#that's all i got happy birthday bitch (affectionate)

[belfry-ghost]

birthday booooy

[autumnywinter]

Filthy Desires - Harper x Reader

TW: Obsessive behavior, doctor/patient relationship, past dubious consent, abusive power dynamics, mentions of hypnosis, male Harper

NSFW! MDNI

Reader is gender neutral + AFAB

You don't know how long you had been here, and you were sure Harper and the rest of the nurses purposefully kept that information from you. Longer than a month, surely. Long enough for the other patients to call you "Harper's bitch", that was for sure.

As offended as you were by the crude nickname they had given you, it was still undeniably true. Harper controlled almost every aspect of your life. Sure, he essentially controlled all the patients' lives as long as they were in his ward, but you were a different case. You got a certain kind of privilege (that's what Harper called it, at least) not afforded to any patient. Your room was always the closest to his office, meaning he could just "stop in and check in on" you any time of any day.

Sometimes, it was a simple chat. He'd ask you how you were, give you a quick peck on the lips, and leave.

Other times, it was more serious sessions. Sessions that went on for far too long and made you extremely exhausted for days afterwards. He hypnotized you into being complacent, dumb, and forgetful, but you knew fully well what he had been doing to you. There were moments he didn't even bother going through hypnosis first. Those times he was obviously more pent up and frustrated, which used to be rare, but now it seemed like he got like that at least once a week.

Occasionally you enjoyed his attention and praise, but the toll it took on you to please him had gotten so mentally taxing that there were days you considered trying to break out or notify the outside world. Unfortunately for you, Harper never let patients use outside technology like cellphones.

As humiliating and invasive as the daily routine was for you, he also showered you with attention you never got outside of the hospital.

"Time for your session," a nurse calmly notified you.

You nodded and walked your normal route to Harper's office. You've memorized the way after having to go there so many times each and every day. Harper sat behind his large oak desk, reading a file on another patient.

"Y/N," Harper greeted. His piercing pink eyes peeked out over the rim of his glasses. He had his straight blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail to keep it from falling into his face while he's working. He raised his hand in the air and made a gesture for the nurse to leave. Once the nurse shut the door behind him, Harper spoke again. "Come sit."

Obedient as ever, you quickly sat yourself on Harper's lap. It had became your usual spot at this point.

Harper peppered gentle, loving kisses along your cheek, jaw, neck, and lips. It was hard to understand anything about the doctor, but one thing he made obvious was he loved kissing you.

When he pulled back, he ran his hand through your hair affectionately. His hand traveled down your torso, rubbing and touching at whatever pleased him. He pressed sloppy wet kisses over your neck and ground his knee against your clothed cunt. You keened and leaned into him, grinding down on his leg in hopes of stimulation. He chuckled darkly, always amused with how needy and desperate you got so quickly.

"Do you know what today is?" he asked in between pecks along your collarbone.

You shook your head.

Harper trailed his finger lightly along your side. "It's your birthday."

For just a split second, you felt happy. But then you put together how long that meant you had been here. Your face fell. Harper hummed, noticing your shift in attitude. His warm, broad hands skimmed over your stomach.

"We've been doing such good work recently, haven't we?" he said, ignoring your sudden dejectedness. Harper was good at shifting topics subtly. You hummed quietly in affirmation. "Then tonight," Harper tilted your jaw so you'd make eye contact with him. "I can give you a special treat for your birthday." He kissed your nose.

"Okay, Doctor Harper," you whispered, leaning into his hold. His strong hands pressed into your sides, encouraging you to keep grinding against his leg. You weren't getting any real stimulation that way, but he loved hearing your whimpers and moans regardless.

You gripped onto the doctor's broad shoulders and arched your back, rolling your hips. Harper watched you with an intent expression on his face.

"What do you want for your special treat, darling?"

"Uh..." Your breathing was getting heavy and he could tell how frustrated you were getting not being able to come from humping his leg. Harper let a hand trail along your torso, stopping to rub your labia through the standard hospital attire you were expected to wear. Your hips shuddered at the indirect touch and a squeaky moan escaped your lips.

"Be descriptive. I can't give it to you if I don't know what you want." Harper rubbed your core faster, encouraged by the high pitched noises and half-formed words coming out of you.

"I-I don't know," you shakily admitted. You just wanted to cum, it didn't matter how at this point.

Harper raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Then would you like to figure it out on my desk?" He didn't even wait for an answer, next thing you knew, he had hoisted you up with a shocking amount of strength. He sat you on the cold wood and made a place for himself by parting your legs open. "So cute, you're soaking already," Harper muttered to himself. He rubbed the dampened fabric between your legs, cooing when you jerked and let out a satisfied gasp.

"Doctor," you whined.

Just as Harper planned on removing your underwear, there was a knock on the door. His usual composed expression was gone, only for a second. He stood up straight to smooth down his hair and fix his tie. "Under the desk."

His tone was soft but stern. You crawled under, sitting on the floor comfortably in between Harper's legs. Harper seated himself in his comfortable, office chair and pulled it in so you would have just enough room.

"Come in," he answered, already back to his professional voice. You sat in the dark beneath the desk and listened to the nurse come in, talking about something related to the medication being stocked low again.

They began exchanging words back and forth, but your mind wasn't on that. It was rather on the obvious sight of his cock straining in his pants right in front of your face. You looked up for any acknowledgement from Harper, but his attention was focused on the nurse.

Without any sense of urgency, your hands slowly trailed up his legs. Harper didn't bat an eye. You played with the buckle, undoing and sliding the belt off. Your fingertips skimmed along his trousers, feeling the shape of his cock with a gentle press and rub. A small sigh left his lips.

Unzipping the zipper, you reached your hand into his trousers and pulled his underwear down just enough to give yourself some freedom to work with. His erection stood tall against his abdomen. Harper glanced down at you momentarily, meeting your eyes right as you were bringing your lips onto the tip of his cock.

His fingers tensed against his pen in his hand but he said nothing.

"Doctor Harper?" The nurse was worried about his sudden shift in focus, which prompted his gaze away from you. "Are you okay?"

"It's fine," Harper answered a bit too quickly. His face was lightly flushed pink and he was trying his best to not give himself away. You enjoyed how swiftly he could lose his composure.

You hollowed out your cheeks and took in the head of his cock, rolling your tongue around to tease the head.

"Are you sure?" the nurse pushed further. You wrapped your lips around Harper and swallowed his cock deeper, inch by inch. A jagged inhale sounded through the office. "Should I go get you a coffee or some water? You don't look very well."

Harper coughed. "That's unnecessary. I- ah -just get back to work. Please. I-I'm busy. Very busy."

As much as you could get annoyed with him, he was cute stuttering like a mess above you. It wasn't a common sight, so naturally you'd want to take advantage of it. You took a slow, teasing drag up his length, stopping just as the tip left your lips. Harper was used to you being needier and greedy by now. Something as simple as a painfully slow blow job threw him for a loop. His hips jerked for the feeling of your hot mouth to be back on him, which you complied.

Once he was sure the door shut behind the nurse, Harper put down his pen, rolled his chair in further, and bucked into your mouth without warning. You sputtered from the intrusion of your throat being filled.

He wrapped his lithe fingers into your hair, holding you in place. Your throat swallowed around the thick length, and Harper shivered from the pleasant feeling. He was frantic to chase his release.

With a shuddering breath, he bucked into you a final time and came, keeping your head pushed down as he did. He looked down at you with a proud gaze. "Make sure to swallow, dear. It's good for you." He freed you from under his desk, still panting. He caressed your cheek once you resurfaced and kissed over your sensitive lips. "Good job."

"It was supposed to be my birthday, and here I was pleasing you," you grumbled.

Harper didn't seem to mind your pouting at all. He glanced at the clock in the top right of the room. "Don't worry, darling, you still didn't tell me what you want for your birthday." Harper's fingers brushed through your hair, straightening any stray hairs and loose strands. "I'm afraid we don't have any more time now, but I could pay you a visit tonight. Would that make you happy?"

Happy wasn't exactly the emotion you'd associate with Harper visiting your room late at night. Yet you nodded. "Can I have some birthday cake, too?" You couldn't recall the last time you had sweets like that. The hospital's version of sweets were fruit cups and yogurt. Harper must've noticed how excited you were at the simple mention of a cake since he smiled, a toothy and genuine smile. You found it a bit hard to believe that Doctor Harper of all people could do such a thing.

"I'll see what I can do."

[anathemaspeaks]

dandelion wishes

character(s): shoto todoroki synopsis: always the bridesmaid, never the bride - isn't that how the saying goes? my name is momo yaoyorozu, and in my case, it's true. word count: 1.3k warning(s): none a/n: not my best work, but here you go anon :) likes, follows, and reblogs are appreciated <3 this is all from momo's point of view.

it happened at my birthday party, a day after i turned 16.

kaminari managed to somehow smuggle booze into the house. still teenagers and drunk off the excitement more than the liquor, someone suggested we play 7 minutes in heaven. everyone cheered in agreement - except bakugou, of course. he opted to stay sober and make sure we don't have too much fun.

after a few uneventful rounds, it was finally my turn to spin the bottle. i wished it would land on shoto. this was my chance to tell him how i feel about him. maybe he'd say something back? well, a girl can dream...right?

my heart hammered in my chest as i gripped the bottle, spinning it on the polished wooden floor. every spin felt like an eternity until it finally landed with a decisive click. i traced the path of the neck, breath catching in my throat as i saw it pointed directly at todoroki. this was it. this was my chance.

we awkwardly shuffled towards the closet, the door creaking shut behind us, the dim light casting shadows on the wall. before i could calm my nerves and speak, todoroki blurted

"listen, about the spin…" his voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost hesitant.

"yeah?" i forced a nonchalant reply, inhaling to try and calm my nerves. he ran a hand through his dual-colored hair, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

"actually, there's someone i... well, someone i kind of like." a sheepish grin tugged at the corner of his lips. it felt like the wind got knocked out of my lungs. my eyes darted around the cramped space, landing on a crumpled magazine lying forgotten on the floor. this was happening. finally.

"oh, cool," i choked out, my voice barely above a whisper, "who is it?" i asked nervously, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

a beat of silence.

"y/n" he mumbled, a shy smile on his lips. the name rang in my ears, shattering my dreams of a chance with shoto. i forced a smile, "oh."

maybe this was for the best.

maybe y/n would make him happy in a way i couldn't, maybe she was what he had wanted all along.

maybe y/n wouldn't have walked out of this closet with a broken heart hidden behind a painted grin.

of course it was her. it made perfect sense. her smile could light up a whole room, kindness radiating from her like sunshine. she was effortlessly beautiful. she was everything i couldn't be. everything i wanted to be. pretty, smart, funny, strong and kind.

how could i ever compete with that? a pang of jealousy, sharp and unwanted, twisted in my gut. i should be happy for them.

and yet the feeling wouldn't leave.

my gaze flickered up to shoto's shy smile, and the way his eyes seemed to light up just at the mere mention of her. a hollow ache settled in my chest, envy so deep it felt like a barbed wire wrapped around my heart.

shoto's turn.

i held my breath, the unsettling feeling in my gut worsening each second. when the bottle stopped spinning, it landed on y/n.

of course it did.

as if tonight could've gotten any worse.

they emerged from the closet looking like a tornado had hit them. clothes askew, hair a mess, and faces flushed with a kind of unspoken ecstasy that left little to guess.

the next day, they walked into class hand-in-hand. it was official.

today marks 2 years since that day.

over this period, they became the textbook definition of the perfect couple. they were disgustingly cute. sneaky, affectionate, glances in the middle of lectures, whispered jokes that erupted in shared laughter, their hands seemingly glued together.

shoto 'resting bitch face' todoroki, weak, a complete loverboy for y/n. he'd wrap his arm casually around her waist, brush stray hairs from her face with a lingering touch, and steal kisses during training breaks. it was a side of him no one had ever seen - a shoto who wore his heart on his sleeve. for her.

here i was, stuck watching their picture-perfect love story unfold, a constant reminder of the confession that will forever remain trapped on my tongue.

we were sprawled across mina's living room floor, empty pizza boxes scattered around like confetti, and a half-eaten bag of chips resting precariously on a mountain of rom-com CDs. the topic, just like a normal beginning to a girls' night, was boys.

"boys are the worst!" mina declared, prompting a chorus of agreement from everyone.

"mine just left his gym socks under the bed again. seriously, how hard is it to use a laundry basket?" uraraka chimed in.

just then, y/n came in from the kitchen with a bag of marshmallows and sat down next to us. well, she wouldn't be participating in the complaining.

"look who finally decided to grace us with her presence," i teased, nudging her playfully.

"so, how are things going with the ice king, anyways?" asked jirou.

she blushed a bit. "oh, the usual. he's amazing, and he's surprisingly..." she trailed off, a sly smile on her face.

"surprisingly...?" mina prompted.

"let's just say his quirk isn't the only thing that's hot and cold."

the room erupted in laughter and whoops for her. i forced a laugh, feeling an all too familiar pang in my stomach.

the conversation continued, everyone chiming in with their recent stories about boys. including y/n. every detail felt like a knife to my heart. 'that should've been me' i thought. i pushed it away. i wouldn't let my jealousy get the best of me.

they all seemed so happy, while i was stuck on the sidelines, yearning to feel their joy. we all fell asleep in that room while watching movies and gossiping, a smile on everyone's tired faces. i still couldn't help but feel a little bitter. but i couldn't let it get the best of me.

now we all have finally graduated. we decided to still meet up every saturday for dinner, and this week, it was at todoroki's. the familiar buzz of anticipation and excitement filled the house as we all talked about our first week after graduating.

then, shoto and y/n walked in hand-in-hand.

"hi everyone!" greeted y/n, smile so bright it was contagious.

"sit wherever you're comfortable, dinner will be ready soon" announced shoto.

"but before that, there's something we have to tell you." she was practically shaking in eagerness.

todoroki cleared his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "we, uh, well…" he fumbled for words, a rare sight for the usually composed half-and-half hero. she squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"we're engaged!" she blurted out, a wide grin on her face.

the air crackled with shock. wide eyes, dropped jaws, and a silence followed the announcement.

"wait, married?!" kaminari finally found his voice, his eyes wide with surprise. "but you guys are only eighteen!"

todoroki chuckled, a sound rarely heard before y/n. "we know," he admitted, a hint of shyness lingering in his voice. "but we knew what we wanted, and well, here we are," he added, a hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

and then, as if a dam had broken, the group erupted. mina squealed, launching herself at y/n in a bone-crushing hug. kirishima gave todoroki a hearty back slap, nearly knocking him over. uraraka, tears welling in her eyes, showered them both with congratulations.

"dumb brats, you're gonna regret this!" yelled bakugou. but i saw him turn away and wipe away a falling tear. both y/n and shoto engulfed him in a hug. he threatened to burn their arms off if they did it again, but the smile on his face was hard to ignore.

congratulations continued, hugs going all around. the surprise announcement had cast a whole new light on their evening. it was a celebration not just of friendship and graduation, but of a love story that had blossomed within the very walls of U.A., a love story we all saw unfold.

married. at eighteen. the words echoed in the hollow space where my confession had died. cheers rained down on them, a cruel confetti shower on my silent tears. my wish for him was as futile as willing a dandelion's wispy white petals not to fly away with the wind.

they were a love story written in stolen glances and secret touches, a masterpiece i could only watch unfold from the sidelines - a happy ever after that couldn't be mine.

to the anon who requested this, i know you wanted it to be more angsty so i tried to make it as vengeful as i could, i hope you like it! <3 (i accidentally deleted the ask I'M SO SORRY)

please send in requests everyone 🫶

[eddiernunson]

Really Drives Me Mad | Older!Eddie x Fem!Reader | 18+

Prev Part l Master List |

Word Count: 10k

A SPECIAL HAPPY BIRTHDAY POST. (I’m 28 y’all)

Chapter contains: brief pregnant!reader, babies/kids…this is like a lil collection of blurbs. I have some head canons about each OC I can post if you’d like xoxo

I had ideas about their kids for ages, lol. This crazy lil family is chaotic

Still thank you to @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you and @bebe07011 for without you two this fic wouldn’t nearly be this good

Third trimester is a bitch. I barely have the bandwidth to write lately. I hope you enjoy

Two pink little lines stare back at you as Eddie turns the shower on, completely oblivious to the manic state you’re in.  

He offers you to join him, a temptation you decline with an intense amount of reluctance. You just claim you need your own bed, which was true.  

Eddie missed four weeks of work while you were on your luxe honeymoon, which means he now has several fires to put out. It keeps him busy for the week, making the doctor’s appointments and blood work you do that much easier when he passes right out on his couch at the end of his long days.  

The following week, knowing you're pregnant but not being able to tell him is pure torture. It doesn't help that for some odd reason Eddie seems more lovey, more affectionate. Your first instinct is to chalk it up to your newlywed status, but his affection feels different, the way his arms wrap around you each morning to wake you up, his gentle voice low in your ear. It's driving you up a wall not being able to share your secret with him.  

He seems to consistently have a hard time letting you go to leave for work (not that you’re complaining.) Though eventually you have to practically push him out the door.   

The ultrasound is nearly dull, the implantation in question is only a bundle of cells, but once you get a photo from the tech at the end of the appointment, it’s the very thing you needed to tell Eddie.  

After another early night of falling asleep you empty the face of the fridge, yanking every magnet off as you place the sonogram on the silver surface with a pink heart magnet right at his eye level.

-  

Eddie wakes in the middle of the night, a sudden urge to rise hitting him out of nowhere. His arm tightens around your waist, admiring your pretty face as he kisses your cheek. Your face falters only the littlest bit, twitching your muscles to shake off the tickle of his stubble.   

He finds himself starving, craving something only a feral racoon would also be satisfied with. He rubs his eyes as he walks down the steps. Sometimes he thinks he’s going to see you back in the kitchen chair in the dress and bathing suit, Dylan searching manically for a parking pass as if Eddie has imagined this whole dream scenario. Your love is just too good not to think he’d made it all up at times. He smiles to himself as he turns on the stove light, turning to the fridge for a snack.   

He feels frozen by the blank fridge at first, wondering where all the magnets got to. The black and white image staring him dead in the face suddenly registers, the heart shaped magnet falling to the floor as he rushes to pick it up to make sure his tired eyes aren’t fucking with him. They bulge out of his head when the significance of the photo occurs to him, and the hunger that woke him up seems to vanish.

His long legs take the stairs two and three at a time as he rushes back to you, hurling himself beneath the covers.   

The cold of his arms startles you, a gasp leaving your lips from the shock as you abruptly awoke. “Hmm?”  

“Are you fucking pregnant, sweetheart?” His eyes are unbearably soft, melted pools of milk chocolate staring intently at you.

A burst of sleepy giggles leaves your mouth, turning your body so you don't have to crane your neck. “You got up early.” You comment, weaving your fingers into his curls.   

“Skip the pleasantries, love.” He dismisses, scooping his arms beneath your back. “Are you fucking pregnant?”   

You pull him in for a kiss, your legs wrapping around his hips to pull him down against you. “What’s the sonogram tell you?”    

He chuckles against your lips, his thumbs swaying against your smiling cheeks. “You’re a little shit, you know that?” You nod, absentmindedly playing with his curls. “Fuck, I’m so excited right now, baby.”   

“Really?” You ask him, grinning.   

“I just found out my wife is having my baby. Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks, rutting his hips against yours desperately. “I’m rock hard, sweets.”   

Lucky for you and him, you opted for a pair of tiny panties and a t-shirt to bed, feeling his hardened cock against the thin lace fabric of your panties. Your fingers fumble to his boxers, hurriedly pushing them down his hips. “Then fuck me.”   

Eddie gently pulls the fabric aside, exposing it as his head perfectly brushes against your entrance. “God, my girl is soaked for me, ain’t she?”   

Your thighs tighten around his hips, jaw dropping as he teases you. “Want you, please, Ed.” Your eyes squeeze shut, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against you 

He pushes in, arms wrapping themselves around your torso. “Oh my god you’re having my fucking baby,” Eddie mumbles, face curling into your neck. “Gonna see your stomach all big when you’re carrying my baby, sweets, and you’ll be even hotter than you are now. Which I thought was impossible.”   

No words come to mind, mouth open and gasping at the way he moves in you. The cotton of your shirt is too hot, your hands shakily grabbing at the fabric to take it off. Eddie admires the sight he sees as your piqued nipples fall out of his faded black t-shirt, his eyes glazed over as he stares down at them. A moth drawn to the light, he dives into one, curling his tongue around the nipple with the perfect mix of teeth, pulling little mewls from you.  

“Fuck, we’re gonna be the happiest little family,” he chokes, kissing from your breast up to your neck, his voice filled with emotion.  

“Love you,” you sigh, gasping into his open mouth as his hips hit you harder.  

Eddie smiles, a wicked little grin as his hand curves over the swell of your tummy, thumb petting it gently.  

“Hold on to me, sweetheart. Hold on to your baby daddy,” you grin the line, wonderfully cheesy, but Eddie feels the way you tighten around him. Your arms curl around his back, pulling his body against yours.  

“Eddie, make me cum, please.” 

“Hold on, baby, I’m almost there, hold on,” he stutters, his deep voice starting to falter. His lips bend down to your ear, gasping desperately, bordering on whining. “Fuck– cum with me.”  

His lips wrap around yours, delicately connecting his tongue with yours as his hips stutter a final time, the little moans vibrating against your lips as he fills you up. As you collapse on the bed, sweaty bodies intertwined, he spends the twenty minutes until he falls asleep cooing, whispering in your ear how excited he is.  

You wake up the same way, with rounds two and three before he begrudgingly trudges off to work. 

- 

The sun accounts as a natural alarm clock as Dylan stretches his limbs wide, turning to face his girlfriend. His arm falls over Maya’s form, pulling her in as he starts to wake up. “Morning, Dylan,” she whispers, her pink lips spreading into a smile.  

He pulls her back against his stomach, hiking his legs under hers. “Mornin’.”  

She hums as he kisses the back of her neck, giggling as he takes a deep inhale of her shampoo. “You work today?”  

“No,” Dylan answers, caressing the strip of her exposed skin with his thumb. “I am seeing my dad today.”  

She smirks, turning to face him. “And your stepmom?” Dylan grits his teeth, tickling her stomach until she begs him to stop, hunching over the arm around her. “Okay, I’m sorry!”    

“Mmhm. I’m telling them, did you want to join me?”  

Maya squishes her face, seemingly debating on pros and cons. “I’m gonna pass on that, respectfully.” She can feel the questioning look Dylan gives her. “I have a long shift today, and I am exhausted.”  

“Next time, I’m dragging you with me,” Dylan insists, squeezing with his arms wrapped around her.  

“I’m counting on it.”  

As soon as Dylan opens the door, he listens in, waiting for a sound that never comes. Good, he waited long enough to come. He wanders into the kitchen, meeting his dad drinking orange juice straight from the carton. “Dad?”  

His dad freezes, removing the spout from his mouth, and wipes his face hurriedly. “Hey bud.”  

Dylan raises his eyebrow at him, pointedly glancing to the carton and back to him.  

“Don’t tell my wife.”  

Dylan smirks, rolling his eyes. “Speaking of the devil, where is she?”  

“Upstairs.”  

As if your ears are burning, the two men’s ears pick up the particular sound of someone coming down the stairs. Eddie prays you come downstairs with some clothes on. Your face lights up when you see Dylan, welcoming him into your arms without a second thought. “Dylan!” The familiarity you two share is still new, but wrapping him in a hug is like second nature at this point. “What brings you into this part of the world?”  

You leave the embrace, backing straight into Eddie’s arm. “Actually, I have some news I wanna share with you guys.”  

Eddie’s hand tightens around your arm, he’s mentioned Dylan talking about proposing last month, and this news felt right around the corner. He feigns ignorance, innocently asking, “Oh, what news would that be?”  

Dylan’s cheeks bloom in red, glancing down to his feet sheepishly. You just hoped you wouldn’t have to travel to a destination wedding while largely pregnant. “Uh, we–or, Maya,” he clears his throat, a laugh stuttering through it, “Maya’s pregnant.”  

The first thing you do is glance at your husband, both sporting wide eyes and slacked jaws. To say you’re surprised is a grand understatement.  

“Not the news you were expecting?” Dylan asks, watching the two of you share a silent conversation.  

In sync, the two of you switch back to him, twin smiles on your faces. Dylan had no idea what either of the faces in front of him could possibly mean, and there’s a part of him that wonders if this is happy news for either of you.  

“Um, no, actually,” Eddie barely holds back the sound of laughter in his voice. “That’s, that’s fantastic news, Dyl.” Truly, fantastic news. Eddie has been looking forward to being a biker grandfather since Dylan showed interest in being a father.  

You smirk, leaning into his shoulder. “How far along is she?”  

“Uh, 8 weeks, or so,” Dylan answers, squishing up his face comically.  

“Oh wow, so a week behind me, then,” you say nonchalantly, nodding at Eddie.  

“Wait, what?” Dylan asks, making sure he understood that correctly.  

You giggle, nodding as you sit your head in Eddie’s neck. “Yeah, I’m pregnant too, ironically enough.”  

Eddie leans into your ear, “So you’re gonna be a mom and a grandma in the same year…”  

Your eyes widen. “To think, I was just getting used to the idea of being a mom.” You lean back, meeting your husband’s pretty brown eyes. “Are we sure the kid’s gonna call me grandma?”  

Dylan picks up the conversation right away. “I mean, unless we’re gonna be completely honest with them, it doesn't make sense otherwise. You’re grandpa’s wife, therefore grandma.”  

Am I mom, then, too? You think to yourself, knowing you’ll point it out later. Your stomach rumbles, turning around to the counter to start making a breakfast of sorts. Your eyes hit the open orange juice jug and the lack of cup. “Did you drink straight out of the carton, again, mister?”  

Eddie avoids your eyes, looking at his son. “Hey, I didn’t say anything,” he surrenders, having a seat at the island.  

“How’s Maya been handling the pregnancy so far?” you ask, grabbing a pan from under the cupboards. “Because morning sickness is no joke.” You pause, leaning on the counter. “Not just in the morning, either.”  

“I think it’s some nausea, a bit of acid reflux, but to my knowledge she hasn’t been sick,” Dylan says, taking out his phone to text Maya about the news.  

“Bitch,” you mutter, the tone in your voice clear you’re joking. “We can’t all be so lucky. Eggs?”  

Dylan nods, grinning at the text Maya shoots back. “So dad, you’re gonna have a kid and a grandkid the same age as each other?”  

Eddie shrugs, taking another large sip from the carton. “Since my girl showed up, my life hasn’t been normal, and this just means it will never be normal again.”  

“You’re welcome,” Dylan laughs, rolling his eyes at the exasperated look you shoot at him.  

- 

Dylan’s phone buzzes, glancing at the unknown number as Maya fades in the middle of her sentence. “One minute, babe, I’m expecting a call from the interview I just did last week. Dylan Munson, speaking.”  

“Oh, Dyl-pickle, you sound so big!” Only one person has ever called Dylan that. He gulps, the sound of her voice bringing up old, sore emotions.

“Brooke. W-why are you calling me?”  

“Brooke? C’mon, I’m your mom, sweetheart,” she whines, her voice the sound of nails on a chalkboard.  

“Really, are you?” Dylan asks, getting up from the bed and starting to pace the hallway, his anger already building. “Ok, what college did I go to?” Silence. “What did I major in? What year did I graduate high school? When did I have my first kiss? Who’s my current girlfriend? What’s my best friend’s name? What sort of vehicle do I drive?”  

She doesn’t answer a single question, instead giving stuttered empty answers. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer any of that… We haven’t exactly been talking for the last fifteen years.” She says, somewhat accusatory.

Dylan sighs, rubbing his face frustratedly. “What, your phone didn’t work all those years?”  

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m not the only one who had a phone,” she protests, sounding incredibly defensive. 

“Yeah, well, you also weren’t a child for 8 of those years who begged his dad for his mom to come to one thing that was important to him,” Dylan retaliated, angry at her gaslighting. “My dad had your number, always left voicemails inviting you to my soccer games, to award ceremonies, to my birthdays, and you never answered a single call, let alone showed up.”  

“I’m sorry, Dylan, I am, but I was young then, you can’t blame me for wanting a fresh start.” 

“Actually, I can,” Dylan answers, now done with this conversation. “You had eight years to be a mom before I finally gave up on you. You don’t get to pick and choose when to be my mom, now.”    

“I’m sorry that hurt your feelings, Dyl. But I have two boys, and they really want to meet their older brother. Would you come down for lunch one day?”  

He nods, knowing that this sudden need to be a mom again wasn’t going to come for free. “No. I have no interest in being your life. Not since the day I turned 18.”  

“C’mon, Dyl–” 

“No, mom–Brooke. No. Don’t call me again, please. I need to go now.”  

She starts another sentence, but Dylan hangs up on her before he hears it. When he walks into the bedroom he shares with his girlfriend, he crawls into the bed next to her, feeling like the ten year old whose life got torn apart.  

It looks like Brooke still has that uncanny talent for making everything about her.  

- 

Eddie sits in his office, a small room decorated with frames filled with the faces of those he loves and papers strewn around the desk. He’s going over the receipts and payments, and silently regrets not having hired an accountant by now, but he’s far too stubborn to admit it.  

There’s a knock on the door and Eddie looks up in relief. Please, let there be a disgruntled customer to save him from the numbers. “Come on in!”  

Connor, one of the new apprentices he hired only a few months ago comes in, looking timid. The first few months he has a new hire they’re usually shy, and when their self confidence in their ability to do their job kicks in, Eddie truly starts to miss it. “Uh, hey, boss, there’s a client out there who wants to speak to you.”  

Eddie chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he rests his feet on his desk. “Don’t, don’t call me boss. What do they want?” 

Connor screws up his face. “Uh, I forgot to ask.”  

“Always ask, man. Tell them I’ll be right out.”  

“Alright, I’ll tell her.” Eddie sighs in relief, women tend to be more understanding.  

“Hey, send in Joe, will ya?”  

“On it!”  

Joe, a man who’s worked for Eddie for 20 years, older by ten years, walks into the office just a moment later. “What’s up, Ed?”  

“Give the lady a talk, will ya?” Eddie asks, scratching the itch on his right forearm. “Ask her what she wants.” Joe, tall, dark, and quiet, nods and shuts the door.  

He’s back in the office in seconds. The door’s loose knob has barely clicked shut before it’s abruptly opened again. “That fast?”  

Joe shakes his head, his eyes wide with a grimace on his face. “Uh, no, it’s…it’s Brooke.”  

Eddie scrunches his face up. “Brooke, like…Brooke?”  

“Yeah. You want me to–” 

“No it’s okay, I got it,” Eddie insists, a pit forming in the depths of his stomach. He rubs his face tiredly, fully unprepared to deal with this. 

“Dude, you sure?” He asks, having been with Eddie through the divorce.  

“Seriously, I got it. Thanks, man.”  

Eddie gets up from his desk, catching the eyes of his long-time employees on his way to the entrance of the garage. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.  

There she stands, looking around the garage holding her purse with two hands. She’s dressed like one of those Instagram moms, high waisted jeans with a loose blouse tucked in under a long coat. Her eyes land on him, her face lighting up as she exclaims, “Wow, the garage looks great!” 

“Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, sighing. “Is there a particular reason for…”  

Brooke smiles, and Eddie could almost see a genuine human behind the mask. “Um, do you mind if we go into your office?”  

Eddie raises his brows, perplexed. “I really don’t see the necessity for it.”  

“It’s not really a conversation to have in front of the guys, Eds,” Brooke comments, shuffling her feet as she crosses her arms.  

Eddie winces at the nickname she calls him. She really doesn’t know him well enough to call him such anymore. The audacity of it astounds him. “I’m not Eds to you…and my office holds things that are precious to me, that I honestly want to keep out of this conversation.”  

“Like I haven’t already seen pictures of your little wife,” Brooke grimaces, her tone switching from sweet to condescending in a split second, her eyes rolling. “Congrats on that, or whatever.”  

Eddie blinks, too exhausted to argue. “Alright, come on.”  

It's not like Brooke hasn’t been in his office before, Eddie thinks, they were happily married, after all. She looks around at the changes, her eyes seemingly fixated on where photos of Dylan’s previous achievements are proudly displayed. “Wow, he looks just like you,” Brooke mutters, a look on her face that Eddie can’t quite place.  

Eddie assessed the bulletin, Dylan’s graduation, first school dance, the Munsons spending a weekend at the Harrington’s, it certainly spelled out to her what she missed out on.  

He clears his throat, quietly asking for her to continue. “Right, um, I was wondering if you could talk to our son.” 

“Our son?” Eddie asks, barely holding back his laughter. “Last time I checked you said he was my son.”  

Brooke ignores it, faltering in her seat. “I tried calling him last week, but he shut me down.”  

“What do you need me to talk to him about exactly?” Eddie leans against his desk, his hands gripping the edge.

Brooke blinks, tilting her head. “When did you cut your hair?”  

“Irrelevant. What do you need me to talk to him about?” Eddie enunciates, already feeling the exhaustion of her mere soul sucking presence.

“My sons are asking questions about him, and they would like to meet him.” She inhales, as if preparing herself for what she was about to say, “I would love to reconnect with both of you, honestly.” 

Like an anvil, Eddie feels his stomach pull him all the way down into the floor. The silence she’s given him and Dylan for the last fifteen years has been stable, reliable even. The most reliable thing about her. This is turning off the road into a ditch with nothing to instigate it. “What did he say?”  

“Uh, he had no interest in it,” Brooke shrugs, leaning back in her seat.  

Eddie nods, having expected it. “Brooke, those pictures on the wall? My son spent so much time begging me to call and get you to at least one event, one time just to show that you still cared about him.” He pauses, watching her avoid his eyes. “I left dozens of voicemails in your inbox, and I know it was your inbox, because I remember the day it went from Munson to Prescott. I begged you to show up. Just once. The last time I did was for his graduation, but by then I had stopped telling him.”  

“He told our lawyers and the judge he wanted nothing to do with me. Forgive me if I thought he was telling the truth,” Brooke huffs, her voice sounding defensive.  

“He was a child, Brooke!” Eddie deadpans, narrowing his eyes. “A child hurt by his mother’s actions tearing apart his happy family. Staying with the stable parent was probably the more appealing option.” He scratches at the stubble on his face, glancing over to the sonogram sitting on his desk. He’d hoped Brooke hadn’t caught wind of that news, yet. “At first, he was really hurt, but after a while, he just wanted his mom. Who never showed up.” 

“Well, I might be a little late, but doesn’t it count for something that I’m trying, now?” She asks, folding her arms across her chest. 

“I think it counts more that he’s about to be a father and he has no interest in including you in his kid’s life.”  

Her eyes bug right out of her head. “Wait, what?”  

“Mmhm. Seems he’d rather give what was supposed to be your title to someone he’s known for less than a year.” Eddie flickers to the photo of you he has framed, a portrait of you surrounded by the sunset in your wedding dress. “You had eight years, Brooke. Eight. You don’t get to decide to be a parent when it’s convenient for you. I never had that luxury. I had to pick myself and my son up and find a way to get through it emotionally without falling apart at the seams.”  

She seems to start talking, but Eddie is on a roll. “I finally feel like I’m living my life, and not just surviving. If you reached out five years ago, I probably would’ve said yes. I even had a low enough self-esteem to hope it would mean something more…but now I have this woman, this beautiful person who showed me how much she believes I’m worth, showed me how much I am worth. Brooke, no offense, but when I look back on it, especially comparing the two, you treated me like shit.”  

“Uh, okay,” Brooke mutters, holding her hand out. “I did not treat you like shit.”  

“You never stuck up for me with your parents, forced me to do things I was uncomfortable with all the time, gave ‘our’ son’s teachers hell all the time, and, oh yeah, left me for the person you told me not to worry about. So, no I will not be talking to my son. If he comes to the conclusion to reconnect with you, then fine. But I will not be participating.”  

“Wow, you’re being harsh.” Brooke complains, grimacing. “Eddie, I was young. I made a few stupid decisions.”  

“You know, my wife is a bit young. Somehow, she already knows not to act like a stone cold cunt.”  Brooke stutters through an empty response, completely rendered speechless. “I think we’re done here.”  

“I’m not done!”  

“Well, I suggest you be by the time my pregnant wife gets here, because she’s not your biggest fan.” It gives him the utmost satisfaction to start looking through the papers. He glances back up to her expectant expression. “Safe travels back to Boston, hmm?”  

Eddie swears the smile on your face in the photo of you grows, glad the backbone he needed seems to have finally grown. “You’re not going to even–”  

“No. I’m not. I’m done here, Brooke. Give Kevin my condolences, yeah?”  

Brooke nods, reluctantly understanding she wasn’t going to get what she wanted. Eddie had indeed grown the self-confidence she never saw when she was with him. “Condolences?” 

“Yeah, for still being stuck with you. Close the door on your way out.”  

Brooke’s nostrils flare, her jaw locking. She turns around without another word, the slam of the door echoing through the garage as she storms out, every click of her heel enunciated.  

Moments later, Joe pops through the door. “Everything, ok, Ed?”  

Eddie looks up, his dimples pronounced on his face. “Oh just, peachy, Joe. Mind if I take off for the rest of the day?”  

“I would be concerned if you didn’t, man.”  

- 

The ringing of your phone stirs you from your slumber, having passed out on the couch mid snack. An app you downloaded on your phone for the pregnancy said the first trimester would have you feeling quite sleepy, and you didn’t believe it until you find yourself constantly falling asleep during your off days, and exhausted at work when you really shouldn’t be.  

Your sister’s name lights up the screen, and the quick assessment of the movie tells you you’ve been asleep for at least forty-five minutes. “Hey, Viti.”  

“Hey, sis,” she greets, an airy tone in her voice. “Sounds like you just woke up.”  

You haven’t broken the news to your family, yet, waiting to present the information in the form of a present next time you and Eddie make your way over to your parents’ house. “Had an afternoon siesta,” you sigh, watching the movie you’re tempted to restart. The twist of Carlisle’s death just isn’t the same if you don’t build up to it. “What’s up?” 

She sighs, a habit you’re all too familiar with. “Spit it out.”  

“Okay,” she starts, gaining her courage. “Me and Arlo got together the night of your wedding.”  

If you were attempting to get rid of any sense of sleep, it disappeared within a second. The information takes a second to register, eyes darting around the living room filled with wrappers you have yet to throw out. “Harrington?”  

She laughs, probably expecting a much worse answer. “Do you know any other Arlos?”  

“Guess not.” You pet the bangs in your eyes away from your face, trying to remind yourself of the look on your baby sister’s face when she was slow dancing with him. “Ok. How did it happen?” 

“You’re okay with this?” She asks, your heart melting at how little her voice sounds.  

“It was never my choice, Vi,” you answer, using the remote to restart the movie. “If you like him and trust him, then, yeah, I’m okay with it. So how did it happen? Tell me all about it. But if you’ve slept with him, then maybe not all about it,” You chuckle. Viti sighs exasperatedly and you can practically hear her eyes roll through the phone.

“Um, so we were kind of flirting a lot after the family dinner. I thought he was just being nice, but I was willing to be his friend. It got a bit more intense at the wedding, and he asked me to dance…”  

“I saw,” you admit, granted you only saw because Eddie pointed it out to you. “What happened after that?”  

You can hear the smile on her face. “He led me to a hallway, and then we went to the hotel room I was staying in…” She trails off sheepishly. Oh, that's all you need to know.  

“Damn, girl!” you laugh, opting to push away the mental image and simply be your sister's friend right now.  

“We went to dinner last week,” she says, a giggle laced through her sentence. “I really, really like him.”  

It had to be Arlo Harrington. “Then I’m really, really happy for you. Have you told everyone else yet?”  

“You’re the last to know, to be honest. I think Eddie even knows at this point.” You roll your eyes, because of course that’s why he was so peculiar this morning.  

“Just because I don’t necessarily approve of the choice of boy doesn’t mean I won’t be happy for you. Plus, I could get used to him, after all, Steve isn’t so bad.” That’s a damn lie, Steve Harrington has become one of your favorite people. “Tell me you got out of the hotel room before mom and dad discovered you.”  

“We heard them coming down the hall…” she says, giggling. “We were dressed as they were about to come in the door. Luckily, they were both pretty drunk, so they didn’t really catch on to what was happening. Well, until the next morning at brunch, I guess.”  

Note, send a text to your mom asking about what her perspective was, because there’s a chance she knew more than she let on. You think to yourself.

“Anyway, four weeks in Cancun. Spare me the dirty details but tell me all about it,” she giggles, moving the phone away from her face, “shut up, stop, shut up!’ 

“Let me guess. Arlo?”  

A burst of giggles runs through her body and you can hear the smile on her face. “Maybe,”

“You couldn’t wait until you were alone?”  

“She’s not really alone all that much these days,” Arlo’s voice rings out. You can picture the smug smirk on his face.  

“Arlo!” She chides him, and yeah, this might not be so bad, you decide.  

“I’m gonna let you two go,” you offer, dismissing any protests she let out. “Also, without the dirty details there’s not much of the honeymoon to tell. Well, except one thing.”  

“What?” 

“You'll have someone new to meet in seven months!”  

“No way!” 

- 

If there’s one thing you know, it’s Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years is the song for the last credit scene of the Twilight Series. As each character is shown with the corresponding credit, it gets closer and closer to the main cast.  

It might just be the hormones, but this round of credits just seems to hit differently, tears spilling down your cheeks as it gets to the Cullen family. The front door to the house slams shut, announcing the arrival of your husband. Odd, he’s about three hours early.  

The weight of the cushion next to you sinks down with a comforting arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your head falls easily into his embrace, curling into his lap as you sniffle. It’s ridiculous, the irrational reaction that takes over you, but damn do the editors know how to elicit a reaction out of the audience.  

His hand pets your shoulder, kissing your forehead. “You crying at Twilight?”  

You nod, furrowing your eyebrows. “Lose the smug attitude, mister. This is your doing.”  

He laughs under his breath, petting your hair. “Hmm, that’s not how I remember our honeymoon.”  

You tilt your head back to look at his face, fretting at the curls that are starting to resemble closer to a mullet. “Just because I begged for your babies does not mean you had to listen to me.”  

He rolls his eyes, leaning in to place a kiss on your lips that takes the breath out from your lungs. As he backs away, he hums with a peculiar look on his face. “What’s on your mind?” You ask, your brows knitting together.

Eddie sighs, petting the bare skin exposed on your hip. “Minor Brooke update, today.”  

Your brows instinctively rise, feeling every little muscle in your face tense up. “Oh?” 

“Yup. Are you interested?”  

You close your eyes, asking any entity out there listening for a lick of patience. “You piqued my interest. Lay it on me.”  

Eddie can’t beat around the bush, or he would never say it. “She came into my work today.” He pauses, allowing you to absorb the information before continuing. “Requesting that I convince Dylan to…let her back into his life, so to say.” You squint, remembering the few times that Dylan had confessed about his mom to you, always finishing by claiming he wants nothing to do with her and never will.  

“Yeah, good luck with that,” you comment, watching his eyes flicker back and forth between yours.  

“She reached out to him last week and when he refused, I guess the next most logical step was to drive the six hours from Boston and corner me at work.” Your teeth grit, angry at the fucking gall that fills Brooke whatever-the-fuck her last name is. God forbid Steve or Eddie ever accidentally tell you what it is, because the day it comes her inbox will be flooded with just a little piece of your mind, and she'll be lucky if profanities are the worst things you say.

“What are you thinking?” He asks, having watched your face move through the storm of emotions.  

“I was thinking that I fucking hate your ex-wife and if she has no haters then I’m dead,” you answer, dead panning.  

“I love you,” he sighs, tugging you in against his chest. “Are you hungry?”  

You look at the wrappers decorating the mahogany coffee table, “Surprisingly yes.”  

“Lets get a real meal in you, shall we?”  

- 

Eddie is present at every doctor's appointment, every ultrasound, birthing class, and even at 20 weeks, when you were inexplicably spotting, stayed with you throughout the 7 hour wait at the ER. He certainly helped you hide from the embarrassment of the doctor explaining the bleeding seemed to be brought on by intercourse and to start being a bit more careful.  

Only one time does a health care worker mistake Eddie for being your father, a mistake quickly fixed at the death glare he gives her. You don’t know how, as you look nothing alike and he has been doting on you too affectionately to be a dad, but you can’t help teasing him by calling him daddy as soon as she leaves the room. 

Well, that’s a lie.  

There is one other time he’s mistaken for your father, running into the maternity ward and anxiously stating your name to the front desk of labor nurses. The head nurse, a woman bearing silver streaks in her hair, calmly tells him to relax and sit down, only the baby’s father is allowed in the room with patients.  

“Well you better take me to my wife, then,” he deadpans, his eyes harsh enough to shoot daggers if it were physically possible. 

She stutters through her response. “Oh, you-you’re her husband? I’m so sorry I assumed–my mistake, she’s in the third door on the left.”  

He rushes to the door, ignoring her last pleas for forgiveness. He was far too busy focusing on how he knew he shouldn’t have gone into work when he knew you were due to go into labor any day now. He knew he should've told them to ask Joe for the solution, as he was basically acting owner while he was away.  

When he bursts through the door, you’re sat on the bed in the room with Bethany petting your face as you push through a particularly hard contraction.  

He waits and watches anxiously for you to get through it before announcing his arrival. As soon as your eyes land on him he sees your face crumple in relief and your hands reach out for him. “Baby,” you whine, seeking the comfort of his shampoo and cologne.  

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, planting a big kiss on the hand that was reached out. “Thank you so much, Bethany, for taking her.”  

She shrugs, dismissing his over exaggerated gratitude. “She’s been a champ. Let me know if you two need anything.”  

Eddie pets your hair, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. “How’ve you been, baby?”  

“Only been an hour, and I am so over labor,” you whine, smiling pathetically. “Thanks for coming so fast.”  

Eddie was surprised he didn’t get pulled over, going 90 down the freeway. He turned a 20 minute drive into 8. “Made any progress?” 

“I’m only one centimeter dilated. We could be here for a while.” 

“I’m here every minute,” he says, grabbing a chair to sit by your bed. “I believe in you. We’ll listen to Taylor, listen to a smutty audio book, watch a true crime series, whatever you want, baby.”  

- 

True to his word, he allowed you to blast your Faves Spotify playlist, watched a few episodes of 48 Hours with you, and even sat with you as he let you play with the makeup you had packed in your hospital bag on his face.  

You made him look like a Captain Jack Sparrow, giggling as he animatedly talks in a pirate voice. The best thing about Eddie being there is that he wards off your parents and others who wish to visit you in your labor and acts as your advocate when the nurse is too rough with you and requests a new nurse immediately. Well, and his presence alone puts you at ease, of course.  

It feels like forever, but you’re eight centimeters dilated when a familiar face walks down the hall, passing his father as he carries the millionth cup of ice chips you requested. “Bud! Did someone text you about–” 

“She told me when Bethany was driving her to the hospital, but that’s actually not why we’re here,” Dylan sheepishly admits, his shoulders shrugging up to his ears as a pink blooms across his cheeks.  

“We?” Eddie catches on, blinking. “Is Maya also..?” 

“Yeah, we got here about three hours ago,” he squinted one eye comically, crossing his arms. “She’s about halfway there, now I think.”  

“Wow she’s progressing a lot faster than we did,” Eddie comments, it taking you far more than three hours to get to five centimeters.  

“It would be ironic wouldn’t it, if they had the same birthday?”  

“Irony is one word for it,” Dylan chuckles. “My girlfriend asked for ice chips about eight minutes ago, and she is not patient, so I’m going to get back to it.” 

“Let us know any updates, won’t you?”  

“I bet my kid will be born before yours,” Dylan answers, only somewhat joking. 

“Oh, you’re on, dude.”  

- 

As nurses and the doctor rushes around you, frantically assessing the baby while helping you with the afterbirth, birthing the placenta and ridding the bodily fluids that came out with the infant. Eddie cut the cord, watching carefully as the nurses quickly washed his newborn son off.  

He’s simultaneously whispering sweet nothings against your cheek, how proud he is of you, describing your son’s dark hair, his little mouth opening as the nurse's hand gently washes it. “Did so good, baby, so good, I’m so fucking proud of you.”  

“Is he okay?” You whisper, eyes half open as you stare up at your husband’s brown ones. “J-Josh, is he okay?”  

Eddie knows exactly what you’re asking, making sure his limbs are working, that he looks healthy, that the nurses don’t look too concerned about their results. He can’t help but answer, “He’s perfect.”  

Your favorite nurse, the one who got assigned after Eddie demanded it, brings him over swaddled in a hospital blanket and tucks him into your arms. The hormones and adrenaline overwhelm you as you stare at his face, selfishly grateful he looks just like his father, happily staring at the little button nose.  

“I love you,” when you stare up at your husband, you’re expecting his eyes to also be planted on the newest member of the little family. Instead they’re shiny and planted on you, his expression drenched in pure love.  

“I love you,” you sigh, leaning in for a sweet kiss. “He’s so perfect.”  

“I fucking love you so much.” 

The love fest eventually dies down, all the medical aides surrounding you finishing up and leaving the room as they steal one last glance at the happy little family.  

You’re lost in your own little world when Dylan runs in, seeing the little addition sat on your chest. Eddie looks up to face Dylan dressed in a hospital gown and a hairnet. His face is lit up with the same joy as the room is filled with. “You wanna meet your grandson?”  

Eddie nods, quickly stopped by his wife still lying on the bed sitting in the afterglow. “Go,” you insist, petting at the soft hair on your son. “Say hi for me.”  

He smiles, placing a gentle kiss on your knotted hair, followed by his newborn. “Be right back.”  

On the way over to the emergency surgery room Dylan explains that the umbilical cord ended up twisted around his son’s neck and they took Maya straight into an emergency C-Section. He sat with his girlfriend as they emptied the contents of her abdomen to allow the newest Munson to come into the world.  

Eddie asked several times to make sure it was okay if her father in law, her boyfriend’s father, to go into a room where she is this vulnerable. Dylan insisted that she said it was fine and since Eddie was here for the birth of his son it would be cool for him to meet his grandson, too, within the same half hour.  

Miraculously, after getting in his own scrubs, Eddie wanders in with Dylan as Maya is finished with her stitches. She’s still loopy from the general anesthesia, holding her newborn on her partially covered chest.  

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Eddie asked, knowing how against visitors you were.  

“Just come say hi to your grandson, Eddie,” Maya chuckles, passing up the newborn. “Meet Jace Edward Munson.”  

“Edward?” Eddie laughs, barely holding the mist that comes to his eyes. “What?”  

Dylan scrunches his nose, tilting his head to face the newborn now in his father’s arms. “You stepped up when she left. You were everything to me. You may have stolen a girlfriend, but that is small beans in the grand scheme of things, you know?”  

“Jace and Josh,” Eddie muses, laughter bubbling up his throat. “God, they even sound like twins.”  

- 

Kayla smooths over the dress she wears, nervously looking around the classroom. Are there enough learning centers set up? Will the children like the home center she put together? Will there be any difficult teachers during her first year?  

 For the first time, she’s on her own, placed in the very class she had spent so long working toward, kindergarten.  

Her little classmates with their parents, usually mothers, wander in with wide eyes, nervously holding onto their sleeves and looking around anxiously. She talks to each little one at a time, welcoming them and offering them many activities to distract them from wanting to stay with their parents.  

One little boy doesn’t need much, or any, peeling off his father as he runs in, his shaggy brown hair rustling in as he bolts straight to the building blocks. His dad walks in right after, carrying his bag dressed in a leather jacket and acid wash jeans.  

“Hi,” he sighs, sounding tired. “That’s Dylan.”  

“M or H?” Kayla asks.  

“M.”  

“Dylan, can you grab your bag from your dad and put it in the cubby?” Dylan runs to grab his bag from his dad, shouting in slight frustration as he’s pulled in for a hug. “Yours will have an M next to your name!”  

He listens, but doesn’t look back as he runs back to the blocks.  

“I’m Eddie,” the father says, holding his hand out. “His mom, Brooke, will pick him up after school, uh, she’s a bit of a hardass, so just beware.”  

Oh, goody. She gives him a strained smile, insisting she’ll be able to handle it.  

Eddie and Dylan end up being one of his favorite pairings for the year. But when Brooke walked in, she knew it became a big deal for something as small as Dylan putting his book in the wrong pocket in his bag.  

Kayla got along great with Eddie, as they turned out to be the same age. They saw one another around the school as Dylan got older, even became someone Dylan could rely on for a maternal figure when his parents ended up divorcing in fifth grade.  

About twenty one years after initially teaching Dylan, she’s a veteran teacher in her own right, having a monopoly over classroom #3 as she continues to be the answer for dozens of individuals when asked their favorite teacher.   

She sits in her lumbar chair that her coworkers raised the money for the previous Christmas as she finally is able to look over her newest class list. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until she came across 9th and 8th from the last name, two boys with J initials and the last name Munson. She’d been wondering if she would ever have the pleasure of teaching Dylan’s boys, or if he decided to skip town like most of his classmates.  

Their birthday right next to their attendance names indicated they had the same birthdate, so she was safe to assume she would have another set of twins. If they were anything like Dylan, they would be a fun sort of challenge for her, that she was sure of.  

On the first day the following fall, she keeps an eye out for her former student, keeping in mind it could very well be the mother that decides to drop them off.  

As she’s helping a particularly shy child settle into her classroom, she notices a parent helping their kid out of the wind breaker they’re wearing. As soon as the little girl is settled she goes to them welcoming them. She immediately recognizes the parent. “Dylan!”  

“Oh, Miss. Thompson! I didn’t realize you were still teaching!” He sheepishly admits, looking at the plaque now containing her married name.  

“I am just married, now,” she answers, answering him the same way she would a student out of habit. “Now, who do we have here?”  

“I’m Jace,” the little boy answers shyly, brown hair of this father but stark green eyes.  

“Well, Jace, would you mind finding your name at one of the cubbies for me? I think you’re put right next to someone named Josh,” she tells him, watching for any recognition of the other name she thought was his twin.  

“Oh, sweet!” Jace exclaims, running with his Pokémon bag.  

She gets up from her squatting position, her knees far too achy for doing it continually like she still is. “So, there’s another Munson on the class list, would you know anything about that?” 

Dylan chuckles, sighing. “Well, about that–” Dylan is interrupted by a little boy with dark hair hugging him, exclaiming his name. “Hey, Josh, we were just talking about you!”  

Josh laughs, tugging on Dylan’s arm. “Is Jace here?” 

“Yeah, he’s playing with the dinosaurs, if I know him.” 

“Cool!” Josh runs straight off, meeting his supposed relative at the play carpet.  

Kayla turns around in confusion, questioning what just happened.  

As if answering her, in comes another familiar face, holding a bag that looks comically small compared to his tall stature. “Ah, Kayla. I was wondering if you were still here.”  

“Eddie!” She greets him, giving a very frank hug. “I have to admit, I am very confused.” 

“That’s okay, you wouldn’t be the first,” Eddie comments, crossing his arms. “Me and my wife had Josh at the same time Dylan had Jace. They’re assholes, they like to gang up on adults, but don’t let them intimidate you, they can’t with their adults anymore, so they try it on teachers.” 

“Takes a lot more than that to intimidate me,” Kayla answers, looking back at the boys who gained ownership over the carpet with dinosaurs and cars. “I appreciate the warning, though.” She looks back to her old friend, seeing the smile lines on his face, still carrying his son’s things. “I’m happy you found someone, though.”  

“Thanks. His mom will pick him up after school,” Eddie tells her, going to the cubby with his kid’s name on it. “She’s not as bad as Brooke, so there’s no worries, there.”  

“Alright, can’t wait to meet her.”  

Eddie and Dylan share a look, one that Kayla misses as she starts to welcome in a few new classmates.  

- 

The bell rings for lunch for the rest of the elementary school and end of day for the kindergarteners. Mrs. Franklin, or Miss. Thompson, as Dylan knows her, helps all her students with their backpacks and jackets. It’s one thing to manage five-year-olds, it’s another to get them to stop wrestling and help them simultaneously.  

The Munson boys are certainly no help, Josh trying to stick his finger up Jace’s nose, pinning him down on the dirty floor as Jace wiggles underneath him. Kayla wished Josh would stop telling Jace he’s his uncle and he has to listen to him, that way she wouldn’t have to hold back her laughter so hard.  

“Okay, Mr. and Mr. Munson, break it up, your parents will be here any minute now. Get up.” They both switch their glances up to her, eyebrows raised over wide eyes. “Get up.”  

They roll their eyes, Josh reluctantly getting off Jace slowly and helping him up. Slowly but surely, parents start to pick their kids up, both Munsons waiting for their parents anxiously. You wonder in with your youngest, a little three year old by the name of Stevie. She holds onto your pointer and middle finger anxiously, eyes darting around at the unfamiliar noises and faces.  

Your son is seemingly nowhere to be seen, usually seen with his counterpart but you can’t see him around the crowd of parents kneeling with their kids and asking how their day was. The teacher,  someone both Dylan and Eddie insisted is the best in the school, approaches you kindly to ask which kid is yours.  

Before you can even answer Josh runs into you, happily glancing up at you as he wraps his arms around your legs. “Hi, baby,” you greet him, kneeling down as you pet his sweet face.  

You miss the peculiar look Mrs. Franklin, or Kayla as Eddie referred to her as, gives you. Surprised to say the least that the Mrs. Munson she has yet to meet is so young. Her brows furrow even further when Jace notices you, yelling, “Grandma!” as he also runs for a hug.  

“Were you boys nice to Mrs. Franklin today?”  

“Of course!” Josh smiles, and you squint through his bullshit.  

“Well we’re gonna make sure to be nicer or we’re gonna have to lose our tablet privileges, won’t we?”  

You get back up, smiling at their grumbly faces. They never listen to new adults, it was a field day at their first day of preschool. One glance to their teacher’s observant face told you all you needed to know. “Eddie didn’t warn you, he?”  

“No, but they did have a peculiar look on their faces when I mentioned meeting you. Should’ve known better, with those two,” you tilt your head, curious at what she meant. “Seriously, your husband needs to tell you more. I taught Dylan when he was in kindergarten.”  

“Oh!” you exclaim, somewhat surprised. “That’s really cool! Were you surprised to see Eddie wi–” 

“With another kid,” she interrupts, laughing, “yes, I was. I’m happy to see that he found someone else, Brooke, was, well, she was not a nice person.”  

Your eyebrows raise at the mention of your husband’s ex-wife, this being the first person she meets outside Eddie’s inner circle to having even mentioned Brooke. “So, I’ve heard.”  

“Hey mom,” you hear behind you, you shove the owner before you even see him, rolling your eyes.  

It’s very recently become a silly habit of Dylan’s to call you mom, due to your son asking why his brother calls his mom by her real name and not mom like he does. After the best attempt at explaining Dylan has a different mom who is no longer around, Josh is still confused and insists that you still act like his mom, so therefore, are Dylan’s mom. 

It was awkward at first, but now it’s a little inside joke. If you were told when you first got together with Eddie that Dylan would be referring to you as a maternal figure, you probably would’ve hit them on the head for fucking with you.  

“Hey, kiddo,” you tease back, mocking his twisted face expression. “They were apparently giving her a hard time today.”  

“Of course they were. You know we can ask one of you to switch classes, right?” Dylan asks, an aura of authority in his voice.  

Their eyes go wide, even though it was a threat in their preschool room, they have yet to consider this. You didn’t want to resort to threats but with their shenanigans, it's literally one of the only things that will work.  

“C’mon, your dad is making your favorite for dinner,” your shoulder cascades around Josh’s shoulder, telling him to say bye to his nephew and that he’ll see him tomorrow.  

Two years later, Stevie shows up with her dark curls down to her shoulders after her father, giggling as she says hi to the teacher.  

That was the last time Kayla taught one of Eddie Munson’s kids. Or, so she assumed.  

- 

The double doors to the high school flew open, big black boots echoing as the large leather jacket trails behind a slim torso. He takes the immediate left into the office, his presence large, with grey streaks leaking into his roots and an angry look on his face.  

The kind administration lady looks up to his expectant face, the curiosity quickly melting into confounded terror. “Can I help you?” 

“Apparently Stevie Munson is in the office right now?” Better be a damn good reason for peeling me away from one of the only moments I have left alone with my wife, he thinks, eyes observing around the office.  

“Yes, she is, uh, are you her–” 

“Her father, are you going to let me in the office or do I have to let myself in?” 

The surprise that fills her features would be charming if Eddie wasn’t so fucking annoyed. He’s used to the assumption by now, but for the moment he just doesn’t have any patience in his body.  

“You can go right ahead, Mr. Munson,” she peeps out, gesturing to the door marked Principal. Eddie’s not sure why he even asked, or how he had the foresight to ask, first. He’s surprised, honestly.  

The door opens to face the school principal, his daughter and a boy sitting two seats away from her nursing his face with an ice pack. “Mr. Munson, welcome in! Have a seat.”  

“No thanks,” Eddie answers, polite, but curt. He looks at his daughter, “What happened?”  

She opens her mouth to answer but is interrupted by the bald principal, “I didn’t ask you, I asked her. What happened?” He directs his attention back to his daughter.

She smiles at him, the same sweet smile his wife bares. “This guy touched my ass under my skirt, so I punched him in the face.”  

Eddie’s brows raised, teeth gritted as he sends a daggers at the boy he is now aware assaulted his daughter. “I’m sorry?” He asks, now directed to the principal.  

“So she says,” the principal says, eyes widening at how Eddie manages to look murderous. “Granted, even if Mr. Jackson did do that, it’s not a good enough reason to assault him. She will be suspended for two days.”  

Eddie laughs, loudly, shaking his head at the gall, the fucking nerve. This principal is extremely lucky it was him who answered his phone and not you. “Really? My daughter got sexually assaulted and your reaction to her defending herself is suspending her? Are you fucking kidding me?”  

“Mr. Munson, if you could please calm down and have a seat,” he starts, gesturing to the chair, yet again.  

“Oh, I am calm. You don’t want to see me angry,” Eddie answers, the Hulk flashing through his mind. “You deciding to punish her tells me exactly why this little shit felt confident enough to lay his hands on her, to begin with. I just think about all the other girls he’s done this to, too afraid to speak up, I wonder how many times he’s done this with no consequence to feel confident enough to touch under a skirt. What the fuck is this place? No-tolerance bullying policy? Utter bullshit.”  

“Mr. Munson, calm down before I call security–”  

“Don’t make me laugh. Seriously. Don’t.” Eddie sighs, pinching his nose. “If you do suspend her, I will press charges against him and I will sue this fucking school. If you punish him, like you’re supposed to, take him off his team for the season, put him in detention for a month, I don’t care, something with fucking consequences, I won’t. You decide.” 

He looks down at the little shit, whimpering as he still nurses the barely there bruise. “You better hope I don’t hear you doing this shit to any other girl in this school, or you won’t get into any college in the country.” He pauses, opening the office door to an audience. Maybe he was louder than he thought he was. “C’mon Stevie, let’s go get some fucking ice cream.”  

When you heard about how your husband stuck up for your daughter like that, you got on your knees for him in the bathroom. That might’ve cheered him up a bit.  

- 

The sounds are familiar yet foreign when you wake up to the blindingly white room, the chatter in the hallway and some heart monitor beeping. Two people immediately come into focus, Josh, sitting at the end of the bed on his phone, Stevie sitting concerned by your head.  

You moan, sitting up in your bed annoyed at the stark contrast of the back of your eyelids. “What the hell?”  

“Mom!” Josh shouts, getting up and standing on the other side of his sister.  

“Mom,” Stevie runs out of the room, calling for a doctor.  

You look to your son, brows furrowed. “What happened?”  

“You passed out at the grocery store. You fainted and you didn’t wake up until just now.”  

Your brows raise, because you haven’t felt off even the slightest. The dizziness hit you out of nowhere, going from fine to woozy in two seconds and falling flat on your face. “How long ago did that happen?” 

“Like twenty minutes? The ambulance got there pretty quickly,” he admits, turning his head to his sister and the nurse coming in the door. 

“Mrs. Munson! So glad to see you awake. I’ll let the doctor know and he should be able to give your results,” she says, sweet smile as she turns away.  

Stevie’s bottom lip is stuck out, quivering as she grabs the hand containing an IV line. You thought that was a bit much. “Stevie, I’m okay.” 

“Are you sure, because I heard the nurses saying it’s not normal to stay out that long after fainting. What if you’re sick?”  

“I’m okay,” you insist, watching both their worried faces. “Fuck, you called your dad, didn’t you?” 

“Uh, yes! He would’ve killed us if we didn’t!” Josh laughs, leaning back in his chair.  

As if summoned, your husband pokes his head in, his eyes wide as he walks in the room, hands out to you as his long legs take him to the head of the bed. “Fucking Christ.” 

“Hi, baby,” you greet him, leaning into the forehead kiss that he gives you. “I’m okay.” 

“Fainting in the fucking grocery store, fucking hell. My god, baby.” He looks over to his kids, “What tests have they done, so far?” 

“Just a blood test, I think,” Stevie shrugs. 

“They might do an MRI but that could take weeks of waiting.” Josh offers no comfort to his dad despite his best efforts.  

“I’m okay, really.” You insist to all their worried faces. “You didn’t call anyone else, did you?”  

“Uh, we called Dylan,” Josh says, wincing at your annoyed face. “And Jace.”  

“Fuck,” you mutter, intertwining your hand with Eddie’s rough one.  

The doctor doesn’t come as quickly as the nurse promised, but he comes within two hours. “Oh, hello, you have quite the visitors, don’t you?”  

You shrug, rubbing his thumb as it anxiously rubs your hand.  

“We have the results, inconclusively.” The air is tense, every one of the family seemingly expecting terrible news. “Congrats! You’re pregnant.”  

You knew nothing was wrong, but this was not what you were expecting. You’re forty-two, Eddie is nearly seventy. You weren’t even sure he could still get you pregnant. You meet your husband’s eyes, sharing a bewildered smile.  

In the meantime, shouts of disgust from your teenage kids fill the room, standing up with tense shoulders.  

“Gross!” 

“Ew! I didn’t even know you guys still did it! Oh my god! Ew!!!!”  

You bite your lip, shrugging. “Are you wanting to be a father to a newborn at almost 70?”  

Eddie smirks, leaning in for a kiss that makes your kids jeer again. “Bring it on, baby.”  

Steve calls an hour later, concerned for the text his name sake sent him. When Eddie informs him, you’re pregnant, twenty years of karma hits tenfold.  

When Steve and Jocelyn said they were pregnant with Eliza fifteen years after having Dustin, Eddie spent the pregnancy making fun of their oopsie baby. Asking if they knew what protection was, joking how they still had sex, telling them to keep it in their pants, the works.  

Now, Steve was more than happy to return the favor. “A baby at 70, you old bastard? What was that you told me twenty years ago? God, I’m surprised you two still do it, considering how low Eddie’s ball sack must be hanging.”  

“You wish you could see my ball sack, you asshole,” Eddie teases, laughing with you as you sigh. “You’re just jealous I can still keep it up, you geriatric bastard.”  

- 

Five years later, when Eddie and Kayla are older, he wanders into classroom #3 for the last time, holding his third son who ends up being notoriously clingy towards his older father.  

It’s ironic to the both of them how Eddie has a son for both Kayla’s first and last year of teaching, keeping tabs on one another for the duration of forty years.  

Eddie doesn’t say anything, letting Tommy down and dismissing her questioning look. Don’t wanna talk about it.

By the time Tommy is 18, Eddie is too old to give a shit, wondering constantly what Wayne’s opinion will be when he ends up knocking on heaven’s door.  

When you got into your sixties, Eddie was full of gratitude, thankful that you will no longer be confused for one of his kids despite his actual kids all calling you mom. He makes fun of your vision, stealing his reading glasses constantly despite his constant insisting that you get your own pair.  

Despite the smile lines by his lips and his eyes, the sunspots decorating his skin, you still stare up at him like you did when he was forty-seven.  

Your lives were forever intertwined from the moment you saw him, from the moment he saw you. He lies down in your bed next to you for the millionth time, his hand caressing your side, pressing kisses on whiskered lips, it doesn’t occur to you to ever be anything less than woefully in love with him.     

———————-

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[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

HELLOOO could you maybe write something for Dave's birthday? :3

A/n: I did not realize it was Dave's birthday until this ask came so thank you for that reminder lol

Also, I have been writing a lot this week, I don't know where the motivation came from but we don't ask question we just go with it, however, I am not going to post a whole lot anytime soon I don't think, I just figured I'd post this since it is Dave's birthday

Warnings: Smut, overstimulation, creampie, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Also also, does anyone else use the picture to decide what era the fanfic is set in or is it just me? Either way, I started writing this thinking of grandma Dave but at some point I switched to bearded Dave so it works with either :)

Dave stopped enjoying his birthday years ago, roughly when he was about five years old. He wasn't raised to celebrate his birthday, and while being a kid and seeing everyone celebrate holidays was hard he never grew to like his birthday.

His distaste only grew as he got older.

You had him go out and do stuff with his friends and bandmates, not quite a wild goose chase but... he had no idea what he was doing or where he was going.

It was all so you could get ready at home, even though he was asking you repeatedly to come out with him because all he wanted was to spend time with you. It was a hard enough day as it was and now he didn't have the one person that meant the most to him.

You'd made his favourite dinner, even got him drink set up, and you got yourself all dolled up.

You wore one of his shirts over a new lingerie set.

You were just finishing up setting the table when you heard the door open and slam closed, Dave was home.

"Where are you, sweetheart?" He called, sounding drained.

"Dining room!" You called back, getting yourself seated on the table, legs crossed and sitting pretty for him.

He entered the room, shoulders slumped and a grimace on his face. As soon as he saw you his expression lightened up and he straightened up, not even having noticed what you were wearing or doing, he was just happy to finally see you.

He came over to you and wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead and cheek down to your neck and finally placing a kiss on your lips, hands sliding from your back to your hips.

"I missed you, sweetheart." He said softly.

You chuckled softly at his affection. It wasn't unusual for him to be extra affectionate towards you, he loved you and would do anything to show it, sometimes he just over did it, not that you minded, not one bit. It made his day to just get to kiss you, to feel you even in the most domestic ways.

"Rough day?" You asked sweetly, wrapping your arms around him and letting him rest his head on your shoulder.

"You weren't there." He grumbled.

"Yeah, but, you were with your friends."

"You. Weren't. There." He repeated, causing you to chuckle.

"Yeah, but I had a reason to send you off." He pulled away slightly, raising a brow at him, not understanding what the reason could've possibly been. "I wanted to make today special!" You said, gesturing to the dinner behind you.

Dave looked past you to the nice little dinner you'd set up, his eyes slowly moving to you and the outfit you wore. "Dinner... and desert?" He asked, looking back to your eyes.

You nodded, a bright smile on your face.

Dinner was one thing, but desert was what you were both looking forward to. You let him complain throughout dinner, and when it came to desert he had your face shoved into the mattress.

His calloused hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold, hips slamming into yours repeatedly, hard cock stretching you out and hitting deep inside you.

"Little bitch, making me run around all day." He said through grunts, hand coming down on your ass, leaving a bright red mark to match the other cheek.

He hadn't taken you out of your -his- shirt or lingerie, choosing to push your panties to the side, letting your shirt ride up over your chest, revealing your pretty bra.

You had tears streaming down your cheeks, soaking into the sheets beneath you along with drool and, a few feet lower, cum. Not to mention the sweat.

You didn't care, you only cared about the way Dave made you feel. How he held you, spoke to you, all of it had your mind running into a muddled mess as you came around him again and again.

You felt his thrusts losing rhythm, his arms wrapping around you and leaning over you, craving more of your touch as he raced for his high. "Oh, fuck, sweetheart- I-I'm gonna cum inside." He mumbled, face shoved into the crook of your neck. "I deserve it, m'gonna fuck you full of my cum."

A few more thrusts and you felt him painting your gummy walls a creamy white, movements sputtering slightly but he wasn't done yet.

This wasn't the first time he'd cum that night, his mind was as much as mess as yours he was just more used to being fucked up, though in a different sense. Still, it came in handy when he was trying to dirty talk you after fucking himself dumb.

He was overstimulated, as were you, but he needed more. He didn't know how much more, but he knew he wasn't done.

[just-some-random-blogger]

HII gorgeous 👋👋 I wanted to say I love your writing and honestly your brilliant mind gracing us with all of your stories 🤩 with that being said my birthday is in a week— eeekk 21 BITCHHH 😛😛😈 and I wanted to request a HOTD cast imagine since I’m pretty sure they’ll start filming soon, so imagine maybe a raging birthday party just before filming or something and it gets crazyyy and wild and wouldn’t it be great to get sloshed with Emma D’Arcy 😃 doing this would be a pretty rocking birthday present soo… not to put pressure… 👀👀🤭

(Also I’m the star points bitch. So keep that in mind hon 🔍🔍 this is your redemption arc)

Sloshed 🥴

HoTD Cast & Reader (there's a paring here somewhere if you quint hard enough)

Summary: To celebrate your birthday, your castmates in HotD throw you a makeshift party with a karaoke machine, a poorly homemade cake, and lots and lots of alcohol.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: gender neutral!reader, drinking/drunkenness/everyone gets cronked, super chaotic everything, grade school bullying (affectionate), crack fic, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY START POINTS NONNIE! (im not going to call you bitch because i dont like that word) im sure at this point youre prolly 22 T_T but better late than never. also Omg my child 😭 you think i give a shit about redemption??? HAHAHAAH IT MAKES ME WANT TO FUCK THIS UP SO BAD but the request is so compelling that i'll silence the part of my brain that is screaming for murder HAHAHA idk it all kinda went all over the place but lol enjoy star points nonnie! or dont i dont care Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony

You had your phone on, eye level, recording, flashlight and all, so did Milly. You were both snorting to yourselves as you made your way through the streets-

"WHERE THE STREETS HAVE NO NAME!" you sing, flailing your arms around as you spun on the pavement.

No, no, you weren't drunk yet. But boy were you were excited to be.

Milly had picked you up and, like an idiot, spoiled the surprise party altogether by being too giddy and blabbermouthed. It was obvious she was leading you to a 'secret birthday party' and though Milly adamantly denied to her final breath, when you got to the venue, still somehow startled by the loud scream of 'SURPRISE HAPPY BIRTHDAY!', Emma gave her a piece of their mind for being so obvious.

You immediately hugged the gals, namely Olivia, Emily, and Phia, then after gave a kiss to person who remembered your birthday at all, Emma.

"I love you so much," you muttered as you pulled them into a hug, nearly choking them in the process. Emma chuckles, sealing their arms around you with a lot less enthusiasm, only cause in you were a python comparison.

They turn to Milly, who was already heading for the food, "did you two drink already?"

"No, babe, we're drunk on life!" Milly responds, pouring herself a drink.

Emma and Olivia turn to each other, the latter rolls her eyes exaggeratedly, "dear god, to be twen'y somthin'."

Emma snorts as you finally pull away from them.

You spin your arm overhead, stupidly forgetting you had your phone in hand. This allows it to get darted across the room, nearly hitting Phia on the way.

You scramble for the object, amazed that it was uncracked and still in one piece, camera still filming everything. You look up to everyone and call out, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!"

Each person in the room cheers and claps for you, immediately getting ready for the festivities.

At one point, you managed to end and restart recording on your phone as you eat some chips and ready the second song on a karaoke machine, and by karaoke machine, I mean a big-ish laptop propped on an box on a table connected to a Bluetooth speaker that was honestly impressively loud for its size.

It was also at this time, the MIA boys finally arrived, as in Fabien, Tom, Ewan, & Matt, carrying fast food and drinks, cheering as they came for absolutely no other reason than to be loud.

Now. Now, the party was really getting started.

After eating and the singing got old, an idea was proposed. You don't know whose genius (stupid) idea it was to play fucking marco polo, but DAMN was it intense.

You down the last for your 3rd(?) beer before running off as the it of the game neared you. You find yourself in a corner where Matt now to your right. You do your darndness to evade the blind folded Tom, who by the ways was insanely horrible at the game.

He was so bad, Olivia, like the mom she was, had to keep reminding him he could call out Marco, so that you lot could call out Polo and give some semblance as to where you were in the Emma's largish flat.

"Babes," Olivia calls, beginning to remind the lost puppy, Tom.

Elbow pushing the massive block of doofus (Matt), who was CHEATING by using you as his shield from the nearing lost, blonde boy, you struggled against the man, both of you fairing horribly to hold in your giggles as you push deeper into the corner of the room, trapped behind the sofa.

Tom turns behind him, blindfold on and all, at the sound of Olivia's voice.

"You can call out Marco," Olivia reminds before going back to a conversation with Phia safely a distance away in the kitchen.

"Oh-right- MARCO!"

"POLO!" everyone screams except you and Matt.

"THEY'RE CHEATING!" Fabien calls loudly in protests from behind the dining table, "TOM, TURN AROUND! TOM, TURN AROUND!"

Fabien's plan backfires as Tom instead heads for him. The former runs over to where Ewan was, who then runs over to where Emily was, by the front door.

"POLO YOU CUNTS!" Fabien shouts with a chuckle, extending his arm out to your direction, accusingly.

You stick out your tongue to Fabien as Matt begins to shove you the opposite direction.

Ewan to Fabien's side drops his jaw over the brunutte's backfired attempt in both a 'STFU' manner and 'this is kind of funny but STFU' manner, then slaps his hand on Fabian's blabbermouth.

Tom was nearing them. Emily begins to push back against Ewan, covering her mouth as not to make a sound. This allowed you to climb from the back of the sofa, onto the cushions, escaping the entrapment in the corner with Matt.

Emily topples onto Ewan and holds her breath as she barely dodges Tom's reaching hands.

And then-

"POLO! POLO! POLOLOLOL!" Matt screams, grabbing you by the shoulders, alerting everyone in the room.

Tom takes the bait, turning about as you squeal and wrangle out of Matt's cheating grip.

Emily, Ewan, and Fabien sneakily evade him whilst Tom is distracted.

"MATT YOU FUCKER!" you whine, finally escaping him. You swiftly run past Tom, who almost managed to grab you and make it towards Emma, who was had been sitting in an isolated corner of their flat, drinking a can of pop.

They give you a nod and you look over finding Tom was approaching the corner where you and Matt had been, yet the man was nowhere in sight. Rats, he was good.

Fabien, running towards you out of nowhere, grabs you by your arms and offers you as a sacrifice, "POLO! POLO!"

Tom turns your direction as you shriek.

"YOU CHEATING RAT!" you protest mid arm imprisonment.

Tom, now at his limit, stops then pulls down his blindfold, making everyone groan. The man, who had been it the WHOLE time you have been playing, sighs and places his hands on his hips, "guys, ain't no way I'm this bad at Marco Polo. You lot are double crossing me!"

Everyone gathers over towards Tom in a chorus of laughs and disagreements.

Olivia speaks, "I'm sorry, love, but honestly, this flat isn't that large."

"You just suck," Phia deadpans, making Tom give him a sour look.

Milly crawls from underneath the table she had been hiding from the entire time, "who's it now?

Milly jolts when Matt sneaks up from behind her and screams, "YOU!" The moron evades Milly's incoming punches.

Meanwhile, you have been chasing Fabien across the room, pulling on his hair when you catch him.

Between that point and when you all (mostly you and Milly) began to cry while singing Hello by Adele, another 3(?) bottles of beer was consumed by your person.

This was why when you reached for another bottle, Ewan (who had been watching you the entire time) took the thing from you, "that's mine."

You blink slowly, turning to him as he takes the bottle from you, handing it to Matt, who was cheering Emma and Olivia on as they sung from the top of their lungs. Matt turns to Ewan, taking the bottle from him, "thanks, babe."

You move to take another bottle, and Ewan grabs it again, "that's also mine." This time, he takes a swig of the alcohol when you turn to him.

You grunt, taking another shot at grabbing one of the last two bottles on the table. Before you could even reach out for it though, Tom grabs the two bottles and you watch as he hands the other to Fabien. They clank it together, then sit next to you, unwittingly triggering your tear ducts.

They were so mean. You flat out begin to sob. Each man on the sofa turns to you.

"It's my birthday!" you whine under your breath, tears streaming your face, "I'm being oppressed."

Tom beside you hears your mewls then panics, "hey, hey, what's wrong?"

Ewan ,on you other side, stiffens turning to you, face falling at the sight of your tears.

You choke on your tears as you whine.

"MATT YOU'VE REALLY DONE IT NOW MATE!" Fabien screams after seeing you.

Matt turns to you, as does the singing Emma and Olivia, as well as Phia who was doing background vocals and Emily and Milly who was recording the whole thing.

"Me?!" Matt calls out with a chuckle, "what did I do," he leans towards you, "what's happened, love?"

You ignore them as Emma makes a beeline for you and grabs your hand, "come on babe, boys suck."

Ewan begins to explain the situation to everyone and Fabien calls out, "you want my beer, baby?"

"FUCK YOU FABIEN!"

"What about my beer?" Tom asks.

"S'fine," you mumble as you get in front of the make shift karaoke machine where Olivia then wraps her arms over your shoulders.

"Hey! Why the hostility!" Fabien calls out.

"Because you're ugly mate," Tom sneers, chuckling before he drinks his beer.

Matt says, giggling, "I mean you did make the birthday baby cry."

Fabien's jaw drops, "yeah, yeah, yeah, says the man with no eyebrows."

Tom hollers, throwing his head back in laughter. Ewan snorts under his breath, holding in his laughter.

"Woah, woah, woah," Milly walks over with a camera, "is there a row goin' on 'ere," she points her phone camera to them, "come on," she says in a thick Australian accent, "have at it!"

Fabien exaggeratedly bites his lower lip and flips Milly's cam off.

Meanwhile Phia and Emily are cheering you on as the next song begins to play. The intro has everyone in a frenzy.

You burp as you croak out the first lines of the song, "buHaybe can't you see-- I'm callin'. A guy like you should have a warning, it's dangerous-"

"IM FALLING!" you lot sing out in various keys.

Absolutely feeling yourself with the music, you begin to dance to Britney Spears, doing body rolls against Emma and Olivia.

By the time the chorus hits, you and the girls are dancing and singing to Toxic. You twirl all the way over to the sofa, nearly falling on your way as you tell the yucky boys to join in the festivities.

Yet all it takes is one loud bang on the door to burst everyone's bubble.

"Oh fuck," Emma calls, turning frantically around everyone, shushing them as Emily scrambles to cut the music.

Blissfully unaware of everything, you clumsily continue to dance and hit not one, but two faces (Ewan and Matt's) with your hands.

"Alright, Britney, that's enough of you," Fabien calls, pulling you away from your accidental victims of violence.

"There's something to be said about the fact both of your chins were hit," Milly says under her breath, but both men she was teasing hear her loud and clear, in fact, everyone hears her, which is why Tom wheeze with Phia as Olivia holds back her laughter.

"Oh fuck off," Matt says as Ewan purses his lips and shakes his head.

"At least I can reach the bars in the tube," Ewan rebuts.

"OH! For the jugular!" Emily calls just as Olivia hushes everyone.

Emma comes back with clenched teeth, turning to you, "right, uh... my neighbors say happy birthday, also, shut the fuck up."

[kitthepurplepotato]

MWRMI Part 7

My Weird Roommate, Midoriya Izuku

🍼 Week 4 Part 1 - Deku’s daycare 🍼

~•🥦•~

Summary: You are added to a secret group chat.

Bakugou forces Midoriya to take a holiday, Midoriya looses his mind and so are you.

Midoriya realizes why does Y/N feel different than his other friends.

(Author is sleep deprived but it’s Izuku’s birthday, so ignore the mistakes and enjoy the early content. 😂 HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!)

Warnings: Swear words, Katsuki saying inappropriate things.

First part Masterlist

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Midoriya was barely home this week. He left with everyone the next day after the get-together and didn’t come back until late in the night, and even then, he only slept a few hours and went out again. There was a massive villain group on the loose around town so the two main agencies; Deku’s and Dynamight’s; barely had time to sleep before they were needed again.

To be honest, you needed some time to think so you really didn’t mind having a few days without the cuddly greenette but after a while the urge to see him got stronger than your common sense so you ended up asleep on the sofa just to be able to hear Midoriya’s mumbles for a few minutes before passing out again, finding yourself in your own bed the next morning.

You still don’t remember too much about that night; you know it was important and you know you are missing an important piece of the puzzle, but the memory is lost between the daydreams of soft lips and scarred hands. Your feelings are so tangled you can’t seem to see the end of it; you are stuck between feeling adoration for your favorite hero and being in love with one; adoration sounds too shallow but love sounds too fake; you are nothing but a lucky fan, so “love” is out of the game for you; Midoriya Izuku might be an affectionate, loving person but even with a big heart like his there is no way he can see you in a romantic way, so you try your best to keep your romantic feelings at bay; clearly failing at it, but you are indeed trying. Hard. Really hard.

You are quirkless and weird, you look okay but you are nothing out of the ordinary; you are not a model nor a genius, there is nothing about you that stands out enough for you to be even considered as a romantic interest.

Also, you are his flatmate. Even if things go the way you want them to, things can get weird really quickly; It’s risky business and you’ve had enough of those in the last few years so even though it hurts like hell you decide to take a step back. It’s not worth it to throw this beautiful thing between you and him away just because you can’t keep it in your pants, because honestly, the way Midoriya’s treating you is already more than what you could’ve ever asked for; he’s loving and affectionate and even you with your zero confidence can see how fond he is of you. You just need to put your stupid fluffy feelings aside and enjoy his company when he actually comes home, then get ready to have your heart broken when a better person takes your place in his heart.

It will be fine. Everything will be fine, eventually.

~•🥦•~

When you look at your phone, you are surprised to see a bunch of notifications on it; apparently, you were added to a group during the night. The group is called….

— Deku’s Daycare! —

*Bakugou added you to the group*

*Bakugou changed your name to “Freeloader”

Pikachu: Welcome to the group, Y/N! This group was made so we can keep an eye on Zuku when he’s too busy to reply to all of us!

Kacchan Sugoi: No, this group was made to talk shit about shitty Deku, because he’s an asshole who can’t even respond to messages.

EMO bitch(Jirou): No, I’m quite sure this group was made so we can all laugh at Deku’s shenanigans. Like how he said sorry to a lamppost the other day, because he bumped into it.

Piggy 🐷 (Mina): I thought this group is for surprise party planning? 🎈 💃

Glasses 👓: Guys, don’t confuse Y/N. We are all here because we worry about our friend and this way we can always get information from Bakugou-san about his well-being. As you live with our friend you will also be able to talk to us if something bothers you and we can also ask you about him when we are worried. Please, feel free to mute the group chat if it’s too much for you and we will contact you in other ways.

Kacchan Sugoi: With that said, you’ll have a long week ahead of you.

Freeloader: ? @Bakugou

Freeloader: Thank you guys for having me, it’s a pleasure to be here! Nice to meet you… Glasses?

Glasses 👓: I’m Iida Tenya. You might know me as Ingenium. Nice to meet you too.

You have no idea what’s Bakugou talking about, but the group looks really fun and you are really thankful to be a part of it. It’s still extremely weird to be involved with so many of your favorites on such a personal level, but you are getting much better at handling this.

~•🥦•~

You make your way out of your room around 10 AM to get a head start on your new commission. Midoriya’s next free day is in three days, so you don’t even bother putting on more layers; you are in shorts and a breezy tank top, your hair up in a messy bun. You do a quick stretch before sitting down at the table, your top riding up to your belly button, when you hear something falling on the floor in the living room. Ahh, your buddy is being a menace again.

“All Meowt, I told you not to sit on the coffee table! What did you…”

Midoriya stares at you from the sofa.

“Break…”

A random ball-shaped stress toy rolls on the floor until All Meowt snatches it and runs away.

“…this time?”

“Uhm… Hi.” Midoriya mumbles with a flushed face, and awkward smile decorating his pretty face.

“IZU-IZU!”

All your stupid thoughts are thrown out of the window as soon as you see the adorable greenette; you missed him so fucking much you actually had withdrawal symptoms at one point.

By the look of it, Midoriya went through the same thought process and met you halfway in the living room, hugging you tightly. Thanks to the breezy tank top his hands end up on your naked skin, sending shivers down your body; he moves his hands away while a barely audible “sorry” leaves his mouth.

“I missed you.” You look into his green eyes with a fond smile; from up close you can see how the outside of his irises are darker than the rest and it gets lighter and lighter by the middle. You also realize his eyes are absolutely huge; it’s really hard to stop staring into them.

“Stop looking at me like that.” The greenette sighs as he presses his forehead against yours; the word stops again and there is nothing but you and him in the middle of the living room.

“Why?” You mumble cheekily, a mischievous smirk appearing on your face.

Hey, it’s just two buddies having fun, okay?

“Y/N, can I kiss you?” The greenette spurts out, then pales; he almost THROWS you away the second he finishes his sentence. You stumble backwards from the strength of the push, staring at the red faced hero, waiting for an explanation. He did not say that, did he?!

“I mean, in a friendly way! On your cheeks or your hair, I’ve been thinking about it quite a lot, oh my god that was such a bad timing, wasn’t it, it sounded like I want to kiss you on your lips, not like kissing you on your lips would be a problem, I mean, you are really pretty and cute and you smell so nice, OhMyGodWhyDidISayThatOutoud, please, I really meant it in a friendly, affectionate way, oh my god I think I’m going to throw up, Y/N, what have I done, I need to go to the bathroom.” Midoriya then runs, his face changing between ‘white as a sheet’ and ‘red as a tomato’ as he hurries towards the bathroom, retching on the way.

You stare at the door for a few seconds before you burst out laughing, hysterically. There is no other way to get through this trauma than to laugh about it. Honestly, what the fuck was that?

“Don’t laugh at me, Y/N!” Midoriya whines from the bathroom. “This is so embarrassing!”

“You are an absolute idiot, Midoriya, but I fucking love you for it.” You yell in between two laughing fits as the hero emerges from the bathroom with a sad look on his face.

“Hey husband, come here.” You coo at the red faced greenette with a shit eating grin. Wow, you can’t believe you can bully your favorite hero like that. You do feel bad about it, but you can hate yourself later, now you just want to have fun.

He slowly moves closer but doesn’t look up; he just stares at the floor, mortified. You take his cheeks in your hand and give him a huge kiss on his forehead, then move down to his cheek; it’s so soft and so warm under your lips, your heart skips a beat. You can feel the blush creeping up on your face but fuck it; there is no place for a sad Midoriya in this household and if he wants kisses then he gets kisses. “Better?” The greenette just nods and pulls you close to hide his face in your neck, which seems to be his favorite thing to do with you as you guys usually end up in this position every time you get close to each other.

You don’t like the fact that he feels like he needs to hide from the world, but you appreciate the sentiment anyway; you really hope you can cure him out of this habit by the end of the year though. He’s such a great person and such a handsome guy, he really shouldn’t feel so self-conscious about himself.

“Now will you tell me why are you at home today or do I need to call Mama Katsuki?” You stroke Midoriya’s hair, his curls bouncing under your palm.

“Kacchan forced me to take a holiday. I hate holidays.” He murmurs, his face still hidden in your neck as he sighs by the end of the sentence.

“Bruhuhuh, you’ll need to be with me for a whole week? How terrible!” You act offended, pushing the green haired moron away. He looks at you with his puppy eyes and runs back to his hiding place while your heart skips another beat; this week will be awesome.

~•🥦•~

This week… is not awesome.

Midoriya has lost his mind. Completely.

The first few days were amazing; you watched movies while cuddling on the sofa, made food together and all that typical roomie jazz. The problems started when you realized you need to finish three commissions in a few days because there is a hero convention on the weekend you really want to go to and you asked the greenette to leave you alone for a bit so you can get a head start on them. He left for a day to see his mum, then came back with a bunch of homemade brownies. You managed to finish one of the commissions by the time he came back and also was able to start the other one. Great stuff.

…But this poor guy has zero hobbies. He tried to take care of the garden; he ended up overwatering everything so you left your drawing and went over to help him out; telling him about how much water the plants need, about what to cut and what not, while the hero looked at you like you just told him how to cure cancer and insisted to watch another movie while cuddling “to thank you”.

Then he tried to make dinner, almost burning the house down when he accidentally left the paper towel next to the open flame. Needless to say, you had to abandon your project and help the guy out with the rest of the cooking. He looked at you with his puppy eyes again and insisted to cuddle, because he was “really sad and lonely”.

You gave him a quick cuddle, but you really had to finish your commissions now; Midoriya moaned but he let you go. It only took him 2 hours to sit down next you and start giving you harsh feedback on every single flaw on the picture. For the next three days, Midoriya did nothing but sat next to you, sometimes touching your skin out of boredom and making you ruin a line or apply too much pressure on the paper, making a certain area darker than it was supposed to be.

This takes us all back to the present; You have 2 days to finish these bloody commissions. Two. Fucking. Days. You still have a full picture to do.

You need help. Goddamnit, you need help.

“I need to get another pencil from my room.” You stand up quickly, leaving the utterly bored hero sprawled out on the table. You fish your phone out of your pockets and start typing.

— Deku’s Daycare! —

Freeloader: Please, for the love of All Might, help me

Kacchan sugoi: You all owe me 5000 yen.

Pikachu: No way!

Freeloader: ?

Pikachu: Katsuki said you won’t last the whole week with Deku in your ass but we said you definitely will. :(

Freeloader: I’m not done with him or anything, I just need a few hours to finish a commission, that’s it really. He is indeed attached to me 24/7, but… I don’t have a problem with that part until my work is done.

Kacchan sugoi: Liar

Freeloader: Okay, he is a bit much when he’s bored.

Kacchan sugoi: There you go.

Shitty hair: Don’t worry Y/N, I’m on it!

By the time you come back with the same pencil you already had just in a different brand, Midoriya’s phone rings.

“Kiri? … yeah, I can! … that’s fine, see you in a few minutes!”

Midoriya jumps up from the table and runs to his room to change into his streetwear then runs towards the door without a single word. That’s just rude. You might wanted him to leave, but this is unacceptable.

“Not even a goodbye?” You ask, offended, with your hands on your waist.

“I’m so sorry, Eijirou asked me to come over for a bit! I really want you to come but you are busy and probably really done with me by the frustrated look on your face, so I thought I’ll just leave quickly…” Midoriya rambles without taking a single breath as he always does.

“Midoriya, I’m not done with you but I do need to finish these drawings. Stay safe, okay?”

“Will do! Bye!”

… aaaand he’s out of the door.

~•🥦•~

“Okay love, let me repeat what you’ve just said.” Kirishima looks at the disheveled greenette in front of him. “You feel rejected, because you asked Y/N if you can kiss her and she laughed.”

The other hero whines and slams his head into the table, leaving a dent in the furniture.

“Oi shithead, we just bought that fucking table!” Katsuki yells from the kitchen, rocking his all might apron while putting a batch of freshly made cookies into the oven.

“She laughed at me, yes! Like, it was a full on laughing fit! I felt like an idiot!”

“You are an idiot.” Katsuki grumbles from the kitchen; he really tries to make it look like he doesn’t care, but by the look of it, he really does. Kirishima thinks his roommate is adorable.

“So what happened after?”

“She kissed my forehead.”

Kirishima is really confused.

“So she laughed at you but then she kissed you, just how you wanted it. Am I missing something?”

“I don’t understand either!” Midoriya yells, looking like he’s having problems with his bowel movements. Maybe that’s the problem. Midoriya just needs to take a big old dump.

“It’s quite obvious, if you ask me.” The blonde comes in with a box of freshly made cookies after putting the timer on for the next batch.

Is it?! Is Kirishima missing something?

Yeah, Kirishima is indeed missing something. It only takes him one look at his best friend, who’s trying to talk to him by telepathy to understand the issue here.

“Izuku, my clueless, adorable friend.” Kirishima sighs, taking his friend’s hands into his own, slowly caressing the skin to calm the green haired man. “You do know you have a massive fat crush on her and you probably are just sad because you wanted her to kiss you somewhere else, right?”

“What? I do not h-have a c-crush on her!” Midoriya pulls his hands out of Kirishima’s grasp. “She’s my flatmate! That would be absolutely inappropriate!”

Katsuki didn’t like the way Midoriya has said that so he slams his hand on the table, leaving another dent. Oh well, it doesn’t matter anyway, it was already ruined by Midoriya only a few minutes ago so he might as well just explode it to pieces.

“Look into my fucking eyes, you dickless moron and tell me you don’t want to fuck her in those pajama shorts.” Katsuki looks deep into Midoriya’s eyes who swallows dramatically.

“Let me translate.” Kirishima smiles, clearly done with this shit. “Hypothetically… let’s say Y/N misunderstands you and kisses you on the lips. Passionately.”

Midoriya pales then gets red as a tomato, looking away into the distance while he thinks. After a few silent minutes, he starts to mumble.

“I have a massive, fat crush on my adorable flatmate in her adorable pajama shorts.”

“There you go, buddy.” Kirishima pats his head a few times, proud of his work.

“Now take these fucking cookies with you and fuck off. Invite her to the convention on the weekend as your plus one.” Katsuki slams the box in front of his friend aggressively. “What are you waiting for?! Get out of my fucking flat and bother someone else on their free day, goddamnit!”

Midoriya mumbles a few random words and quickly leaves through the window like the weirdo he is.

“Use the door, you stupid fuck! You do this every single time!”

Katsuki is in a mood. Nothing is funnier than Katsuki being in a mood when he’s wearing an All Might apron like a cute house wife.

“You are so cute, Kats.” The redhead looks at his flatmate dreamily.

“I fucking hate you too.” The blonde scoffs and retreats to the kitchen again.

Kirishima smiles to himself; he absolutely adores his friends.

— Deku’s Daycare! —

Kacchan sugoi: Midoriya stepped on my fucking window seal again.

Piggy 🐷: how dare he.

EMO bitch: Wow, so edgy.

Kacchan sugoi: No cookies for you.

EMO bitch: NOOOOOOOOOO

Piggy 🐷: NOOOOOOO

Glasses 👓: That’s indeed inappropriate. I’ll talk to him the next time I see him.

Kacchan sugoi: I’ll leave the cookies on your desk tomorrow.

Piggy 🐷: …

….Next Chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato rambles:

- So a lovely reader asked me about Katsuki’s funny story that haven’t been told in the last chapter of the story so here it comes!

Katsuki was in his room and he was quite angry; Denki made fun of him for not trying to play around with his snake yet as everyone else had already did (don’t ask why were they talking about this…) so Katsuki decided to give it a try.

His control of his quirk wasn’t the best back then and by the end of his shenanigans, his palm exploded. He thankfully moved away quickly from his willy but ended up exploding his sheets and Kirishima ran in to check up on him after hearing the explosion, and there Katsuki was, covered in his FLAMING sheets, looking like an an absolute idiot. Needless to say, Kirishima took a picture and fled the scene, knowing the blonde can’t possibly run after him with a naked ass. Well… he certainly did. They both got detention after.

Thank you for listening 😂

- Deku wanting to throw up every time he’s about to kiss someone is so fucking funny, I can’t 😂

- Midoriya does have one hobby, it’s hero analysis but he kinda ran out of people to analyze at this point. All Meowt doesn’t like to be petted for longer than 5 minutes so he was also not helpful.

- How did Katsuki force Deku to take a holiday? I have no idea this is a fanfiction shut up

- I managed to accidentally buy another figurine yesterday. This time, it was Kirishima. I’m not sorry. At all.

- I managed to break one of my colleagues today by telling them my real age. They thought I’m 20. Fuck, I wish.

See you next week!

Kit 💜

Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated as always 🥦💚

Taglist: @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @momothemasocist

[crime-wives]

ouat 1x01 thoughts

god regina, you dramatic bitch. “I shall destroy your happiness if it is the last thing I do” ok darling, you can destroy me if you’d like

henry is so small, his tiny cheeks awww

not to be gay but… emma swan in the pink dress. fuck. i forgot how attracted to her i was. and the HAIR, the fucking princess curls. jesus christ her ARMS.

“bail bonds-person” i love her

yesss bitch, strut across the street like you own it. absolute icon behavior, slamming that asshole’s face into the steering wheel.

babe you’re so sad and pathetic with your vanilla cupcake. i bet she wished for family.

not her apartment door saying ‘cast a spell’

“My name’s Henry, and i’m your son” agevgsvegw STOP

her having a panic attack in the bathroom, so real.

once again, her ARMS, i want her so bad

henry’s cute little freckles, i can’t do this.

idgaf abt snow and charming “She poisoned an apple because she thought I was prettier than her” shut up bitch, you know that’s not why

“Oh kid, you’ve got problems” emma swan, insulting children since 1983

ok but the fact that they chose the name ‘emma’ in a fairytale world, lmao

evil queen theme song playing as they enter storybrooke

emma swan wearing the most dyke outfit possible. getting ready to impress milfs

not that there’s any significance, but emma’s license plate is: 836•M4X

snow and charming are so annoying istg

ewww the blue fairy, i hate that bitch (derogatory)

regina running towards henry and wrapping him up in a hug. her eyes are wet. good lord, her first reaction is concern and worry, not anger.

“I found my real mom” my HEART. her face after he said that, so stricken and hurt, baby…

emma’s little flustered, ‘hi’ when talking to a gorgeous milf. ok babe, we get it, you’re gay.

graham leaving bc of emma and regina’s immediate sexual tension. and regina’s eyes roving over emma.

first ‘Miss Swan’ of the show at exactly 21:00 minutes.

emma swan is so desperate to impress regina. it’d be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic (affectionate)

“Sneaky bastard” once again, emma swan insulting children since 1983

crashing into the storybrooke sign like the absolute icon she is

the cgi 💀💀

yay!! curse time :)

emma waking up in a jail cell. she just does not give a fuck about this shit.

her lips parting when she she’s regina, ok babe, she’s hot we get it

LIP SCAR

god mary-margaret pisses me off

go regina, knock over mary-margaret’s shit, absolute queen

“She’s kinda a hardass” yes but that turns you on, doesn’t it?

gina’s so hot when she’s evil

putting a newborn through the wardrobe to save themselves, a+ parenting

henry mills, once again, the most mature one in a situation “You don’t have to be hostile. You like me, I can tell. You’re just pushing me away because I make you feel guilty.”

“I wanted you to have your best chance. But it’s not with me. C’mon, let’s go.” go emma! be the mature adult i know you can be

petition to get emma swan a therapist so she can deal with all her issues (trust me, she’s got a lot of them)

“Look, your mom is trying her best. I know it’s hard, and I know sometimes you think she doesn’t love you, but at least she wants you.” emma swan, standing up for regina mills since the moment they met

mmm regina’s voice is so hot.

her unhinged laughter, i love her so much

“Where are we going?” “Somewhere horrible, absolutely horrible” takes them to maine

emma swan is so fucking desperate for regina’s approval. she wished to not be alone on her birthday, baby…

second ‘Miss Swan’ of the show at 38:43 (i will be keeping count of all of them :D)

regina fidgeting with her blazer pockets, she’s so anxious

first “He’s my son” at 39:01 minutes

“I will destroy you if it is the last thing I do” babe, it’s kinda gay to have a nemesis, just saying

third ‘Miss Swan’ of the show at 39:32

baby… gina is coming apart at the seems

god, not to be gay, but regina’s HANDS at 40:27 agevvegse

emma’s only staying because of regina’s provocations. she wouldn’t have stayed for henry.

gold is so icky.

she’s staying a *only* a week, sure babe, sure.

also side note, i forgot how good the coloring was in ouat. like its very faded, maybe indicative of storybrooke being stuck in the past???

[emeritus-fuckers]

Okay but, thinking about Copia copying (lol) your hobbies, what about someone who wants to learn more about his? For any of the Papa's, really, but I would listen Copia to tell me about old video games for hours - Nick

Papas when their s/o wants to learn more about their hobbies

Primo

He's gonna be really happy when you say you'd like to learn how to garden!

He assigns a little plot in the Ministry gardens to you and picks out a few plants that are easy to take care of so you have an easy start.

He's a naturally good teacher, so you learn really quickly.

He's very proud of you, lots of praises and kisses. He's an affectionate old man.

Over time he lets you help out with more plants.

He supervises you and gives you tips.

You end up being the one to take over the garden after his death because it's the place that holds so many precious memories of him.

(Kay's gonna yell at me for this angsty bit)

Secondo

Secondo may not be an expert, but he enjoys to paint. He loves art in general.

So when you come to him and say you want to paint with him, he organized that for you.

Soon enough you would both spend your free time painting.

You're a bit clumsy with it and while he's no Bob Ross, he doesn't get mad at you and helps you cover up anything you're not happy with.

He tells you it's fine, but if you still feel bad for not being too good at it, he's gonna take one for the team and mess up his work "accidentally". Your giggle is worth it, no matter how good the painting was.

He would love for you both to paint something together!

No matter how messy or silly it might be, he's gonna hang it above his bed and that's final. Don't even argue with him.

Terzo

Oh, so you wish to learn about the Kazoo of Destiny™?

Terzo's hobbies are literally just the weirdest instruments known to man.

They don't even have to be actual instruments.

You know those obnoxiously loud rubber chickens?

Yeah. That's the kind of instruments he plays.

He's made a secret album of Ghost songs played with just the Kazoo of Destiny™ and the chickens.

He's delighted to teach you.

You end up having a headache, but it was worth it to see him so giddy.

Copia

Genuinely shocked. Cue a compilation of Copia noises.

He's just?? So happy?? You've asked??

He mumbles and stims a lot, our excited baby.

He talks all about his favorite games, and you notice they're all really old.

Which isn't surprising, he's got a really old console.

You get start collecting money and buy him a Nintendo Switch for his birthday.

He's just so excited and insists you play together when he realizes that's an option.

Falls in love with you all over again.

Old Nihil

Aside from simping, the only hobby he seems to have is thinking about how great he was as a performer.

Indulge him. Let him talk about his time on the stage.

Just try not to cringe when he talks about hooking up with fans. He's clueless.

Let him try to perform again!

Let him play his sick saxophone solos!

Let him sing!

Let him boogie!

He's gonna be thrilled to perform again!

Just... Make sure you're the only person in the audience. Just in case.

Young Nihil

This bitch will keep his hobbies hidden as long as possible.

Claims his only passion is passionate sex with you.

Keep pressing him and he reveals he's learning mixology.

And so you wanna learn with him!

He's not a pro, but he's showing you what he knows and teaching you a few tricks you picked up.

If you keep pressing even more, he might finally cave in and say he enjoys movies.

Wouldn't say it before because he thought you'd think he's... Whatever the 1960s equivalent of cringe was.

Watch movies with him! He's gonna love it, even if he refuses to admit it.

[91nighthawk]

My son's 23rd birthday

To start I'd like to inform you all that today was my son's 23rd birthday, so as you can imagine the days been quite busy for me. Sadly he isn't home now, he had made plans to go drinking with friends and theirs a fair chance he won't be back till the morning. However that doesn't mean I didn't give him the best birthday I could while he was here.

I'm not gonna lie, I've slowly been feeling equal parts anxious and excited for this all week. Now with everything come and gone I honestly feel a strange sense of calm and happiness. For a little refresh on everything that's gotten us here, I'll put a link to my [First](https://reddit.com/r/Incestconfessions/s/rBQwfhqT0H) and [Last](https://reddit.com/r/Incestconfessions/s/kawhjcvttU) post.

The day started out simple with the both of us waking up in our bed and me wishing him a happy birthday. He told me about his plans with his friends and while I was a little disappointed, I reminded myself that this was his day. We got up and headed to the livingroom where I began to cook his favorite breakfast. He was acting affectionate holding me from behind while I cooked and he asked what his present would be. I don't know if he had a feeling about what I was planning but it didn't matter, I wanted to do something special for him.

I told him that his gift was simple, as of today he would be the true man of the house.. and as the man of the house, whatever he wants goes. He took a moment to think on this before reaffirming that I truly meant anything, which I did.

It didn't take long after that before he chose to test the waters, while holding me from behind he simply said that he'd like to see me without panties. The request definitely aroused me, but with as much composure as I could muster I accepted and slid off my panties. As he reached down and began to play with my clit, he told me that he'd like me to stay like this for him today. Which I of course nodded to in agreement, spending the rest of the day with my ass and pussy out for him.

The day was intense after this as I found myself at the mercy of my son's deepest fantasies. He fingered me, licked me, kissed me.. made me suck him and stroke him until he came, each time doing so on my pussy. As the sun began to fall I felt filthy down there, my pussy was sticky with his loads and I smelled like his property. Yet he still hadn't done what I figured he would do.. I began to think maybe he didn't feel he was ready.

I won't lie, I began to feel a little disappointed but I wasn't about to force something like this on my son so if that's how the day would go then so be it. It was an hour left until he would be leaving with his friends and I was getting some stuff ready for a shower. Then suddenly as I'm gathering a change of clothes I hear my bedroom door shut.

He moves quick and pins me back against my dresser kissing me deeply and roughly, his hand reaching for my bare bottom and squeezing. At this moment I began to regret all the lessons I'd been giving him, as he seemed to know his way around my body nearly as well as me. Finally he led me back to my bed and pushed me onto it as he took down his pants and pushed his cock against my cum soaked clit. I felt like a nervous virgin here breathing heavily as my son slowly prodded my entrance, looking in my eyes before dropping the biggest bomb I'd ever heard. He said that he knows about my reddit account, and with that, I felt every inch of my son's cock slowly squeeze into my pussy.

I was out of practice, I hadn't been fucked in years at this point, so to feel myself being entered like this was enough to make me cum hard. He began to whisper, calling me his slutty mom, his soulmate, his bitch! He rocked in and out of me at a steady forceful pace, pushing as deep as he could with each thrust making my toes curl! I wrapped my legs around him as I moaned and whimpered my son's name, my pussy aching around him as I closed my eyes!

He went on telling me that he wants me to make a new post tonight, a post telling every one of my fans about how much I loved being fucked by my own son. How I've always wanted this deep down, and how I don't want him to find another girl, that I wanna be his only girl! He said if I promised to do that, then he'd give me what I really wanted.. so I agreed.

With that he pulled out of me and had me bend over on my bed, sticking my ass up as he knelt behind me, in an instant sliding his cock back into me! He fucked me! He fucked me so hard! I came over and over! I think it had to have been three or four times total, but at this point they were so frequent that they blended together. I felt my legs shaking as his cock slammed in me and his hands gripped my hips tightly! He said that he loves me, that he's always loved me, and that he was about to fill me.. just like I wanted.

I whimpered and gasped out desperate please for it, I begged my son to cum in me! With that, his cock slammed balls deep and I felt the sensation of his throbbing cock shooting his cum into my womb. It was by far the greatest orgasm I've ever experienced, and the taste of my boys lips after made it all the sweeter.. ❤️

We spent some time like that.. connected and close as a mother and son could ever be. He told me that I shouldn't shower tonight, that way I could keep his scent till he got back.. it was a filthy suggestion, but I followed my mans orders. After awhile I cleaned his cock off and sent him on his way to hang out with friends while I returned to my room.

Only now as I fulfill his request and take the time to think on what happened have I begun to consider that, all this may have been his plan. I don't wanna go into it.. but, I think hes truly gotten me to fall for him. I'm laying here typing this, drooling at the idea of him coming back home to me his mother, his lover! I feel like a needy housewife.. and honestly it's the happiest I've felt in a long time.

I don't want this to end.. I love my Nathan more than I could ever love any other man and no matter where he wants to take us, I'll go. With that tho, I'll be laying here waiting for my lover to come home, hoping that he reads this while out with his friends. Knowing that at home he has a mother and a lover eager awaiting her mans return.

I love you Nathan, don't stay out too late.. ❤️❤️❤️

[snowblossomreads]

Taking Care of Business

Pairing: Detective David Friedman x UnhingedFem!Reader

Summary: In where [Y/n] comes to take care of David after an incident that leaves him limping around. (Could be what takes place after Judas Kiss)

Tag(s)/Warning(s): Daddy Kink, Age Gap, Penetrative Sex, Woman On Top, Oral (M Receiving), Multiple Orgasms, Mentions Of Injuries, And once again [Y/n] being a slut (affectionate)

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: It's the 21st of Feb which means happy birthday to our favorite old man!!!! As a present here is a smutty one shot with one of his underrated character who is still battling (and losing) the fight against unhinged [Y/n]🤣🤣🤣 Enjoy!

When David finally hobbled over to the door with his sprained ankle, he swore up and down he was going to curse the son of a bitch out that hadn't stopped knocking for the last five minutes.

He thought they would get the message that they weren't welcomed after the fifth time they knocked and he didn't answer. It didn't seem to be the case though, as they continued to bang on his door incessantly. 

Finally making his way to the front room, he swung open the door with force, expecting to see some salesman or Jehovah's witness, and ready to tear them a new one. Yet, when he opened his mouth to swear, all words failed him when he saw what, or more accurately who, was standing at the door. 

All dressed up in what could only be described as a sexy nurse's costume, complete with the stereotypical white nurse hat and short dress that left almost nothing to the imagination, [Y/n] stood with a feline smirk on her painted lips, and a glint in her eyes that only meant trouble.

David groaned internally at the sight.

"Nurse [Y/n] here for a Detective Friedman~." She purred, voice sugary sweet as she winked at him. "Heard you got yourself in a bit of an accident last week. Thought you could use a bit of help 'round the house."

"Jesus Christ! What the hell are you wearing? Matter of fact what are you doin' out here lookin' like that?"  

"Oh didn't you hear me the first time? I'm your personal nurse here to take care of you so I need to dress the part! Looks like that ankle of yours ain't the only thing not workin'." She teased, causing him to throw a glare her way for the insinuation that something was wrong with his hearing. "Now are you gonna let me in because it sure is chilly out 'ere."  

To drive home the fact it was colder than normal, she hugged herself, shook her shoulders a little, and rubbed her arms to warm her skin that had some goosebumps. All the while, she let out a little 'brrr', causing him to let out a loud sigh as his hand went to card through his hair that hadn't been brushed that morning.

Peaking out the door and noticing that the neighborhood was unusually devoid of life at ten in the morning, the first thing he thought was whether or not the woman in front of him had done something insane to his neighbors. It should have been a red flag.

The second thought was that he had ignored all the red flags before, so he really didn't have a leg (haha) to stand on. 

Thirdly, with the pout on her lips and the way she had stood outside for god knows how long, he knew she wasn't leaving without doing what she set out to do.  Whatever that was.

If there was one thing [Y/n] was, other than a bit off her rocker, it was that she was persistent. And he was too old to have his neighbors asking why this young thing was standing outside his house dressed up like it was Halloween. 

"Get in here, and I'm not letting you touch my ankle," he growled through gritted teeth. It seemed as if she ignored that last part as she cheered and scurried in, as David stood aside to let her through before he closed the door. "Last I heard, you ain't have a medical degree so I sure as hell ain't about to let you fool around with it and break it." 

Turning to face her, he was suddenly met with her arms wrapping around his shoulder, and her soft lips being pressed against his own which was accompanied by a noisy groan. Call it instinct, or just being aware of how stubborn the minx in front of him was, instead of pushing her away, he wrapped his own arms around her waist and let her kiss him. 

A pleased hum, that almost sounded like a squeal of joy left her throat as her tongue traced his lips, and he had to stop the smirk that wanted to appear because god did she have the most interesting reaction to things. 

'Lord have mercy Friedman you need to go get your head check before she kills your ass too.'

Were the words his internal monologue screamed, yet they were quickly shut down when he parted his lips and felt her tongue slip into his mouth. The hungry little appendage explored the wet warm cavern of his mouth as his own tongue twirled around hers.

His large hand cupped the side of her face, and it caused a shudder to run up her spine. A squeal of delight left her lips as she felt another type of slick begin to wet the thin strip of fabric that she wore underneath her little 'uniform'.

They stood at the front door for a good moment, devouring one another's lips while trying to dominate each other in the kiss. [Y/n] easily lost it as soon as wandering hands squeezed her behind and had her whining in delight. 

It was just enough for him to force his tongue into her mouth before he began to lick and explore her mouth. She tasted of something faintly sweet, and he couldn't stop the low growl that left his throat as he kissed her harder.

The kiss had gotten messy quickly. So much so that when she had pulled away, David could see a thin shiny trail of saliva that was at the corner of her mouth before she licked her lips.

"Aw don't be that way! I don't need to go to Tulane to know that the best way to treat a sprain is to soak it, rest it and elevate it," she beamed, her voice still breathy as she pulled away from the wet kiss with a pleased smile and smudged lipstick. "Plus." She hummed, voice thick with desire, as she trailed a finger down the plain t-shirt he wore while her eyes stayed on him. "Don't need a degree with the type of fooling around I wanna do with you. Daddy."

He bit back the groan that left his lips, as her fingers continued their adventure down his body until she was stroking the growing tent in his boxers. Very much noticing his arousal, the hungry grin on [Y/n] lips only grew wider as she began to palm his erection already itching to get her fingers around it and pussy full of it. 

God damn his dick for getting him into this!

"Come on let me take care of you," she sang sweetly in his ear as she watched the conflict in his eyes quickly be replaced with hunger and desire.

"Take care of me huh?" He grunted, letting out a low guttural moan as her fingers slipped past the opening of his boxers and she began to stroke his heavy warm cock that had already started leaking. "What? You gonna drop,  fuck, on your knees in front of the door, mmm, and blow me doll?"

"I will if you want me to," she said without hesitation, and he could have sworn he could come right there as she continued to tug and squeeze at his cock that throbbed with each flick of her fingers. "Like I said," she whispered, tone full of desire as she leaned close to him with that devilish smirk that had been his downfall many times. "When it comes to you, I'm good for anything you wanna do."

"God damnit," David hissed as he grabbed the hand that was languidly working him, making her let go of him and slipping out from under his boxers. "You're a little slut you know that?" 

"Mhm, only for you," she hummed, before a mischievous look came across her face that had him narrowing his eyes before she continued, "boo." 

She watched as his eyebrows shot up before furrowing in annoyance. A long scowl appeared on his thin lips as the grip on her arm tightened, and only seconds later, was she being roughly yanked towards the couch.

A noisy ecstatic squeal left her lips as he manhandled her while he stomped to the other side of the living room with her in tow. Well, as much stomping as a man could do with a sprained ankle. [Y/n] couldn't help the minuscule amount of sympathy she felt for him when she saw him wince and hiss in pain when he let her go and sat on the sofa.

Good thing she was here to take care of him though right?

Eagerly, she found herself in between parted legs before dropping to her knees in front of him. But before she could find her place below him, he caught her arm, causing her to freeze as a wave of confusion rushed over her when she looked up at him.

"Oh no you don't," he groaned, pulling her so that she stood back up, still confused as ever, a pout formed on her painted lips.

"But I wanna taste you daddy," she whined, cheeks puffed as if she was about to throw a tantrum from not being able to give him a blowjob. 

"Now don't start with me," he warned. "I know how much you love being on your knees, but I got somethin' else I want you to do. And ain't I'm the one you're supposed to be taking care of?"

Pout still on her lips, she nodded.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, sir," she huffed out like a little kid who had gotten in trouble and was being told off.

"Thought so. Now take that silly little getup you got off," he commanded, motioning up and down with his pointer finger. "And when ya done with that," he added, dropping his hand to his stiff erection, and stroking it through his boxers, all while holding her attention and watching her bite her bottom lip. "Come take care of me like you said you would."

She knew exactly what he was wanting, and she couldn't stop the gigantic grin that instantly spread across her face at his words.

"Yes, sir!" 

There was definitely more enthusiasm in that one than the one before, and you would have thought that someone had told her that she had won the Powerball. Granted, to her, getting to ride dick as good as his was maybe just as good or better than winning the lottery.

Slowly, she began to unbutton the top of the dress just like he told her to. Her lustful gaze stayed trained on him, as she languidly swayed her hips side to side in an unhurried beat. With each button that came undone, the lacy bra underneath revealed itself as she licked her swollen lips hungrily, causing David to groan quietly as he continued to lazily stroke himself.  

Finally, with one last flick of her fingers, the entire front of the costume came open, and she pulled it off of her completely and discarded it aside. Once gone, it left her with the heels that she had worn, which were being taken off that second, and a matching set of lacy white bra and panties.

The latter was unbelievably soaked and sticky as it rubbed against her needy core that throbbed, and had been throbbing the moment she had wrapped her fingers around him.  Her pussy needed him inside her and she was going to do anything he told her to do to get it.

Removing his hand from himself, David motioned her to come to him, and she obediently took a few steps forward before getting up on the sofa with him. Knees on either side of his hip, and her hands planted on his shoulders, she lowered herself just enough so that she could rub her clothed opening against him, causing them both to let out noisy moans at the contact of her drenched need.

"Mmm, do, oh, do you like it," she purred as seductively as she could, even though the words came out more breathlessly than she intended to. 

He didn't answer. Instead, she watched him take her pebbled nipple that was barely covered and begin to roll it between his fingers before he gave it a little squeeze.

"Yea, it does look real good on you." He answered truthfully after a moment as he leaned down, and nipped at the covered bud, causing a zing of pleasure to bloom in her chest and make its way down to her core.  "But," there was a look of irritation as he glanced at her, well actually just above her as he leaned back. "Take this fuckin' thing off," he hissed grabbing the hat off her head and throwing it somewhere in the room to be looked for later. 

"Not a fan of the look?" She giggled, leaning in and kissing his unshaven cheek and purring at the feel of the roughness against her.

"Not of that. Where'd you even get it from? It's not even close to Halloween yet for them to be selling that shit."

"Oh I have my ways don't you worry detective. You just lay back," she purred, a lusty smile on her painted lips, as she gently pushed his chest so that he would sit back. "And enjoy the ride~." 

A smirk appeared on his face but it was fleeting. As soon as she had finished talking, she was lifting her hips up, reaching behind her and taking his cock in hand. He let out a muffled groan that became louder the moment she pushed her panties aside and began to stroke her sticky opening with his sensitive tip.

One. Two. Three swipes along her hungry pussy, and his cock was soaked in her juices as she lowered her hips, allowing the head to sink in past her opening before she slowly slid down his shaft. Inch by delicious inch he filled her up. Split her slutty pussy apart the way she liked it. In a way only he could. It was hot, it burned and there was a twinge of pain that accompanied the ac,t but she fucking loved each and every second of it. 

There was nothing like having a man of his size make his home in her, and god would she do anything to make herself ready and available for her,

"D-Daddy~!" 

Her head fell back, just as David's did, as he felt his cock being enveloped by the warm, wet, and welcoming channel that was her cunt. The way her insides grabbed onto him, pulled him deeper into her like a siren's song pulling sailors closer to their doom, had him panting and moaning as his hand flew to her hips for some purchase.

"Fuuuck that's it," he grunted, doing all he could to hold back from thrusting into her considering she was the one who was supposed to be doing all the work. 

Inch by inch he filled her up. And as he lifted his head up to watch her, he swore he could come just from the wanton expression that blanketed her face. Face damp with sweat, and lips parted as whimpers left her, she bit her bottom lip in concentration as she sunk down on him.

Slowly and carefully she took him, until after what seemed like a long agonizing moment, her body finally relaxed completely and she was sliding down him completely with a muffled moan.

They sat for a moment staring at each other. Their eyes lidded, pupils blown, and soft pants leaving them as [Y/n]'s insides spasmed around him. Their noses touched as she leaned forward to plant an unusually chaste kiss on his lips, and he groaned into it as one hand reached to hold the back of her neck.

Over and over she kissed him, from his lips to his stubbly cheeks, which made her giggle as the course hairs tickled her skin. As she nuzzled the side of his face, a strange feeling wormed its way into David's stomach.

Arousal, and something more dangerous than that, swirled around in him, but he didn't have much time to think about it because once she pulled away, he could see that devilish smirk back on her face.

"What are you up-."

She didn't let him finish his question before she lifted her hips, sliding off of him almost entirely before slamming herself back down with force. 

"FUCK!"

His startled shout mingled with her high pitched moan before the sound of flesh slapping against flesh accompanied them as she began to bounce on him enthusiastically. Each fall of her hips had force behind it, and the angle at which she was riding him had him hitting her sweet spot over and over again without fail. Each hit of that spot had her insides shuddering, her toes curling and him gasping in pleasure as she squeezed around his cock. 

This position had even more perks though. Every time she would seat herself all the way on him, she was able to grind her throbbing clit against his clothed stomach causing a more intense wave of pleasure to bloom in her.

"Mmm, fuck daddy yes~!" She babbled out breathlessly as she fell forward, grinding her hips against him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "So f-fucking big," she moaned into his ear, causing a shudder to run down his spine as he gripped her hips so tightly that there would no doubt be nail marks and bruises on her. Yet the pain didn't stop her at all from fulfilling her duties of taking care of him. 

It seemed to spur her on actually.

Bouncing and grinding on him, she pulled back a little, so that he could take a good look at how disheveled she knew she was. Her breast bounced in her bra that offered no real support as she stared at him with glazed over 'fuck me' eyes.

"Do I, mmm, f-feel good?" The question was punctured with a sharp gasp and a sob as his cock rubbed against that rough patch in her that only brought a hot pang of pleasure and more wetness. "D-does daddy like how tight, ahhh, and wet I am for him?"

Another slide of her down his aching cock, had him leaning forward and kissing her exposed neck, causing her to shudder all around him as he nipped and sucked.

"Y-yea, fuck, yeah," he murmured against her damp skin as he began to take over the pace while his cock began to throb relentlessly from the warm slick that was wrapped around him. Her insides eagerly accepted him deeper and deeper with each thrust, and he knew he would be gone soon with how good she made him feel. "Would have called you sooner if I knew mmm, knew this was your idea of taking care of," he joked, trying to make light of the sticky situation, but all he could let out was another groan as he felt another spasm inside of her. 

Another whine left her throat as he began to pick up speed on his end. The room filled with the sounds of their pants and groans that grew louder and louder along with the sound of his cock pistoning in and out of her sodden insides. 

"Mmmm yes, wanna take care, oh god, take care of you," she babbled uncontrollably as her eyes fought to stay open as the pleasure began to addle her mind.  "Take care, mmm wanna take care of daddy."  The phrase repeated itself over and over as she took him, ignoring any ache in her bones that screamed at her.

Her insides shuddered and clenched down with each thrust and she was so out of it that she hadn't realized that one of his hands had left her hips and had made its way down to her aching clit. With one press of his fingers against her, he had her keening out, her head falling back, and her insides wrapping him in a vice grip that had him choke out a few profanities.

"D-daddy!"

"F-fuck!" He hissed, a raspy gasp left his lips as he rubbed his fingers against her throbbing bead in hurried messy circles that had her twitching around him uncontrollably. The feeling of her insides clenching and unclenching had him letting out a loud groan as he felt himself harden even more, signaling that he was about to fall over that edge.

"Please wanna feel you," she begged, eyes wide and glassy with tears as she felt him about to come. "Need you, please." 

With how polite she was being, which was always such a change from her normal behavior, David couldn't hold back the amused smirk or groan as he began to pick up speed.

"Yeah you wanna feel me doll," he grunted out as he admired the blissed out expression she wore. As if bouncing on his cock was the best damn thing she had ever done. "Want me to make a mess of  this slutty cunt huh?" He asked puncturing each word with an upward thrust causing her to squeal loudly.

"Y-yes! Yes yes," she chanted, "please daddy!"

Gritting his teeth, he began to help her bounce quicker against him, and it had her thrashing her head side to side as he abused her sore cunt. The slick sounds of them fucking only increased with each thrust, and when he pressed at her clit, her insides shuddered and clamped down on him hard. 

The action had him crying out, and his stomach clenching as he stilled against her. Pain and pleasure mixed together before he was shooting hot ropes of cum inside her causing her to gasp and writhe and the tight grip he had on her. The sheer force of him tipping over and coming triggered her own orgasm, causing the pressure that had been bubbling and building in her stomach to explode. 

A broken sob left her lips, followed by a loud groan as a gush of wetness soaked David's entire bottom half with her pleasure. She went to let out another cry, only for it to be silenced by his lips as he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her front against his to keep her from falling back as she trembled. 

Tiny whimpers escaped her throat as her insides twitched and throbbed around him as she rode her high out. Her hips stilled as their hearts felt as if they were about to burst out of their chests from how quick and hard they were beating. You think you could hear it with how loud it sounded in their ears.

But, the only sound around them now, was the sound of their lips meeting over and over until one pulled away so they could both breathe. Their pants filled the air, as [Y/n] laid limply against David, who held her and even stroked her back lazily as he tried to catch his own breath.  

They stayed there against one another, catching their breaths and waiting for feeling to return to their numb limbs. It was tempting to fall asleep after such strenuous activity, but with how cool the wetness against the fabric of his boxers had already become it wouldn't be too comfortable. And she seemed to sense that too as let out a yawn as she leaned back, a sleepy smile on her features.

"Take care of you alright didn't I?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Don't get cocky on me doll, I'm pretty sure I did all the work at the end," he threw back though his tone dripped with nothing but playful sarcasm.

A tinkering giggle left her as she smacked his chest lightly, before slowly, and carefully raising her hips so she could get off of him and stretch her legs that had been bent for a good minute. Watching as [Y/n] slid off of him, he groaned as her wet heat that had enveloped him disappeared leaving him uncomfortably cool. 

Falling back against the sofa once she had gotten up, he had to admit he was feeling much more relaxed than he had in a minute. That relaxed state was short lived though, as when he saw her adorn that sneaky grin again and drop to her knees in front of his spread thighs, he knew he was in for more of her mischievousness. No matter how good it would feel for him.

"[Y/n]!" He warned, but before he could protest too much more, her mouth was on his limp cock causing his hips to jerk forward, and a low groan to be ripped from his throat, as she began to suck on the sensitive flesh.

She wasted no time lapping up the creamy and tangy mixture of her juices and his seed that coated him. And when she was done with that she began to lick up and down his shaft, kissing and mouthing at it before she was taking him into her mouth. It was no surprise that he had gotten hard again, and it wasn't long before he was coming one more time with a muffled moan as he shot more of the salty liquid into her mouth.  

And just like last time, she swallowed it all without protest. A hungry grin on her face as she lapped up any remnants of his pleasure. 

"All clean," she mused, kissing the tip of him once more before slowly standing up with a smirk that could rival the Cheshire cat. 

With her bra off one shoulder, her panties a sodden mess, her lips swollen and her eyes glossy from the tears she had shed, she looked an absolute mess. Yet somehow she still managed to seem ecstatic, and while yes she looked like a mess, she was still a gorgeous mess to him. Maybe it was because she was already a bit deranged that the chaos suited her, David thought as he watched her look around for a moment as if she was searching for something.

It didn't take but a second for her expression to morph from a pondering one to a knowing one as she quickly made a beeline for the hallway. She had moved so quickly that he almost didn't have time to say anything before she was disappearing deeper into his house.

"Hey now where are you going!" He shouted as he whipped his head in her direction, only to catch a glimpse of her before she was out of sight.

"Stay there I'll be right back!" 

Was her muffled command before moments later the sound of rushing water was heard coming from the bathroom. He immediately tensed up as his first thought was that she was going to drown him and that her fucking him was just a very twisted sending off present. Very kind of her, but he wasn't keen on dying right this moment, and especially not by drowning.

"Man, shut up she's not about to kill you," he whispered as he quickly stuffed himself back into his boxers but not without a wince at how cold and wet the fabric was. 

Pushing himself off the sofa, and wincing a bit, he began to limp towards the bathroom. The sound of rushing water became louder and louder as he got closer, and before long he was standing in the doorway of the bathroom. His eyes immediately fell on [Y/n] sitting at the bathtub's edge, her fingers testing the water and shaking the wetness off after deeming it the right temperature. 

Looking up and seeing him standing there, a pout immediately formed on her lips as she stood up, and he noticed she had taken the scraps of undergarment off leaving her bare. Of course, his cock twitched at the sight and he had to hold in a sharp inhale.

"Now I thought I told you to stay on the sofa!" She scolded, a slight whine in her tone as she sauntered up to him. "Can't be puttin' too much weight on your ankle you know or it'll take forever in a day to get better."

Completely ignoring what she was saying, he narrowed his eyes at her and sent a suspicious gaze in her direction. 

"Now look here," he started, backing away a little but pausing to wince once again at the dull throb in his ankle. "I'm not sure what you're up to [Y/n], but I ain't about to let you drown me if that's what you're up to. I'm not tryna be found floating butt naked in my damn bathtub!"

"Drown you?" The surprise was evident in her tone and by the way her eyes widened slightly. For a second he thought he could see a glint of another emotion in her eyes, but when he blinked, she just wore that pout that she would bring out when she didn't get what she wanted.  

"Dave I don't know what you're talkin' about. Are you sure you didn't hit your head too in the accident?" She added, as she began to try to examine his forehead but was stopped as he pulled away a little. 

"Ain't no one tryin' to drown you! Why would I go do something like that to my favorite person." She purred. 

Taking him by the hand, she guided him over to the bath, and he reluctantly followed though he was still a bit weary.

"Just thought a nice hot bath would do some good for your ankle, and well, we done got a bit messy haven't we? Now go on," she said, letting his hand go as they stopped in front of the bath that was steaming and had some bubbles in it. "And don't worry," her voice pulled him out of his train of thought, returning his attention back to her. A beaming smile was on her lips and she had one hand on her heart and the other raised. "I promise to the good lord above that I am not gonna do anything murderous."

Somehow, that didn't give him any more confidence than he had before. But, against every rational thought in his body, which honestly there wasn't much left considering, he did as she asked.

Stripping his boxers and shirt off, and tossing the garments to the ground, he, with the help of [Y/n] who steadied him, stepped in the bath, and he couldn't deny the loud groan he let out when he submerged himself in the hot soapy water. 

It was nice he couldn't lie. While he much more preferred showers, this was a much better way of soaking his foot than constantly using that plastic bucket he had.  His eyes may have also closed for a second as he relaxed in the bath, his shoulders sagging as he let the water soothe his muscles and wash the stickiness off of him.

Everything was so nice that he only had the energy to open one eye when he heard splashing water as [Y/n] stepped into the bath with him. He watched curiously as she lowered herself into the bath before she climbed on top of him once more. 

"Feels good don't it?" She whispered, as she pressed her front against Dave's chest, while her core hovered over his cock that had begun to twitch in interest once again.  Her fingers grazed his upper body before going up to tangle themselves in his thick hair which had a smattering of gray growing in.

With a seductive grin, she didn't wait for his answer before she pressed her lips against his. Chaste at first the kiss was, but it quickly turned into him devouring her fully as she ground her hips against his reawakened excitement. 

Needless to say, bathing wasn't the only thing they ended up doing. She had ended up coaxing another orgasm from them both, and only after he had painted her insides again, did she pull away and let the lukewarm water wash them off. 

He was fucking spent in the best of ways, so much so that she had managed to convince him to take a nap while she tidied up his home after their bath.

"It's what I'm here for!"  She had winked at him, still only clad in a towel as she went to find her clothes that were scattered somewhere in the front room. 

Too tired to even protest,  knowing she would weasel her way out of any argument, he dried himself, and made his way to his room where he pulled on a fresh pair of boxers before he was flopping down on his bed. He had fallen asleep almost instantaneously, not even worried about what she may do to him in his sleep.

When he had awakened from his nap that he didn't even realize he had taken, his first thought was,

"[Y/n]?" 

There was no reply at the call of her name, nor was there one when he called out again. It was just pure silence in the house, and he hand wondered for a moment if she was still there. Yawning loudly, and wiping the sleep from his eyes, he got up, stumbling a bit as he tried to wake fully. 

Once he had made it out of his room and into the front again, he noticed that the living room had been tidied up neatly. He wasn't a slob, no, but there had been a few empty bottles of alcohol lying around on the table when she had arrived, and they were there no longer.

Anything that had seemed to be out of place had been put back, such as some DVDs that he had left out on the TV console, which were now back at home with the DVDs he had. Everything was neat like a housekeeper had come to clean, though he did notice a piece of paper placed squarely in the middle of the coffee table that caught his eyes.

Hobbling over, he picked it up and read it aloud.

"Better slow it down with all the drinking detective." He snorted at that. No chance if she was still around causing him nightmares at times. "I cleaned as much as I could while you were sleep and even packed you some food which I put in the fridge. And don't worry, like I said, I ain't trying to kill you, who else is going to make me come as hard as you do." There was a pause as he tried to keep a straight face but the absurdity was winning out and he wanted to laugh. "Take care of yourself you hear? Though I don't mind coming back to take care of you."

She had signed it 'love your favorite nightmare', and he was almost reluctant to agree with her as his eyes found one last note on the letter which read.

'P.S. thanks for the ride daddy~', and it had a little heart scrawled next to it. 

This time, he couldn't stop the raucous chuckle that bubbled from his throat until it became a full blown fit of laughter. 

Oh god.

Maybe her crazy had worn off on him and he should actually get his head checked out. Whatever it was, he just stood there, paper in hand in the middle of his living room, shoulders shaking as he laughed.

He probably looked insane to his neighbors if they saw him. It took him a few minutes to calm himself even though he kept chuckling as he put the letter down and went to the kitchen.

Just like the living room, it was spotless, and when he went to open the fridge, he was taken aback by the numerous containers of food in there that he sure as hell didn't make. 

"Well I be damn. She wasn't tellin' no tale," he muttered, as he pulled one of the containers out to observe what was in it. 

He did the same to a few others, each of them containing something different yet appealing. With his curiosity sated, he closed the fridge door as more questions popped into his head as he just stood there. It was bizarre, to say the least, but everything about [Y/n] was bizarre and he should know better by now not to question it. 

But he did, because let's face it, the so called arrangement that they had was bizarre. They hadn't really discussed it, because how do you discuss something like what they had going on. So it was just odd. 

And as he stood, ignoring the protest of his ankle, that he knew she would say something about, he wondered briefly if he had been missing something. Their relationship was transactional, but this particular act did not seem to be that way, and it had his brain trying to figure something logical out.

"Alright maybe you do need to stop all that drinkin, got you thinkin' of some weird shit," he spoke to himself as he felt a migraine coming on. 

Just as he went to say something else he stopped when his stomach began to grumble and he looked down at it with a raised eyebrow.

"Really you're doing this now?" He asked accusingly knowing again that he probably seemed a bit off his rocker. Well…it wasn't like he didn't have tons of food in his fridge now thanks to [Y/n] and if she wanted to off him she could have done so when he fell asleep. 

So with an exaggerated sigh, he went back into the fridge and grabbed a random container to heat up in the microwave. 

Hopefully, he wouldn't be dead in the morning.

[sunlight-allergy]

death note tomodachi collection escapades

hi tumbly dot com so i started playing a (100% ""legal"" i promise) english romhack of tomodachi collection recently using death note characters as my islanders because im hyperfixating like crazy. here r some of the silly moments ive encountered so far (screenshots below the cut)

awww the skrunkly!!!! i made light & L first of course . here they are hanging out being silly

they got into a fight fucking IMMEDIATELY lmfaoooo (canon)

its ok they made up and i forced them to go on a silly little vacation together to celebrate !!!! (they hate it here)

of course he'd say that. what is wrong with you (affectionate)

literally a day later and HELLO???? ALREADY???? COMPLETE 180 FROM YESTERDAY WHAT A PLOT TWIST (pretends to be shocked) (we all knew this was going to happen)

i made him confess in the most egotistical-god-complex-light-yagami-ass way possible. AND IT. WORKED ????

HE HIT HIM WITH THE "k" LMFAOOOO

anyways love is real after all theyre dating now. lawlight so canon this is proof

horrible awful fucked up and evil couple i love them so much. i am holding them like dolls and making them smooch. this is the lowest compatibility percentage out of literally anyone else on the island so far btw and i find that fact egregiously funny

in character as fuck also thats adorable. ANYWAYS lawlight shenanigans aside

i added beyond birthday and Immediately gave him the jail cell apartment interior. this decreased his happiness meter significantly and i laughed maniacally like an utter fiend

i unlocked the job diagnosis minigame and it swapped kiyomis and misas professions lmaoooo. i mean close enough right

also they got a 100% on the compatibility tester which is. really fucking funny to me considering

tested mello and near too and yeah thats canon as fuck. the low-poly mii heads transposed over even lower-poly business casual pngs also makes me cackle every time i see it

matt is here too! i gave him a nintendo ds and he wont stop playing it. seriously every fucking time i check in his apartment he's gaming it's honestly really funny. him and his singular hobby <3

of course he does (eyeroll) not mello viewing making friends as a COMPETITION jesus christ (he still has 0 friends as of me writing this. he is the only islander to have absolutely no relationships whatsoever and i find this fact incredibly amusing)

naomi and beyond are friends now !!!! i am going to make them besties if it is the last thing i do i swear to god it is Happening.

LOOK AT HIS ""BIG SMILE"" GUYS ISNT HE ADORABLE :33333 (he has CHRONIC DEBILITATING resting bitch face it is a PROBLEM)

light...... mikami and matsuda are Right There........ just watched two peoples hearts get utterly fucking shattered in real time

anyways these are all the screenshots i have accumulated thus far. i will keep you deathnoters updated please enjoy

[titanpinapple]

I realise that I'm too used to tumblr nowadays when I went onto Google to find a deranged but still affectionate message to put in a birthday card and all I got was basic bitch suburban mum messages

Like where is my "Beware of the frogs this year, Happy birthday" messages

[thatdeadaquarius]

Its your birthday sometime this week?

🎂🎂Happy Birthday and have an awesome week!🎂🎂

You deserve it for being one of the best (and funniest) writer I met in tumblr.

~vine boom

VINE BOOMMMM 😭😭😭😭 CAKE EMOJI AND HAPPY BDAY WISHES ALL AROUND!! YES ITS FRIDAY :') WHICH IS PARTIALLY WHY I WAS HAPPY I GOT TO DO A FOLLOWER EVENT POLL THINGY ♡

*WITH TEARSSS IN MY EYESSS*

🌸BITCH🥺/affectionately 🌸

ME AT YOU RN HO: ⬇️⬇️⬇️

TRULY YOU ARE ALL DESERVING AND APTLY NAMED-

♡the beloveds♡ 🥺🥺

BEST??!! FUNNIEST??!?!?! WDGAODUSJQLFJHAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Thank you from the bottom of my cold dead heart 🥺😭

Yall too nice 😭😭😭❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥💥💥💥 my heart fucking explodes

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #126

Tell me about the first five photos you have on your phone or camera. First by date taken (or saved) and not like, my five most recent? There's a meerkat wallpaper, a Markiplier quote one, me holding my niece Emerson when she was born, and then two of Roman.

Have you got any half or step siblings? One half-brother, two half-sisters (that I count, there's one more but I don't know her), and technically a stepbrother through my dad's current wife, but I don't consider him my brother at all. Also barely know him.

Have you ever known someone online and then met them in person? If so, which website did you meet on? Yes, Sara. We "met" via the Meerkat Manor fanbase on YouTube at like, 8 and 10 years of age. DARK fuckin days lmfao

When was the last time you were sick and what illness did you have? Covid, many months ago.

Do you know anyone with a serious anger management problem? No, thank FUCKING god. I can't handle people who show anger on an aggressively physical level, never mind on a regular basis. I fucking can't, especially if it's a man. I'm breaking the FUCK down, no matter what man it is/his relation to me or what setting we're in.

What color is your wallet? Red, black, and creamy white. It's a Harley Quinn (comics-style) design.

Have you seen all the Lord of the Rings movies? I haven't seen any, actually. Not interested.

Do you have an unhealthy obsession with colored furry throw pillows that are different shapes and sizes? Haha no, but I AM obsessed with those pillows that have been a "thing" lately that look like various types of succulents. I SO BADLY wanna get one of those totally ethereal bed comforters that looks like moss or just other grassy stuff along with some of those pillows, goddamn I would be so happy.

Have you ever had to call the cops on someone else before? *I* didn't, but my sister did on a VERY obviously intoxicated (or dealing with something similar) driver. This motherfucker nearly hit so, SO many people, like I KNOW we weren't the only people who called them in, given we were on a Raleigh (NC capitol) highway, where it's extremely busy. It was actually on my birthday on the way back home and I was in full panic attack mode freaking the TOTAL fuck out. I just hate cars, man.

Don’t you hate it when people suddenly love a celebrity when they die? I. HATE. This question. Somebody - and usually someone very loved by a massive number of people, if they're a celebrity - just fucking DIED, left the fucking world, and you wanna complain about people caring? Go fuck yourself, like jesus fucking christ.

What was the last cocktail you drank? I tried a Mai Tai yesterday that Mom made, but it was disgusting (aka too strong) so I certainly didn't truly drink it.

Are you good at keeping running counts and tallies in your head? NONONOONONONONONONOONONONONONONONONONOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, it is honestly absurd how bad I am at remembering numbers in any context. With counting, if you say a SINGLE word to me while I'm focusing way too fuckin hard on not messing up, I'm immediately losing where I was, even if it was single digits.

Are there any foods you hate the smell of but like the taste, or vice versa? Well, I absolutely adore the smell of coffee, but I think it tastes disgusting. I'm sure there's other stuff, too.

Do you have a dishwasher? Yes, thank god.

Do you make to-do lists? I actually recently downloaded a nice to-do list program on this laptop that I've been enjoying using. It's been helping me. It's called Todoist if you wanna check it out, it's nice, and free.

What pet names do you use for your friends/loved ones? "Hun(ny)," "dear," "darling," and "love" are most common for me with friends. I'm also one of those people who use "bitch" affectionately lmao, don't be offended by me saying that.

What pet names do you like to be called? Just about anything is fine with me, but I definitely favor cute ones, like I know I've mentioned in the past a doctor I used to see who called all her patients (including elderly men) "ladybug" and it was my favorite thing ever, please she was SO cute and I miss her. OH, one I CAN think of that I will absolutely hate from anyone is "princess," holy fucking shit don't.

Have you ever developed your own film? No.

What breed was the last dog you saw? She's a chihuahua.

What’s your favorite thing to do at the end of the day? Lately my unwinding routine in bed has been scroll through Tumblr, then Facebook before actually trying to sleep. Sometimes I'll add Insta or Pinterest.

Do you have a hard time letting things go? I have a miserably hard time letting people go, like it's absurd JUST how reluctant I am with basically anybody, no matter what they've done.

When did you last feel fear? Stepping on the scale for my weight to be logged at the psychiatrist today. THANKFULLY, it hadn't gone up.

What last made you smile? I saw this super fuckin cute picture I hadn't seen before on Tumblr of Richard and Paul being girlfriends, smiling was mandatory

Have you ever walked through a sunflower field? NO BUT I WISH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Are you a fan of Taylor Swift? What’s your favorite song from her? No, but there are a couple mega-old songs by her I enjoy; I sincerely and wholeheartedly love "Love Story," and I'm sorry but "Picture To Burn" is a CLASSIC that I think every teenager has belted at least once lmfao

What’s something great that has happened to you recently? Actually today at PT, I noticed in the mirror that the pants I regularly wear out looked a lot baggier on me than what I'd grown used to. I commented mostly to myself on it, and Mom pointed out, "Brittany, you have absolutely lost weight," and it was really really REALLY validating and exciting to know other people could see progress.

Would you ever paint your bedroom bright blue? No. Maybe a lighter blue, but not bright.

What’s your favorite way to eat rice? As pork fried rice.

What’s something that has really impacted your life? Dealing with a plethora of mental illnesses, as well as experiencing relationship trauma.

What did you last have as a snack? Some peach rings.

Do you like lima beans? NO, I despise all beans. As a kid I used to explain hating lima beans with "they have fluff in them" and girl real and true 😭

How many bottles do you see from where you’re sitting? Just the water bottle by me.

Do you ever do these surveys with your SO? Nah.

Do you have a waste basket in your car? Mom generally keeps a plastic bag hooked around the transmission thing.

What’s the last wild animal you have seen? Well realistically I'm sure a bird, but maybe close to a week ago, a rabbit was in our front yard around dusk! Lil guy was just grazing and I freaked bc bunny. I immediately tried getting a picture of it from my window, but because of the lighting but especially the window blinds, it wasn't gonna happen.

Something you were surprised to learn about your parent’s childhood? [TW: RAPE] Childhood, idk, but I never knew my mother was drugged by her "boyfriend" and date-raped until like, literally this year. That's how Katie got here. My mom is just too fucking good for this world and even any heaven, I learned because via DNA testing and stuff Katie recently got in touch with her father, and has apparently been building a relationship with him, and my mom is entirely refusing to tell her what really brought her here; like, I asked her, and she responded with so much fire and SO quickly that she was not taking this away from her. I cannot IMAGINE the pain it causes her, especially when Katie's told her he's been nice. I just can't even try to imagine, I fuckin can't.

Have you ever told a friend you thought their parent was hot? Uh no, that's weird.

Have you ever destroyed another person’s belongings out of anger? Absolutely not, find a better way to be angry, ffs.

Which painkiller do you use? Usually Ibuprofen 'cuz it's cheaper than Advil but still basically the same thing.

Would you like to be part of a wedding party? It's honestly not my favorite thing, primarily because of all the pictures, but of course I would be in them for my family and close friends.

Have you ever thrown anything up to hang on the power/phone lines? No, not a fan of that.

Something you taught yourself how to do? Edit videos in Sony Vegas programs at least semi-decently.

What is the last song you listened to in a car? Uhhhh I honestly can't remember what was the last thing on this morning.

Do you currently feel calm? Yeah, I'm fine. Probably going to sleep soon; surprised I'm not already honestly, last night was TERRIBLE sleep-wise and I've been a complete zombie today, so I really shouldn't be awake.

If applicable, what’s your favorite sports team? Not into sports.

When did you last sign your signature? Today at the psychiatrist actually, for a certain sort of info release.

What cover do you think is better than the original song? Two BLARINGLY obvious ones imo that I always instantly go to: Johnny Cash's version of "Hurt" (originally by Nine Inch Nails) and Disturbed's cover of "Sound of Silence" (originally by Simon & Garfunkel). Like, it's not even a competition.

Who is the last person that gave you butterflies? Girt.

Are you planning on kissing anyone tomorrow evening? Girt is coming over tomorrow so I'm sure I will.

Have you ever told a guy you were a lesbian to get him to leave you alone? No.

If you have a favorite television show, who’s your favorite character? In Meerkat Manor, it's Mozart. Growing up it was always Flower, but I mean, she was basically everybody's with her being like the "main" character that you were always rooting for, but I've considered it Mozart for many years now. Don't get me wrong, I adore Flower (I loved every single meerkat merely mentioned in that show), but Mozart was just a truly gentle meerkat, even without the MM script that made up or altered things. In That '70s Show, it's SO hard to pick because all the characters are so memorable and lovable in their own way, but I think I've always liked Hyde the most.

[here2bbtstrash]

the shape of your body (explicit)

genre: fluffy slowburn smut

pairing: jimin x reader

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

word count: 24k 🙇‍♀️

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

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

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

read on AO3!

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just wish you knew him, too.

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

Well, you know a few things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then the train stops moving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Definitely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you pay them for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You in grad school too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes. “Nasty.”

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

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

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

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

Fuck. You nearly snap your pencil in half.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

“You just did,” Yoongi notes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

“Fucking asshole!”

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

“Yoongi?!”

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

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

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

“What about the coffee shop?”

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

“What about the bar?”

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

“What about the—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

“Is this about the penis?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, I appreciate all forms of poetry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gay together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess so.”

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

Another invitation, you realize dumbly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was fast.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

“When are you done with classes today?”

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“White and sparkling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s hear it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If we watch The Notebook I will cry.”

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

~*~

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

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

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

“Better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Subway Boy, huh?”

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth twists slightly, unsure. “Yes and no? Both? My desire has always… fluctuated, I guess. Been a little shy.” A smile spreads over his face, and he hums a note. “Like, you know how people say love at first sight isn’t a thing? That it’s just lust?” You nod, prompting him to continue. “I think, at least for me, it’s the opposite. I can fall for somebody, and fall hard, like that.” He snaps loudly with his free hand. “But lust… I don’t know, it takes longer. It’s like a slow burn thing.”

You nod again, processing his words for a moment before you respond. “Well, I’m in no rush.”

Jimin sits up, voice thoughtful as he untangles his hand from yours, and it’s clear he’s getting more comfortable opening up to you. “Right after the breakup, I did a lot of research. I found this term, demisexual, that felt pretty accurate.” He shrugs. “But I don’t know. I mostly just think that... I am who I am. And the people who get it will get it. Like you.”

Before you can even speak, he sweeps an arm under your calves to drag you into his lap in one swift move, and you squeak a little in surprise as your world tilts.

“Demisexual. I like it,” you giggle as he guides your legs to wrap around his middle. His hands slide up your thighs, grabbing at your hips to tug you closer so he can trail kisses along your neck.

“Biromantic demisexual, technically,” he murmurs, head tipping up to find your mouth again.

You drape your arms over his shoulders and hum against his lips as he kisses you. “It suits you.”

Another soft noise escapes you when Jimin manages to maneuver to standing with you still in his arms. You tighten your grip on his shoulders and your legs around his waist, and his hands shift down to your ass to firmly hold you up. You squeeze your eyes shut automatically in fear of being dropped, then flutter them open again when you feel your back press into the soft cushion of your bedspread.

Jimin is hovering over you, forearms dropped down to the bed on either side of you. His eyes search yours for a moment, and then he leans in to kiss you again, so fiercely this time that it leaves you breathless. You can’t help but whimper as his tongue slips into your mouth.

When he finally pulls away, he presses his forehead to your collarbone with a groan. “It’s late,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over your neck. “I should go.”

You nod responsibly, despite how desperately you want him to stay.

You walk him out, and his sweet parting kiss leaves your heart hammering in your chest, enough that you slump against the frame with a sigh once you shut the door, your knees suddenly weak.

Light on your feet, you follow the faint noise of the TV to find Yoongi in the living room with Planet Earth on at a barely audible volume. He glances at you, his mouth a flat line, then reaches for the remote to turn the sound up a few notches. You drop down on the couch next to him, and it’s silent for a moment, save for the calm narration and the crinkling plastic of him tearing open a bag of Turtle Chips.

“How’d it go?” he finally asks, voice monotone.

“It’s good,” you answer softly. “We’re good.” You fold your legs up under yourself and sneak a look at Yoongi out of the corner of your eye. You’re still a little pissed, but you also want advice. Damn him for knowing everything.

“Have you heard the term ‘demisexual’ before?”

Yoongi nods, still chewing as he replies. “Yeah. Like asexual spectrum, right?”

You shrug. “I guess. It’s new to me.”

He shoves a few more chips in his mouth before he continues. “Is that what your Subway Boy is?”

“I think so, yeah.”

There’s a long pause while you watch penguins march across the screen, and you think that might be the end of it. Then Yoongi clears his throat. “You know, I’m somewhere in there too. Not completely asexual, but definitely not… not.”

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

Yoongi snorts. “Don’t act so shocked. These walls aren’t that thick.”

“Is Joon?”

He smirks, like you’ve just told a joke. “Decidedly not.”

“Oh.” You blink, trying to process. “How do you deal with it?”

Yoongi makes a face, like he’s never thought about it before. “We just communicate, I guess. Be respectful even when we don’t necessarily understand. And, like, Namjoon watches porn, and surprisingly reads quite a bit of erotica—”

“Okay, okay,” you cut him off. “I don’t need all the details.”

He huffs a dry laugh at your discomfort. “It’s not always easy, sometimes it’s frustrating for both of us. But we make it work. We love each other.”

You chew a little at the inside of your cheek, and then you can’t hold in the question any longer. “Is it weird that the idea doesn’t bother me? Jimin said it was a huge issue with his ex. Like, does that make me on the… spectrum?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I mean, you might be? But not necessarily? I don’t know, sex matters different amounts to everyone. Some people don’t mind not having it that often. You don’t have to put a label on it unless you want to, you know?”

“Yeah, makes sense.” You nod slowly as you digest the idea. “Thanks, Yoongi. I appreciate the education.”

His only answer at first is a noncommittal hum, and then he points a finger at the few inches of wine in the bottle you left sitting on the coffee table. “Gonna finish that?”

“It’s all yours,” you say. “Consider it atonement for going to first base on the couch.”

Yoongi grabs the bottle by the neck and immediately drains it. “Apology accepted,” he grunts as he sets it back down. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you.” He extends his bag of chips in your direction and you happily reach in for the biggest handful you can manage.

~*~

During your next movie night, Jimin can’t keep his hands to himself.

They pet up your thighs, your legs draped over his, then slide up to your hips, fingertips tracing patterns over the waistband of your leggings and toying at the hem of your shirt.

His mouth has a similar problem: he leans in to press kisses along the line of your jaw, then down the slope of your neck, sucking delicately at the spot that makes your nipples tighten and sends a shiver through you.

“You’re missing the movie,” you remark, raking a hand through his peachy-pink hair, shadowed at the roots where his natural color has started to grow in. He’s typically good about keeping himself restrained until the credits roll, but you’re barely halfway through Pride & Prejudice, haven’t even cracked a second bottle yet.

“Fuck the movie,” he growls against your skin, and you bite back a whimper when his teeth scrape over your neck. You can’t ignore the way your core is starting to ache from his insistent mouth.

His lips find yours again, and you giggle softly into him. “You’re in a mood.”

“Just been thinking about you,” he murmurs between kisses. It surprises you a little when he suddenly pulls back so he can look you in the eyes. “Should we— do you want to go to my room?”

The air hangs still and heavy between you, and you worry at your bottom lip for a moment. “Are you sure?” When he nods, dark brown eyes blinking up at you, your mouth turns up at the corner. “I’d rather we not traumatize any more roommates if we can help it.”

You lean over to pause the movie before sliding off his lap and getting to your feet, and then you reach your hands out for his and pull him up next to you. “Come on.”

Jimin’s bedroom is so perfectly him that it relaxes you, feather-soft comfort every time you step inside. His bed isn’t made, because it never is, the thick white duvet pushed down on one side where he stumbled out from beneath it this morning. He keeps it dark, blackout curtains drawn to support his night owl lifestyle, and the room is bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights he’s strung up along the ceiling. A myriad of posters and art prints and polaroids are taped to the walls, some beautiful, others sentimental— he even managed to coax you into tearing a few of his favorites out of your sketchbook. You still don’t think they’re anything special, but nevertheless, it makes your heart squeeze in your chest to see them on display with everything else. Like they belong here in this room, like you do too.

The door clicks as it shuts behind him, and then his mouth is on yours again, kissing you dizzy while he backs you up until your knees hit the edge of the bed. He guides you to lay down, and his hand slips beneath you to drag you up the bed with him as he crawls over you.

His hands come up to tug at your shirt. “Can I take this off?” he breathes.

You nod, staring up at him and not quite able to believe any of this is real. “You can do anything you want to me.” With a smile, he lifts the hem of your shirt, and you sit up a little so he can pull it the rest of the way off.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Jimin murmurs against your skin as he kisses down your neck, over your collarbones, then down between the valley of your breasts. His hands slip down to palm at your tits, squeezing gently, and he mouths at the stiff peaks of your nipples over the thin fabric of your bralette. You untangle briefly, only for as long as it takes to get the lacy thing off of you entirely and tossed over the edge of the bed.

You shiver a little as the air hits your bare skin, and then the warmth of his body covers you again, and he ducks down to close his mouth over your nipple and suck. The plush softness of his lips and the firm suction combined are enough to make your eyes roll back, and your spine arches up beneath him when he drags his tongue in a circle over the sensitive bud.

“Shit,” you groan. Your hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, and it feels like your only tether to reality.

It’s easy to believe it’s the waiting, the anticipation of this moment, that makes every little touch light you up like a live wire now. But something tells you it will always feel like this.

While his lips shift to your other breast, one hand slides down to cup your clothed pussy, rubbing gentle friction into your center. You circle your hips to press yourself against the flat of his palm, sighing at the brush of indirect contact and the heat that thrums through you from the pressure on your clit.

You feel Jimin’s weight shift on the mattress as he kneels next to you, and his lips find yours again at the same time his hand slips into your leggings, two fingers tracing the seam of your panties to make you whine softly. If he couldn’t tell before, he must be able to now: how wet you are, enough to drench the lacy fabric so it clings to your cunt, dripping arousal to show how badly you want him.

He’s surprisingly forceful when he tugs the damp fabric to the side, but so gentle again as he slips one finger and then a second into your tight heat. Your mouth drops open as he curls them up to rub at your g-spot, stroking into you over and over while your cunt squeezes tight around him.

Your head drops back on the pillow and you groan. “Oh, fuck, Jimin.”

You can hear how soaked your pussy is as he pumps into you, and the wet squelch of his fingers working inside you would make you shy if it didn’t feel so overwhelmingly perfect. The pleasure edges your breathing with soft sounds, and Jimin swallows them when he kisses you again.

He shifts slightly for a better angle and then you feel the heel of his palm grind down against your clit. It’s enough to make your hips buck up under him with every press of his hand, his insistent touch shooting sparks of arousal through you.

It’s been so long since anyone has touched you, and you’ve wanted this with him so badly for so long, but even still, it surprises you how quickly he can bring you to the edge.

“Jimin,” you break the kiss to gasp against his mouth, unable to believe how close you already are. Close enough that all you can do is cling, to any part of him you can reach: his hair, his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt. “Jimin, Jimin, fuck.”

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” he groans, and he says the next part softer, like it’s just for him. “My girl looks so pretty on my fingers.”

The pace of his movements doesn’t falter, nor does the heavy weight of his palm as he ducks down to capture your nipple in his mouth again. Your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in to the last knuckle with each thrust of his hand, and your nails dig desperately into his forearm as you feel your orgasm crest.

His teeth graze lightly over the tight bud of your breast, and it’s enough. With a final whine, the arousal that’s been coiling inside you snaps, and your back arches up off the bed as you come hard on his fingers.

Jimin’s fingers keep stroking you through it, the flat of his palm rubbing rough circles against your clit again and again and again and it feels like you might never stop coming. You moan as it rolls over you, wave after wave, until his touch is so overwhelming that you have to pull your trembling thighs together, and he finally relents.

Spent, your body sinks heavy into the bed, and you can’t help the dazed giggle that flutters out as afterglow starts to bloom behind your ribs.

Jimin hovers over you, dropped down onto his forearms, full lips pressing indiscriminately to your flushed skin, all over. You snake a hand through his hair to pull his mouth up to yours, and he kisses you slow and deep.

When you break apart, you tip your forehead to his. “Can I touch you?” you ask, still a little breathless.

“Please,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours again before he pulls away with a small, embarrassed smile. “My pants hurt.”

You sit up on your knees and he does too, and you bite down on your lip as you reach for the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it over his head, and then there he is, beautiful as ever. Familiar, yet somehow all new.

Jimin shivers and whines when your hands run across the bare skin of his chest, teasing over his soft brown nipples before starting to trace a path down to his stomach. You lean in to kiss him, and he outright groans into your mouth when your fingertips tease along the band of his boxers that peeks out over his jeans. You gently bring your palms to his hips to guide him, and he’s pliant for you, shifting backwards at your suggestion until he’s seated, leaned back against the headboard.

Your hands shake slightly as you unbutton and push down his jeans, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh of relief. He’s so hard, you can understand why the tight denim must have been painful: his dick is still straining even now, a thick outline pressed into the fabric of his underwear, and there’s a dark patch that clings to his tip where he’s started to leak precum.

You tug his boxers down with enough force that his length smacks heavy against his stomach, and he makes a strangled noise in response, eyes squeezing shut. His hips jerk violently beneath you, and your jaw goes slack as you watch his cock twitch, and keep twitching, until a steady pool of milky gloss has leaked out over his stomach.

“Shit,” Jimin hisses as he comes practically untouched, and he gasps for air to try to speak. “Fuck fuck fuck— ‘msorry, thought I could—”

You can see him starting to spiral, can feel the panic starting to heat up inside his body, so you take his face in both of your hands. “Jimin.”

“This has never happened before— fuck, I don’t— this is so—”

“Jimin.” When you say his name again, firmer this time, he goes quiet, his eyes still shut tight. “Look at me,” you murmur, and he does, lashes slow-blinking open. “It’s okay. Okay?” Your gaze searches his, trying to convince him. “I like everything about you. Everything you do. You’re perfect.”

Clearly trying to steady his breathing, his chest shudders with effort, and you gently circle your thumb at the hinge of his jaw. He makes a soft noise as his eyelids drop shut again, his cheek pressing into your hand, letting you carry a little bit more of his weight.

It’s quiet for a moment, and his voice is unsure when he speaks. “There’s tissues… in the—”

“Can I take care of it?” you interrupt to ask, your voice low. His eyes blink open again to look at you, and a dark glint flickers there as the unsaid meaning of your question washes over him.

“Y-yeah.”

You take your time moving down the bed to settle between Jimin’s thighs, and you stare up at him, waiting for any indication that he wants you to stop or doesn’t feel comfortable. But he just swallows hard, his adam’s apple jerking in his throat, and nods.

Leaning down, you drag your tongue in steady, long strokes over the flat plane of his stomach to lick the mess up.

As you get the last of it, you’re surprised to feel his hand cup the back of your head. You don’t resist when he pulls you up for a kiss, then licks into your mouth to taste himself, the salt and slick of his cum sliding between your tongues.

When you break apart to swallow, Jimin’s voice is a whisper. “That okay?”

You nod, unable to bite back your smile. “You’re… really fucking hot.”

He smirks as he finds your lips again. “So are you.” The next kiss is sweeter, and then he pulls back. “If you want, we can keep— or I can go down— I don’t want—” He can’t finish any of his half-started thoughts, and you smile, lovingly running your palms over his thighs, back and forth. 

You want him so badly, more than anything, but you try to breathe through it. You can see the wheels spinning in his head, that self-critical flash in his eyes, the same furrow in his brow that creases when he gets frustrated with himself.

“I’m not saying no because I don’t want you,” you preface. “But I just don’t want you to feel stressed or get in your head about it. I want it to feel good, and I’m in no rush. Next time, okay?” 

His lips are still a little pouted, but he nods, and you lean in to sling your arms around his neck. “C’mere.”

You tug him down to the mattress, and your half-naked bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, hands tracing gentle patterns over bare skin as you kiss.

When you eventually end up with your cheek pressed to his chest, you listen to the sound of his heartbeat settling, his breathing evening out. You speak softly in the quiet of his room. “My roommate’s doing an exhibition on Friday. Will you come with me? I’ve been promised there will be free booze.”

Jimin tightens his grip on your waist, his voice slurring like he’s half-asleep. “Mmm, my favorite person and my favorite thing.” There’s a pause, and he sighs. “That sounded bad. Promise I'm not an alcoholic.”

“I know,” you laugh, dragging your lips over his collarbone, then grunting a little noise of frustration as reality starts to set in. “I have class early tomorrow. I should go before I fall asleep here.”

He whines his disapproval, but when you glance up you can see the fight going out of him, his eyelids starting to flutter closed. You lean up for one, two, three more kisses before you force yourself out of bed to find your bra and your shirt. “I’ll see you Friday?”

“Mmkay.” He inhales deep, like he’s coming up for air. “Text me when you make it home safe?”

“I will,” you promise, and you do.

~*~

Namjoon’s exhibition is laughably fancy for what really just ends up being a room full of gay, overdressed art students. The ridiculous finger foods disappear in minutes— all the broke grad school kids came hungry— but you and Jimin gladly hover around the table of champagne flutes instead, giggles sparkling between you like the bubbles that fizz in your glasses.

You’ve been trying to drag him away to actually take in the art, but he keeps necking his drinks. “You’re supposed to sip it, you demon!” you chide with a laugh as he does it again, picking up a fresh glass and throwing all of it back in one gulp.

He smirks slightly as he shakes his head. “It’s more fun this way. Try it.”

You roll your eyes, hiding the grin that threatens to stretch over your face in the rim of your drink before following suit. He’s not wrong: a rush of warmth creeps up your neck as you swallow, the world softening around you, and it’s made sweeter by the kiss Jimin leans in for. When he pulls back you can see his face is flushing, too.

“Come on, Mr. Park,” you murmur, your free hand intertwining with his as you set the empty glass down and retrieve another. “Take me on a tour.”

Jimin grabs another flute too and then you’re off, and he actually manages to drink this one slowly as you weave through the gallery, the click of your footsteps underscoring the gentle classical music that floats through the speakers. You lean into Jimin in comfortable silence as you take in each art piece, sipping delicately at your champagne, occasionally hooking your chin over his shoulder just for the thrill of being close to him.

“These are all beautiful,” he hums appreciatively as you stand in front of a wide, impressionist landscape, swirls of color that shift into shapes when you step far enough away, but dissolve into unidentifiable blobs of thick-textured paint up close. “Namjoon did a really good job curating.”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod, but your eyes are on Jimin and everything else pales in comparison. He’s dressed up for the occasion, tight black jeans and a white button-down with a leather jacket thrown on over top. His hair is styled, pretty pink strands pushed back off his forehead, and his asymmetrical silver earrings glimmer in the low lighting. The result is so stunning you’ve had a hard time focusing on anything but him tonight.

A thought that’s been running through your mind all evening resurfaces again as you swallow the last of your glass of champagne.

“They should put you in a gallery.” You didn’t necessarily plan to say the thought out loud, but say it you do. Jimin quirks an eyebrow and you decide to double down. “But not here. Somewhere better.”

“The Met?” he guesses, teasing.

“The Louvre,” you counter, and he outright laughs, his head tipping back.

“The Louvre?!”

“You heard me,” you giggle, your body pressed against his side. “You’re art.”

Releasing your hand, he wraps his free arm around you to pull you into his chest, the smile still lingering over his face. “And you,” he murmurs, “are drunk.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” Your voice is muffled slightly as you speak into his collarbone.

You tilt your head up for a kiss, and it seems to surprise both of you how quickly the atmosphere changes. It might be the more-than-several glasses of champagne to blame, or the fact that you’ve found yourselves in a corner, hidden away from the rest of the exhibition’s patrons, but the soft spark that ignites between you quickly grows into a licking flame at the touch of your lips. It’s heat-blush passion as your mouths move against each other, and you’re trying to keep quiet despite the weight of it, heavy in your core, this shared, unspoken need.

“Jimin,” you breathe into him, overwhelmed by all that he is.

He shifts, nosing at your jawline as he speaks into your ear. “Do you want to go somewhere?”

The suggestion makes you a little unsteady on your feet, your high heels threatening to topple over, and he catches you with a hand to your waist when you falter. “Like, somewhere here?”

“Too far to go all the way home,” he purrs, the hand on your body squeezing gently. “And you look too good.”

Your head swims as he kisses you again, and he pries the empty glass out of your hand, setting it down on the nearest table with his. A hand returns to the small of your back, then slips lower, cupping your ass through the fabric of your black dress. His mouth paints a smile over yours, and you grab his wrist. “Follow me.”

Stumbling your way through the gallery, trading laughs under your breath like confidants and kisses when no one is looking, you lead him back to the coat check closet at the front, thankfully left vacant by whichever freshman had been roped in to the thankless job. With a final glance over your shoulder to make sure you’re unseen, you push the door open and tug Jimin inside after you.

As soon as the coat check door closes again, he has you pressed against it, his tongue slipping hungrily into your mouth. His hands skirt up the curve of your hips as he slots a thigh between your legs, firmly pushing up the hem of your dress to grind into your clothed center.

You both freeze where you are at the sound of a moan, one that very distinctly does not come from either of you.

Jimin tries and fails to suppress a nervous laugh. Unable to make out anything in the dark, you reach your hand out, smacking aimlessly at the wall next to you until you find a lightswitch and flip it on.

“What the fu—” The man who made the noise in question flings a hand over his face at the sudden intrusive wash of fluorescents, but you’d know him from his voice alone. Kim Taehyung still has one hand gripped tight to the metal bar of a coat rack, back arched and legs spread for whoever his latest victim is, with his pants and boxers shoved down to his ankles.

Before your alcohol-soaked brain can put together a smug comment about how Taehyung needs to get his ass eaten at home like a normal human, Jimin’s voice surprises you.

“Hobi?”

You clap a hand over your mouth as you realize the man on his knees, pulling his tongue off Taehyung’s rim with a look of utter confusion, is none other than Jung Hoseok. His eyes are wide as dinner plates as his head snaps up to take the two of you in.

“Jimin?!”

“Oh my god.” You start to laugh so hard your knees buckle, and Jimin has to wrap his arms around you to keep you upright. “How the fuck did you two even meet?!”

“Do we really need to have this discussion now?!” Taehyung growls, and it only makes you laugh harder.

“Come on, come on—” Jimin is collapsing into giggles himself as he fumbles for the handle behind you. He simultaneously attempts to pull you off the door so he can swing it open. “Let’s leave them to it.”

You smack the lights off again as you make your escape, Jimin’s grip still hugging tight around your waist as you laugh until your lungs nearly give out. The lobby is thankfully empty, all the attendees pressed deeper into the gallery, so you loop your arms over his shoulders as you recover and pull his mouth back down to yours, unable to stop yourself.

“Let me take you home,” you manage to say in the space between kisses. Your tongue feels heavy when you speak; his is champagne-sweet. “Joon and Yoongi will be here for a while.”

Jimin’s agreement hums, buzzing on your lips. “Wanna take the train?”

You’re grateful the subway car you stumble into is empty, because the pull of Jimin’s mouth is too magnetic to be ignored. You don’t think you could stop kissing him if you tried.

It’s practically a race back to your apartment once you emerge from the station, partially to get out of the cold night air, though you hardly feel it with Jimin’s jacket slung over your shoulders and your body flushed hot from alcohol and desire. As you climb the four flights to your walk-up, both of you giggling and gripping tight to the banister, the spiral of the stairs sends your world spinning. You feel dizzy-drunk on wine and laughter and lust alike, and maybe something more. Something you don’t have words for yet.

It takes you three tries to get your keys in the door, and when you finally manage to get it open, you kick your shoes off and make a beeline for your bedroom, dragging Jimin along after you, hand-in-hand. Thankfully he has the foresight to remember to shut the door behind you, because all you can think about is him: the rich musk of his cologne, the taste of his tongue, the warm blush of his skin under your palms.

The leather jacket hits the floor and you step over it, walking backwards as he licks into your open mouth, shameless.

You nearly fall over when you bump up against the bed and almost lose your balance, and then you reach for the buttons of his shirt at the same time he goes for your dress. The two of you laugh your frustrations against each other as your arms tangle and get in the way.

“You first!” you insist, and he relents, lets you unbutton the starched white fabric of his button-down so he can shrug out of it. Your fingers move to undo his belt and then he takes over, impressively coordinated enough to be able to kiss you while kicking his jeans the rest of the way off, stripped down now to his black boxer-briefs. He pulls your dress up over your head, and then your barely-clothed bodies press together all the way down, the ache in your core now an undeniable throb.

Jimin takes your face in his hands and kisses you again, and you slip one hand between your hips and his to palm at him, earning an appreciative hiss. You rub at him over the front of his briefs, teasing, then dip your touch beneath his waistband.

His cock hangs heavy between his legs, but he’s not quite hard yet, maybe from the cold, so you take him in your hand and start to pump. For fear of too much dry friction you try to go slow, and he groans into your mouth as you twist your wrist a little to circle your thumb over his frenulum.

He buries his face in your neck, and you can feel the heat of his embarrassment bloom against your skin. “Sorry— gimme a second.”

Tilting your head, you press a kiss to his temple. “Don’t apologize. D’you wanna try laying down?”

When he nods, you release your grip on him so he can sink down onto the bed, crawling backwards up to the pillows. Knelt down on the mattress, you settle in the space he makes for you, thighs spread and knees tipped open, and you push his briefs down enough to free all of him.

You hook your thumb and index finger under the head of his dick to pull it flush against his stomach, allowing you better access to drag your tongue in little kitten licks up his shaft. Your other hand moves to massage gently at his balls as you take his tip into your mouth and let it bulge against your cheek, let him slip against the soft wall there to make saliva pool on your tongue, sloppy on purpose.

It’s still not working, not really, and when your gaze flits up to him again, Jimin’s face is pulled into a grimace. Heat rushes up your neck, and you pull your mouth off him and immediately right yourself. You shift backwards a little on your knees as your pulse starts to race. Does he not want this? Did you misread some sign, or push him too far?

Jimin must be able to read the look in your eyes, because he groans as he presses his face into his hands. “It’s not you. Think I drank too much, I don’t— i-it feels good, I—it just—”

You’re not exactly sober yourself. The receding white noise of panic makes it hard to think, hard to know what to say. “I-it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I just—” he tries again. “I really want to do this, I don’t know why— it’s fucking embarrassing.” The blankets muffle the sound as his palms smack flat against the bed on either side of him in clear frustration. You move out from between his legs, still trying to catch up, and a muscle in his jaw jumps as he pulls his boxer-briefs back over himself.

“Jimin,” you murmur. The bed creaks when you shift to lay next to him, to tuck into his side, and you reach up to run a hand through his hair, a little sticky with the product holding it in place. An anxious, thrumming quiet settles over both of you as his eyes flutter closed.

The words finally come to you in the silence; you can only hope they’ll reach him. “I had so much fun with you tonight. That doesn’t go away.” The crease between his brows softens a little, so you keep talking. “It’s not your only chance, okay? I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here.” Your free hand slips into his on the bed next to you. “And I want you with me.”

He sniffs a little, so quiet you nearly miss it, then turns in towards you. Your noses bump together and your mouth turns up at the corners as you continue. “It’s late, and I… can’t promise there isn’t more ass-eating waiting for you at home. Do you want to sleep here?”

Jimin’s eyes blink open, glassy, and then he nods.

“Come on,” you say softly, sitting up and tugging on your still-joined hands. “How about we shower?”

In the bathroom, you run the water scalding hot, and when you both step in you nudge Jimin forward to stand under it first, then press against him from behind. Your hands wrap around his waist to slide over his stomach as you tilt up to reach his ear when you speak. “This okay?”

He nods, hums a little, and you move your hands up over the whole of his body. Hard lines and soft curves, a work of art you know so well, you can see it when you close your eyes as you map his skin with your fingertips. You nuzzle into the place where his neck and shoulder meet, then press a kiss there. “I’m right here,” you say again, not even sure if he hears you.

But his head turns, and you feel one of his hands slide over yours on his chest. “Will you wash my hair?” he asks softly, and you tip forward to bring your mouth to his, convinced you’d do anything he asked of you.

It’s intimate, the way you take your time running shampoo and then conditioner through his silky pink strands, dragging your nails over his scalp and applying gentle pressure that makes him sigh prettily in response. Jimin steps further under the showerhead both times to rinse the product out, and if a few tears slip down his cheeks, they’re lost to the spray of the water where you can’t tell the difference.

But he does manage the ghost of a smile when you reach to grab your washcloth and he gets there first. “Your turn.”

Once your body and then his are scrubbed and rinsed clean, you shut the water off and grab thick, fluffy towels that you dry off and wrap up in. In the dim light of your room, you pull on an oversized t-shirt and boyshorts, then dig out a pair of sweatpants from your dresser. They’re fairly baggy on you, but they fit Jimin perfectly, and the image of him in something of yours makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest.

You run two glasses under the kitchen tap that you set out to ward off any potential hangovers, and you even manage to find a spare toothbrush for him to use. When he emerges from the bathroom again, still absentmindedly toweling his damp hair, you’re sitting on the bed with your feet tucked under you.

“Do you want to watch something?” you offer gently.

He shakes his head as he stifles a yawn. “‘Mtired. Think I just wanna sleep.”

You pat the bedspread next to you, an invitation. “Then let’s sleep.”

Under the covers, you curl up together, soft and warm from the shower, scented lavender and mint from your body wash and toothpaste. Jimin’s legs tangle with yours, an arm wrapping over your waist, and you press your cheek against the hard plane of his chest with a small sigh.

You listen as his breathing slows, each inhale a little further apart from the last, to the point where you think he’s fallen asleep. You feel yourself start to follow after him, and the last thing you hear before you’re dragged all the way down is Jimin inhaling deep, then mumbling softly into your hair. “Thank you. For everything.”

~*~

Light streams in between the cracks of the window blinds, painting warm shapes over your eyelids that gently wake you. You sigh and stretch as you slowly come all the way up from dreaming, your eyes still heavy-lidded. When you roll over with a soft grunt, you find Jimin fast asleep there, his face smushed into the pillow, one arm slung lazily over you.

The corner of your mouth pulls up, and you have to fight the urge to dot kisses all over his face, deciding to let him sleep instead. It takes some maneuvering, but you manage to roll out from under his arm without waking him and slip quietly out of bed, easing the bedroom door closed behind you.

It’s early, and the apartment is still, washed in morning gleam and the gentle hum of New York City traffic on the streets outside.

You stumble into the kitchen with a stifled yawn, swinging open the fridge and leaning down to retrieve a pack of bacon and the half-empty carton of eggs. Humming quietly to yourself, you dig a pan out and set it on the stove to heat.

Arms slide around your waist, making you jump a little before you melt back as Jimin nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You can feel his body through your t-shirt, still warm from sleep and bedsheets he must’ve only just crawled out from under.

Not quite graceful, you turn in his arms and loop yours around his neck to seek a kiss. “Good morning,” you murmur, your voice hoarse on your first spoken words of the day. “How are you feeling?”

Jimin’s mouth is still slurred from waking up when he answers. “‘Mgood. You look good.” His gaze roams down your body and back up, as if to take in your oversized shirt, your bare legs, your hair still messy from sleep. “So cute like this.”

You scrunch your nose slightly as you smile up at him. “Want breakfast?”

A heat starts to pool between your legs as his hands slide further down your back. He pushes your shirt up so he can grip your ass, the thin fabric of your underwear the only thing separating his skin from yours.

“In a bit.”

You can’t help but squeak when, in one swift move, he bends his knees and lifts you off the ground. Impulsively, your legs spread to wrap over his hips, thighs squeezing tight to hold on, and your arms cling around his neck as laughter flutters in your chest. Before you can act on the urge to bury your face in his shoulder, his mouth finds yours again, and the way he kisses you, hungry and deep, makes nothing else in the world matter.

He carries you back to bed, nudging open the door he didn’t quite close all the way with his shoulder, then using a foot to push it shut again. Your muscles unclench when he sits down with you in his lap, and you unwrap your legs from around him, your knees sinking soft into the bed.

You can’t quite shake the thoughts of the night before. “Jimin,” you start, “we don’t have to do this if you don’t—”

“Want to,” his voice is low, ragged edges from sleep. “Doing it ‘cause I want to. I want you. Do you want me?”

You nod, leaning back to look at him, your arms still twined over his neck. “More than anything.”

There’s no rush this time as he shifts backwards up the bed and you crawl over him to settle into his lap again. No tension that’s been building all night, no alcohol buzzing in your systems, no urgency. Just your bodies, half-dressed in sleep clothes, intertwining like they were made to fit together.

Your kisses are sweet and unhurried as Jimin’s hands slip beneath your oversized t-shirt, delicate fingers tracing up your waist. He cups your breasts in his palms, squeezing gently as he licks into your mouth. When he rolls a nipple between his fingers, your breath hitches, sparks of arousal shooting all the way down to your toes. A weight blossoms in your core as you reach for the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, and you shiver a little in the morning air.

“Beautiful,” Jimin says quietly, reverently, and you take his face in your hands.

“You are too,” you murmur, your eyes searching his. “So beautiful.” Your hands slip down his body as he kisses you again, your fingertips outlining the contours of his chest, gently brushing over his nipples to make him groan into your mouth.

Jimin’s hands come to rest at the curve of your hips as your mouths move together, where he teases his touch under the band of your boyshorts. He pulls back just far enough to ask, “Can I take these off?” and you nod.

You shimmy the thin fabric down your thighs, dropping onto your ass with a laugh so he can tug them the rest of the way off, one ankle at a time. As you sit up on your knees again, his hands come to grip your thighs, and he shifts lower on the bed until he’s laying flat on his back next to you.

“Wanna eat you out,” he murmurs softly.

“Yeah?” You bite down on a small smile.

He hums. “Can I— will you please, uh… sit on my face?”

You can’t help but giggle. No one has ever asked so politely. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s slow, languid, the way his full lips close delicately around your clit when you settle over him, how he alternates with lazy passes of his tongue, not unlike the way he kisses you. The pleasure pulls your spine arched and your head tips back, palms pressing flat to the bed beneath you.

“Jimin,” you gasp, “baby, feels so fucking good.”

His tongue is heavy as it drags down your folds, thick when he sinks it into your cunt to taste the slick arousal that pours out of you and drips down his chin. Your hips rock into his mouth, his nose inadvertently bumping against your clit as he licks you like he doesn’t want to waste a drop. Your walls cling tight, crammed up full of him.

With a slurp and a gasp for breath, he withdraws, his tongue made hot from being buried inside of you, trailing wet warmth as he licks back up your pussy to lap at your clit again. Your arms threaten to give out when he sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, lips pulsing an insistent rhythm that makes you moan and writhe above him.

“Jimin, Jimin.” The pleasure is decadent, thick, wine and honey, made sweeter by the beautiful boy pressed between your thighs. Emotion bubbles up inside of you to twist with your pleasure, and you tighten a hand in his rose-blush hair as you moan again, nearly a sob this time, a dam breaking.

Jimin hums against you, fingertips digging into the soft skin of your thighs, like he can tell you’re at the edge without you having to say a word, and it’s enough to send you tumbling over it.

“Oh fuck baby, yes, fuck.” Your toes curl tight over the bedsheets as your pussy flutters, throbs, gushes. Your vision whites out as you come hard enough to make your thighs shake, hard enough that your stomach muscles tremble with the effort of holding you up. Jimin’s mouth works you through it, tongue stroking flat and slow to coax pulse after pulse out of you, until everything melts into shaky aftershocks and your thighs clench around him, over-sensitive.

He pulls back when you start to squirm, lips smacking wetly on a final kiss to your pussy, and heat flushes your face at the sound of it. Your limbs feel heavy as lead as you slip off from on top of him and collapse down onto the mattress with a floaty sigh, your pulse still thudding brightly in your ears.

You’re only distantly aware of the way the bed shifts as Jimin slides down next to you. You follow his touch on instinct, turning into him when he pulls you close and presses a kiss to your hairline. Heartbeat still slamming in your chest, mind hazy with morning orgasm glow, you hum contentedly as your eyes flutter open to find him palming at a thick bulge tenting his– well, your sweatpants.

“Looks like it’s cooperating today.” Jimin’s voice is equal parts relieved and embarrassed.

With a lazy smile, you hook a finger in his waistband, tugging playfully. “What do you want to do about it?”

He laughs hoarsely. “I would love to finally fuck you, if you’ll have me.”

“I don’t want anybody else.” The thought spills out before you can worry if it’s too soon to say it, but he just smiles and leans in to kiss you.

At Jimin’s guidance, you lay back against the pillows, a couple of which he grabs to slot under your hips. “There’s condoms in the nightstand,” you say softly, and anticipation thrums in your chest, twinning with your still-racing pulse as you watch him retrieve one, then step out of his sweatpants to roll it on.

He climbs back onto the bed to hover over you, and your breaths come shallow into each other’s mouths. You kiss quietly at the precipice of this moment, like you’re afraid it might not be real, a dream you could wake up from at any second.

“Thank you.” Jimin’s low voice sends a ripple through you. “For waiting for me.”

You press a hand to his cheek, your eyes trying to take all of him in at once. “It wasn’t waiting, Jimin. Really. I’ve loved every second with you. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing.”

“I’m so glad I met you,” he murmurs.

The head of his cock teases your entrance, and you spread your thighs wider, pulling your legs up towards your chest. Still sensitive from your first orgasm, you can’t bite back the moan that spills out of you as he sinks into your tight heat with a cock thick enough to split you open. “Fuck, Jimin.”

There’s a pause when he’s pressed all the way in, his body covering yours, your hands clutching at the broad sweep of his back. He exhales a soft, disbelieving laugh as he looks down to see himself buried in you to the hilt. “God, you’re so tight. Does it hurt?”

You shake your head— you’re so soaked from his tongue and your arousal that it all just feels like melting, a pulsating heat between your legs. When he presses another kiss to your lips, he circles his hips, and you both groan at the feeling.

Jimin’s hands grip your thighs as he shifts and starts to move, starts fucking into you with long, slow strokes that make your pussy flutter, as if to urge him in deeper.

“It’s good?” he checks in again, voice tight, clearly holding himself back.

“So good, baby,” you breathe, “please fuck me.” A smirk flashes over his mouth at your manners, so polite when you ask to take it, and then he snaps his hips into you and you keen. “Fuck, please, just like that.”

He does it again and again, hands pressing down on your thighs to keep you folded up under him as he fucks you. The angle is just right for the thick head of his cock to pound into your g-spot with every stroke, and your back arches as your walls grip tight to him.

Jimin echoes your gasps with his own, swearing under his breath as you squeeze around him. He’s thrusting deep-deep now, and your hips shove up towards him for all of it, your thighs trembling as you take every inch. You’re dripping down his length every time he pulls back, wet enough to soak the sheets beneath you.

The pleasure, the pressure as he fills you up is so overwhelming that your hands reach, clinging to anything they can find. A pillow, the bedsheets, the flexing muscles in his forearms. Your moans come unabashedly now, underscored by the slap of skin on skin, the thud of the bedframe knocking into the wall. “Jimin, Jimin, baby.”

“Yeah,” he pants, choked up like he’s close. “Love it when you say my name.”

You sit up a little, folded legs shifting to wrap over his hips, and your hands come to his face to pull his mouth down to yours. His movements stutter as you kiss him breathlessly, and the brush of your tongue over his must be just enough to make him come undone. With a grunt of effort, he thrusts hard into you one final time, and his shoulders shake as he fills up the condom.

You kiss him again and again, your lips pulled into a smile against his as you tangle a hand in his hair, made messy from sleep and sex. Jimin’s body weighs heavy on top of yours as he drops his head to your shoulder, breath coming in short heat-bursts over your collarbone.

“Fuck. Been a minute.” He presses a kiss there, another to your neck, a third to your jaw. “Do you want to keep going?”

Your eyes widen at the question. “I— can you?”

A soft flush paints color in his cheeks, and he’s suddenly a little shy. “Yeah, I can. If you want. Or we can stop.”

You wrap your arms over his shoulders, your noses bumping. “I kinda felt like I was getting close again.”

He smiles. “Then let me finish what I started.” There’s a bit of shuffling as he moves to the edge of the bed to remove and tie up the used condom, then reaches for the box to retrieve another.

As he tears open the foil and rolls it on, you watch and consider all of him. This body that you know from every angle, that you’ve studied like a textbook, that holds the boy who stepped onto the subway and changed your life and made it better. This body, made to be adored, to be respected and cherished and filled up with love. This body, chosen to be shared with you, to be held by you, to be near you.

That’s all you want, you realize as he rolls over, brown eyes blinking sweetly at you. This body, and all that it holds: the darkness and the light, the pain and the beauty, the soul that so perfectly fits with yours.

“Turn over for me?” he asks softly. “I want to spoon.”

This round is easier, slower, your bodies molding together, shaky from effort and sensitivity. You twist over your shoulder, tipping your head up for a kiss that turns into a shared gasp as he presses into you again. Your walls are swollen enough to be tender, and the stretch of him, the way he fills you up entirely, makes your eyes roll back.

As he starts to grind his hips into you, his hand snakes down between your thighs before you even have to ask. You hook a leg over his to allow him better access and gasp when his cock slides even deeper into you from the new angle.

“So good,” you manage as two of his fingers work circles into your clit, matching the same slow-stroke pace. His tongue slips into your mouth, and with his cock rubbing insistently against your front wall, it doesn’t take much. Pleasure overwhelms you in a hot rush as he so easily pulls you apart again.

“Jimin.” Your voice is nearly a whisper, your walls starting to pulse. Your head tips back against his shoulder as he fucks and rubs you through it, his hums of encouragement buzzing through your body, your hips shuddering. “Baby, oh god.”

Jimin’s strokes start to falter, and then he goes still, your cunt aftershock-fluttering around him as he comes again, groaning your name.

A brush of daylight through the blinds makes your eyes heavy, and they drop closed as you lean into him and breathe through the comedown. You don’t know how long you lay there like that until his kisses pull you back earthside, dotting over your forehead, cheeks, nose, jaw. You tilt your head up and he finally finds your lips again.

With a deep grunt of post-sex effort, he rolls over, leaning off the edge of the bed to deal with the second condom. A shiver dots up your spine at the loss of his body next to yours, and you tuck into his side when he lays down again, throwing an arm over his chest to better nuzzle into the crook of his neck. The heat of his palm makes you sigh as his hand rubs gentle circles against your back.

Something cracks open inside of you, warm like his touch, like the sunlight bleeding through the window. You can feel the rapid pace of his heartbeat under your hand, and it’s everything, all of him, that makes the words rise up in your throat, undeniable.

“Jimin,” you breathe, “I l—”

A loud bang on your bedroom door makes you flinch, and you roll over with a grimace as Yoongi shouts from the other side. “If you’re finished, just so you know, you left a fucking pan on the stove. Could’ve burnt the house down while you were in there deflowering each other.”

Your jaw drops open and Jimin’s eyes go wide, and you collapse against each other in a silent rush of laughter. You’re surprised when Yoongi’s voice comes back, a little softer this time. “Also I brought some bagels back from work. If you want any, better hurry before Namjoonie eats them all.”

The charged moment has passed, and the words sink back down inside of you. Making a promise to tell him soon, you wrap yourself tighter around Jimin’s side with a smile. “What do you think?”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’ll never say no to a bagel.”

“Come on then,” you murmur, tilting up for a final hit of affection. The kiss he leaves on your lips makes your heartbeat flutter, like the shudder of a subway car.