me. I was always scared of leaving him in this town because the people are shitty. But when he'd call me and talk about his favorite kid, Dustin, some chick named Buckley, and his new hellfire boys, I was so happy he had people to take care of him. So please continue to take care of him when I'm gone. "

 The group felt even worse for leaving Eddie in the dark. Now knowing how much they meant to him, they all quickly apologized.

"Baby, that is even more embarrassing. We are leaving. " Eddie pouted as he grabbed her arm and led her to the door. She rolled her eyes and pecked his lips, which had turned into a frown. Feeling her lipstick mark on his lips caused him to smile. Eddie was never one for a quick kiss; he dove his tongue straight into her mouth without missing a beat. He heard gags from around him as he dove his hand into the back pocket of her tight jeans.

He pulled away and placed her ahead with his hand on her back as he was going to open the door. The door opened before them, and there stood Billy Hargrove. He checked Y/N up and down, and a smirk landed on his face.

Before he could even get a word out, the group and Eddie, all together, yelled "NO."

[dearestminyoongi]

To be natural – is a training exercise | 3 |

‣ summary: As a result of the recent dating rumours spreading around, you are forced by your agency to resort to a very popular practice among idols: adopting a hybrid to draw the attention of your fans to the adorableness of your new platonic partner and not the scandal on the verge of breaking out. But it’s hard to get used to having a second shadow when you’re accustomed to being on your own, especially if your new companion is hell-bent on having all your attention directed at him. Constantly.

‣ pairing: Jimin x female reader

‣ genre: hybrid au; idol!reader; fluff; hurt/comfort; slice of life; sassy!reader

‣ word count: 14.5k

‣ chapters: 1 / 2 / 3

Notes: Hitomi is your idol/stage name! OKAY I’m very sorry, but the reader eats some things in this chapter which are animal derivatives, but! There are vegan options of those, so if you have some differences in your eating habits, you can pretend the food to be of your preferences. You also eat some vegetables, vegan meat and a Korean chicken soup. Also you drink coffee here. If you don’t in real life: think of it as decaffeinated, or as just orzo? I tried to keep it really vague. This is the only warning. Oh! Also: cuteness, hurt/comfort. Lastly: if you catch some mistakes, please notify me!

You’re mentally listing the things left to do in your morning routine, toothbrush dangling from your pursed lips while you’re applying the eyeliner when suddenly you remember you’re not alone in the flat.

To be more precise, your train of thought goes as follow:

Finish brushing my teeth (should buy new toothpaste)

Search for the new mascara and that berry blossom-scented hand cream

Air dry hair (no-one will berate me since today I’m not leaving the agency. It’s important that Jimin can get used to the place)

Change purse to match the outfit

And then there’s a sudden jolt in your sleepy brain when the image of your cat hybrid flash in your mind. You promptly choke on the toothpaste and swallow down some of it. You hurry to pull out your toothbrush and wash out your mouth, drinking the water straight from the tap.

When you raise your face your disgusted expression greets you in the mirror, along with a pretty, thick, black line that from the corner of your eye reach your temple. You don’t really have time to fix that, so you pick up your make-up remover and just decide to go bare-faced.

You don’t even spare a look at your hair and just return to your room, retrieve the handbag you used yesterday and rush out. How could you forget him? To be sure, you’ve grown used to be on your own, and you learned to appreciate your alone time, but after all that happened yesterday, especially that exchange right before you went to sleep–

You halt in front of Jimin’s door and put a stop to your thoughts. Right now you should focus on the important things and make sure he’s ready to come with you. Quite honestly you should’ve already integrated him into your morning routine, planning for his presence, now you fear you’ll be running late. Officially you need to be at the agency by 8 A.M., but you usually meet up with Lee beforehand to grab a quick breakfast together and catch up on the day’s agenda.

The wristwatch tells you it’s a quarter to seven. Could he be already up?

You raise your hand and knock gently against the door, calling his name in a voice that’s little more than a whisper. His sensitive ears should be able to pick that up, but you receive no answer. You try again only to get the same result. Shuffling a little on the spot, you wonder if he’s still asleep, if you should inch your way inside his bedroom and wake him up.

He’d be quite sleepy, you imagine. With his beautiful hazel eyes lidded and his pupils like pinpoints from the morning sunlight entering from the window, his squishy cheek pressed on the pillow, his fluffy ears hidden in his messy blonde hair. Maybe he’d try to burrow under the blankets, mumbling about just five minutes or maybe he’d smile languidly at you the moment he recognizes you, greeting you with a groggy voice. You wonder if he’ll still have that higher-pitched, melodious tone or if, perhaps, he’d have a lower, more rough timbre.

You’re itching to find out for yourself, heart speeding up at the prospect and after hesitating for a few seconds more, your hand grips the door handle. You have opened it just a couple of inches when suddenly in the still, windowless hallway, you feel a gust of air brush against your nape, whispering delicately near your ears. Then a touch against your damp hair, something resembling a nudge, and a puff of air warm the back of your neck.

You freeze on the spot, fighting a shiver. There is most definitely someone behind you; someone who is… smelling you?

You can almost feel him humming when he asks you: “Were you searching for me?”

Almost in auto-pilot, you close the door in front of you, then spin yourself and lean your back against it. And here, in front of you, stands Jimin in all his glory. He’s already dressed in a pair of tracksuit black pants and a white t-shirt, feet clad in soft socks. His hair is brushed neatly, covering his forehead, and his ears are tilted up in mild interest. He’s watching over you with a slight smile on his plump rose lips, and the longer you look at him the more it seems to want to bloom in a full-fledged grin.

He doesn’t look sleepy at all. You don’t have time to suppress the stupid, nonsensical sense of disappointment that rise in you, never mind pretending to have the presence of mind to formulate an answer or even a greeting, before he’s leaning towards you.

Even if there’s still much space between you two, your breath hitch and you almost choke – for the second time that morning – on your spit. You swallow and you swear his eyes follow the movement. But then Jimin’s gaze locks with yours and he keeps you pinned down under his laser-focused attention.

His soft lips open delectably – your eyes almost flicker down to watch them, but you barely resist – and he asks you: “Did you have sweet dreams?”

Usually, you’re quite proud of your composure, the way you can withstand the worst interactions and malicious comments with a straight poker face, sometimes even a polite fake smile if the occasion calls for it. However, you are not accustomed to being subjected to such a devastating attack so early in the morning, in what should be your safe space, where you let down your guard and relax.

You feel yourself getting hot in the face and you hope that he’ll somehow miss the blush colouring your cheeks, while you ponder the apparent fact that Jimin is going to be the mean of your end, one way or another. What a way to go, mumbling half phrases and unable to maintain his gaze.

Your head is filled with the clear memories of the night before, of the text he sent you and the answer you gave him; in the spaces between those recollections sits the strong impression and vague reminiscence of the sweet dreams you indeed had.

They were filled with sunlight, a lot of greenery and you were surrounded by soft and almost impalpable fabric which hugged you tight. Your fingers were playing with the stems of some flowers and you were trying to work on a crown made of bright yellow buttercups, but something resting in your lap kept snagging your attention with its cute gestures. It had fluffy ears, blonde hair, lidded hazel eyes–

You clear your throat, before asking him: “Were you just sniffing me?”

While it’s the most unsubtle change of topic you ever saw, it does its trick: Jimin blinks once, before opening his eyes wide in a bewildered expression and he straightens up at once. You didn’t even notice he was inching closer to you until he did that.

Now he’s the one to blush. And he’s either a fast learner or just better at making an exit, but he inform you in a dismissing tone that he ‘started on breakfast; c’mon let’s go before it burns’, then he turns around, tail swishing agitatedly behind him and hurries down the hallway towards the kitchen, without waiting for you.

You make use of those spare seconds where you’re alone to regroup and calm yourself a little bit. There’s no reason for him to try and bring up the topic during the rest of the day, not if he wants to avoid being questioned about his behaviour. Which is in all probability completely normal by hybrid standards, since they are so susceptible to smells and whatnot. Still, you’re going to exploit that slight weakness to the best of your ability, because you do not want to feel so caught off guard again.

When you enter the open kitchen Jimin is in front of the stove, turning a golden omelette in the pan, with the table already set for you two. In fact, you can see he has already placed a poached egg on each of your plates, alongside– yeah, those are scrambled eggs and kale.

“Uh,” you utter, because the possibility that Jimin is only able to cook variations of eggs is not something you took into consideration.

His ears twitch and he spares you a look from behind his shoulder, smiling bashfully at your perplexed face.

“Your fridge is really empty,” he informs you lightly. “And the expiration date of those eggs were today, so I thought we could do a breakfast made of only those and kale. Is that okay?”

“Of course! You thought right, let’s not waste them,” you hurry to say, walking to the fridge to see if there is something to drink that isn’t energy drinks. The desolation inside squash your hopes, and you start to feel bad: not only he prepared breakfast for the two of you while you were busy forgetting he existed, but he did so when his options were so limited it was bound to be frustrating to conjure up anything. You close the fridge’s door and go to your coffee machine, only to see there is already a smoking cup sitting there, ready to be drunk.

Jimin brushes close to you when he goes to place the omelettes on your plates. He glances at the hot drink you took in your hands.

“That’s yours,” he tells you. “I tried to do it the same way you took it at lunch yesterday, while we were at the mall. I don’t know if I succeeded, though.”

“No, that’s… It’s perfect, thank you so much Jiminie,” you answer.

You feel kind of choked up, which is absolutely stupid and inevitable when you have such a sweet, caring, darling person who tries to accommodate you, even when it’s not their job nor their responsibility to do so. It’s been a while, since the last time someone took care of you in any form without it being related to their line of work…

Jimin laughs at you, even if he’s blushing again at the use of his nickname. He sits down at the table and watches with lidded eyes and a grin as you round it to sit in your place.

“You don’t know that, yet,” he points out. “You haven’t even tried it!”

So you bring the cup to your lips, blow air on it for a couple of seconds and take a sip. The rich flavour washes over your taste buds, warming your tongue. While the capsules you have are definitely not like the ones from your favourite café, it’s strong and delicious. You think that you wouldn’t mind switching your routine and stop going out for breakfast every morning, not when the alternative presents you with an eager and considerate hybrid sitting in front of you, watching your every move to see if you like what he did for you.

You hum, delighted. “It is good,” you reaffirm to him, before drinking again.

He smiles back, before taking his fork and gesturing to you to try out his food, too.

And you have to admit that, even if he indeed was only able to cook variations of eggs, at least he was great at doing so. They were golden, crisp and seasoned just lightly; once in your mouth, they immediately melted in a delectable way.

You are lost in contemplation, trying to appreciate the first warm homemade meal that you ate in quite some months, when Jimin begins to talk.

“I’m glad you like them,” he says, his fluttering eyes averted from yours, while he shyly smiles at his plate. “I woke up early today because I was so excited and I just couldn’t wait for you to get up, too. It felt like an eternity, so I chose to busy myself in the meantime.”

You blink back, baffled. Early, he says. As if you don’t set your alarm to 6 A.M. sharp every day and are such a late riser.

He seems to read your expression from beneath his long lashes, and he giggles. “You know,” he begins, before flicking his ears and catching your attention with their movements. “Cat genes. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I wake up and I’m filled with a nervous energy so strong that it’s useless trying to go back to sleep. It’s better if I just do something to dispel all of that build up exuberance.”

Jimin has the zoomies, is the first thing you think. And then it’s a struggle moving on from that thought. You try to keep your face blank while he continues eating, none the wiser to the series of adorable images that are following each other in your head.

You clear your throat to focus back on your breakfast, inadvertently catching his eyes. “Won’t you be tired during the day, then?”

“Oh, yes,” he answers, shrugging his shoulders. “I usually take several naps in the afternoon and late evening.”

You wish you could do that, too. But on a more serious note– You try not to frown and for a couple of minutes, you limit yourself to eat the kale and the scrambled eggs. It’s when you’re almost done with your meal and you’re sipping the remaining coffee, that you point out the thing that had you preoccupied.

“I wonder… would you rather stay here, today? So you can rest, since you slept so little.”

Immediately Jimin looks on high alert, with his eyes opened wide and ears straight upon his head. He’s so agitated that his nervous tail hits one of your legs under the table; he doesn’t even seem to notice, as focused as he is on what you just said.

You can’t imagine why he seems so caught off guard. Of course, you’d rather he went with you so you could, for starter, get to know him more; then you’d feel better knowing he’s not alone in your messy apartment free to discover the complete state of disarray it verses on and, lastly, you’re pretty sure it is expected of you to take him with you so that he could get used to the agency and your job.

However, this is his first day out of the shelter, he admitted he’ll get quite tired and you don’t think he’ll have many opportunities to nap in another brand new place surrounded by strangers. That seems to matter very little because your consideration appears to have been regarded as a distasteful offer.

“No!” Jimin promptly denies your suggestion vehemently, while shaking his head at you. You swear the fur on his velvet ears is raised in alarm as well. “I’ll be alright, totally okay really, I’ll sleep once we get back and– and tonight probably I won’t be compelled to get up, so I’ll get used to your schedule just, uh, fine!”

Now you’re the one taken back by such a strong reaction, but you quickly shrug it off when you see your phone light up with a text message. A quick glance informs you that Lee is asking if you’re running late or if he should just wait for you at the building. Swiftly you write back ‘omw to agency w/ J’, before rising from your seat.

Seemingly on instinct, Jimin follows your lead. When he gets up he takes the dishes and puts everything in the sink, watching you with a light furrow between his brows while you check your appearance one last time on your pocket mirror.

You put it in your purse, then turn and smile at him. “Then let’s go, it’s time to start the day.”

His face relax in an easy grin, with soft rosy cheeks and gentle hazel eyes, all signs of preoccupation wiped away as if they never even existed. “Show me the way.”

It’s 7:45 in the morning when you get out of the company issued car in front of your agency. Jimin follows you with a picture-perfect expression of curiosity colouring his face, brushing against your side when he starts to walk with you towards the entrance. You can already see Jeong-hoon through the glass doors, curved on his phone by Jin-eu and you certainly can spot the way his lips are downturned, the distinct two lines on his forehead that appear every time he’s holding back some kind of negative emotion.

You conceal your sigh.

In a matter of seconds, you have passed through the entrance and are headed towards the receptionist, who is already scanning Jimin up and down. Fortunately, there aren’t many people around, and those present are all busy doing their job, so he isn’t on the receiving end of too many double backs. But he seems to catch on to her curiosity and he stops looking around, marvelling at each new aspect he finds interesting, to look back at her with a more guarded expression.

Jin-eu simply smiles at him, before greeting you by your name, thereby snatching Lee’s attention, who hurries to send one last text before raising his head up. While he straightens his suit’s jacket and fidgets with his cufflinks, as if he could ever be caught dead in any kind of unkept, it becomes blatantly obvious that he had already contrived a plan of action for today and that he had sought a helping hand to facilitate everything.

In fact, Ms Yi doesn’t waste any time before she turns her pretty black eyes on the only hybrid present. “Hello, you must be Park Jimin,” she deduces, before pointing at her own nametag in lieu of introducing herself. “I’m sure you’re aware that, as the companion of Hitomi, it’s quite expected of you to tag along in most of her endeavours.” She barely waits for his nod of confirmation before proceeding, a polite smile firm on her ruby red lips. “For you to be able to do this you’ll need to have your own badge, so anyone will be able to identify you and there won’t be any unfortunate mistakes. Since we have already taken the liberty to fabricate everything you’ll need with the information we were provided, we only need your approval and your signature on a couple of documents.”

On her organized desk appears the items she hinted at and in the next blink Jimin is holding a pen in his hand and he’s looking over the written words presented in front of him, a slightly bewildered look upon his face. He doesn’t seem too bothered, however, because his ears are relaxed back and his tail is flicking just a tiny bit.

When you turn around, manager Lee is pointedly trying to send you a hint by making eyes at his own phone and then at you. You retrieve your own device just to see he indeed texted you. It must have been the last message he sent, too, because in his hurry he butchered some words.

i distracr Jimin you ned to talk to mangment, it reads.

You raise an eyebrow at that, sending the most deadpan expression you can manage before you answer him: I’ll talk to mangment, but stop being inconsiderate and don’t overwhelm him.

He doesn’t read it, but you know he can be a sneaky one when he wants, and he’ll do it without being discovered as soon as possible. In the meantime, he looks appeased, probably guessing you’ll do your job anyway. You try to be likewise pleased, knowing he’ll heed your words and treat the hybrid nicely enough, but still, it’s unlikely you’ll see him for the rest of the day and it’s hard being gratified with that knowledge.

In your line of work, there’s seldom a break and there aren’t many parts where your input is taken into consideration, and since the idea of adopting had been brought up by the PR’s director and the order was issued directly by the CEO, you suspect that all the important people already know of the new addition. Whether he likes it or not, your hybrid has just been dragged in this world and you doubt they’ll ever let him go.

Jin-eu’s voice puts a momentary end to your mopey thoughts: “Perfect! Please remember to keep the badge on your person every time you come here, because even if people will soon start to recognize you as Hitomi’s partner, you’ll still need it to access some upper-level sections that are otherwise restricted to lower-ranked personnel.”

“Yes, thank you,” says Jimin, with a little secretive smile on his full lips and a light blush colouring his cheeks. Now that, is something to wonder at. What could Ms Yi have possibly said to make him react to that? Did you miss something important?

That idea unsettles you, and you immediately try to stop your abnormal and useless fretting. For once someone is there to help with that.

“Mr Park,” begins cordially the man at your side. When the hybrid turns to look at him, he extends his palm and you watch them shake hands. “I’m H’s manager, my name is Lee Jeong-hoon. In case you’re in need of anything or have any worries that need to be assuaged, please know I’m here to assist you to the best of my ability. If you’re not sure how to do something or are uncertain of one particular aspect or another I’ll be glad to help you whatever you’re struggling with, as well.”

“Nice to meet you,” says Jimin. Then, looking a little awkward for being put on the spot, he sends you a rapid glance, before blurting out: “I have your number on my phone.”

Silence wrap all of you in its suffocating embrace for a couple of moments.

“Ah,” answers Jeong-hoon genially, before giving a single nod. “Good.”

Then Ms Yi helpfully interjects: “Mr Lee, since you’re such an accomodating manager, could you give Mr Park a tour in my stead? I’m afraid I don’t have much time to spare, certainly not enough for giving justice to every floor and you’ll be the most adept to answer any questions regarding Hitomi.”

You wonder if your dear friend deliberately asked the receptionist to kiss his ass as much as she could, or if she’s always been so good at offering platitudes. For a moment you even contemplate the chance that she’s coating her every word in irony before she turns to you. While you have only exchanged greetings and little else with her, Jin-eu regards you with a kind expression that appears completely genuine, as far as you can ascertain.

“I was instructed to inform you that the director of management is expecting you in his office. The meeting with the marketing team that was cancelled yesterday has been rescheduled to start in half an hour in CONF_303,” she informs you. “I’m sure Mr Lee will have finished by then and he’ll bring you back Mr Park along with the rest of your timetable. Have a nice day, all of you.”

That said Jin-eu turns her attention back on her tasks, and starts typing furiously on the keyboard as if engaged in a personal vendetta against whichever thing has her now preoccupied. Taking her plain dismissal for the clue that is, Jeong-hoon doesn’t waste any time before taking back the reins.

He claps his hands together a single time. “Well,” he starts. “Looks like we all have our things to do before meeting up again.”

You imagine that Lee is expecting everything to go smoothly from that moment, but it appears Jimin has another idea. He almost scrambles to be by your side, eyes wide open and pleading. Not only it seems like he’s beseeching your approval, but it’s as if in his frenzy he forgets he’s in a public place. In a matter of seconds, you find yourself plastered to a hybrid, all his firm muscles and soft curves pressed against you, his head pushed firmly to yours, and you're left immobilized and staring straight ahead of you.

Jeong-hoon brows furrow and even Ms Yi raises her head from her work the time necessary for arching one of her slim, perfectly plucked eyebrows. You silently share their bewilderment.

“Wha–”, you start, forcing yourself to not struggle away from the sudden embrace. Like a prey frozen in front of apparent danger, contemplating the chance to dash off, you know rationally that it’d be best for you to remain still, but you’re itching to race away. Surely there must be a reason why he’s acting like that and putting distance between you two seems like the thing he’d hate you to do most. You try to focus on that thought instead of your agitation.

“I told you yesterday,” Jimin interrupts you, with a barely-there voice. You don’t think he’s deliberately trying to conceal what he’s saying to you from the others, it looks more like he’s currently unable to reaffirm himself. “I told you I would follow you all day long. That I looked forward to it. I… I don’t want to leave.”

“Ah,” you muster, patting the arm around your waist in a vague attempt to supply comfort. “But you won’t leave the building, I’ll be there–”

“No,” he cuts in, again. He pushes his head even firmer against your hair, strengthening his hold on you. “I don’t want to leave you.”

You raise your eyes to the ceiling, either asking for divine intervention or trying to catch a glimpse of his face, you’re not sure. Your beating heart definitely didn’t skip a beat and you’re not flustered. Not at all. When you lower your gaze you catch your manager’s, and you try to compose yourself to at least give the semblance that you know what to do in this circumstance.

“Jimin,” you say, your voice on the point of being suffocated, trying to remain lax in his hold.

You should be able to find comfort in it, but you aren’t used to… to that. Nowadays if you hug someone it's an event that's over in a matter of seconds, blinks of time that flow by you before you could register the feel of it. But he holds you steadfast, and he’s warm and solid, no figment of your imagination. He’s strong – you can feel it in the way his arms are tensed around you, the sinewy energy hiding just under your fingertips – and he’s also so deliberate in the way he pulls you against him: he secures you to him, but in doing so he remains careful, not putting any pressure around your ribs.

It should be nice.

In the dream you definitely didn’t dream last night, it was nice.

And yet you have to suppress the want to fidget, to slip away and put distance between you. So that you can catch your breath and refocus. You, who have spent almost a decade painstakingly training your body to move each of your muscles as you desire, that has worked to have efficient control of every part of yourself, feel lost. You don’t know what to do with yourself and it’s a struggle to even think. In a queer, unfathomable way, it seems like you’re an outside force looking on the scene, with no power to alter anything, just a spectator of your own life. While you don’t want to hurt his feelings, while you want to address his worries and reassure him that there’s no reason for him to panic, all you can concentrate on is how long is he going to hold you for, what you should do, what everyone around you is thinking about that. How to put an end to it.

You don’t say anything else, but he seems to catch up. In a gesture that appears reluctant, he lowers his arms, passing his nose near your ear in a last nuzzle, before taking a step back.

Breathing in and out, internally counting to calm yourself, you turn to look at him. He looks deflated, his fluffy ears trying to hide between his blonde locks, his eyes downturned. Even his tail is mostly still and gives a sudden, rapid flick when his gaze meets yours. You don’t know him as well as you wish, so you can’t be sure what emotions are turbinating behind his eyes, but you could swear he somehow perceived your unease.

“Jimin,” you start again, before clearing your throat when you notice your voice still sound a little bit smothered. His ears raise up in attention. “Let me show you the map of the building, for starters. So you’ll know where you’re more likely to find me if you’re searching for me.”

Lee reads the room easily and nods. “Yeah, good idea. I’ll double-check that the paperwork is in order, just give me five minutes.”

You barely register what he told you, taking Jimin by his hand and gently leading him towards the nearest floors plan, hoping that the few meters distancing you from the reception desk will lend you a little privacy.

While you walk there you can feel his grip around your hand tightening, his tail brushing against your side. You can also hear Ms Yi asks Lee if he truly has so little faith in her and her competence that he feels the need to check her every move, and his amused voice is clear when he quips back that while he’s sure she is a wonderful, hardworking receptionist, maybe the heavy workload could bring her to make some mistakes. And he just doesn’t want her to embarrass herself, isn’t he such a sweet and attentive person?

Vaguely you wonder to yourself if they are actually closer than what you were brought to believe at first glance, or if they are just exceptional in faking cluelessness; maybe their ability to avoid awkward situations is mandatory for their job positions.

Once in front of the building’s plan, you halt, and Jimin comes to your side, taking care to hold a slight distance between you two that has never been there before. You keep ahold of his hand, brushing your thumb back and forth in a vain attempt to reassure yourself him, but you remain facing forward.

“This is where my personal office is allocated,” you begin, pointing it out easily with your free hand. Then you show him where you usually go to practice, where the communal canteen is, where is your studio. You do so almost automatically, taking your time to ponder how to approach the topic you truly want to discuss with him.

When you start to run out of places, you take all your courage and start: “I would like for you to be near me during most of my workday and to make this possible you need to know where everything is, where you can go without being questioned and where it’d be better for you not to follow me. I don’t think they’ll like you very much, my superiors I mean, if you were to accompany me during important meetings where all my concentration is required. If you were there I would have to resist talking to you, and frankly that sounds like a very difficult thing to ask of me. Allow me to be selfish and ask something difficult out of you: please don’t tempt me with a good time.”

This pries a tentative giggle out of him, and you are run over by a powerful wave of satisfaction and relief, feeling as if you can return to breath more freely. In your renewed confidence, you find the nerve to tug him towards you; he easily follows your lead and you bump his shoulder with yours. You never relinquish your hold of his hand, finding the way his palm press against yours reassuring.

“We’ll be there five days per week, for most of the time, this will be your second home in all but feeling and fact, so it’ll make me feel so much better if you were able to move around, never running the risk of getting lost and being in need of help.” And then, looking at the way he starts to frown, you hurry to add something a little cheeky. “Far from being the only idol present, I can certainly image you running in someone prettier and kinder, who will be there to rescue you and catch all your affection, and then what will I do? You’ll ask to leave, and I’ll have to get back to a very empty apartment, all by myself, surrounded exclusively by the chaos I’ve made with no motivation to clean it, with no one to share my meals with.”

Jimin’s airy, Tinkerbell-like laugh rings out before you’ve finished talking but even so, he’s already shaking his head at the depressing scene you painted for him.

“No,” he denies between breaths. “I would never run off with the first person who is nice to me.”

You hold your tongue, not wanting to point out the obvious – because he had run off with you, hadn’t he? - and instead, you conspiratorially smile back at him: “Ah, I see, you won’t follow the first, but there’s no telling with the second or the third who will help you out in your moment of need.”

Jimin vehemently protests against that notion, but you dramatically sigh and continue: “There’s no helping it, with such a sweet hybrid like you I’m going to have to ward off many people, but surely you can try to ease my fears and learn to move in this place so as to not get lost?”

You know you are not fooling him, and this isn’t your intent, but the back and forth seems to have relaxed him enough that, if not ecstatic, at the very least he looks resigned to get it over with.

You take care not to mention the reason behind your previous discomfort, not wanting to shift the scrutiny on you.

And how would you have explained it away, besides?

You couldn’t come out and declare: ‘Ehy, it’s totally fine. It’s not you, I mean it. It’s just that I’m so touch-starved that continued exposure to intimacy easily overwhelms me.’

Because that sounded absolutely normal, and not a bit much to unload on the second day of your acquaintance with someone. You would at least let the first week pass, before trying to talk to him about your fucked-up boundaries or whatnot. If you could get away with it, you wouldn’t talk of it, full stop. Sadly, that wasn’t an option, because you were a responsible adult that didn’t shy away from displeasing talks.

Ugh.

Talking about being adults… You spy Jimin’s ears raise up in alert from the corner of your eye, and soon enough Jeong-hoon is clearing his throat from behind you. He must have checked his watch and concluded you had enough time to talk it out.

When you turn around he smiles, but you can see that he’s starting to fret, and while you usually would agree that making any director wait was something you should strive to avoid, this time you think you had a valid reason for your potential tardiness.

“Jiminssi, are you ready?” He asks anyway, even if it’s evident that he expects to hear only one answer and he won’t accept any other. The hybrid spares a quick glance your way, as if to gather all the assuredness he can, then he gives a quick nod and when Lee starts to walk, he follows him.

You have to let go of his hand and all the time – while you’re watching his figure disappears in an elevator, while you take your own lift to go to the director’s office, and even while you are knocking at the mahogany door once there – you have to flex your fingers, to try to get rid of your nervous energy.

You already miss his palm against yours, the way his fingers perfectly fits in the empty spaces, so perhaps you’ll have to find out why you like his touch so much and rationalize it, before telling him that you do your best to avoid all superficial contacts. Maybe… maybe he could eventually be your only exception.

It became apparent that separating from Jimin had been a good decision when, five minutes in your private consultation with the management’s director, it turned out he doesn’t have any patience or consideration for the feelings of other people, nevermind hybrids’.

If it makes you uncomfortable hearing strangers speak of Jimin as an asset and being listed the myriad of ways the company can work him to benefit them, you can’t imagine how that would affect him.

That conversation and the subsequent meeting with the marketing team couldn’t have been over sooner and even if just an hour went by, you felt as if they had leeched out all the energy you had in store for the day. To be completely sure you are going to be dead tired by the time lunch rolls around, your considerate manager informs you through text that your schedule of the day sees the regular three hours of training placed immediately after.

You’re only half an hour in, when Jimin reappears, looking the part and acting as a mirage; you certainly feel like a desperate lost soul in search of a reprieve.

You have just completed your extensive warm-up, already in need of a break and utterly dishevelled, when you see the door of the practice room inch open. You watch through the mirrors lining up the wall the way his ears peek inside, soon followed by the rest of the head. He’s got a tentative smile and a somewhat circumspect expression about him, as if doubting his welcome.

“Hi,” he greets you when he meets your reflected gaze.

“Hi,” you call back, with a decidedly breathier tone, combing back the astray hair that escaped your scrunchie to achieve a semblance of order.

He takes that as his permission to walk inside. Once in he checks his surroundings, probably categorizing away all the oh so interesting particularities of the bare, empty and generic room. Usually, there are more people utilizing the same place, working side by side, but currently, you are the only one that is preparing herself for a tour, and most know you like being on your own when you need to concentrate, so it’s just you two.

Like when we came back home yesterday, you think unhelpfully to yourself, while you’re sipping your Gatorade. Quick as lightning, your mind replays the way he brushed his lips against your wrist, the intense expression on his face when he told you to dream of him, the erratic beating of your heart. How he made you feel alive, present, living the moment to the fullest, even if that moment lasted only a few seconds.

So, anyway, you end up sputtering out some of what you were drinking. Yeah, not your brightest moment, but at least he doesn’t witness it, since he’s checking out the playlist on your phone. The speakers let out a catchy pop song, and you’re somewhat surprised when you see him humming the harmonies to himself.

“I recognize some of these, I think,” he tells you promptly, scrolling through them while you covertly try to regain your breath without coughing up your lungs. “Are any of them yours? I’m sorry,” he bashfully sends you a rapid glance, just as you’re placing down your bottle, his tail flicking nervously behind him, and you force yourself to focus on what he’s saying. “I know more about classical music, and it’s been a while since I’ve listened to anything modern so I’m out of the loop. I don’t even know much of what’s it like, being an idol. I promise I’ll listen to what you put out.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised he even thought that was a topic which he should have done his homework on and therefore that any apology was in order. As if he was lacking on that front. “Don’t worry, yes it’s my job, but you don’t have to know everything I’ve ever done in my career to show your support. As for your question, uhm–” you halt, thinking back.

You don’t really pay much attention to what is in the background when you are just doing basic training, as it’s the case today, and not working to get down a choreography.

“Probably,” you start tentatively, “there are some that are mine…?”

Jimin raises an eyebrow at your unconvinced tone and unsure expression. Fair enough.

You shrug at him: “This is just for me to build back my stamina and get back to the best shape possible. We’re preparing for a comeback, so it’s imperative that I’m at the top of my form when it’s time to face the upcoming tours, even if they’re two months from now and we haven’t released the single yet, nevermind the album. And the dance instructor and choreographers are still working on the moves, as well.”

His vacant eyes make you wonder if he actually caught anything that you told him, or if he’s in the middle of processing it. You awkwardly move to silence the alarm when it rings out, signalling the end of your five minutes break. You raise back the volume and when you get back to look at him, he is again with his feet down to earth.

“Since I’ve got no plan to go anywhere else, can I watch you while you train? Maybe you can answer some of my curiosities while you’re at it,” he asks you.

“Oh, sure,” you rush out while taking position in front of the mirror. This isn’t to be vain, because there is little worth being checked out when you are sweating like a pig, but more so to look over your form and be sure you are doing your exercises the correct way. “I don’t know how much I’ll be able to actually speak. After this one hour session, I’ll have to go to the gym to finish everything off.”

“Mmh,” he ponders out loud, stretching leisurely directly on your right so that you can look at him both through the mirror and the corner of your eye. “Sounds tiring. Maybe I’ll take a nap while I’m waiting for you to be done with it.”

You raise your head from the floor where you are already cursing the seemingly infinite series of situps you have to do, and yes, Jimin’s looking at you with an impertinent grin decorating his face. You huff, before putting down your head again. You stare at the white ceiling before you, counting the reps, a sleepy hybrid by your side that’s already started with his purring, and wonder how your life has come to that.

Two hours and almost a half later, you’re almost done with your morning schedule and, unsurprisingly, your life as well. The gruelling time you spent working on your body has been rendered even more brutal by the fact you haven’t put in any serious work since your last comeback, nearly nine months ago.

If this wasn’t enough, Jimin’s presence was a hard test all by itself. Being an idol means getting used to the spotlight and owning the stage, but somehow it was a different story with him and even if he shouldn’t have put you off so much, he truly unnerved you. Not only you were extremely conscious of every loud grunt and relieved sigh you let out, all this without even counting your messy appearance, but his intense, laser-focused eyes made you feel self-conscious even when all you were doing was drinking your stupid Gatorade.

Under his watchful look you had to wipe off, multiple times, all the dribbled liquid you managed to get on your chin and throat. It got so embarrassing even Jimin averted his gaze and pretended to be busy cleaning his nails, and you appreciated his effort, truly, but it was quite apparent he felt some kind of second-hand embarrassment by the blush that coloured his cheeks.

‘Any deity available that feel up to it, please hurry to rescue me. Or end me,’ had become your cheerful mantra.

While you can’t ascertain for sure the existence of a God, you believe there are some small mercies in this world. One of those is the fact that, right now, you’re the only ones surrounded by the gym equipment. There were a gaggle of other people before, but they mostly kept to their activities, drenching their curiosity with only sporadic, quick glances towards the hybrid always laying on the nearest bench to you. Now, finally finished with all your cardio, you’re ready to just go to eat.

Heeding your growling stomach, you send a quick text to Lee, asking him to retrieve a couple meals. There’s no way you’ll go to the communal cafeteria without showering first, but there’s also little chance you won’t just faint if you catch a quick one before eating something.

You immediately get down to stretch, gladly welcoming the way your muscles are loosening up, feeling the sweat you worked up beginning to cool off.

It’s ten minutes in and you’ve just stabilized your breathing, you’re sitting down, futilely struggling during one of those stupid exercises where you have to touch your toes and feeling like if you stretch some more your spine is going to break, when Jimin wakes up from his nap and immediately chooses violence.

Like the naive little fool you are, you don’t even notice his approach, and your fate is inevitable.

You have just straightened up a little, to catch the momentum and use it to rapidly get down and try to go beyond your ankles, when a wall encompasses you from behind. A sharp intake of breath and the next moment you find yourself curved over your extended legs, fingers well over your toes, folded like a pretzel and with an unmoving weight pushing you down.

The first thing you notice, truth be told, is the burning muscles screaming for being forced to go well over the usual breaking point, so for the first few moments, you’re a little busy internally cursing up a storm.

But then, all the other senses get their moment to shine and, little by little, in a painful gradual way, you become distinctly conscious of him.

Jimin’s chest is pushed against you, de facto acting as a wall of muscles against which you have no chance to resist; Jimin’s arms surround you, cocooning you in their circles; Jimin’s light hair and Jimin’s warm breath are brushing against your face, one moment touching your nape and the next one against one of your cheek; Jimin’s muscular thighs are folded over, pressing against your sides and encapsulating you in a little place: underneath you the floor and your own trembling legs, all around you– him.

Botton line: Jimin is sprawled on your back.

You have just come to terms with that fact (that’s a lie, you’ll be thinking about this specific moment for the next few months, wondering if that truly happened to you and being devastated by the fact that it must indeed have happened) when he lets up and like a spring that was restrained, you bounce back, sitting up as if electrified.

“Careful,” he giggles from what seems a mile away, so loud your heartbeat is resounding to your own ears. “You almost caught my nose there.”

“Nice,” you sputter out, frazzled. “I almost caught a heart attack over here.”

His laugh rings out, but your concentration is broken, your composure vanished, your self-awareness is on an all-time high. Your own skin itches, as if your body is an ill-fitted suit, rubbing your exposed nerves and scratching uncomfortably against that nagging feeling inside you, snagging on it, catching on that uneasiness which never leaves, ready to raise up like goosebumps every time you're touched, that makes you feel so wrong. You’re left feeling like a misplaced object who mistakenly found itself inside a person, somebody who is receiving tenderness while being painstakingly conscious that you are unworthy of it.

You wish you could’ve enjoyed it. You suddenly are frustrated and angry because here is your cheeky companion, your friendly hybrid, trying to get closer to you, seeking out the physical affection his instincts demand he finds to be assured of his place in the pack. A pack that is new, because you’ve just picked him up and placed him in an unknown territory, and therefore he’s in need of all the reassurance you can spare. You know that, you want to be able to withstand it, you are mostly sure you want the closeness as well and yet, you recoil.

Oh, this moment that lasted a half minute is going to live in your thoughts forever, because you’re going to think about it, yes. And you’re also going to dream of it. But that’s it. You’ll be left wanting, yearning for several other moments like that, longing for them and dreading their very own existences the second they’ll happen. You’ll wish for that eternal fraction of time resting in between the instant you’re taking in the love bestowed on you and the bit where you realize it’s all a mistake.

You stand up.

The stretching session is over.

Stop thinking, stop feeling. Focus on now. Now.

You’re fumbling with your bag, searching for a towel to wipe off the sweat beading your forehead. You did so before you started your cooling off routine, but now you’re again a shivering and overheated mess. As if you normally aren’t a disarray of–

But no, that isn’t the thing you should be thinking of.

You check your phone (Lee sent you a grumbling text, but he did manage to pick up your lunch), and your skin is prickled: you can feel Jimin’s eyes on you, the questions hovering behind his silence, the suspects you nurture that tell you he knows something is up, that he can feel it.

It’s okay, he’s too nice to press you, he’ll let you tell him everything when you’re ready. No, not when you’re ready, because you’ll postpone it forever… next week, that’s what you decided on. How will you even start? How can you explain something so– so stupid, really. You’re a baby, you seriously can’t even handle an extensive hug? But no. It’s not next week yet, now is now, so: stop thinking about it!

You let out a quivering sigh, and then you laugh it off.

“C’mon, Jimin. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving” you say, shouldering your bag, and sending him a smile. A beat passes, and he grins back at you. But his ears remain folded sideways, and the questions are still lingering behind his eyes.

However, he is nice, a dear really, so he gets up and comes to you without voicing them. You walk side to side to your office, and on the way, your nerves settle down enough for you to reach out and hold his hand. He squeezes it back immediately, so you see: it’s okay, nothing happened.

Plastic bags were ruffled open, box and little containers were taken out, wooden chopsticks got separated and soon you were both busy eating all that you could get your hands on, sipping from cold drinks directly from the can.

For a while in your little office were you, in truth, seldom remained for any considerable stretch of time, there were only the satisfied murmurs and hums of two people appreciating their hot meals.

However, after the initial ravenous hunger had been sated, you initiated the conversation.

“You know,” you began, while dabbing a thin napkin on your mouth. Jimin looked up from his bite, ears pointed up in attention, slitted eyes focusing on you. “I usually eat with other idols and singers in the canteen. But I must admit this is quite a nice change of pace: here you could actually hold a conversation with the person in front of you without shouting.”

The hybrid, sitting in the comfy, leatherbound office chair usually reserved for you, regaled you with an arched eyebrow and a quick, almost sly grin. “Then we could make it a habit. So I won’t have to share you.”

That said, he went to lay back, no doubt attempting to casually recline against his seat and look upon you with all the condescension he could manage, sure he left you scrambling to regroup your neurons to coordinate an answer. Sadly, he didn’t take into account your society’s needs to add luxury options wherever it could to make more money, and he wasn’t ready when the backseat reclined down with him, leaving him to be the one scrambling about.

A loud hiss resounded. You immediately hid your smile behind your hand, pretending to be chewing something. His tail all puffed out and eyes enlarged for the fright, he gripped the desk so tightly you were sure he’ll leave behind the imprint of his sharp nails.

You’re thankful for his misfortune, because you don’t have to contemplate why he’s so eager to have you all to himself. Still, for his sake, you pretend nothing happened, and continue on: “I don’t think manager Lee would much care for your proposition.”

It would be nice, of course. You don’t mind the others, checking in how it’s going, lamenting about minor things and occasionally bouncing off ideas on each other can be fun. But the lot of them are more out-going than you are, almost as if they were born to land on the pedestal they found themselves on; they’re there to engage everyone, to talk and to listen, always. So, cutting out a moment for just you, and of course Jimin, to relax a little without having to worry about keeping up any appearances sounds– delightful.

Your private office is quite secluded, made up of three solid walls which are supposedly soundproof (you never had the occasion to put that to the test since the loud action is exclusive to your studio) with a fourth made of glass, overlooking the city. Or, to say it like it actually is, presenting you with the thrilling view of all the other taller buildings surrounding you and the almost ever-present fog and smog, always ready to blur the landscape in an eery, dim illustration taken straight out of a gothic story.

If one were to act ostentatious, the interior could be described as minimalist. There’s the wooden desk, on one of its sides is the leatherbound chair where Jimin is currently fidgeting and absorbed in a thorough investigation with a suspicious look upon his face, two beige armchairs opposite. Some abstract paintings on the walls of artists you perhaps should know of, but struggle to recall, a mini-fridge that’s always empty because you’re never here, a pretty bookshelf half-empty with some classics and ornamental curiosities ready to attract a bored eye and all the dust they can. A plant in a corner that you suspect is fake, because during the last three years it went on remaining completely the same; a lush blue carpet in the middle of the room complete the desolate picture.

That’s it.

Excluding some personal knick-knacks undoubtedly lost in the drawers, you could leave this office tomorrow to someone else, and they wouldn’t need to get rid of anything before settling in.

You clear your throat. “Speaking of Jeong-hoon… this afternoon is going to be pretty boring, nothing out of the ordinary. I’ve got meetings after meetings before my appointment with the vocal coach. We’re still going to return home quite late, so I think if it’d be better to take advantage of the early afternoon to go grocery shopping so that we don’t end up like this morning.” You try for a smile, but he’s already frowning at you before you even finish your proposition. “Would you like to go accompanied by Lee?”

He doesn’t answer you. Verbally, at least. The glare he’s directing towards you speaks by itself, and it looks like he’s trying to intimidate you in a sudden change of heart.

“You can take everything you want,” you try to soften him up.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Ok, I want to take you with me.”

Aw, c’mon, Jimin, you silently lament to yourself at that. Don’t do that.

But it’s to no use, he’s already pouting. Pushing around the last scraps of his lunch with his chopsticks, almost glowering at it with downturned ears and slanted eyebrows, he makes for quite a pitiful vision.

It doesn’t last. He lets out what appears to be a long-suffering sigh and relents: “I was just joking.” You both know that’s a lie, so he goes on, and explain: “I’ll be fine with manager Lee. I just wanted to hear you sing, too.”

You reach over the desk, patting him amicably on his unoccupied hand. As you expected he immediately turns it around to hold yours, the gesture appears as a blur so fast are his reflexes.

“It won’t take much time,” you’re quick to reassure him. “You’ll be able to come back and listen to me, if that’s what you really wish.”

“That’s what I want,” Jimin nods decidedly.

“Of course,” you indulge him. “But, consider this: it will also be nice to do things on your own, so that whenever you have to come with me at the agency you won’t be confined to this building and to the inevitable boredom that will assault you. You can just go out, do whatever you want without having to wait for me all the time.”

He listens to what you tell him, just like he lent his ears this morning when you calmed him down in accepting your temporary separation. Still, it looks as if it’s a struggle, on his part, to accept his own independence, the fact he exists as a whole even, if not especially, when he’s detached from you.

“Even if you think it’s boring, it’s all new to me,” he says at last. “I like seeing you here, in your element, being confident and doing what you love to do. I don’t want to be anywhere else, when I’m here with you.”

He’s grown quite attached in an extremely short period, it is now too apparent to pretend he’s just the most affectionate person in the world you ever had the pleasure to meet. You don’t know if you’re exaggerating or projecting, but it feels as if he’s trying to desperately clutch at you, seeking all the attention you can provide, maybe even endeavouring to tempt you in a codependent pseudo-relationship. After all, if you start to wish for his affection, it’s less likely you’re going to give him back to the shelter. Not that you have the intention to do that, of course, but… it would explain everything, wouldn’t it? Why would he exert himself to cultivate a reciprocate fondness, nourishing it with constant vigilance and lovely touches, if not to gain something out of it?

It hurts to think like this of Jimin. But in your experience, no one gives out any form of love just for the sake of it. And you? Why would you ever deserve it?

“Don’t think I don’t want you here,” you start, trying to stop your harassing thoughts. “It’s just that… this is my job, yeah I love it most of the time, but it’s not easy or always exciting. And even if you’re really patient, well-mannered and sweet, I’m going to worry about you.” You stop to draw a breath and confide to him: “I’m going to be anxious, thinking: is he really doing okay? Does he wish to do something else? Is he going stir-crazy? It would put my mind at ease to know that if you want you can walk out and do other things.”

Jimin looks at you straight on, hazel eyes gradually vanishing while his pupils slowly expand, remaining stock-still. He seems still a little unsure, so you squeeze the hand still in his unyielding hold and add: “Then, at the end of the day, once we’re home, you can tell me all the things you did when I wasn’t around, and if you saw something you wanted to try out with me in our free time. You know, ideas for our quality time.”

He brightens at that. “And you would do it? You would accompany me?”

“Of course, if that’s what you want,” you answer, sounding like a broken record. Because: does he want you around? Or does he just needs you to like him enough to be free? And can you begrudge his possible facetiousness in face of the blatant fact that, in his eyes, it could very well decree his likelihood to attain more rights?

So it’s settled. And your accordance is sanctioned with your request to buy more cleaning products.

(“To be quite honest, I’m not even sure where the last ones I bought ended up.”

“Do you often misplace things?”

“I mean, I know they’re somewhere out there. If I really want to I can find everything. The problem is that I can’t be bothered, so yeah, I have lost things for months on end. But then they always turn up somewhere.”)

By then, you’ve gathered the trash, wondering where you’re going to stash it since your beautiful, unused office actually lacks a garbage can, of all things. You still have twenty or so minutes before you’ll have to hurry up and put yourself together, so maybe you’ll just find someplace to discard it safely on the way.

Jiminoffers no help to your dilemma, limiting himself to slow blinks. He’s clearly holding his head up only thanks to the support of his hand. He must be growing sleepy, but you watch him stubbornly fight against his lowering lids; he gives a little shake of his head and lets out an almost imperceptible growl anytime he catches himself on the point of headbutting the hardwood. It’s really endearing, so obviously your amusement lasts less than a Mayfly’s life. The moment you put the plastic bags filled with what remains of your meals on the ground and sit down again in one of the guest’s armchairs, he is at attention.

He gets up, fluidly, as if he never was two minutes away from drooling on your desk, and walks towards you. He stops from a moment in front of you, swishing tail cutting the air behind him, with his languid eyes fixed on yours.

Then he just plops on the left armrest, almost crumbling in your lap, stretching one of his arms behind the backseat, with the hand of the other searching for your palm. Afterwards, seemingly content to remain perched on the furniture in such an unlikely posture, he lands his head atop yours and let out a content sigh against your forehead.

You’re stuck there, flabbergasted, confused and quite possibly also a little tiny bit flustered.

Anticipating your questions, Jimin mutters: “Can’t trust the office chair for naps.”

“Ehm,” you intelligently answer him, before pointing out: “There is another unoccupied armchair identical to this one precisely beside us.”

“Mmh-mmh,” he murmurs, pushing his head even harder against yours. Now it seems he’s actively trying to headbutt you.

Since what you’ve just told him appears bereft of any interest in his eyes, you try another approach: “Also, I’m still sweaty and gross.”

Jimin crowd you even more at that, letting his nose trail against your temple and cheek, before nudging against your throat. He breaths evenly for a little while, but just when you start to ponder if he just fell asleep on you, he sighs on your skin, searing it hot with his breath and your blush.

“You don’t smell gross, trust me,” he assures you in a whisper.

After that, twenty minutes go by inexorably slow and breathlessly fast.

You are half an hour into your singing session, struggling to not get frustrated every time you have to restart, when in the corner of your eye you see the door hitch open and a fluffy tail appears.

Jimin sneaks into the adjourning room accompanied by manager Lee. While the hybrid wastes no time before sitting on the couch, eyes pointed at you through the glass, Jeong-hoon nods in your direction just once, places a couple of documents on the low-end table in front of the sofa and takes his leave.

You don’t have time to ogle Jimin for very long, for you devote all your concentration to the session. Kang Eunseo is a kind coach, but she wants her demands to be met: she likes to pretend you’re already recording when you sing with her, so she books the recording studio and goes back and forth between the live and control room. She is a professional through and through, focused in her craft and in continuing to better your voice; she doesn’t spare even a glance to the new visitor, and simply walks around him, instructing you.

Since you don’t wish to be reprimanded nor do you want to be a source of disappointment, you keep your focus until the end. And even if you’re conscious of his presence, somehow he doesn’t discompose you as he did when he was beside you in the gym.

It’s when the clock is signalling 7 P.M. and your workday is officially over, that Ms Kang points out at the hybrid with her head and gives a chuckle.

Jimin is leaning against the couch’s arm, head tilted back and eyes closed. His lips are barely open, like a flower bud about to bloom, and even his tail, curled on his lap, is still. You turn off the lights in the live room, closing the door behind you; once you reach him you start to hear his low purrs.

Eunseo dons her jacket and shakes her long ponytail free from her backpack straps, then she bids you farewell with a silent wave and a slight smile. She tries to leave inconspicuously, but you both know how heavy is the door of the recording studio, and the noises are inevitable: even still, his ears don’t twitch when the coach takes her leave.

That must be a good nap, you think. You know you’re smiling, and you also know there’s no use to hold it back.

You sit beside him and for a while, you two remain there. How does Jimin look early in the morning, swaddled in his soft blankets, with the rising sun shining on his golden locks is still something you could only imagine. But now, even if it’s under the cold lights of a windowless room, even if he must be hardly comfortable with his head pushed so far back, he still paints such a pretty picture. He’s even smiling in his sleep, making you itch to know what his dreams consist of.

He’s irresistible, and you know you aren’t doing yourself any favours by staying there, watching him enraptured, looking and acting like a creep. But you don’t have the strength to wake him up.

You have finished with your day, yes, and usually that meant a mad dash to go back home, to bask in the sweet loneliness of an empty place, to decompress and breath more easily. Just to start all over again. It’s uncharacteristic of you, this wish to remain longer. You send a text to your assigned driver, telling him not to wait for you.

Feeling awkward and not wanting to make Jimin uncomfortable, you divert your eyes and, by chance, you glance at the documents Lee left behind. Glad of the distraction, you lean over to take them in your hands, and those soon sober up any giddiness you were experiencing.

It seems he’s already done his homework: here is the paperwork you’ll have to bring to the city hall to formalize what you’ve done yesterday. There’s a printed copy of the Acquisition of Hybrid lease you signed, other two forms – already filled in, because of course, Jeong-hoon won’t leave anything up to chance – full of “I, the undersigned” and things you’ll have to accept so that, once you’ll give them Jimin’s temporary documents, they’ll hand you back the Certificate of Adoption. And on his ID there’ll be written your name, too, under the label of ‘Guardian’.

There’s also a yellow sticky note, that reads: “You have a work permit for Friday, starting 2 P.M.”

So here you have it, the day in question. You won’t be able to turn back from that, it’ll be truly official. His future will depend on you, on what you’ll do to help him achieve what he set his eyes on and on how you’ll help him navigate this troublesome world.

You return to look at him, admiring his soft features and lean figure, for a couple more minutes. Sighing, you get up to put the documents in your discarded purse. There’s no use remaining here, keeping watch over him, stressing over the inevitable. You know you’re going to be a nerve-wracking mess the day of, but you’ll gladly spare yourself the anxiousness, for now.

Luckily, you have an idea to distract yourself. Jimin and Lee must have done their grocery shopping as well, and they must have stored everything in your private office, downstairs. Sparing a last glance at the snoozing hybrid, you leave the recording studio.

As you suspected yesterday, you aren’t much of a cook. After retrieving the ingredients that looked like they would withstand better your mistreatment, you made use of the communal kitchen reserved for the higher-ups. There, sure of the privacy, you required and with nothing else to lose but your dignity, you got to work.

Currently, you’re in front of the recording studio’s door, facing a struggle. See, you’ve been good: you’ve put your pan-fried vegetables on two plates with a couple of vegan hamburgers, then got them on a plastic tray together with the two bowls of Korean chicken soup and two closed bottles of water. Your taste tests while you cooked everything told you the food was edible, so you took a fortifying breath and decided to face Jimin’s judgment.

You managed to take the elevator, not even you are quite sure how, but the heavy door you’re currently braving is another matter altogether. A saviour comes to rescue you unexpectedly when someone opens it on the other side.

“Oh, thank you, Jimin,” you empathetically burst, ready to enter and place the heavy tray on the low-end table in front of the couch. What you didn’t expect was his reaction.

“You’re here!” He exclaims back to you, sounding surprised and relieved at the same time. His ears are pushed down against his head and his tail is all puffed up, as it was yesterday when he unexpectedly found those fans with you, in the shop.

He looks eager, as if he’s a moment away from jumping on you, but even in his confusion and panic, he still manages to notice you’re struggling, and comes to your help. Jimin takes the tray from your hands, hurrying inside to put it down, all the while continuing to turn his head back to look at you, as if to check your presence.

You follow him inside, closing the door, wondering why your hybrid – with eyes still crusted with sleep and a veritable, adorable bedhead – is more agitated than a mother of four kids, who has risen late and has little time to waste.

“You fell asleep, so I went to prepare us dinner after I was done with the training,” you hear yourself say, trying to justify your absence. You tentatively sit on the couch.

“Yes, yes of course,” he answers promptly, but he appears mollified by your explanation, and he immediately relaxes once he takes his place beside you.

Silence settles once again: on your part, you don’t know how to waddle through the tension in order to start a conversation, and Jimin appears completely fine steaming in the lingering awkwardness. So you watch him start to eat, munching on the passable food you gifted him. At least he’s not grimacing while he gulps down his bites, so you tentatively count it as a win.

But his behaviour doesn’t escape your notice: he keeps glancing at you every few minutes, progressively getting antsier, nevermind the fact that he’s trying to scoot towards you with all the nonchalance he’s able to exert. His efforts are in vain, for the leather material of the sofa squeaks and groans his displeasure each time he fidgets in your direction. And the strangest thing of all is that he keeps twitching his nose: you’d think he’s caught a cold with the amount of sniffing that’s going on.

You’re halfway done with your meal when Jimin quietly slurp down the remaining broth in his bowl and place it down. He sends you another zealous look and then, seems to come to a decision. A blink later, the hybrid slides towards you, closing the distance, before proceeding to rest his head against your shoulder, eyes closed.

You’re getting better at this, after a full day around him, you think, because you freeze for just a couple of moments, before relaxing. You even nudge against him, letting out a breathless laugh.

“Are you still sleepy?” You ask.

“Yep,” Jimin answers you blandly, seeking out your warmth by pushing his face near your neck. You can almost see by a third point perspective the blush that’s raising on your throat, and you certainly feel the heat spreading underneath your skin, lighting you up.

You push a piece of spinach around, wondering how in the world are you supposed to eat when you’ve got someone plastered to your side, breathing in and out against you, nuzzling his head with his soft ears pressed against your jaw.

“So,” you begin, trying to not get distracted by the way Jimin hums to let you know he’s listening. You swear you can feel his soft lips glance your skin. “How was your grocery shopping?”

A lame question. Something that is obviously not really what you’re currently thinking about. You expect him to laugh at you, but he gives a pause.

“It went well,” he says, at last, sounding bashful.

The hybrid doesn’t offer anything else, and you’re left with a vague curiosity. Did manager Lee say something out of line? Did they even talk, or was it just a painful, boring and tiring outing?

Quiet descends once more. In the next ten minutes, you try to finish your meal without disturbing him, a question or two get asked and answered by turn, whenever either of you remember something you wanted to know.

At last, you can’t withstand it anymore.

Jimin’s warm and soft, gentle in the way he still has most of his weight off you, only placing his side, shoulder and head against you. But the prolonged contact starts to be overbearing. He keeps pushing his nose against the hollow of your throat, to then follow a line that snakes towards your ear where, invariably, his pillow-soft lips end up brushing against the lobe. He sighs, he inspires so keenly it seems he’s taking his last breath before taking a plunge in the dark ocean and then, in the last couple of minutes, he started to purr as well.

It’s agony.

“C’mon,” you strain to say, mustering up the courage to get up. Jimin almost slides sideways once you raise, but in a fluid motion, he regains his balance. He looks up at you questioningly, with a petulant pout on his plump lips. He doesn’t look sleepy, at all.

You resist the urge to gulp. “Let’s go home,” you smile at him, offering your hand.

He halts his sulking at a moment notice, promptly capturing your palm against his.

“Mmh, let’s,” he acquiesces.

After spending the whole elevator ride reassuring him you won’t disappear and leave him behind, you briefly separate ways: you go back to the communal kitchen to place what you used in the dishwasher and he goes to retrieve the grocery in your office.

You meet back at the hall, where he insists on carrying it, even if the sleepiness is back and his eyelids are half-closed. “I’m right here, let me do it,” he pleads, so you don’t insist, even if the taxi you called takes its sweet time before arriving.

Perhaps you fell asleep on the journey back, because everything is a blur: you know you must have tipped the taxi driver, you’re pretty sure you greeted the concierge and you definitely also managed to open the door to your flat.

You know that because you’re in the kitchen, surrounded by plastic bags, busy putting away product after product, directing Jimin in what cupboard goes that one thing and scrubbing your eyes to fight against the urge to just fall asleep against the sink.

Usually, you have complete faith in Lee. But the hours of training he scheduled for you did a number on you: you can feel now how sore your muscles are, the numbness seeping out all the energy you’d usually have, because honestly, it’s still quite early in the evening. You’re 24, and you feel like an elderly woman who strained herself too much by taking a lengthy walk.

If tomorrow I wake up with an excruciating back pain…, you ominously think to yourself, while you go in the living room to place the cleaning products on the table, in plain sight. You dare them to disappear.

You give a little stretch, wondering… maybe you could find the time to luxuriate in a bath, before preparing to leave for work. Full of bubbles, with your favourite scents, hot and with classical music coming from the speakers of your phone.

The thought is lovely enough, so with your spirit somewhat restored, you turn back to Jimin. He followed you like a duckling, and now he blinks back at you, tail whishing lazily behind him.

You can’t resist the smile his adorableness calls forth. “Let’s go to sleep early, so we’ll be ready to face the day.”

Jimin walks to you, push forward his hand in a silent gesture, and follows you once you have it clasped in yours. You guide him to his room, already compiling a list in your head of the things left to do before you can rest: brush your teeth, check on the emails, tend an ear on the gossip mill…

“’night, Jiminie,” you tell him, halfheartedly suppressing a yawn. You give his hand a last squeeze and then you let go, walking to your room.

As a human being, your actions can be founded on fallacies. Right now, for example, you are acting on the wrong belief that you’ve done everything you had to do. You ate dinner, returned home in one place where you put things in their places and you bid your flatmate to sleep well, and now you can go back to focus on yourself.

Until yesterday, that would’ve been logical.

But your roommate isn’t an introvert, a temporary guest, wishing for the same things you want, and after such a busy day, half spent away from you a ‘’night, Jiminie’ just isn’t cutting it for him.

He teaches you that lesson at once.

You don’t even manage to open your bedroom’s door, because the moment you go to push the handle down, a palm appears on the doorframe. For a moment you look at it without understanding, because you didn’t even hear his steps, so all you register is: there’s a hand on my door?

A split second later you’re the one almost plastered to your door, trying to comprehend what’s going on. You’re trapped between the solid wood in front of you and the likewise firm body of the cat hybrid from behind. Just like that morning, you feel his breath on the back of your neck, but it seems this isn’t enough: his lips soon follow, brushing the tingling skin, tracing a path to one of your ears.

Deliriously you wonder what’s his deal with your them and the whole of your throat, too. Nevermind your wrists.

Because while he puffs there, nuzzling his head against yours, his other hand sweep down your side, skipping your wristwatch until he reaches your palm, soft fingers stroking your inner wrist as if he’s trying to clean a non-existent stain.

Then in his groggy voice, Jimin whispers to you: “A night isn’t enough. I want you to dream of me all the time.”

He raises the hand he’s got in his hold and you vaguely catch his profile from the corner of your eye when he reaches over your shoulder to kiss the palm. His lips are searing hot against your cold skin, and for a crazy moment, you think he just branded you with them.

The hybrid turns his head, holding your palm against his cheek, wanting you to cup his face. In the dark hallway, all you can see are his hazel eyes, lidded but sharp, pointed right at you. It should be an uncomfortable position (any possibly existing diety be merciful, you were internally complaining about sore muscles just ten minutes and an eternity ago and now–), but the only thing you’re aware of is him.

“Even if you do, even if you manage to think of me and meet me in your dreams, it won’t be enough to catch up to me, you know?” Jimin tells you in an undertone, as if he’s a conspirator sharing dangerous, life-changing secrets. You would compare the feeling to be akin to what a priest in a confessional must experience when he’s hearing the most shocking admissions – but your emotions aren’t quite what a man of faith should endure. “I want to spend all the time with you, with your attention on me. And since you’re such a busy hardworking woman, naps have just got even better for me.”

You’re struggling to follow his sentences, him asking you to discern the meaning behind them is too much. What could make a nap look even better for a cat hybrid? And where do you enter the equation in that?

Jimin nears you, and you swear you feel his pillowy lips brush against your cheek when he goes to whisper in your ear: “There I can be with you.”

“Oh,” you breath out, as if he truly swooped your feet from beneath you and showed the meaning behind a troublesome problem that plagued your existence until then.

He delicately leaves your hand, nuzzles his head a last time against yours and then you feel his chest, his warmth, break away from your back; he leaves you with a sweet, innocent: “Goodnight.”

You don’t even hear him retreating, and you notice he’s gone only when the door of his room opens and closes. While it doesn’t give you any credit, you must admit that you remain there, staring blankly in front of you, for a couple more minutes.

Then, frazzled, almost senseless, you go to your bedroom as well.

Did he do all… that, just because he was dissatisfied with the way you bid him goodnight? Did he want to be reassured you’d dream of him again? Was he just feeling like it? Did it mean anything to him?

You scramble to think back on the list of things to do that was so clear cut in your mind, following its directives numbly. You try not to watch your face in the mirror when you brush your teeth, because yes, your face is on fire, your eyes are shiny as if your soul is grappling to find an outlet to glint through. Your emails would bore you to tears, but there are so many mentioning ‘the new asset’ and ‘the cat hybrid you and Manager Lee acquired’ and ‘legal documents regarding your companion’, that you skim through them at best. Social media are even worse: everywhere you go you find the photos you took with those fans plastered, cut to show only you and Jimin, smiling, holding each other.

You set your alarms and leave your phone to recharge.

Laying in your bed, at barely 10 P.M., the sweet detergent on your soft pyjamas trying to fight off the lingering scent which you’ve come to associate with Jiminie in a day and a half of being acquaintances. Still reeling from the strong emotions he makes you go through, every brush against your hyperaware body that mean so much to you and that maybe for him are less than nothing.

If he’d have been taken in by anyone else, would he have acted the same?

You turn off the lights and curl yourself, bringing the covers up, over your head.

You tell yourself it’s a moot argument: he’s here with you. He just told you, and in a manner that was all but conviction itself, he had dreamt of you all day long, whenever he took a nap. In the gym between busy exercises, sprawled on the nearest bench, when he wasn’t watching you intently. After lunch, when he sat against you on the armchair, saying you didn’t smell gross (that was a fat lie, you can’t imagine otherwise) and purring loudly. Even when you were done with your vocal training and you watched him sleep on the couch, his head tilted back, and you were wondering what he was smiling about, he was dreaming of you.

You groan against your pillow, closing your eyes tight. You’re going to think about that every time you’ll see him sleeping, you just know it.

Did he do it on purpose? Does he want you to wonder, constantly, what’s going on in his head?

He told you he gets random bursts of energy during the night, and you can’t help but wonder if he also gets bolder with his tiredness, if you’re destined to battle against his suaveness every time the sun goes down.

No matter how much you try to force yourself to focus on anything else, it’s an exercise in futility, and you fall asleep still thinking of Jimin.

If you liked it, please Reblog and Comment!

Your support would truly help me and I’d like to hear from you!

Thank you so, so much for reading all that, and for waiting for the update. It took half my life to write it, and while there are some bits that I really love, others seem lacking to my eyes. Even still, I didn't want to overthink too much.

A remainder: English is not my first language, so please tell me if you notice any blatant mistakes. Also, I copied and pasted everything and double-checked, but there might be some words put together where there should be a space in between: please ignore it? I'll re-read the chapter ten more time, eventually, and fix it.

Two things, before I leave you.

Jimin leaves you to have his tour with manager Lee. This you??

Ok, it's not a question, it's a fact. That was you. Can't blame you ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also, the stretching scene should have reminded you of this:

Lastly, the dear, sweet people who asked to be tagged:

@4evahevah @sevenpersona @cloverblogs @thedyingwriter

Thank you, see you soon~ (｡●́‿●̀｡)