#the progress from half the cast being nameless to me having all their full names memorized is so sweet i feel so accomplished

[pass-the-bechdel]

Stargate SG1 full series review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

43.6% (ninety-two of two hundred and eleven).

What is the average percentage of female characters with names and lines for the full series?

23.23%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Thirteen.

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 50% female?

Three. 

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

Seventy-two.

Positive Content Status:

Well, it’s altogether not impressive - on the plus side, the one (1) original female lead on the show is a legitimately great character and a strong feminist icon who has thus far withstood the test of time, but on the negative side, it’s fucking slim pickings for quality female representation beyond that one character. I’d also like the register my displeasure at all the times when the intense heteronormative male-obsessed writers room churned out content which was so rooted in straight-white-cis-male-Christian-American ideology as to be utterly absurd when applied to alien beings and cultures, but with zero evidence that anyone had reflected in the least on that fact. It’s science fiction, morons. Get a clue (average rating of 2.96).

Which season had the best representation statistics overall?

Season ten has to take it - as the only season with two women in the main cast, it passed the Bechdel 80% of the time (its closest competitor in that regard was season five at 54.54%, the only other season to even make it over 50%). Season ten also scored a 26.93% female cast, which is rubbish compared to most shows, but it’s the second-best score in that category for this show: the season which got the highest female percentage was season two, at just 27.5%. Seasons two and ten also tied for the lowest number of 20%-or-less episodes, and season two had three episodes at 40%+ and one at 50%+ (whereas ten had only the one 40%+, and no fifties), so weird as it seems, we gotta dive back into the nineties to claim season two as the runner-up for best overall statistics.

Which season had the worst representation statistics overall?

It’s a battle between seasons six to nine: season nine had the series-low for Bechdel passes (30%), and for the female cast (an abysmal 19.07%). However, season six barely did better on either score (though it was not second-worst - that was season eight, on both counts), and on the other hand, season six had a below-average positive content score, and the highest number of 20%-or-less episodes for a single season (twelve - though, season nine hardly did better, at eleven - tied with season seven, which also had a below-average positive content score, and only 20.53% for its female cast, which is the ‘best’ score of that latter cluster of seasons, but to such a negligible extent it’s hard to pretend it matters). The only thing in season nine’s favour, really, is that it didn’t tank its positive content score, but coming in at average isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement - it’s gotta take the prize for worst overall statistics, with seasons six, seven, and eight all jumbled in to second-worst, because the numbers are altogether just not that different from each other. It’s a sad showing.

Overall Series Quality:

If you can stomach the absolute overload of white dudes (both onscreen, and making their identities sooo fucking obvious all the way from the writer’s room), it’s...pretty delightful. They really don’t make exciting adventurous shows like this anymore, and more’s the pity, because sometimes the wonder of stepping through the ‘gate and discovering grand, varied, bizarre, and challenging new things on the other side is exactly what we need. 

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

Woof.

I did say, going in, that I did not expect this show to perform well, but that I was interested to see if maybe it’d do better than it appeared at first glance. It didn’t. Boy oh boy, it did NOT. As I have also said, as I’ve gone along, they increasingly surprised me in a bad way with their escalating inability to conceive of female characters, existing. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: they were better at being inclusive of women in the nineties. They weren’t necessarily good at handling those women in respectful or intelligent ways, but they bothered to remember them in a limited capacity, and that was...ok, it wasn’t much of anything. I’m not going to praise the early seasons for having better numbers than the later ones even though ALL of the numbers sucked, any more than I’m gonna praise season ten for pulling the least-crappy scores out when we all know that’s a direct consequence of having two women in the main cast, and nothing more substantive than that, no actual effort or attempt to be better was involved. Early on, I thought that the fact that the Powers That Be had allowed Samantha Carter to move beyond her uncomfortable written-by-men straw-feminist-caricature origins to become a person in her own right was a great positive sign for the future, but that turned out to be a misdiagnosis. Not of Carter - she’s fantastic - but a misdiagnosis of the creative team as men who were willing to learn and develop and expand their intensely narrow perspective. That never happened. These writers did not learn.

To put the numbers in some additional perspective, let’s look at what we got in terms of recurring characters: as established, we had just the one main female character for the entire duration of the series. Vala, our final-season addition (appearing in just shy of thirty episodes out of more than two hundred), was not the second-most prevalent female character on the show: that would be Janet Fraiser, who was killed off in season seven but who appeared in almost half the episodes up to that point (almost half to that point, not for the show in totality, mind). So, we have Carter in over two hundred episodes, Fraiser in less than eighty, and then Vala, in twenty-eight. There are ten male characters who appear in as many episodes as Vala or more - five who appear in over one hundred episodes. After Vala? The next most prominent female character is Carolyn Lam, Fraiser’s eventual replacement, in a measly eleven episodes. Considering the show ran for TWO HUNDRED and eleven (three of those being movie-length episodes, none of which featured any of the female characters mentioned other than Carter)...in at least as many episodes as Lam, we have an additional ten male characters, bringing us to TWENTY recurring males, and four female. Carter, Vala, and the two primary base doctors. That’s IT for recurring female characters who appeared in at least ten episodes of over two hundred. Male characters? Take your pick, we’ve got soldiers, scientists, politicians, aliens, villains and friends and ambiguous third parties on and off Earth, we have a bounty. We’ve got random extras with no story of their own who look exactly the same as all the other random extras (do I mean Reynolds, or Marks? Doesn’t matter, they’re both more prevalent than Lam). Want one more female character, to make it a top five? It’s Adria, who appears in six episodes exclusively in season ten (no wonder that’s the season with the best numbers). You get another thirteen male characters in the process, so we’re at thirty-three to five. You want a top ten for female characters, you gotta get all the way down to the ones who only appeared in three episodes, and it’s a joke to really call that ‘recurring’ on this scale. When I say this show had a male-dominated problem, I am not exaggerating. 

Where is the variety? You’re either a female lead (in which case, a primary part of your function is simply to BE female - and traditionally attractive - so that there’s some eye candy for the presumed straight-male audience), or you’re placed in the Compassionate Caregiver role as a doctor, or you...don’t exist. Certainly, you don’t exist in a way that sustains story for multiple episodes. As noted, if you’re a dude you don’t even NEED story, you can be a regular-recurring extra, but a woman? Forget about it. Even the female villains never last more than five episodes, if they manage that (the nameless Priors recurred more often than Adria did). And as the show wore on, episodes in which Carter was the ONLY woman became more and more frequent (until season ten, which just makes a big ol’ last-minute mess of the series-long trends). While this was good news in terms of having less sexy-lamp female guest characters popping in to single episodes to look pretty, be useless, and never appear again, it was bad news for women, existing in the narrative in any way, because evidently, these male writers struggled with the concept of women with actual functions. Even with such a variety of settings, a variety of planets and cultures and walks of life of all the dizzying kinds a person could think of (IT’S SCIENCE FICTION, MORONS), we still somehow get stuck with this itty little version of society that matches the comfortable white-Christian-American illusion of life that has been perpetuated blindly in television since its inception (pro tip: women existing in all different career paths and walks of life have been a thing since before tv shows were a thing). There’s more social variety on this planet in the real world, right now, but these dumb bastards couldn’t muster the effort to be creative with alien cultures. Hell, they failed to even be thoughtful or do basic research into historical social structures in order to reflect those in their transplanted-from-Earth-centuries-ago peoples (who had a lot of different ways of doing things, ya know?). And don’t even get me started on the gendered obsessions of genderless symbiotes...This show could be delightful and weird and wonderful with some of its ideas, but thoughtful, open-minded, PROGRESSIVE? Not at all. When you think about it, it’s actually quite alarming, just how reductive they could be. It’s like they made some minimal effort with Samantha Carter and then decided that’s it for anything or anyone who isn’t a straight-white-cis-Christian-American-man. Our work here is done.

Of course, I’m not inclined to give them credit for Samantha Carter anyway - as I noted back when I reviewed season one, credit goes to Amanda Tapping for sticking up for the integrity of a character who was originally written without any; just like the writers don’t get to take any of the credit for the work Christopher Judge did in making the Jaffa into less racist caricatures (including addressing the misogyny the writers had embedded in Jaffa warrior culture - bless you, Chris Judge), I am not going to pretend that Carter’s success as a feminist icon for the ages belongs to anyone but Amanda Tapping herself. A-Taps saved her character from the trash-heap of history to which she would have been relegated if she had continued in the model that the early episodes laid out, and whatever struggles she had behind the scenes with the kind of content she was handed (in particular I mean He Who Shall Not Be Named, Schmete Schmanahan), she never relaxed her grip on who Samantha Carter is, what she stands for, and what that means for the audience looking up to her. It’s a huge achievement, really, that despite the obvious brainless sexism of the writing staff, and despite the test of time which has claimed so many other nineties feminist icons as ‘good for the era, but actually incredibly problematic’ (we’re talking Dana Scully, Buffy, and their ilk), Carter is still pretty much unblemished; she’s close to a platonic ideal of her archetype. Again, I really don’t think it’s deliberate on behalf of the show-runners, and especially considering the rest of their atrocious track record with female characters it would be a mistake to suggest they actually knew what they were doing with Carter and/or that it mattered to them to make a truly strong female lead. If all they did was occasionally cave to Amanda Tapping when she told them to do better, well. They can have credit for not being too egotistical to listen, even though they failed to extend that ability to being basically receptive to the world outside that one interaction. Excuse me if I still think they’re fucking idiots. Because I do.

The thing about the closed-mindedness of the creative team on this show is that it translates into the storytelling in a very particular way: not just in the obvious sense (where only straight white American (*Canadian*) men are real people), but also in the context of the ethos of the show, the perspective. The characters learn and change as individuals, but the overarching attitude of the series does not develop in self-awareness to encompass the knowledge of the universe achieved by humanity at large, and that’s because, plainly, there is none. For all that the show deals in exploration, discovery, and advancement, these things are framed heavily as being scientific in nature, and just as the writers seem so confident that they know everything about the way the world works to the exclusion of even trying to understand the perspective of anyone different from them within their own culture, so the show itself never goes through self-reflection upon the America(n-military)-knows-best approach to interstellar exploration. While some early episodes - pretty much just in seasons one and two - toy with the idea that Earth knows little about the ways of the galaxy and we’re all ‘very young’, etc, there’s no development or change in approach over time which would be indicative of growth, and as the SGC garners more tech and allies and accelerates into scientific comprehension (largely applied through military enhancement, yay), questions about whether or not the gung-ho charge they lead into other worlds (sometimes with apocalyptic consequences) is really a good idea essentially dry up. There’s an overriding arrogance about this show that seems to be a by-product of that lack of self-reflection, the assumption that the audience will agree with whatever they see because, well, it seemed right to the creators and the fact that there might actually be more nuance to the issue never occurred to them. This can lead to some wild assertions and some truly shocking decision-making that is delivered straight-faced (season ten gave us the good guys committing genocide, in the name of the Ancients whom they uphold as a great species despite THEIR arrogant and terrible coloniser legacy throughout the universe, and somehow no one is troubled by any of that), and it’s a prime example of why an open-minded, considerate and understanding approach (and a diverse creative team to help facilitate that with their naturally different perspectives) is a really important thing in storytelling, even beyond the immediately obvious issue of representation: if everyone in the room has created an echo chamber of the same incredibly limited point of view, you lose the ability to recognise that alternate interpretations exist and that from some angles, what you’re making could be illogical, offensive, propagandistic, or evil.

So, here we are. With me, wrapping this thing up with a reminder that despite just accusing the show of sometimes supporting evil ideologies through the blind ignorance of its self-absorbed show-runners, I actually really enjoy Stargate SG1 and will always hold a special place for it in my heart. On an entertainment level, it is pretty reliable, there are some duds in there for sure (some of them duds for various illogical, offensive, propagandistic, or evil reasons, some of them just fucking boring as Hell), but for the most part it’s solid, and sometimes it digs up a gem and really shines. Every virtue it has is a virtue that could be vastly improved upon (and every flaw is easily solvable with just a little bit of Goddamn thinking), and the full template is there, primed for a remake of the more inclusive sort, something that’ll play the game of alien cultural variance and the intrigue of Earth-based politics and the gravity and wonder of galactic exploration with the seriousness, creativity, and gusto that it all deserves. The heart and soul of SG1, what made it work for ten years and what makes it delightfully re-watchable despite being infuriating upon analysis, that core part of the story is pure. Damned if it doesn’t just need a broader, more considered take on that core, because it ain’t got a bless’d thing to do with being a straight-white-cis-Christian-American dude. That’s not how universality works.

#Stargate SG1 #full series review #Bechdel Test #female representation #SG1

[gimmesumsuga]

Sweeter Than Sweet (1)

Pairing: Jimin x reader + others as the story progresses

Warnings: None to note.

Summary:  You never would have expected someone like Park Jimin to notice you.  As handsome and beguiling as he is deadly, you’re enthralled from the very moment you meet.  Addicted to his kiss and his bite, Jimin opens up your eyes to a whole new world of love, lust and seduction.

Word count: 2.5K

As of this July (2020), Sweeter than Sweet turned three years old! As I'm currently in the midst of a horrendous writing slump (urgh) I've decided to go back and slowly work my way through, editing chapter by chapter, as I feel that some parts could do with a fair bit of tweaking.

For those of you who've already read it, there won't be any major plot changes - just tightening up of grammar/plot holes/dialogue. For those of you who're new to Sweeter than Sweet, I sincerely hope you enjoy yourself ^^

Feedback is always encouraged and appreciated! Thank you <3

*Chapter edited as of 07/08/20* 

Next

“You coming, or what?” With a gleefully mischievous expression, your friend glances back at you over her shoulder, her pretty face framed by full, dark curls. You nod and smile to mollify her but the moment that her back is turned your nervous eyes begin scanning the room; darting this way and that, corner to corner.

The club is packed, hot bodies thronging as far as the eye can see as you trail closely behind your companion, grimacing at the feel of sweaty arms brushing against you as you squeeze your way by.  If you’re being honest, clubbing has never really been your thing and neither have crowds; especially not ones this loud and drunken.  

You have to admit, though: there’s a sense of anonymity that comes with blending between dancers in the dark that appeals to you - contentment in becoming just another nameless body amongst the writhing masses.  Barely anyone even pays you a second glance, and why should they?  By no means is this your usual playground, nor a place you feel much at home.  

You find your way to the bar and join your friend eventually, hopping into a newly vacated stool with a heavy sigh of relief.  Maybe if you’re sat down Sam might be less likely to try dragging you onto the dance floor.  You can live in hope, after all.

“What's your poison?” she calls over the thumping music.  Her hips are already swinging back and forth to the bass as you inspect the assortment of colourful bottles lining the back wall, squinting your eyes in hopes of spotting a name you might recognise.  You end up none the wiser for doing so, however, resorting to eyeing the drink that’s just landed in front of Sam instead; a bright orange concoction that the barman pours with a flourish into a tall cocktail glass.  

“I’ll just have what you’re having!” you call, raising your voice in an attempt to be heard over the din that surrounds you.  You’re not sure you’re successful, to be honest, but Sam must understand your gesticulating well enough because minutes later an identical drink lands in front of you - cocktail umbrella and all.  You take a cautious sip whilst your friend looks around - searching for tonight’s prey, no doubt - and you’re relieved that she misses the way you grimace at the drink’s slightly bitter aftertaste. She’d only make you down it even faster if she had.

“Lots of cute guys tonight!” Sam observes enthusiastically, her eyebrows lifting as she sips her drink and blinks back at you from over the rim.  

“Mmmhm,” you agree non-committedly, casting a glance around to at least feign some sort of interest.  

The guys you tend to find in these kinds of places have never particularly appealed to you.  They’re only after one thing, usually - with no shame about showing it - and whilst you’re sure there are some women out there that find that kind of sleazy, fuckboy confidence attractive, you’re not one of them.  

“You coming to dance?”  You don’t even bother to reply to Sam’s question, simply cocking your head to the side and shooting her a wry smile at the fact she’d even ask.  “Fair enough,” she grins, shrugging her shoulders. Undeterred by your lack of enthusiasm, she downs her cocktail in a series of impressive gulps and then heads out into the crowd, her jacket slung over the back of your stool left behind as your only company.  

Maybe if you were the more sociable sort you might mind being left to your own devices.  As it is, though, you’re quite content to sit quietly at the bar, singing under your breath as your head bobs.  The music is one of the only perks that keep you agreeing to come back here whenever Sam gets that certain ‘itch’ that only booze and boys can scratch.  That, along with your total inability to ever say no, of course. 

It’s a shame the drinks are so watered-down; you might actually start having a good time if they packed a little more of a punch.  By the time you’re half-way down your second, though, you're starting to think that maybe they’re not so bad.  With each sip you take the more pleasant the taste becomes (but then maybe that's just the schnapps talking). 

You’re busily sucking on a slice of orange when Sam returns, breathless but happy.  She brushes back the pieces of fringe stuck to her forehead as she grins at you, the scent of her perfume and perspiration hitting your nose.  

“Fuck it’s hot,” she declares, fanning herself with her hands.  Abruptly, she turns on the spot and grabs an empty glass straight out the hands of the man standing next to her, tipping what little ice remains into her palm.  You can’t help but laugh as the poor boy then gawps, open-mouthed, while Sam rubs said ice across her flushed chest with a sigh of relief, totally unconcerned with the streaks of water that dribble down the front of her dress as it melts.

You can’t blame him for staring.  Sam’s gorgeous and always has been, with her raven coloured hair and killer curves.  Even if she were a wallflower like you, she’d probably still be the centre of attention. 

“Thanks!” she smiles sweetly, promptly dismissing him with a turn of her back and a flip of her hair before he has hopes of starting up a conversation.  

“You’re ridiculous,” you grin, popping the orange slice back into your mouth with a shake of your head.  Sam casts you a roguish wink, about to turn and order another drink when all of a sudden her eyes widen, looking beyond you to someone sitting further down the bar.

“Maybe I am,” she admits, corner of her lip curling into a smirk, “ But so’s he .”  She nods her head in the direction she’s looking as an indicator for you to turn and look too; the idea of being subtle not even crossing your mind before you swivel round in your seat to follow her eye-line, orange peel still gripped between your teeth.

It’s immediately obvious who your friend is talking about - a man leaning against the bar just a few metres away whose appearance is so startling that it borders on impropriety. The strobe lights paint his face with striking shades of blue and green in perfect time with the music, highlighting his cheekbones and flawlessly smooth skin to give him an almost ethereal look.  He's unlike anyone else you’ve ever seen.  Beautiful beyond words.  

You’d expect people to be crowding around him - to be vying for his attention - but it’s almost as though there’s some invisible force keeping them at bay; something stopping them getting too close.  He’s given a wide berth; a respectful distance that makes you think perhaps they’re able to sense the powerful aura emanating from him, too.  

He’s alluring and alarming all at once, but even more so when he turns his head and his eyes lock onto yours.  

Caught, you quickly look away, pulling the fruit from your mouth as your head turns.  It’s disturbing how shaken you feel from nothing more than a little eye contact - how hard the mere sight of him has your heart pounding.  

“Go for it.”  You hope Sam won’t notice the falter in your smile or how feeble your enthusiasm sounds. “He’s cute.”  This won’t be the first time you’ve felt envious of Sam’s good looks and it probably won’t be the last, but you’ve never allowed that jealousy to get in the way of your friendship.  Any inferiority complex you may have is your problem, not hers.

And hey, at least this way you might get to live vicariously.  

“Sweetie,” she coos, stepping closer so she can speak into your ear whilst keeping her eyes on the stranger. “Trust me, I would, but I don’t think I’m the one he’s after.”  

“Really?” The question escapes your lips before you can think about how pathetically eager you must sound.

“Really.”  You risk another glance and sure enough, the stranger is still looking, his eyes unblinking as he stirs at the drink in front of him with a straw.  Swallowing hard, you turn away, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as you feel your cheeks begin to fill with heat.

Is it just embarrassment that’s to blame, or could it be the intensity of his gaze making them burn?  

“You gonna go over?”

“You think I should?” you ask in reply, flustered by this unfamiliar situation in which you find yourself.  You’re not used to this; have no idea what to do or how to act. Do you even want his attention?  You’re about to ask Sam for her pearls of wisdom when her doe eyes suddenly widen once more, her hands flapping against your forearm in excitement.

“He’s coming!” she squeals, grinning maniacally as she grabs the drink that’s appeared in front of her in preparation to make a hasty exit. 

“Don’t you dare, Samantha!  You dare leave me!” you hiss through gritted teeth, pleading with your eyes, but it’s no good.  Seconds later and she’s gone, slipped off into the crowd with a parting ‘thumbs up’ like the vile traitor she is.  You lean on the bar, your forehead resting on the palm of your hand as you close your eyes and try to slow the pace of your shallow, panicky breaths.

This is just a mistake.  It has to be.  There’s no way a guy that gorgeous would- 

“Hello.”  A sweet, soft voice finds your ears and you jump to attention, sitting bolt upright and eyes blown wide.  

Sam wasn’t mistaken.  It really must’ve been you that he was looking at because now he’s here , standing right beside you with a playful smile upon his face and very little regard for the concept of personal space.  

As impossible as it may seem, the man before you is even more bewitching up close than he had been from a distance; his eyes dark and piercing, lips thick and plump.  Gawking, you find yourself utterly lost for words, but thankfully the beautiful stranger’s smile just grows, his lips parting to reveal a perfect set of sparkling white teeth.

“I’m Jimin.”  He introduces, placing his drink down beside yours, his eyebrows slowly rising the more time that goes by without you giving any form of reply.    

Oh god, why won’t your mouth work?  What's wrong with you?! 

“I could just call you jagiya if you don’t want to tell me your name, sweetheart,” he smiles, and you can’t help but watch with fascination at the way his mouth twists around the foreign word; so melodic in comparison to your native tongue.  

Blushing at the term of endearment he so casually bestows on you, you blurt out your name in a hurry and chase it with a rather large, hurried gulp of your drink.  Tunefully, Jimin laughs at your nervousness, his grey bangs falling into his eyes only to be pushed back with a brush of a delicate hand; the gesture well-practised and smooth.  You’re relieved that Jimin looks merely amused by your awkwardness rather than pitying. Honestly, you’re wondering why on earth he’s still here given that you've already let slip how socially inept you can be. 

Mustering your courage, you swallow your nerves and fold your hands together in your lap; something to hold onto. 

“I don't get out much, I guess.  You can probably tell," you admit sheepishly, avoiding his gaze out of embarrassment.  You still catch the corner of his mouth curling into a hint of a smile, though, and it draws your eyes back to his face; a moth to a flame.  

“Never would've guessed.”  There’s a slight accent to the tone with which he teases, but you’re not well travelled enough to hazard a guess as to where he might be from.  It’s a charming lilt, nonetheless. 

Jimin places one hand on the back of your stool, leaning in, and his proximity has your heart hammering in your chest as you catch a whiff of his aftershave, sweet and heady.  

“Is there somewhere else you’d rather be?”  His breath caresses your ear and the hairs on the back of your neck rise, enticed.  Jimin pulls back just enough so as to look into your eyes, and you find yourself fighting the urge to confess that you’d happily be anywhere else as long as he was there with you.  

Best not to seem too desperate, after all.  

“At home,” you reply, eyes downcast as you speak quietly into your lap.  Somehow, Jimin still manages to hear you.  “In bed.”  Realising how easily your words might be misconstrued, you quickly meet his gaze, cheeks flushing as you add, “Reading.  Watching TV.  Nothing too exciting.” 

Jimin is so intense, so focused on your every word, that you can barely stand to look at him.

“And is there someone missing you there tonight?” he asks, the hand that was resting on the stool shifting, grazing the lightest of touches down the length of your arm.  Goosebumps rise in his wake.  “At home? In bed?”

“No.”  You bite your lip, hands tightening around one another.  Your palms are sweating. “No one.”  You can’t quite hear the sound he makes but you could guess that he’s tutting, his face twisting in displeasure as he does so.

“How can it be-” Jimin questions, stepping close enough that the tops of his thighs kiss your knees, “- that a woman like you.” The fingers that were dancing along your arm reach up to tuck the hair that’s fallen in front of your face behind your ear, gentle.  “A beautiful woman like you.”  Jimin takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger to keep you from looking away, and though you love each and every touch, oh, you wish he wouldn't.  It's too hard to breathe when he’s looking in your eyes; too close when he's leaning over you. “Spends a single night alone?”  

A beat passes and you know he’s expecting an answer by the way his head tilts subtly to the side, but once again you're stricken dumb.  Why on earth would someone like him ever want somebody like you? You keep expecting him to suddenly laugh; to sneer at you and tell you all this attention has been nothing but a lie - a cruel joke at your expense.  

Instead, Jimin does the opposite and closes the gap between you to place his lips on yours.  It's a chaste, fleeting kiss, and it catches you so off guard that you completely forget that you’re supposed to do anything more than just sit there like a statue.  Lucky it's so brief, or else you might just make a fool of yourself. 

“So sweet…” The words are sighed against your mouth before he pulls away, and as he straightens to his full height and runs his thumb along the angle of your jaw, you notice his Adam’s apple bob heavily in his throat.  

Perhaps your drink was stronger than usual, or maybe you drank it too fast?  Surely that can be the only reason that your head feels like it’s swimming - dizzy with excitement.  Tipsiness doesn’t explain the unfamiliar unfurling of heat in your abdomen, though, nor the ache between your legs that only grows as you Jimin’s eyes linger on the curve of your neck.  His look is pure heat; seduction oozing from every pore as he offers you his hand with a slow, easy smile.

“Come with me." 

#bts #bts vampire!au #jimin x reader #jimin/reader #jimin smut #vampire!jimin #vampire!bts #bts smut #bts smut fanfiction #bts fluff #jimin fluff #bts angst #jimin angst #bangtan #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #sweeter than sweet