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satorusugurugurl · 4 months

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I Think He Knows: (Chapter Four)

Summary: When your novel takes off and becomes a best seller, doors of opportunities open for you. You can work on the series you have dreamed about all your life. And you’re also given the chance to stay in a tiny cottage in Europe for two years to help with inspiration! Your best friend, Geto Suguru, shatters at the news. How could he tell you how he feels when you leave him? His opportunity appears right before him when you confess that your editor thinks a change of scenery will help with your not-so-steamy romance scenes. They’re lacking a particular spice because you’re a virgin. So, Suguru does what any best friend would do. He offers to teach you how things work. Will you cross that line as friends? Or will you both say goodbye?

Pairing: Geto Suguru x FAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,954

Warning: Language, fingering, hand-job, kissing, heavy description of genitals.

A/N: Here’s the update!! I'm sorry its so late. My wrist feels a lot better today!! 😘💚💚 thank you for your patience!!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven

You were glaring at your computer screen; the words struggled to come to you. Nanami was pleased with the changes you had made to your latest chapters; he said the kiss scenes were much more realistic, all thanks to your best friend, but as much as he liked it, it still didn't change the fact that your smutty mutual masturbation scene sucked balls.

“It’s getting there.” He glanced back at the words. “You’ve moved on from using meat stick to penis—while is anatomically correct, it’s not quite rousing. Perhaps try using the words shaft, dick, maybe cock.”

“Kento!”

“I’m being serious, how many erotic novels have you read where the writer uses ‘she grasped his penis in her hand’ no ‘she grabbed his cock’.”

“Right—”

“Then there’s the climax.” Nanami sighed, flipping through the pages. “Be honest with me; have you ever seen a man have an orgasm? It’s not like a fire hose in hentai—” A judgmental look was shot in your direction, which was well deserved. “It’s more like spurts.”

“Ugh, seriously?”

“Yes, and Oaklynn’s orgasm, you just described her facial reactions and breathing. Get into the pulsing or contractions she feels. Hell, make her squirt. Ilsan is a knight; he's been to brothels so the man would know how to please a woman.”

“Squirt—?”

The way Nanami deadpanned at you before running a hand down his face told you he had figured it out. He must have finally put the deli meat sex scenes, terribly written orgasms, and your lack of knowledge of female orgasms. You slowly sank lower into the booth with a flushed face.

“You’re a virgin.”

“You’re a virgin~” You mocked, sticking up your nose as the nightmares and flashbacks of your luncheon came to an end. Nanami’s suggestion to watch porn gives it a better understanding of how orgasms work. There was no way in hell you were doing that. “I don't need to have sex to know how to write a good sex scene!”

That statement was true, and having some experience would benefit you. It had kissing scenes. And it most definitely would help you with the grinding scene in the alley you were adding in. Suguru made things comfortable for you; he wasn’t pushy or manipulative. He was so gentle and kind, making sure you felt okay. You were so grateful for him, but after you started feeling weird last night and told him to stop, maybe he didn't want to keep doing stuff with you.

If you were honest with him, maybe he'd understand. But it wasn't very comfortable. It felt so intense, and you were all tingly.

Once you finished your rewrites, you would have to sit down and talk to him. You just hoped he didn’t think you were avoiding him after what happened. The sooner you finish, the sooner you can talk to him, get things back to normal, and maybe ask him to help you more. His lessons truly were helping you.

If only we weren’t having such a hard time with the stupid scene!

“Come on, just type it, dick, just type out the letters. DICK.” Your fingers hovered over your keyboard, your eyes narrowing at the screen. “It’s just a word!”

Before your fingers could even touch the ‘D,’ a fist pounded against your door. At first, you were startled; your heart lurched into your throat as your hand rested against your chest. The fist slammed against the door once again. If someone knocked at your door at 2:30 in the morning, it wasn’t a good sign. You were about to grab your phone to call Suguru when you heard his voice at the door.

“Answer, answer god, please.”

He repeated the exact words as you shove your lap desk off to the side before jumping up for the door. You open the door just as Suguru pulls his fist back to knock again. His face was pale, and his dark bangs clung to his forehead with sweat. The dark circles under his eyes were the evidence of the nightmares that he had been having and the lack of sleep.

Regardless of his appearance, your eyes still frantically searched him up and down. You were trying to find evidence of injuries or something that told you what was wrong. You could find no traces of anything other than his insomnia. He was in a white T-shirt and baggy gray sweats and stood there silently. Look of relief washing over your face. He just stood there. A look of relief washed over his face at the sight of you.

“Suguru? What’s wrong? What happened?” He doesn’t answer your frantic questions; instead, he grabs you, pushing his way inside your apartment and kicking the door shut. “Suguru?!”

You yelp as you both fall to the floor, his arms wrapped firmly around you as he holds you flush against his chest; your best friend is shaking, his breath heavy as he clings to you as if you would vanish if he let go. Seeing him in such a state made you sick to your stomach. He didn’t deserve to be plagued with the pain of what happened years ago. You knew he blamed himself for what happened with Riko. You wish you could take the pain away from him.

While that was impossible, you could be there for him when he needed you the most. So you wrapped your arms around him and squeezed, hugging him as tight as possible. “Thought I lost you.” He whispered, his hands clinging onto your tank top.

“Suguru—” you whisper, hands gently caressing his back. “You’re not going to lose me.” You feel him relax against you, shaking softly as he pulls back an inch. “Nightmares again?” His dark strands of hair cover his eyes, but he nods. “Sugu, oh sweetie—do you wanna stay the night with me?”

Your words seem to hit him like a freight train. The panic and fear in his eyes turned into relief. His muscles relax as he exhales through his nose. You reach up and caress his cheek, letting him know you are there, and he leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheek into your palm.

“Yeah, can I please?”

“Of course you can.” You lock the door before grabbing Suguru’s wrist and pulling Jim into your bedroom. “You can go to sleep. I need to finish editing this page before I lay down.”

As you sit back down, placing your lap desk in front of you, Suguru takes a moment to look around your bed. There are tiny Post-it notes and looseleaf paper spread out over your comforter, along with the mini spiral notebook you had in your purse. He had teased about it initially, but he realized that you need to jot down your ideas when inspiration hits you. So your stocking was full of the little mini notebooks you loved to carry.

Seeing that blissful smile tugged at your lips, in the warmth of the flush in your cheeks, made Suguru float with happiness. That joy that was brought on by notebooks was something he would never forget. He wanted to make you happy for the rest of your life. Not just with notebooks but a life you both could build together in a romantic relationship. Suguru wanted to give you the world on a silver platter because you deserved it and much more.

“Oh fuck, sorry, Sugu.” Small hands quickly removed the notes and the papers covering the other side of your bed. “Just transcribing and everything.” You motioned for him to lie down, patting gently on the mattress.

Suguru crawled into bed with you, covering himself with the sheet, before snuggling his head against one of your pillows. The smell of your favorite shampoo and conditioner had his nerves relaxing as he watched you glare at the screen. From the way your nose was turned up, you were deep in thought. His curiosity got the better of him, and he learned in closer, his eyes roaming over the screen.

‘Oaklynn’s face scrunched up in pure pleasure as her orgasm hit her. Her breathing was heavy, and Ilsan growled in her ear, pumping his fingers in and out of her vagina.’

Vagina?

‘That’s it~ such pretty sounds—nngh!’ Ilsan’s voice cracked as Oaklynn’s soft hand squeezed his penis, twisting her wrist as she stroked. ‘O-Oh gods! Oak~ Oaaak!’ A spray of cum coated Oaklynn’s hand, his sticky seed spraying all over her, pooling onto the mattress below them.

“PFFT!” Suguru tried hard not to laugh, his hand flying up to muffle the chuckle. But god, it was too funny!

Upon hearing the laughter from your best friend, your eyes snapped down. There he was, tears in his eyes, tanned skin flushing a rosy color as his eyes remained glued on your screen. With a tiny gasp, you slammed your screen shut before hiding your face in your hands. Your jerky, panicked motions seemed to set Suguru off more as he threw his head back, barking out in laughter.

“Oh my god! Stop!”

“W-Why was he cumming like a faucet?!” Suguru rolled onto his back, wiping at the tears.

“Stop it!”

“And using the words vagina and penis? I preferred it when you called it Meat Stick and Fairy Cave!”

You grumbled before moving your hands to push him. “Could you please stop talking!? Please, I know it’s bad!” Those words had Suguru jerking his head up, finding you flushed cheeks and glimmering eyes.

“It’s not bad—”

“Yes, it is! This screams, ‘A virgin wrote this! She’s never gotten any action,’ Which is true! How can I describe an orgasm when I’ve never even had one?!”

The truthful outburst left you panting as Suguru’s laughter abruptly stopped. His dark eyes were transfixed on your face before you got up, putting away your notes and laptop, and as you silently moved around the room, you could feel Suguru’s eyes on you. And they stayed locked on you until you crawled into bed with a sigh, curling onto your side.

The self-doubt was in your every move, from how your body tensed to your shallow breathing as you fought back tears. You knew Suguru didn’t laugh to be malicious, but it wasn't a confidence booster either. At times like these, you questioned if you were good enough to do this and if writing a smutty fantasy was what you were capable of.

Suguru frowned as he watched your body tremble, soft whimpers sounding in your chest. God, he felt like an asshole. With hesitant movements, Suguru inched himself closer to you. His hand gently inches itself around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Seeing that you didn't fight him or verbally tell him no, Suguru wrapped his arm underneath you, spooning you.

“I’m sorry.” His breath was hot against your cheek. “I shouldn't have been snooping, especially when you were in rewrites.”

“I-It’s okay. I’m struggling with it; I want to be the best I can, ya’ know?”

“Mhmm, I know princess.” The warmth of his body had you relaxing. “Can I ask you a question?”

You turned your head and pressed your cheek against his. “Yeah, of course you can.”

“You’ve never had an orgasm?” His voice was so smooth and sultry, making you shiver. “Like ever?”

It was true; you struggled to reach the mythical ‘Big O’ since you started masturbating. You felt like you would get close, it was within grasp, but you would fall short. There was a time you thought maybe you did, but the fact you had to question yourself was the only answer you needed to know that you had, in fact, not had one.

“No, I haven't; I think my fairy cave is broken.”

Suguru’s chest rumbled as he laughed loudly, giving you a tight squeeze. God, he had it so bad for you. You were so innocent and cute; you had such a good sense of humor.

“I don't think it’s broken.” His statement had you rolling so that you were facing him. “You just need to explore it some more.” His hand reaches down gently, resting it on your ass. “I could talk you through it if you want.”

Tingles ran down your spine as he squeezed the fat of your ass. It was a mixture of relief and excitement that your reaction didn't turn him off from the night before. Your hands moved, gripping his shirt gently before biting your lip. You had tried so many times before, but Suguru—he knew what to do.

“I don't want you to talk me through it—I want you to do it.” Suguru’s dark eyes went wide, his pupils the size of pinpricks. “If you want to.”

Your best friend leaned close to your ear before placing a kiss against it, and he moved further down to your neck, his tongue past his lips, kisses and little licks over your sensitive skin. The sensation had you squirming, your pulse racing in your throat, and a shuddering sigh left your mouth. Suguru sucked on your neck as his hand groped and massaged your ass. Your body felt like it was kindling with fire, a low burn in the pit of your stomach as he continued to pepper kisses over your neck.

“You want me to make you cum?”

“P-Please.”

“I’d do anything for you.” He grunts gravelly into the crook of your neck. “I’ll make sure you know what an orgasm feels like. That way, your already amazing writing is more accurate.” Teeth grazed over the skin, leading to your shoulder, as one of Suguru’s hands slipped under your shirt, trailing over your belly. “Can I touch you?”

“Y-Yea—aah—” his hand groped your breast the second he heard ‘yeah’ leave your mouth. He gently squeezed it, massaging it between his long, thick fingers. His thumb gently brushed over the nipple with every squeeze. “Mmm—” you pressed your lips together as your eyes tailed down, watching his hand move underneath your tank top.

Suguru continued to kiss and nip at your neck, trailing kisses so gently over your skin; well, his other hand pinched and pulled at your nipple, rubbing the bud between his fingers. The way your body twitched and jerked underneath his touch had his cock throbbing hard within the confines of his sweats. The breathless gasps, the way you took your bottom lip between your teeth, gently gnawing at it, you look so fucking hot; he wanted to do more to see what other reactions he could draw out from you.

Suguru’s hand left your breast, slowly trailing down past your stomach before pressing his whole palm over your clothes-clad pussy. Being touched intimately for the first time had you jerking, eyes snapping shut. Suguru groaned, rubbing his hand over your pussy, feeling the warmth of your sex. You gasped as he pulled his hand away to his index and middle finger over your clothed clit. Your body jerked forward, your arms wrapping around his neck, hands sticking into his hair as he brushed over the sensitive bundle and the nerves a second time.

“Does that feel good?” Suguru asked, his mouth pulling away from your sensitive skin.

Your mouth fell open as your eyebrows knitted together. “F-Feels r-real good.” His fingers began rubbing against your clit in slow circles, drawing out a whine from your chest. “O-Oh fuuuck S-Suguru.”

“I got you~ I got you, don't worry.” His fingers rubbed faster, memorizing how you jerked and reacted, repeating the same movements to get you to respond more.

The intensity of everything was becoming too much for you to handle. It felt like your whole body was on fire, like a pot on the stove roaring to a boil. You needed more; you weren’t sure what, but you needed more of this, of Suguru. He needed to quench your thirst, to put water on the flames burning with every nerve of your body, and you knew that his fingers would be the only thing that could help you.

“I-I want more.” Your voice was so timid, making Suguru’s hand seize up momentarily. “Please.”

“You sure?” he asked, his voice dark and husky.

With a nod, you grabbed his wrist, bringing it up to the waistband of your shorts. “Yes, I’m positive.” You gently pushed his wrist down, allowing his fingers to slip under the elastic band. You could’ve sworn Suguru choked on his breath, his eyes widening in the low light of your bedroom as they glanced down to his hand that had breached your shorts.

Suguru wrapped his arm around you, holding you steady as his hand dipped lower, brushing against your slick folds. The initial contact has your head tilting back m as he groaned, feeling your delicate skin before rubbing at your clit gently. You gripped the fabric of his shirt, digging your nails into it. Your body trembled as you buried your face into his neck, whimpering against his skin.

“S-Suguru—”

“Is this okay?” Suguru moved slowly, carefully listening closely to your breathing and noting how you shook—memorizing each twitch, saving it for him to jerk off to when you fell asleep. All you could do was nod your head as you lost yourself in the pleasure. Seeing that you were doing so well, Suguru slipped his hand back further, his thumb rubbing against your clit before slowly sliding two fingers into you.

“Nngh!” You gasped out, pressing your lips against Suguru’s neck as you mewled. “Sugu~! Sugu~!” Your walls were beginning to flutter and convulse around him as he slowly curled his fingers in.

Feeling your hot breath against his neck, how your lips gently traced unintentional kisses over his sensitive skin had his cock throbbing hard. Suguru pressed into you, rubbing his hardening cock against your thigh. He slowly began thrusting his fingers in and out of you, wet squelched flooding the room as he rubbed your clit harder.

“I want to make you cum Princess.” He snarled against your cheek.

The vulgar words had you clamping down harder on his fingers. Your body was getting hotter, from your toes to your pussy, all the way into your stomach. That coil from a few nights before began tightening, coiling deep inside you. The intensity had you tugging on Suguru's shirt.

“S-Sugu~ f-feels intense a-again—Ah oh fuck it’s l-like before.” There was a twinge of uncertainty and fear in your voice. “I-I—”

“I know it's weird, but just let go. I got you—it’s going to feel so fucking good in a second.” His fingers moved in and out of your tight, wet heat faster, drawing out more gasps from you. “Trust me.”

“I-I do feel good, b-but—” Suguru hooked his fingers up, moving them in a come hither motion, causing your legs to shake. “Fuuuck! Oooh fuck!”

“God, you sound so good,” he whispered so softly you couldn't hear him over your moans. “So good.” Suguru had dreamed about doing this to you for so long, to have you underneath him, showing you how much you meant to him. It was a dream to have you clinging to him, gasping his name.

“Sugu—Suguru—” You could feel something coming; it was intense, making your toes curl. “S-Sugu—I-I—I think—!”

“That’s it~ that’s it, let go~ you’re gonna cum.”

His fingers pressed into the sponge spot inside of you. The pressure of his fingers and his thumb rubbing your clit had you seeing stars. You screamed into his neck, shutting your eyes tight as your thighs clamped around his hand. The pure fiery pleasure had your whole body and pussy convulsing as you cried out loudly, so loud Suguru heard your neighbor hit the wall with a ‘shut up.’

Suguru couldn't care; he wanted you screaming his name. He groaned as he felt your slick on his fingers, slowing down to help you ride out your first orgasm. "Shhhh, shh—princess, don't be too loud~" You panted heavily against his neck, tears in your eyes as the last waves of pleasure washed over you.

“Oooh fuck.” You wheezed out as Suguru gently pulled his finger out of you. “Oh my god.” As you rolled onto your back, Suguru quickly slid his fingers into his mouth, sucking your cum off with a satisfied growl. You tasted sweet with a tang of citrus; it was addictive. God, what would he do to taste it firsthand?

As he pulled his fingers out of his mouth, you rolled back onto your side and stared at him. Suguru smiled cocking an eyebrow at the almost unreadable expression on your face. “Yes? Can I he—eeegh!” Your hand brushed over his hard cock, catching him off guard. “W-What are you doing?” you say up on your knees, cheeks flushed with post-orgasmic glow and determination.

“I-I've never seen a man cum! A-And seeing that you offered to help me, c-could I watch you jerk off? O-Or maybe if it’s okay, could I touch you? Y-You’re hard, right?”

Your bluntness and straightforward request left your best friend gaping at you. You wanted to touch him? God, this was like two dreams coming true. But as much as he wanted to have your hand on him, he was afraid he’d blow his load the second your fingers wrapped around him. So he's going to have to compromise for now.

“How about I jerk off, and you can wrap your hand around me?”

“Okay! Um! Let's start.”

You sat back on your heels, swallowing hard as Suguru pulled the sheets off his body. You could hear your pulse pounding in your ears as you watched your best friend sit up, resting his back against your headboard, dark hair falling over his shoulder with every movement. Why were you so nervous? It was just Suguru’s dick, just your best friend, who just made you cum your brains out. Nothing about this should make you anxious! He was helping you! This was research!

But your research had your pussy throbbing as Suguru hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his pajama pants and pulled it down. When he did, his thick erect cock bounced, landing against his stomach with a hardy thump. It was heavy and thick, and it had you pressing your thighs together. The tip was a deep, dusty, rose color, dribbling out a clear substance from the tip. His shaft was tan; thick veins ran up and down as it twitched.

“Oh—” you whispered, taking in his well-trimmed pubes, admiring his happy trail that went from the bottom of his belly button down to the base of his cock. “Oooh fuck.”

“Yeah—” Suguru groaned, tilting his head to the side as he watched you with dark, knowing eyes. He saw the way you looked at him, your gaze lingering on his cock. “this is it.”

Suddenly, it became crystal clear why he had so many romantic partners. He was thick and big. You’re sure it would hit every place inside you that would feel good. Wait a minute, not you, his previous partners! It must’ve hit all the right places inside of them. It probably felt so good. Like how his fingers felt pressing that spot inside you. His cock had the perfect curve that would hit it just right.

“You good there? Did your virgin brain malfunction?”

In a way, it did, but you wouldn’t acknowledge that it had. “W-What!? No, of course not!” your eyes started to burn with a visible flush. “No.” Suguru just laughed breathlessly.

“I'm just teasing you, come here, I’ll show you what it looks like when a guy cums.” Your eyes slowly drifted back towards him, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of him stroking his shaft. His hand moved silly up and down, smearing what you could only assume was pre-cum over himself. “Fuccck.” he grumbled, “I’m so hard, I-I'm probably not going to last long.” That was okay with you. “You can wrap your hand around mine.”

With his invitation, you placed your hand over his moving your arm up and down as he stroked his cock. He didn’t go all the way down to the base. Instead, he focused his attention on the head of his cock. Each time, he stroked his cock, his head tilted back against the headboard as his legs spread. The muscles in his upper thighs constricted with each jerk. He looked so fucking good, like some sex god.

Seeing him in such a state had you trying to match his movements as best as possible and attempting to keep up with his steady but jerky pace. Your eyes wandered to where his shirt pulled slightly up, just enough for you to see the bottom half of his abs that were clenching with each stroke that focused on the head of his cock.

While his movements utterly entranced you, Suguru’s eyes were drawn to you. The way you took your bottom lip between your teeth, how your eyes roamed over him, focusing on the muscles in his stomach, before trailing back towards his cock. Your presence was enough to have him dribbling more pre-cum out. Suguru straightened his legs out, toes curling as his hand moved faster up and down over the head of his cock. He had it down so bad for you that it was going to be enough to send him over the edge.

“Oooh fuuuck~ fuck fuck fuck~” he growled through gritted teeth. “Fuck yeah.”

Fuck, oh God, he looks so good. Watching him pleasure himself had you feeling warm and fuzzy deep inside. He was really into jerking his hand up faster, squeezing himself hard. He looks so fucked out of his mind, and you were sure if you could see your face, your expression with mirror his. There was something about watching him getting off that had your pulse racing in your pussy throbbing, your shorts were already wet enough, and you could feel more slick coating them.

Moving your hand with his wasn’t enough. Biting down on your lip, you pulled his hand away. “Hey, what ar—aah—” Suguru’s head lolled back as you wrapped your soft hand around him, jerking your hand up and down at the same pace he was going.

“O-oooh.” You were not expecting it to be as velvety smooth as it was. The feeling of his cock in your hand had awakened something in you. You leaned over him, resting your free hand on his upper thigh. Stroking your hand over his cock up and down faster and harder, squeezing it like he had done to himself.

Suguru threw his head back against the headboard, hissing through his teeth as his eyes watched your hand move up and down over him. He had the scenario so many times in his head and his wet dreams when he would stroke himself until he would cum all over his hand. The final push was to feel you touching him with such enthusiasm.

“C-Cummin! Fuck! I’m cumming Princess!” Spurts of thick white cum shot out of his tip, lashing out over his stomach and his T-shirt. It wasn’t all like a hose; it was small ropes, for it to be exact, that lashed out over him and your hand. “A-Aah!” His whole body jerked his abs, clenching as his eyes rolled back, and you continued jerking your hand, milking him for all you could.

“W-Wow, tha-that was hot.” at the sound of your voice Suguru shot his hand forward, grabbing your wrist, stopping you from continuing to move over his cock. “O-Oh, sorry—“

“N-No, you’re okay, just sensitive.” He grunted as he let you go, allowing you to pull your coated hand back.

You both sat in your bed, traces of your orgasm coating both of you as Suguru came down from his high. Silence filled the open air between you, but it wasn’t at all awkward; instead, it was thick with tension, sexual tension. A tension Suguru was familiar with while the feeling was alien to you. Part of you wanted to reach out and kiss him, but something inside you prevented you from moving forward. Because this wasn’t a relationship, this was just your best friend helping you when you were struggling. It was nothing more than that.

Seeing as you were the only one capable of functioning, you got up and headed into your bathroom, grabbing a warm wet rag to clean you both off with. “Thank you for letting me do that.” You whispered as you cleaned off your hand before gently handing him the rag. “That was very informative, and I think it will help me with the pages. I’ve been struggling with it.” Suguru stared blankly at you, taking in your words as he wiped his cum off his stomach and shirt.

“Of course, I’m glad I could help you out.”

“Uhm, so do you wanna go to bed?”

“Yeah—yeah, that sounds good.”

“Awesome!”

After snatching the rag from him and tossing it in the bathroom, you crawled back into bed with your best friend. A man you had known since your childhood who you had grown up with. The two of you had been through thick and thin together, always there for one another no matter the circumstances.

As you lay down on your side, Suguru wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against your chest. You couldn’t help but wonder if you both had crossed the line tonight. Or if you had taken a step towards a new chapter of your relationship? Those questions could wait until morning because you were only concerned about how good it felt to be wrapped in his arms, listening to his heartbeat as you both drifted to sleep.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks

Tag List (TO BE ADDED AGE MUST BE IN BIO)

@lemonintrovert01 @spankmydepression @renttheannihilator @witchbybirth @missmuffinr @lialia3945 @theobsidianempress @aquasan29 @toffeebrat @aussiemeerkat @chimichangagirl @zoroisminty @spankmydepression @em-aizawa @gojosimp26

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pharawee · 10 months

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Welcome to the second part of my Pit Babe novel commentary aka "hey this isn't so ba---wait where's Babe's sudden daddy kink even coming from??"

And I try (oh my god do I try). 🤡

I'm now at chapter 10, trying to pace myself because the (auto-translated) translation I'm reading is apparently a WIP. I'm on the edge of my seat. The plot is beginning to thicken.

Previously, Charlie was being sus and Babe was catching feelings, but most importantly there was a lot of pwp and very little racing.

Now there's more racing. Babe even brings Charlie (he still has to wear a mask and a hat) but gets too distracted by his presence (he's apparently addicting enough to kiss through the mask) and promptly forgets to check his car before the race (even though Charlie warns him against it but such is the power of scent - or lack of scent in this case. I don't even know anymore - neither does Babe but at some point Charlie states that's he's now in an alpha rut which I suppose means exactly what it says on the tin).

But, oh no! Babe runs into trouble during the race. He loses the lead and his car gets increasingly difficult to control until it crashes and bursts into flames. But it's okay, Babe jumps out of the driving car just in the nick of time (have you ever seen a supercar outfitted for racing? It's difficult enough to climb into one - funny how I'm apparently okay with omegaverse shenanigans but I draw the line at wonky motorsports physics 🤣).

Anyway, the track marshals are doing a really shit job because somehow they 1. let Charlie on the track to singlehandedly try and rescue Babe and 2. they also completely miss that Babe has literally jumped ship car and is lying on the track. He ends up with a broken wrist and a sprained knee (or was it the other way around? anyway, he's wearing several casts) which means he won't be able to finish the season and lose the title of King (all because he was too horny to check his car... but yeah also apparently it was sabotage ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ).

So much for the racing part.

Babe needs weeks to heal so naturally he needs Charlie to pamper and feed him and dick him down several times a day but what else is new. No offence to the the dicking down part but ugh I hate this trope. Maybe it's just because I dislike the dynamics but I don't like the way Babe is taking on more and more cliché omega traits. If I have to read one more time about how much smaller he is (or about his "rounded" hips... are you ok google translate?)...

Oh, and btw. There are omegas in this! Charlie gets flirted at by one (which Babe absolutely hates) and he does have a scent and all. Later, when Charlie is busy being extremely sus again he meets up with a childhood friend, Jeff (Pon's character in the series is called Jeff - oh. oh no...), and if I'm not mistaken he's an omega as well. Jeff cautions Charlie against being with Babe and displeasing his father (which also seems to be Jeff's father? Dude sure has a lots of adoptive kids...) but Charlie argues that he knows what he's doing and he doesn't want to stop anyway.

Later on he tells the exact same thing to his (adoptive?) father, and why do I get the feeling that this might be the same father Babe mentioned earlier when he was telling a feverish Charlie a story to get him to sleep:

In his story, Babe mentions how when he was very small he used to go hungry every day because his mum was out of the picture and his father didn't even make enough money bring food to the table. One day the hunger was so bad that he passed out and woke up in the hospital where a stranger told him he'd be his new family. With little choice in the matter, Babe accepted and went on to spend the rest of his childhood well-cared for and in elite schools etc. That is, until he turned (presumably...) 18 and discovered that his father didn't adopt him out of the kindness of his heart but for ulterior motives that Babe doesn't explain any further because at that point Charlie has fallen asleep.

So yeah, what are the odds that Babe's "father" and Charlie's father are the same person (no spoilers, please)? Because if so then... that's disturbing, especially since Charlie's father seems to want Charlie to lure Babe back home. I mean, Charlie seems to have his own plans but it's not like his father throws him out after their secret meeting. Sus, very sus.

Meanwhile, Babe is slowly losing his heightened senses (the novel doesn't mention it yet but I'm pretty sure this is Charlie's doing) but he doesn't seem to mind because he's too busy falling in love. There's a lovely scene where Charlie and he spend the night stargazing, and this is when Babe realises that something's different because usually his heart only beats this fast when he thinks about racing (lmao).

Cue to them not having sex for a week because Babe feels like he's going crazy.

Meanwhile, it's been decided that Charlie will finish Babe's racing season for him because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ and I'm sure he'll win the title too because he's Charlie, alphaest of alphas. Or something.

So one night Babe officially introduces him to the rest of team X-Hunter (and curiously Sonic and North seem to be racers in the novel as well) but things go awry when Babe is too busy fooling around with Way (no you cannot be affectionate with a male friend in a BL novel it is forbidden!!). Charlie and Babe argue and proceed to ignore each other for the rest of the night until they make up (and out) during the official X-Hunter sleepover (with Way and another poor dude sleeping in the same room).

They're polite enough to seek out the indoor pool (this isn't even their house - have you no shame?) and talk it out. And by talk it out I mean there's an inappropriate amount of daddy-calling and Little Mermaid jokes. This is where Charlie claims Babe. Yes, there's knotting (I think? like I said, I'm not axactly an expert and auto-translate is a bit vague, bless its little AI heart). Charlie threatens (I'm sure it's all meant very lovingly 🤡) to impregnate Babe if there's no other way to show others that he's his. To which Babe replies that that's impossible anway.

It's impossible, right? Right??

#pit babe the series #pit babe spoilers #pit babe #jane watches stuff #(in a way)#pit babe meta #bl meta #i wrote this is the middle of the night because i can't sleep #but this feels like a fever dream anyway so #to everyone reading this:#you have my thanks but also sry for subjecting you to this lmao 🙏

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jooniperbonsai · 4 months

Text

Thanks for the Sub (ksj) | Chapter Four

Pairing: Camboy!Seokjin x Gamer!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 19.5k

Release date: June 11, 2024

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, camboy au, gamer au, comedy, crack, slow burn, coworkers/boss/friends to lovers, an exploration of adults in their late 20s/early 30s

Summary: As you spend more time with Seokjin, the threads seem to be even more tangled than before. Memories of the past threaten to ruin everything that the two of you have. Are you sure this is what you really want anyway?

Chapter Warnings (Oh god bear with me in this): angst, miscommunication (sorry sorry sorry we need it for the plot), cursing, alcohol, insecurity and self doubt, sexual harassment online and offline, pet names, fat!reader (we love to see it), sexual fantasies in the form of oral sex/face riding, Seokjin gets hard like 3 times (pretend to be shocked), masturbation, references to menstruation and first time sexual fantasies/masturbation, lingerie, sex toys, boundaries & lack of boundaries, references to poorly written novels (derogatory), verbal abuse from family members, gaslighting

a/n: Hi. I know it's been a while. Thank you for your patience. This week especially has been rough as my family lost one of our pet cats unexpectedly, but I wanted to put my best foot forward and share this chapter with y'all to enjoy our Seokjin's return! I hope you enjoy this chapter and that its length will tide you over. I have a special festa treat planned with another chapter for y'all this week, and I promise it'll have been worth the wait. Enjoy! -h

SpringDay: He didn’t leave a note

Wonu15: Was he supposed to?

SpringDay: No, but…idk

Wonu15: Then why are you upset if that wasn’t in your agreement

SpringDay: IDK!!!!!! Because we talked about things? At least, a little bit? And he saw me cry and he held me.

Wonu15: But did you ask him to stay the night? Did you ask him to leave you a note?

SpringDay: No

Wonu15: Well

SpringDay: I know!!!! I get it!!!

Wonu15: Maybe you should tell him

Wonu15: That you’re in love with him

SpringDay: Fuck you

“Ugh!” You exit your chat app and toss your phone across the covers as you roll over in your bed, inhaling the pillow that now smells of Seokjin.

He was here. Last night. He held you in his lap on your bed. He moved your furniture around for you. He stayed until you fell asleep. And even after that for a bit longer. You’d felt a chill, possibly as he left the bed, and it was enough to wake you.

It was still dark, but the sun was creeping in slowly. Enough that you could see his slightly mussed hair sticking up in the back, a yawn escaping him with a sigh as he idled in the doorway, almost like he was hesitating before he left.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think you dreamed it all up, but as soon as you heard the door click shut behind him, you found yourself curling around that warm spot in your sheets and falling back asleep.

And that’s where you’ve been for most of the day, savoring the feeling of him in your bed or standing in the kitchen slightly hungover as you finished off the rest of last night’s pizza. You’ve apologized to your followers for skipping last night’s stream, promising that you’ll make up for it tonight.

Your stomach clenches a bit at the idea of an encore performance from the last time you were live. Maybe Seokjin could come over and hang around while you get started? At least for a little bit?

He probably has better things to do than hang around your place.

True. You had monopolized so much of his time last night, and it didn’t even amount to an actual stream. It’s selfish to assume he has nothing better to do than to sit around and monitor you to make sure you don’t succumb to peer pressure.

You need to be an adult and do this on your own.

With a sigh, you hoist yourself up out of bed and over to your computer. Everything you went over yesterday feels like a blur. At this point, you’re not entirely sure what you’re supposed to do. You remember he mentioned something about utilizing wishlists as a monetary solution to some of the more unhinged followers.

If they have money to spend, let them spend it. But don’t compromise your morals to do so.

Is that something he encounters often? It has to be. You wonder what streaming was like for Seokjin at first, all the ways he compromised himself for his followers. Is the dominant persona he exudes even authentic? What if he’s more submissive or even plain vanilla and just doing all this for the money?

You can’t say you’d blame him. That last stream had you feeling as though you were sitting on the blade of a knife as you debated what the extra cut of money could bring you. Your heartbeat pounds more heavily in your chest, a few beats feeling like they’re piercing into your throat.

It feels awful to know the way money has made you so powerless. And now here you are, about to force yourself onto a stream for some extra bucks in this month’s payout.

How does Seokjin do it, really? You don’t want to pressure him into talking about it. Not when you two aren’t intimate like that. But you can’t help but wonder why and how streaming, much less streaming sex, doesn’t tear him apart each time.

You wish you could ask him.

Your reminder on your phone alerts you and you groan, forcing yourself away from the desktop and into the bathroom to shower. In your hamper, you spot Seokjin’s pink button down that he’d lent you last night.

It felt like a piece of armor then, shrouding you from the chill of anxiety. Even now, as you lift it up to your nose, that comforting and fresh smell of his detergent begins to settle the sourness of your gut.

Maybe you could do this alone, after all. Just, with a little encouragement from a friend.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” someone said.

“I am not!” Another voice. A deeper one.

“You asked her if she wanted to fuck!”

“I did not! I asked if she wanted to come over and eat ramyeon! That’s all that it means!”

“No, no hyung, he’s right. That’s not at all what it means.”

Words. Seokjin was hearing them flurry around him, picking up the tail end of whatever story Namjoon was telling the group. But he wasn’t really listening. He was too tired. He had napped for about an hour in his office earlier, though it was unintentional. He was sitting at his desk, placing a produce order when he felt one of his eyelids shut. Then the other. The next thing he knew, someone was banging on the door saying the register was jammed and they needed the key.

He had left your apartment late. Right when the sun was beginning to rise. And he probably wouldn’t have even left then if it wasn’t for the fact that you finally had rolled off of him after about an hour of you sleeping heavily on his chest.

You talk in your sleep, he learned. Not a lot, but in little murmurs, usually yes or no spilling out of your mouth with ease. He was grateful for them, because otherwise he would have fallen asleep with your body slotted against him perfectly, the weight of your head and arm on him just enough to tumble him into a state of safety.

Both too late and too soon, you moved, rolled onto your other side. And then Seokjin left.

He debated leaving a note so you would know he wasn’t bailing, going so far as to find a pen and notepad from the kitchen fridge to write on, but then he knocked sense into himself. Notes were for people who left after hookups when unsure whether or not they were welcome to stay the whole night. You’d invited him over, sure, but as friends. You would have of course expected him to leave after you fell asleep, as that was the agreement. Right?

Seokjin had danced around your living room for ten minutes, pacing back and forth, looking like a crazy detective searching for clues. What would he even say in it? If he left one would you think that he’d expected you guys to have sex?

So he didn’t, he tossed the notepad on the side table as he grabbed his things, aware now that his button down had gone missing since you changed into your pajamas, but he didn’t have time to look for it, and didn’t want to further snoop through your stuff to reclaim it.

By the time he left, the sun was up, and he had just enough time to rush the few blocks to work. Besides that nap, he hadn’t slept at all last night.

And now he was on Jungkook and Taehyung’s couch, a beer magically in his hand that he didn’t remember getting while his friends apparently talked about…ramyeon?

“–clearly your fault you choose to pretend you’re so old and stay out of touch. Seokjin-hyung knows what that means, don’t you hyung?”

Who was talking to him? He grunted, hoping whoever it was would let that be enough of an answer.

“Hyung?” Jungkook. That’s who was talking to him.

Seokjin blinked. His contacts felt like sandpaper in his eyes.

“Don’t bother with him. He hasn’t had a single sip of that beer since he got here and has been zoned out staring at that wall for about thirty minutes,” Yoongi said, moving from Seokjin’s periphery into full view.

“Are you okay?” Namjoon asked gently, clearly concerned but also possibly using this moment to help redirect whatever teasing he was facing.

“Just tired,” Seokjin responded.

“Oh yeah, you had to work today. And you were at Y/N’s to help her with her stream last night, right? How did that go by the way?” Jimin asked.

“What stream?” Seokjin asked, confused. And then he remembered. That was the whole point he had gone over there in the first place.

“Um, you know, the one that you went to her place for?” Jimin’s eyebrows knit together. The rest of the group craned their heads in Seokjin’s direction, curious.

“She, um, she didn’t end up streaming.”

“Then, what time did you leave?” A broken, awkward silence fell over his friends as Seokjin shifted in his seat.

It suddenly felt oppressively warm in here, and heat creeped up his neck as he tried to string words together.

“I think like…7?”

“So you got there, only to turn around and leave? So why didn’t you sleep last night? You look like shit,” Taehyung added unhelpfully.

Yoongi rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. “Is everyone really this clueless today or are you all fucking with me?”

He pushed himself up from the beat-up leather armchair, his usual space during their hangouts and sauntered over to the small bar Taehyung and Jungkook had right off the dining area. He took his time, uncapping the bottle of whiskey Seokjin presumed they kept mostly for Yoongi’s benefit, and filled one of the highball glasses left out for him.

Once Yoongi started drinking whiskey, everyone knew to prepare themselves for an evening of his contemplative and sometimes unfiltered ranting. This was when his self-proclaimed ADHD seemed to shine best.

“Honestly, you guys still don’t see it do you.”

“See what exactly?” Seokjin asked, finally awake enough to formulate sentences.

Yoongi studied his glass for a moment and in a final decision plucked the entire bottle from the bar and brought it back to his group of friends. He groaned as he sat back in the chair, like it was painful to do so on his bones, like he was the age of Seokjin's father and not merely thirty.

Yoongi knocked back his first glass of the whiskey, smacking his lips afterward.

In the corner of his eye, Seokjin saw Jimin roll his in annoyance.

“Can we get to the point?” He asked.

Yoongi shot him a look, and then placed the glass down on the coffee table.

“First of all, Taehyung-ah, he didn’t leave early. Hyung here left late. As in this morning. He was obviously out all night.”

Namjoon snorted. “Hyung, this isn’t a detective drama. We all kind of figured.”

“I didn’t,” Taehyung objected.

“We know,” Namjoon chuckled and turned his attention back to Yoongi. “Ok, oh wise one, what is it that we all seem to be missing?”

Yoongi pouted, but he recovered his dramatic flair. It was something everyone knew to give him the space to perform, the odd pause in his quiet nature usually a sign that he needed attention and didn’t know how to ask.

“Well, when you put it that way, maybe I won’t say.” A slight smirk cracked through Yoongi’s façade.

“Did you guys sleep together or something?” Hoseok blurted, which had an immediate rush of blood to Seokjin’s head as he flooded with embarrassment.

“No! God, no we didn’t!” He didn’t want to mention that yes, technically you slept with him, just not in that way.

“Pfft, relax. Of course he didn’t. You think this guy will be looking all mopey after he finally gets laid again? No, he’s going to have that stupid dopey grin he always had with…you know,” Yoongi recovered the attention of the room, Soon Yi’s name unsaid but stirring a bit of unease among his friends. Yoongi and her had been particularly close during the period of Seokjin and her dating, having been his roommate for quite some time. He’d learned to weave his life around Soon Yi’s presence, over time warming up to her during the days he returned from class to find her studying on Seokjin’s bed and waiting for him to come home. Since the breakup, he’s always refused to say her name.

“Ah, the dopey grin, I almost forgot about that.” Jimin’s warm voice filled in the gaps where Yoongi’s sudden coldness cast, sitting himself on the edge of the leather armchair as he plucked the glass of whiskey Yoongi had just poured from his hands and gulped it down.

Yoongi glared at Jimin, but it faded quickly as Jimin winked back at him. He was clearly trying to lighten the mood, and Yoongi took the bait, softening back into Jimin’s outreached arm that began rubbing circles down his back.

“I’m right here,” Seokjin said lamely, but his friends ignored him. He put the beer up to his lips and let it flood into his mouth. It was warm. Gross.

“Do you think he’s going to start doing that thing again where he’s late for everything because he’s too busy having sex with Y/N all the time to manage his time better? Because that was annoying,” Jungkook complained.

Seokjin spluttered, choking on the beer. “Wh-what?!”

Everyone laughed, including Namjoon, who gave Seokjin a sympathetic look. “I think now that he streams all the time, his time management skills have improved.”

“Besides, it seemed more like it was Soon Yi who was causing that issue. She was chronically late for everything. Is Y/N late for things?” Hoseok added.

Seokjin blinked. How did this conversation even get to this point?

“What the fuck is going on?” He asked, exasperated.

Yoongi chuckled, stepping back into his guiding elder persona with ease. “You’re down bad for Y/N, obviously. We are just trying to be supportive.”

“I am not!” He argued, the heat of embarrassment now turning into anger.

“You are too,” Taehyung argued. “I’ve seen you at work with her a few times. You are always staring at her like she’s the most delicious thing you’d ever eat. You want her so bad, hyung.”

Seokjin glared at Taehyung. “Just because I look at her sometimes doesn’t mean I am in love with her.”

“Okay Namjoon, I take it back. You’re not a fucking idiot. Or maybe you still are, but Jin-hyung takes the cake as the biggest fucking idiot here.” Hoseok said, a humorless laugh flying from his chest. “Wow. No one said you’re in love with her.”

Seokjin’s face flushed.

“Aww, don’t be embarrassed hyung!”

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell us all your secrets.”

“Did you have sex though?”

“Taehyung-ah!”

“What? You’re the one who asked in the first place!”

“So?”

“So, I know you’re curious too. I want to know which one of his porn star moves he pulled out of hiding. Did he Full Nelson her or was it purely missionary? Nah, nah, he’s too dirty for that. Hyung, did you Full Nelson her?”

“Wait, what’s a Full Nelson?”

“It’s a wrestling move,” Namjoon said.

“It’s a sex thing!”

“No. You’re making that up!”

“Hyung, is that a sex thing?”

“Yah! Shut up!” Yoongi said, and four pairs of eyebrows shot up as Namjoon, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Jungkook broke away from their conversation to come back down to Earth.

Seokjin’s hands were sweaty and he jostled his leg anxiously as his friends composed themselves.

“Sorry,” Taehyung mumbled.

Jimin sighed, finally pulling his hand away from Yoongi’s back.

“Maybe we should let Seokjin-hyung speak,” he suggested, gesturing to his anxious friend.

Everyone nodded sheepishly.

Seokjin took a deep breath, not even sure where to begin.

“Well, I…First of all, Y/N and I really didn’t have sex. She had a panic attack over the possibility of me being gay for some reason. Er, well not me being gay but asking the question. And that seemed to be something for her that opened the floodgates to an entire larger panic attack. So, after I cooked us jeon, we just kinda hung out and ditched the idea of the stream. And then, she did fall asleep on me for a bit.”

The memory of you this morning flooded his thoughts, how your hair skimming across his arms as you shifted your head gave him goosebumps. Or that your scent had invaded his clothes, his nose, so much so that he could just picture you and the soft, sweet smell would manifest around him.

“Oh, oh hyung.”

“Don’t look at me like that!” Seokjin shrieked as Jimin frowned.

His friends all sat quietly, sipping their drinks. Taehyung awkwardly stood up, stating he needed to use the bathroom before he exited the room.

“When did it start getting this serious for you?” Namjoon asked.

Seokjin’s eyebrows knit together. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We aren’t serious. We aren’t even together.”

“He means when did you start having feelings for her hyung? I know we said that none of us were accusing you of being in love with her, but are you sure that it’s just about sex, or friendship, or whatever it is you keep saying it is?”

Love. That word felt like fire in his brain. He couldn’t possibly love you. Not when he barely knew you. Not when he only just stood in your apartment for the first time, saw you asleep on him. What Seokjin knew about love was something faded and dusty, shoved under his bed in an old shoebox and hard to name. It had been so long since he felt the early feelings of life with Soon Yi.

Soon Yi. That was love, wasn’t it? The hot poker of constant chaos, being whisked away from one thing to another with pleasure and delight. Wasn’t that supposed to be what love was? He remembered ripping apart magazines with her in her dorm room to make a large collage that she created from top to bottom. All the colors swirling around them as they shredded page after page and refit together. Things clashed, patterns divided themselves into a kaleidoscope around her room. That was how Soon Yi was. A kaleidoscope of every color Seokjin had ever thought imaginable.

And she was like that for him too, when she laid underneath him that night, her body wrapped around his in every way imaginable, thrown from the bed to the floor as they christened every surface of that space imaginable.

With you, things weren’t able to be defined by colors. Instead, all Seokjin knew was that the heaviness and the intensity of first love wasn’t at all how he experienced you. No, you were like a fire that ignited in him, and he knew it. Scorched away every faded bit of that box under the bed and licked your flame along every part of him.

The way he so easily complied with you last night, despite the fact that he knew it would be bad for you both to be so close. Letting you lie on him while he sat there hard just by breathing in your sweetness. How his body responded like this was some first love despite the fact that it wasn’t, and he found himself changing the rules of his life every single time a sigh left your lips. That couldn’t be love, only fascination, only primal, sexual curiosity.

He’d admit his crush, but love? There was no way this could be it.

“No,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m…I’m not in love with her.”

“But–” Jungkook began, but Jimin silenced him with a look.

“No,” he repeated. “I’m not in love with her. I have a crush. And we’re friends. And yeah, I am really really ‘down bad’ for her like Yoongi said. But it’s not like that.”

Jungkook rubbed his eyes with the back of his fists, sighing in clear frustration.

“Alright, hyung,” Jimin said gently. “Alright.”

Just then, Seokjin’s phone pinged, and his heart plunged right into his stomach.

You were live? Now? Without him there?

That wasn’t in your agreement anyway. You agreed to help her stream. You helped her. Now she doesn’t need you.

That little bit of knowledge felt like a twisted knife, but he ignored it anyway, rapidly tapping the alert on his phone that led him to the app.

“What’s that about?” Hoseok asked.

His other friends repeated the question, filling the room with a hum of curiosity.

“Shut up!” he snapped, clicking the side button to turn up the volume.

“–and yeah sorry about not streaming last night. Time kind of slipped away from me. But I plan on making it up to you guys, I promise.” Your voice echoed throughout the living room, hushing Seokjin’s friends as they hunched forward to see what was the cause of his sudden irritation.

“Is that…?” Yoongi began.

“Yes,” Taehyung said as he waltzed back into the room, patting his damp hands on the back of his pants. “That’s her.”

“Oh, oh okay I get it now,” Namjoon said. “Leave it to hyung to be down bad for someone who dresses just like him.”

What? Seokjin squinted at the screen, taking in your appearance: your hair was loosely curled around your face, some juicy pink lip gloss that he knew tasted like strawberries (he’d smelled it on you before) glazing your mouth, and a black lace bustier that was barely being covered by a pink linen button down was peeking out. One that looked exactly like the one he was wearing last night.

“Because that is my shirt,” he replied, dazed.

“What?” Jimin said, hurling himself across the coffee table and yanking the phone from Seokjin’s hands.

Jungkook followed behind Jimin, resting his chin on his friend’s shoulder as he squinted at you on the screen. “Can we make it any bigger? I can’t see shit from here.”

“No!” Seokjin protested, but it was clear he wouldn’t win this argument.

“Wait, why does she have your shirt?” Yoongi asked as Jimin and Jungkook fumbled with the television setup to cast the stream.

Seokjin glared at his friend. Hoseok laughed, sliding into the spot next to him and offering him some shrimp chips.

“Who cares? The better question is why is she wearing it on her live stream over her lingerie?”

“Ah, true.”

Yoongi turned to Seokjin expectantly, like he would somehow know the reason. Honestly, he wondered the same.

You weren’t ready for this. You two had barely covered the basics yesterday. Why were you streaming when the arrangement was between the two of you to do this together? Did you just not want his help anymore? Or did all the talking and your panic attack yesterday make you rethink things?

What if you had really wanted him to leave last night or your emotions got the best of you and you regretted everything? Seokjin could feel the spiral of his thoughts starting to unwind as he tried to figure out what the explanation for this stream was.

“A-ha! Ok, we got it,” Jimin said as he clicked through the series of menu permissions to cast a larger version of you onto the screen.

You were reading your comments, lightly gnawing on your lip. Nerves, he realized.

“Oh, uh, yeah, we can play the same game as last time. We didn’t quite finish, did we?” You said, rolling your neck and flexing your shoulders. As you did, your breasts thrust further toward the camera, plush skin Seokjin dreamt of shoving his face into so many times now fully on display for all his friends.

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook said from somewhere in the room. Seokjin had no clue. He couldn’t break his gaze as you giggled at something in your comments. He felt heat head south from his face.

“Jesus hyung.” Hoseok said. “I don’t know how you get through a workday with her without getting hard.”

“He doesn’t,” Taehyung added unhelpfully.

He heard the air behind him shift, before a soft thwack and Taehyung’s responding groan informed him that someone had thrown a pillow at him.

“Okay, so new rules,” you said.“From now on, if any of you say something super perverted, you’ll be unable to comment until the next stream. I’ll have my mods ban you from commenting. The only way you can get on my good side again and get yourself unbanned during a stream is if you fulfill something off of my wish list I added. You can type #springwishes and see all I’ve put on there. Sound good?” You smirked at your camera, a little bite of confidence spreading through you.

Seokjin’s chest clenched, a tiny bit of relief washing over him as he saw you get your bearings, the comments spamming that hashtag for the link to your wishlist, which he’d advised you to make as a form of incentive and distraction during moments when you felt overwhelmed. If people were getting into deep waters with a topic, you could always redirect to the wishlist, making it more of a prize for your viewers to partake in versus punishment.

“Alright, so let’s do this,” you said. “Game on.”

Maybe he was overreacting. In the last hour he and his friends spent intently watching your stream, you seemed to navigate your chat a little more with ease, or at least with redirection.

Yoongi had nodded off in his chair despite the earth-shattering moans your game was crying out as you tripped different combos. You were getting better at the game, and as you finished another level that gave you the prize of some more very not safe for work photos by your “girls”, a heavy yawn escaped through your lips.

Maybe you didn’t need his help after all. For what it’s worth, you seemed to be settling in comfortably to your performance aspect of the role, sometimes twirling bits of hair in your fingers, earning yourself half a dozen new subs and a few new things from your wishlist.

“Wow, we’re making good progress,” you said, reaching for your water bottle and pouting at your screen as you sipped from the straw.

The comments had become more mild during the game when you were fully immersed. Seokjin had been monitoring them closely, seeing your mod Wonwoo diligently screening spam out of the comments.

But now that your attention had shifted, they were being flooded once more with people vying for your attention.

Str3amballzak: Wanna fuk those tits

(Str3amballzak has been banned from the chat room)

Lickemup: sit on my face

(Lickemup has been banned from the chat room)

“And so it begins,” you said sarcastically, sipping more water from your straw as you switched your camera view to just you instead of the game.

(Str3amballzak has fulfilled wish list item number 7: new streaming headphones)

Str3amballzak: worth it

“You guys are working hard at getting yourself permanently banned,” you said, rolling your eyes. “But thanks I guess.”

Str3amballzak: ur welcome baby

Str3amballzak: ever do private streams?

“No, I don’t do private streams Mr. Ball Sack. Or Ball Zak? Anyway, do you want to go in time out again?”

Str3amballzak: fine ill behave.

Str3amballzak: daddy just wants to spoil u

Str3amballzak: u should put some other toys on that wish list ;)

Heat flooded Seokjin’s face as he read the chat messages fluttering by. This was going south quickly.

“Not your baby,” you said with a scoff. “And no thanks daddy. I’m good.”

“God, these dudes are gross. Is this the same kind of comments you get, Seokjin-hyung?” Jungkook asked.

“At first, kind of. But not much anymore. On occasion someone will try to dom me from the chat, but there’s a tip feature for that,’ he responded, eyebrows furrowed as he studied your face for any discomfort. Annoyance, sure, but you could handle that. His hands still hovered over his phone, ready to intervene in a moment’s notice.

(Lickemup has fulfilled wishlist item number 3: electric kettle)

Lickemup: something to keep you warm if it’s not my tongue in your pussy

(Lickemup has been banned from the chat room)

(Lickemup has fulfilled wishlist item number 0: mystery gift)

Lickemup: loophole?

“Oh,” you said, eyes going wide. “I…I didn’t know that was an option.”

Seokjin didn’t either. And he certainly didn’t know what a “mystery gift” was. What he did know was that this wishlist would mail you anything without giving away your address. But that meant it could be anything.

Uh oh.

User27271: wanna cum on your face

(User27271 has been banned from the chatroom)

(User27271 has fulfilled wish list item number 0: mystery gift)

User27271: hope you like pet play

(User27271 has been banned from the chat room)

User8008s: stroking my dick to your pretty face rn

(User8008s has been banned from the chatroom)

(User8008s has fulfilled wish list item number 0: mystery gift)

User8008s: 💦

“Jesus Christ, guys,” you said weakly as the chaos of the loophole began to take over your chat, dozens more accounts flooding the comments to do the work around, plunging into the raunchiest of comments before being banned, then fulfilling some mystery gift before being banned again, this time for good. Seokjin looked at the view counter in the corner. It was rising exponentially.

He could see how quickly your control was leaving you, the glassiness of your eyes and shakiness of your voice as you fought to reel in your chat leading you toward the verge of a breakdown.

“Is there any way to turn that feature off?” Jungkook asked helplessly, his eyes wide as another onslaught of cyber attacks began.

“I don’t know, I didn’t even know it had this option,” Seokjin said, his voice tight as he helplessly watched you begin to shrink away from the spotlight he had spent hours with you yesterday practicing to do the exact opposite in.

You pulled the shirt tighter across your body, and that seemed to spring him into action: you there in his shirt, this chaotic chat undoing the work you’d done in a matter of minutes. Fuck those people.

“There has to be something we can do,” Jimin said, and Namjoon whipped out his phone, searching up the parameters of the wish list site you had used.

“Tell her to just have her mods turn the entire feature off in the meantime,” Hoseok said, tapping his foot anxiously.

Seokjin nodded, typing the message into the chat box.

JokeJinSeokjin: Turn off your the gifting feature

But his comment was lost in the slew of the chat. He knew there was no way you would see it.

“She definitely isn’t going to see that!” Taehyung groaned.

“Call her, hyung. You have her number,” Yoongi said, his voice gravelly from just waking up.

Right, a phone call. He could do that.

Seokjin opened his contact list and dialed your number. He knew you kept your phone on silent during your stream, but in a moment of luck, you looked down, where he assumed your phone was at and hastily pressed the accept call button.

“Hello?” Your voice sounded like a wild echo through the TV; the sound delay was just enough to warp you.

Seokjin stood and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t even bother turning on the light, something about the isolation away from his friends and the darkness feeling like a comfort, like you two were in your own little world and not being put on blast in front of thousands.

“Turn off your chat commands. Now,” he ordered.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know how,” you said, then groaned. “Guys please I don’t want any of this. Get it the fuck together.” You paused. “What do you mean who am I talking to on the phone? It’s none of your goddamn business.”

“Y/N,” Seokjin warned. You needed to stop engaging.

“I know! I know, okay?” you snapped, and Seokjin nodded, even though you couldn’t see him. You took a shaky breath after a moment. “Are you watching?”

“I was but I needed my phone to call you so I’m not right now. Why? Is something happening?”

“No it’s just–never mind. I have set myself on away and muted so I can unlink this option. Wonwoo is turning off the chat completely for me.”

“Good,” he responded and opened a browser window, typing in his query. “Okay I looked it up and you need to click the right toggle in your stream settings and scroll down until you see ‘outside links’ and then–”

“Slower, please!” You said exasperated.

“You can always turn the whole stream off,” he said gently and you huffed in response.

You paused for a beat. “I don’t want to. I was fine before this whole thing started. I want to do this.” You sounded like you were on the verge of crying. He knew this meant a lot to you. So much of the first few stream’s success determines your future. He knew this. Saw it happen in his own online presence. If you lost a lot of followers tonight, you’d probably not regain them. And then your payout at the end of the month would be a fraction of what you were receiving.

“Okay. Yes. Then let’s take a deep breath,” he said, taking a deep breath of his own for you to follow. He heard the soft inhale through the receiver, and smirked.

“Now let’s get you all set up. See that toggle on the right?”

You hummed a response. “I think so.”

“Okay, now go down. You see the external link options?”

A pause. “Can’t you just do it for me?” You whined and Seokjin laughed.

“I could but I’m across town at a friend’s house. It would be easy if you do it yourself.”

He wanted to kick himself for saying that. Because he would be out the door in a heartbeat, would Uber or sprint toward you. But by the time he got there, it would be too late. Too much chaos was happening at once, and this needed to stop now.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to keep you—“

Seokjin clicked his tongue. “None of that, now. Focus.”

If he did show up at your house to help, he also knows what would happen next. After the momentary panic was over, you would be pissed that you didn’t handle things on your own. At work, however big the mess, you were always insistent on doing it yourself. Here was no exception.

After a few clicks he heard a gasp. “Got it!”

“Good job, princess. You did well.”

“Oh…thank you. Not without your help though,” you said meekly.

He knew you were running out of time. In a few minutes, you’d be back to kick ass in your stream, and life would go on. So he chose his next few words carefully.

“I thought you wanted me to be there for your first stream.”

“I..well…I did, but I felt guilty and like I had to stream tonight. I didn’t want to bother you, but it looks like I did that anyway, huh?”

“You’re not bothering me, ever. You asked for my help with this.”

“And you did! You helped so much.”

An awkward silence fell between you two as Seokjin thought. He exhaled roughly.

“So, what now? Are you just trying to get rid of me or something? Did I do something wrong?” His voice shook, the hurt he tried to conceal penetrated through the evenness of his tone.

“No! No it’s not like that,” you said quickly. “I just, I feel like I had to.”

“Had to what?”

“Stream. I felt bad and like I owed it to them today.”

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know really,” you said softly. “Because I’m desperate for the cash. And that sounds awful I know. But I want to make sure that when summer term comes around, I am ready for it financially. And my parents have been calling me a lot and I just…I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?”

He could hear the edge of your voice as you got more worked up, your last word cracking slightly like you were trying not to cry.

“No, no I’m not mad, Y/N.”

“Are you sure? Because I know you are helping and you already are spending time with me and it’s not like you don’t have other things to take care of! Like you had to work this morning and I got a text from Mino saying he caught you asleep in your office snoring. I didn’t tell him it was because of me, but god, if I could get this shit together, your services wouldn’t be necessary.”

“I’m not mad. Really, I think you’re trying to find reasons for me to be mad at you but I’m not. And don’t worry about my sleep schedule. It was one night out. I’m not that old for one night not sleeping in my bed to ruin my entire life.”

You hummed in response.

“Listen, Y/N, I chose to stay out all night knowing I had to open today. You might be persuasive but you aren’t that good to manipulate me into anything. I was there because I wanted to be there. Okay?”

You hummed again.

“I need some kind of verbal acknowledgement other than ‘hmm’.”

“Sorry. Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“I was listening!”

“I know you were, that’s not why I’m asking.”

You sighed. “Fine, okay I am not manipulating you. You wanted to be here.” You paused. “Seokjin?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know if I can go back.. Like, what do I do? I’ve already been gone for ten minutes and Wonwoo is blowing up my texts and…” Your voice broke, and he could hear the quiet sound of you crying.

“Hey, breathe, princess. It’s okay. You can always just turn your computer off. The people watching were assholes.”

“Not all of them,” you muttered back. “God what is wrong with me?”

Seokjin turned on the light to the bathroom. His clothes were crumpled, heavy circles under his puffy eyes and disheveled hair making him look like some washed up finance guy. Honestly, he looked a lot like how he used to back when he did work in finance.

“Nothing is wrong with you, and you know it. You’re perfect. A mess, and really bad at remembering to put the pickled radishes back in the fridge when you’re done with them, but that’s still pretty great all things considered.”

He heard a chuckle on the other end. “Yeah, I’m such a winner. Ugh, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do.”

“Let me help, then,” he offered.

You took a deep breath. “Okay, what do I do?”

He chuckled. “I’m not going to decide that for you. That’s something you need to figure out. But, I’ll give you a few options. First, you can just shut your computer down completely and not apologize, not explain yourself. Your chat and any good subscribers that you actually want to have around will understand. You’re forgetting that there were thousands of people watching, and the loudest ones were the trolls, but they weren’t the only ones there.

“The other option,” Seokjin cleared his throat. “Is that you can go back out there, finish the stream, leave your comments off, and do what you want to do. I can’t guarantee it’ll be as lucrative but you will at least won’t be engaging with those idiots anyway.”

He let you mull it over, opening the medicine cabinet and rifling through his friends’ things. Eyedrops, god, his eyes were on fire from these contact lenses. He had a pair of glasses in his work bag, but they were a little old and frankly kind of stupid looking.

“Okay, I think…I think I want to try again. And like you said, I’ll keep the comments off this time.”

“That’s my girl,” Seokjin sighed as he squirted some solution into his burning eyes. Then he paused. “I mean, uh, you know. Good job.”

You chuckled on the other end. God he really needed to monitor himself better. Something about his conversations with you were becoming less careful by the hour.

“Thanks, I know what you meant. And thank you again.”

You paused again. “Is there something wrong, Y/N?” Seokjin asked.

“Well, it’s just. I want to do this, I do. But I’m not. God I don’t know, it's like I’m frozen in place. I just feel like there’s so many things I need you to show me before I get good at this.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. How to be sexy without ruining my career, how to just dust everything off and get back out there. That’s what you do all the time! With uh, with work and everything.”

Seokjin chuckled a little. Dusting things off was hardly something he was good at, but he did know how important it was to get back out there. He wasn’t quite sure what you’d meant in relation to work since that wasn’t really a space for it, but that wasn’t his focus. Instead it was on something else.

“You…think I’m sexy?”

“Oh, uh…yeah duh. Don’t let it go to your head though, everyone thinks that.”

Seokjin could think of quite a few people who didn’t think that, actually.

“Fine, fine, I’ll let it slide. And you’re right, it is important to just dust things off and move on. But that’s just one thing that I want to show you. There’s so many other things for you to learn.”

So many things. He felt proud knowing that you were doing this on your own, even after this hiccup; it meant that you were doing exactly what he’d tried to teach you yesterday. Even if you faltered once. It was impressive. And he couldn’t help but think of how much you were going to grow from this experience, how many doors it opened up for you, for both of you to forge a stronger connection. He wanted to show you all sorts of things, not just with streaming, but with him. How after seeing your apartment and couch with a dent in it, he wanted you to create a dent in his couch as you read books from your collection. Or that even in his large chef’s kitchen he had in his luxury apartment, he could stand side-by-side next to you prepping more carrots for other foods.

Maybe cake this time. And when you inevitably spilled ingredients all over the place like you did at work, globs of cream cheese frosting on your cheeks, he’d laugh and find it endearing as you always were, and try not to think about your tongue doing more naughty things to him as you lick it off of your fingers. How you clearly had a little stubborn bratty streak in you that liked to tease and tempt him, and without a doubt you would spend an extra long and thorough job making sure he had a front row seat to you sucking your fingers into your mouth. Just like how you knew you were sitting in that apartment of yours right now, his pink shirt wrapping around your large perfect tits. What were you wearing on the bottom of that ensemble, even? That bustier that was so goddamn tantalizing. Did it have matching panties? Were you wearing those too? He knew you well enough to know you were probably wearing some kind of jogger bottom since people didn’t get to see your fantastic ass in the camera view.

Good. That was something Seokjin didn’t have to feel jealous of. They could get their fill of your breasts on this stream, but he knew what that soft tummy looked like, how those strong, thick thighs looked in leggings and joggers and most recently, tiny pajama shorts. Thinking back to last night, the way those hiked up your thighs to your little panty line, how soft the skin looked. Would your thighs be just as soft if they were straddling his head? He could only imagine how delicious they would look after he left little nip-marks on them, suckling the flesh just enough to hear your breathing increase, to get you shifting all needy and antsy as you got more needy and impatient. Just as he would want you so that you would rub that wet pussy right on his face and–

“Are you still there?” you said, and Seokjin’s breath caught in his chest, causing him to cough.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” he rasped. He heard you chuckle low in response, and fuck. Something about how sexy your voice sounded had his cock throbbing. “I got, uh, distracted. What did you say?”

“Oh….uh, never mind.” You paused. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but your voice flooded through the receiver again. “I don’t want to take you away from your friends any longer. I think I’ve got things for now, but thank you again.”

His heart sank with disappointment that absolutely should not have been there. “Ah, right. Of course. Well, then I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Um, on second thought,” you said suddenly, and his ears pricked up. “Do you…do you think you could come by just in case things get out of hand again? Do you want to? If not it’s okay but––”

“I’ll be over in thirty minutes,” he said eagerly.

Seokjin was already throwing open the bathroom door and barreling down the hall, his friends all shifting from the TV where your away message was cast and onto him. Jimin’s eyebrows raised in question. Taehyung grinned at his friend devilishly, winking and nudging Jungkook.

“Okay,” you breathed, relieved. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Mhmm. See you soon.” Your voice sounded lower, huskier. If there was any ability to think anymore, he would think you were trying to sound sexy and flirty.

“Yes, okay. See you.” As he hung up, Seokjin felt himself smiling at his phone, his heart feeling a bit fuller, more awake.

“I’m uh, I’m going to go over there. There’s some stuff she wants me to keep an eye on,” he announced.

He looked over at his friends. Namjoon attempted some form of polite nodding and understanding, but it quickly broke as everyone else erupted into laughter.

“Yah! What is it now? Were you guys eavesdropping or something?”

“We were,” Yoongi said between breaths, “but it wasn’t like you were having a particularly interesting conversation.” He dabbed tears from his eyes.

“Except the part where you called her princess. Phew you’re whipped.” Hoseok added.

Seokjin rolled his eyes, reaching down into the couch to find his keys that had been eaten by the cushion upon his arrival. “It just slipped out.”

“Yeah, well, you might want to take a breather before you head out, hyung.” Jungkook avoided eye contact with Seokjin, a blush rushing to his cheeks.

“And why is that?” Seokjin asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Because your Big Dick Daddy boner is so incredibly obvious right now that I’m not sure it’ll be you keeping an eye on Y/N when it’s more likely she’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Seokjin looked down and as if on cue, his dick twitched. He tried to adjust himself. His friends roared around him, even Jimin trading his careful composure in for hilarity as he threw himself to the floor.

“Fuck you guys.” Seokjin said as he headed toward the door.

“Not us, but maybe you tonight!” Taehyung called. “I’m sure Y/N will be singing ‘Hey Daddy’ when you walk in!”

Seokjin was already out the door, but he could hear the first few bars of the Usher song playing, and despite himself, he smiled.

When Seokjin arrives, you have already explained to your chat that if they want to have any privileges at all, they’ll stop being asshats. That is a boundary you can more easily create, something less wavering than the control needed to essentially domme your chat.

You’re not a domme. Not even close.

“Be right back,” you say to your screen, kicking on the away message. You glance at your phone. Only about twenty minutes left until you’re ready to end things. Hopefully not too long to make Seokjin wait.

“Hey,” you say, opening the door. His dark hair is disheveled, bags under his eyes. He looks like hell. You fight the urge to immediately turn him around and send him back home.

He’s tired but his smile is still adorable and wide as he steps into the door of your apartment, discarding his shoes.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Thanks for coming. I’m going to wrap my stream up soon, but I was thinking maybe we could debrief after?”

He nods and plops himself down on your couch like he’s been here dozens of times before, not just once.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll just be in here if you need me.”

“Are you going to watch the stream?” You ask, suddenly feeling self conscious. It’s one thing if Seokjin watches your stream when you’re not there, but the idea of him seeing you in lingerie and playing some sexy game is kind of intimate.

You in lingerie and his fucking shirt, that is.

“Well, I thought about it. It’s probably the only way I can really understand what’s going on in case you need me. I’ve brought my earbuds so you don’t get feedback from the other room or have to hear your own voice delayed. So we should be good.”

The idea of earbuds does sound a little bit more practical and distancing.

“Okay, yeah. Oh, and um, about your shirt…” Seokjin looks down from your face, scanning your body with his eyes. You feel heat lick over the places his gaze follows, down your collar bone and the curve of your hips and back up to the swell of your breasts that spill over your bustier. This is where his stare hovers for a moment, and it’s almost maddening, like he’s undressing you with his eyes. It stirs something deep in your core, pricking your nipples a bit to start becoming hard. The lace of the bustier is too thick and it’s lined to avoid exposing anything, but it doesn’t matter.

Seokjin is looking at you like he wants to eat you, and it’s turning you on impossibly fast.

“Keep it,” he offers after a moment, his eyes flitting away from your chest. His ears are turning slightly red. “It looks good on you.”

“Thank you.” It’s all you can offer in response. You clasp your hands together in front of you, the soft linen of his shirt skirting around your naked thighs. The shorts you wore to bed last night were all you could find to throw on with this getup that were clean and comfortable enough for a few hours of streaming. They’re a bit too short, but you figured no one on stream would see them.

You didn’t really consider that Seokjin would see them again, or really ever, and now you’re realizing how much skin you are showing.

“I’ll uh, get back to it I guess,” you say and Seokjin nods, now appearing more engrossed in setting up his phone with the stream than talking to you about it or paying attention to what you’re wearing, or the lack of it.

You scoot off to your room, shutting the door quietly behind you and sinking down into your chair.

You hit the settings for the away message to turn off and unmute.

“Alright, we are winding down for the night. Thanks to everyone who stayed with me to the end, I appreciate it.”

Your comment section responds in kind, with thanks for you continuing to stream through the chaos.

“Before I leave, though. I figured we can play a few more levels of the game. We have to make sure Candy has enough magic wands to unlock the special bonus game. Although, can I just say that picking wands was a weird choice? Don’t you normally just need one to get the job done? Why not something else, like different shaped dildos or something. Honestly, a little more variety in size and shape can’t hurt.”

After a few seconds of delay, you hear a boom of laughter in the living room. His laughter is infectious, and it blooms a large grin on your face.

“So here’s the plan. I’m going to unlock this bonus level tonight and then we’ll see what the hype is about during the next stream, okay?”

The chat has calmed itself, and you’re glad you tested having it turned back on instead of totally following Seokjin’s advice earlier. Maybe his streams still function if he doesn’t have his comments on, but you know most of your royalties are given from moments of engagement; your parasocial relationship with your subscribers is based on more conversation than the actual thing you’re doing. It’s how you’ve gotten this far without being good at video games. No one seems to care when you get stuck on the same level each time if you at least have engaging conversation.

JokeJinSeokjin: I’m hungry. Do you want me to order jjajangmyeon?

You smirk at your screen and nod, then answer a few questions your chat has initiated.

“Why did I decide to do a Late Night stream? I needed to change things up. You guys all started to follow me after Wonwoo’s stream and I feel like there’s only so many games I can play with the same kind of commentary before we all get sick of it.”

JokeJinSeokjin: What about mandu? The delivery minimum is way too high so we need to get something else.

A chuckle leaves your lips and you nod again, redirecting yourself to the chat once more. Someone asks how you’re feeling about continuing streaming in this way.

“Uhh, I would say that most of the streams so far have been a little crazy, right? It’s…doing this is hard. I’m hoping the more I do it the more things will start to chill out. I’m sorry to anyone who was offended by the comment section earlier. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand.”

JokeJinSeokjin: Food is ordered. Will be here in 30. 😋

Springin2Luv: @ JokeJinSeokjin who are you? I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend S.D.?

Your face heats as you prepare for the onslaught of drama this will cause, but then you’re shockingly surprised at Seokjin’s response.

JokeJinSeokjin: Just a good friend to make sure S.D. is fed and for another stream.

JokeJinSeokjin: Anyway 28 minutes until food time so hurry up and finish this level!

You laugh. “Well, you heard the man, let’s get back to the game.”

Twenty eight minutes later exactly, Seokjin knocks on your door. “The food is here! I’m starving. Are you done yet?”

You put the game on pause. “If you were watching the stream like you said you were, you would know that I’m not done with this level and am in fact stuck.”

“Well excuse me for not staring intently and absorbing every detail when I’m this hungry. I’m going to open everything and eat it all before you!”

“Go right ahead! You’re the one who wanted it so badly,” you call back, teasing. Though the second you finish the sentence, the warm smell of the crispy dumplings wafts into your room, Seokjin lightly creaking the door open and fanning the delivery bowl in your direction.

He raises an eyebrow, challenging you as he takes one bite into one, mocking before his face contorts into pain.

“Aish!!! It’s fucking HOT,” he yelps, and he drops the remaining dumpling back into the bowl, some of the green stuffing spilling throughout.

“Well yeah, what did you expect!?”

“Not for it to be so goddamn burning hot!” He fans his tongue for good measure, and you can see even from your desk the slight red tinge some of his taste buds have taken.

“There’s ice in the freezer. I’ll wrap this up now,” you sigh and shoo him away before turning back to your screen. “Well, you all probably heard that exchange, so I’m going to pause here. Sorry we didn’t get to beat it, but I’ll try again next time.”

You read over some of your farewell comments from your chat. But one really sticks with you.

Babybibi: I feel like I know that voice from somewhere.

Your stomach drops, but you remain composed, pretending you don’t recognize the comment. It never dawned on you that Seokjin’s fans could really be anywhere. Does he realize that? Is that why he safely stayed out of the camera’s reach? You’re not sure.

By the time you have signed off, Seokjin has managed to plate both of your meals and get you drinks from the fridge. He’s plopped a throw pillow onto the floor to sit on at the beat up coffee table so you can sit in your regular couch spot.

“I learned my lesson with that couch yesterday. It eats people.”

“Oh yeah yeah, I know. Thank you, this looks great.” You blow on one of the mandu before popping into your mouth. Even after arriving ten minutes ago, it’s still crisp and hot. Meaning however hot it was for Seokjin must have been volcanic. “How’s your tongue?”

He pouts, sloshing some ice water around in his mouth before opening it to stick out his pink tongue. “It hawtsth,” he says with his tongue still lolled out.

You chuckle. “Oh poor baby, do I need to kiss it and make it all better?”

Seokjin shifts a little at the question, and you realize immediately the error in what you’ve just suggested. An image of the two of you drums up in your mind, you sucking each other’s tongues, an ice cube swapping from one mouth to the other as it melts. Nothing about this is even intimate; it’s just pure filth. And based on the matching redness in Seokjin’s ears, it’s clear his brain has gone somewhere similar.

He finally rolls his tongue back between his plush lips and you sit awkwardly, suddenly unable to remember how to function.

Seokjin makes the move to end the awkward pause, taking his chopsticks into his grasp and pulling out a large glob of noodles, shoveling it into his mouth.

Right, food. Your stomach gurgles at the prospect and Seokjin raises an eyebrow at you as he chews, his eyes flashing down to your stomach.

“Eat,” he instructs, so you do, following his commands to finish your dumpling and move on to your generous pile of noodles.

How is he able to just push past the awkward and not have it freeze him in place the way it does with you? As you slurp your food down, you can’t help but study him, so effortlessly comfortable to sit in silence in your apartment after playing games about sex workers.

You shouldn’t be surprised, you guess. Because Seokjin is a sex worker. He’s incredibly nonchalant about all of what you’re doing, no judgment to smudge this dynamic.

If your old friends, or even your parents knew about you doing this, what would they think?

Nothing good, you assume.

It’s not that you were raised in an environment that was all helplessly ignorant about sex and bodies. You’d had sex. Your parents sat you down when you had your first period and explained every single detail about the human body and reproduction to you. It was painful and scientific, so divorced from the intimacy of what sex really is that it didn’t present itself to be much of an interest or issue until, well, you felt the first licks of desire.

Those started as dreams. Ones where you would be heavily kissing and exploring the body of whoever you were crushing on at the time. The first one started with Wonwoo, after having spent all summer at the library memorizing the thin curve of his upper lips as he squinted to read the books in front of him. You would feel the heat of your core shifting you in your chair as you grew more intrigued, more curious about how his lips would feel on yours, what he would taste like. How his soft hands would feel if he actually held yours, not just the accidental brush when you would walk side-by-side back toward your neighborhood, where you would drop him off at the shop before slugging your way back through that sticky, angry heat that only added more to your discomfort.

That was the first summer you started masturbating. And it was so awkward in some ways, trying to learn what you liked and how you liked it but also wondering why you liked it, why you liked Wonwoo in a way that was no longer so innocent and picturesque but scarier, more real.

Your parents caught you, probably as every parent does at some point and just pretends they didn’t notice. Yours, however, made it clear that they knew. And while they never said anything beyond mentioning it once or twice, it felt humiliating. As if you were supposed to be above attraction and sex and pleasure. It was more in how your parents acted after this point that has given you enough insight to imagine how they would react if they knew what you did now.

No direct words spoken, just blank, glaring looks and sneers. Just them ogling you like you had told them you murdered someone. Shame, in all the nooks and crannies of what it is.

As for your friends, besides Wonwoo, they’ve all moved on. You had been so curious as a teenager, and wanted to know so much more. Yet, no one ever talked about sex. Some of them had dated through teen years. All of them dated someone in college except you. Sex was happening all around you and yet it was some forbidden topic. Even with Wonwoo after a while. You have a feeling you would have a next to near impossible time explaining what you are doing to those friends, and if Wonwoo wasn’t a streamer, you’re sure he wouldn’t fully get it either.

But Seokjin understands. This is his life, this is so natural to him that he can sit in front of you after a long day and lazily smile with the knowledge that you are wearing lingerie underneath his shirt.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks thoughtfully, and you blink, realizing that for the last few minutes you’ve been watching his gorgeous full lips, studying how his tongue peeks out to wipe away some of the sauce.

“Lips,” you answer in your haze.

“Ah,” he chides, and you blink away the memory.

“What?” You ask.

“Well, my lips are some of the best of them.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Given how long you were staring at me, I would bet that you were thinking they are. Don’t worry Y/N, go right ahead and get a good look.” He winks.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“Well, at least I’m full of something. I haven’t seen you take more than a few bites of food. Quit stalling and eat your damn dinner.”

“You know, you’re pretty bossy.”

“I guess that’s why I’m the boss.”

“Time and place. This isn’t the restaurant. Maybe it’s my house and I call the shots.”

He gestures around. “Well then, by all means. What are your commands.”

“For you to stop being a tool.”

Seokjin cackles. “Oh, that’s an insult I haven’t heard since middle school.”

“Well, is it any less efficient? I think it serves its purpose.”

“I think you’re still stalling.”

“Fine!”

You twirl a large pile of noodles around your chopsticks and shovel them into your mouth. “Thewere. Hawppy?”

“Immensely so,” Seokjin says, his eyes twinkling.

You don’t have the fight in you to argue anymore. The warm, savory noodles are so chewy and delicious, and the salt on your tongue is reminding you how deplenished you are from the energy of the stream.

You eat in silence, until the heaviness of your limbs has scattered to mostly just the heaviness of your full stomach.

You lean back against the sofa on your final chew, groaning when you’ve finished.

“Ugh, that was so good.”

“I told you. I’m a genius for suggesting it.”

“You got lucky and picked the best place in this neighborhood.”

Seokjin scoffs. “Excuse you. Might I remind you of a humble restaurant that is also technically in this neighborhood?”

“And does this place serve jajjangmyeon at one a.m. on a weekday?”

“No.”

“Then my point still stands,” you say.

Seokjin sighs and then follows up with a yawn that you can’t help but catch.

“So, debrief time. Before either of us fall asleep.”

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. You can go home and rest. I can’t imagine you got much sleep today.”

“Hardly any at all, but you can’t get rid of me so easily.” Seokjin smirks. “Let’s talk about the stream.”

“Well, you caught most of it.”

“Yes, and I think it’s worth talking about.”

You mull it over for a minute, how you felt as the onslaught of gifted sex toys seemed to flood the chat, the overwhelm not really of the thing itself but the assertion over a boundary you were trying to place. Why was this so hard for you to do?

“I think I still feel so much like an imposter. I don’t know a lot about gaming, but I’m gaming. I’m not at all sexy enough to have a stream that does sexy stuff, so I feel like I’m just…” You shrug.

He opens his mouth, but then stops himself, nodding for you to finish.

“I don’t know, I just don’t want to fall for the pressure of being what everyone wants me to be. Which is, this role of the fat funny streamer. Like, every single trope in fiction has the side friend be fat and funny as some comedic relief. And because people wanted me to stream because I was so ‘funny’. Or they just see me as something to fuck because if I’m not completely sexless I have to be basically a pocket pussy for someone. All so I can make money. It’s so fucked.”

“But…you aren’t just a character in fiction, Y/N.” Seokjin reaches across the table, grazing his thumb over the back of your pinky knuckle. “You’re real. You feel things. You feel this, don’t you?”

You nod.

“So if this is the choice, to keep streaming for some financial goal, then who is it you want to be? You’re sure of what you don’t want, which is a good place to start. But what next? You have a choice.”

You pause. You have a choice.

In all of this, has it ever really felt that way? From the start, streaming was so rooted in financial stability. And because of that, it’s been so much heavier when you are forced into a performer role that you don’t want to partake in. It never occurred to you that you could actually control any of it.

But you suppose that’s what Seokjin does when he streams. He gives his audience some version of himself that he has a say in, control over.

“I…I guess I don’t know. I have never really thought about this being a choice.”

He nods, then stands, stretching his arms over his head. “Maybe that’s where you start. Trying to figure out who it is you want to be. And owning her. Whoever she is. Whether she wants to be funny or sexy or a combination of the two. If she wants to give up streaming and find another thing, or go full steam ahead and become the top streamer on the internet. You get to decide.”

After dinner–and trying not to stare at your breasts– Seokjin helped you wash the dishes, talked a bit more about your plans for the next stream, and then he left. He knew he was risking another impromptu sleepover and after your debrief, he wanted to make sure you had the space you needed to sit with the idea of choosing this for yourself.

He knew all too well how important that was. Two years ago, in the same position, it was something he also had to decide: which parts of him stayed with him when he streamed and which parts he hid so he could keep them for himself. It wasn’t an easy choice. He still felt it creep up sometimes when he streamed, constantly vigilant of the words leaving his mouth so he didn’t ever give too much away.

Even when his friends were in the chat, he tried to not call attention to them by name. Similar to how you were on your stream. He wished he could be honest with you and tell you that this part never gets easier. Regardless of how much you wanted to share with others, there was the unfortunate reality that in order to maintain any sense of discretion and honor on the worldwide web, regardless of the type of streaming, the boundary between you and your audience would always lead to disconnection and loneliness. Conversely, you also were not ever going to be totally private and anonymous again. At some point, there was a tipping point where you would never again just be you. The digital footprint was permanent.

And in this limbo, as time moved on and winter finally melted into Spring, the pressure was on for Seokjin. He considered telling you that he was a sex cam streamer. He had felt it on the tip of his tongue that night, but in the many nights that have since followed, fighting against the decision to just tell you so you could move through it and potentially build a more realistic and relatable plan based on his own experiences and the potential betrayal you might have felt when you learned of the ways he wasn’t at all morally superior for doing things for money. Would you judge him for wanting better for you?

Moreover, would you be able to live with knowing that your friend–your boss– did gay sex streams? It just felt too delicate at this point to bring up, so Seokjin shoved it down inside of him, just like he did with his audience every time he hit the countdown to go live.

And unfortunately, in the last few months he’d only streamed a handful of times, which resulted in a significant decrease in engagement and therefore, income.

But between working at the restaurant and then coming over to sit in the other room as you streamed, his time was limited.

He was tired. You streamed late into the early hours of the morning, and unlike him, you didn’t work full time. On the days you did have the early shift in the morning, you somehow seemed rested, clearly used to the chaotic structure of your regular gaming streams that might have occurred the night before. You’d decided to do a brief pause on late night themed streams until you had a better game plan. And to the surprise of both you and Seokjin, your followers were supportive. So you would stream regular games in the late night slots on occasion, and Seokjin would sit on as an honorary mod despite the exhaustion. Granted, those nights you often fell asleep before Seokjin had even left your apartment, and he would gently nudge you awake as you drifted off on the couch, prodding you to go take off your makeup and looking on fondly as you thanked him sleepily before crashing on your bed.

One day in early May, though, everything that was delicately woven into the balance of things began fraying at the edges.

Seokjin had woken up to a grateful text from you thanking him for coming over the night before, and had sent a follow up invitation.

You 7:59AM: You can say no, but do you maybe want to go get dinner tonight when you’re done with work?

Seokjin 8:00AM: Of course I’m going to say yes. Any suggestions where?

You 8:15AM: What about that restaurant that you told me about?

Seokjin 8:17AM: The Mediterranean one? With a month-long waitlist?

You 8:18AM: Shit. I forgot about that. 😓

Seokjin 8:19AM: Wait a second. BRB

Seokjin 8:32AM: Ok I got a reservation for 10:30. I know that’s pretty late but that’s all I could get. Kitchen closes at midnight though so we should be fine.

You 8:32AM: HOW???

Seokjin 8:32AM: Head chef went to school with my brother.

Seokjin 8:33AM: They weren’t that close. If they were, we would probably have an earlier time.

You 8:33AM: I don’t care! I’ll just eat before I go. It’ll be a fourth meal type of situation

Seokjin 8:35AM: We can also go somewhere else

You 8:36AM: NO. 😡 Do not take this away from me. I already decided what I want from the menu. We are going.

Seokjin 8:37AM: LOL. Ok. I’ll come get you before? 10?

You 8:38AM: 👍

Seokjin smiled to himself, finally getting himself out of bed and ready for the day. He had a lot of work to do. When he opened his emails to get started, he saw an email from Worldwide Handsome. He opened it, his stomach sinking as he processed the words.

Dear User Jin, We at Worldwide Handsome appreciate the streams you have trusted us to host for the last two years. In this last financial quarter, we have successfully increased our outreach to new targeted consumers, both from members of the LGBTQ community and their allies. In part, we have you to thank for this success. Your continued participation in WWH’s Partnership program has taken us to new heights for pleasurable camming and stimulation experiences. Among our competitors, we have maintained our position as one of the top pornographic live cam websites, with your stream being one of the most engaged with to-date. However, in the last two months, the algorithmic engagement of WWH’s live shows has significantly plummeted. In conducting market research, we found that in this quarter, we have had a staggering 11% decrease in consistent viewership, subscription renewal, and ad revenue. While there are many contributing factors, it has come to our attention that one overlapping factor might be one of the major contributing factors to this financial loss. In most of our data, it was User Jin’s channel that demonstrated the largest risk among our partners, primarily due to your lack of consistent streaming over the last few months. While we are grateful for your continued dedication to Worldwide Handsome, we regret to inform you that should your channel continue to trend downward in market data over the next 30 days, we will terminate your contract with us as Partner. If this should happen, we still welcome you to continue utilizing the basic features of Worldwide Handsome. You will still retain a generous commission rate, the ability to publish past livestreams to your channel, stream clipping functions, gifting, and more. If you would like to learn more details about the basic features provided with Worldwide Handsome, please visit the FAQ page on our website. Once again, we are grateful for your ongoing support over the years. We at WWH are grateful to you and the many other streamers who continue to make sex a global artform that we can proudly stand behind. If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to reach out. Sincerely, Worldwide Handsome Partners

Dropped from the partner program? His partnership with the website was what provided the groundwork for any sort of financial stability while streaming. It not only provided consistent scheduled payouts, but the commission retention was one of the highest in the industry. People were desperate to be part of the partner program, even if it belonged within the confines of gay sex streaming. And until this quarter, Seokjin had been leading the trend, securing his place within the company. But now, because of his neglect, it was being threatened out from under him.

On top of it, the money pit of the restaurant was at it again; a sewer line bursting a few blocks away had caused flooding and an electrical malfunction a month ago, which resulted in a transformer blowing and frying his computer with all the records. His parents had been tech savvy enough to digitize everything, but clearly not enough to have learned to back up things onto the cloud instead of leaving them on the harddrive.

For the last few weeks, he’d been shuffling documents back and forth between his laptop and the new system, begging his father to learn how to sign a PDF through some YouTube tutorial that only resulted in his father taking a fuzzy picture of the document in a poorly lit hallway of the cruise ship and sending it back over this morning with a text:

Here you go! Hope this is okay. Probably won’t have a connection for a while. Talk next week.

It was not in fact okay, and Seokjin was now considering just forging his father’s signature to get the new insurance forms authorized as soon as possible. The financial burden of what the restaurant was doing was starting to feel more like damnation and less of an investment. With each week drawing nearer to his parents' return, he began worrying that they wouldn’t be able to handle all the things that had become urgent needs.

He had a month to get it together. Otherwise, he could kiss both of his careers goodbye. With his father just adding to the slew of problems, today he was at his wit’s end. He was beyond stressed and in desperate need of release.

Which is why when he logged onto Worldwide Handsome after a particularly frustrating call with the electrical company, he found himself falling naturally into his old persona easily.

“I needed this,” he said to his audience, watching the bottom of the screen as the numbers slowly trickled in. It wasn’t nearly as many people as he had gotten accustomed to seeing you entertaining during your stream nights, and for some reason that felt intimidating to Seokjin. How you were able to secure an audience without needing to get naked, one that was flexible with you in ways that his audience could never be. He felt a tinge of jealousy at the thought.

BGood4Daddy: Missed u pretty boy

He watched the comments flit by, many of them taking on the same sub-dom dynamic he usually played as. Some asked where he’d been, but most of them were just horny messages begging for him to act out their fantasies.

His stomach twisted. Somehow he’d forgotten this was how things went.

“Missed you too. Missed all of you. It’s been crazy lately,” he said. He palmed himself casually through his slacks, trying to convince himself to get into the mood.

The tips started to slowly trickle in, starting to meet the bare minimum goals for Seokjin to begin stripping.

That’s one thing about his audience he’d always be able to count on. They would always ensure that he had enough of a payout to take his cock out.

He chuckled at the comments, starting to wind up as he removed his shirt, and then unzipped his slacks.

XMasterX: you’ve been a bad boy. Sir needs to punish you for leaving us for so long.

“Is that right?” Seokjin challenged. “Well, then if I’m just going to be punished, maybe it’ll be better if I leave.”

The threat had the desired effect; Seokjin’s tip jar began to fill up faster, the view count starting to increase back to a somewhat decent viewership.

Good. This was good. Soon he could get all of this over with and secure himself back into good standing with the website and his subscribers.

Within a few minutes, the tip jar announced that the first two milestones have been unlocked: take off shirt and take off pants.

“Eager are we?” he teased, slowly slipping his shirt over his head. He’d managed to get back to the gym in his apartment complex this week, but even if he hadn’t, it’s not like he wasn’t still toned from all the heavy lifting at the restaurant. With all the electrical issues, he’d been helping pull industrial heavy equipment away from the walls for the electrician to prepare to install a new grounding wire, and those weren’t particularly light.

The comments lit up with the praise, usernames old and new beginning to flash across his screen. He smirked.

“I know you’ve waited a while, but maybe you should sweat it out a bit. Show me how much you missed me.”

It felt so natural to say this, something he knew you hadn’t felt comfortable doing in your streams, but you’d tried a few times. He’d found it cute when you’d done it, almost like it was a gentle request. But for him now, this was about anticipation and tension, letting his viewers fall back into the world of fantasy he used to cook up every few days. This was a place of escape, where Seokjin was left behind and Jin took control.

The tip jar shook, the animated coins piling in.

He popped the button of his pants. Slowly. He smirked at the camera, reaching down and squeezing himself. He wasn’t hard, but he wasn’t small, and that was still part of the fantasy: the grand reveal that people had to work for. He often chose to work under the assumption that everyone was new in the chat, that this was a new experience for voyeuristic eyes. While he knew that wasn’t necessarily true, for all he knew someone could be stumbling into the chat room, unknowing to his body and the pleasure he was so willing to give.

Someone like you.

His cock twitched at that. He’d expected this fantasy to get a bit old for him: the idea that you would come across his stream and stay for the whole thing. It had been the fuel for his fire a few months ago, but so much had changed now that you were friends.

But now that he knew more about you, all the little details, fuck. That just made it seem even more real. He could see you in your small room, his shirt draped over you safely while you strutted around in those tiny pajama shorts.

He unzipped his pants, kicking them off at the ankles and sitting back down in the chair.

You’d be doing the same thing, he thought. Those shorts riding up those thick thighs he now knew exactly the weight of as they’d rubbed against his. They were so soft, all of you so soft. And he knew you’d shove them down quickly, annoyed that they got in your way, pouting a little bit that he wasn’t there to tug them off of you.

“Fuck,” Seokjin said. “I don’t know if I can really take it much longer.” It was true, his cock was hardening quickly, and the need to touch himself was growing heavier with urgency.

His chat sounded off, various commands to wait or to go for it. It really didn’t matter. He wasn’t there for them tonight. Even though maybe he should have been, maybe the risk was that if he didn’t comply, there would be no great reward.

mapl3stor33 tipped $3000: Welcome back. Give us a good one. You can always pay us back for it 😉

Seokjin smiled, his most loyal subscriber popping up with a generous tip. Yes, this was where he thrived, wasn’t it? Isn’t this what he was good for?

2 milestones unlocked from another viewer, this time selecting from some of the few dozens of options programmed into the menu to help guide the stream: cock ring and edging, no cumming.

God, why did he allow for there to be guided sessions? Why didn’t he lead the stream this time like the one he did a few months ago? That was the one where he’d cum all over himself after pretending to blindfold you.

Now, he knew even more about you, how the curve of your ass felt shifting against him. How soft your hair was when it tickled his arms while you slept, little whimpers escaping your mouth that he knew he could easily draw from you again when he got the chance. You’d look so pretty with a blindfold on, shivering in the warm light of your bedroom, mouth open and desperate as he lightly touched around your collarbone, down your sternum and between the valley of your tits. You’d been so bad about teasing him in those sexy little bustiers and corsets lately, and it would be nice if he got to tease you for once.

His cock ached through his briefs, asking him to end the torture, to free himself into the open air and stroke until he came thinking about all the ways he wanted to torture you with pleasure.

But with another tip coming in, this time adding the detail of a vibrating cock ring, Seokjin knew his fantasies would not be leading him to be satisfied tonight. At least not in the way he wanted.

Twenty minutes later, after playing into the game of begging and whining and falsely pretending he was going to cum to ensure he was edging, he came. A pathetic, unsatisfying dribble that wept out of him and hardly amounted to the sensation he felt earlier. He’d tried to think of you, but there was a block. Too many people watching, too many people demanding things from him. Instead of just cumming, it became aware to Seokjin how much of a performance these streams always were; the ring light setup ensured people could see every angle. He knew how to make attractive faces when he orgasmed that would leave everyone with plenty of imagery for their own personal fantasies later. He knew how to pretend to be more turned on than he was, and to force vibrators and dildos into proper angles to ensure he came. It was all part of the show.

One that he hadn’t taken part in for quite some time. When he masturbated last night in the shower, he caught his reflection in the vanity mirror. He saw how his face contorted, how his body would buck and writhe without his control as he came against the shower wall, how in some ways, there was something objectively unsexy about how he came, no glossy angles to make sure his chin didn’t pull into different skin pockets, no ambient lighting to capture the ridges of his body. Just the pure experience of orgasming as a human being and nothing more.

As he wiped up his mess, he decided to do a little chat with his subscribers.

At least he didn’t moan that one person’s name like last time.

Oh yeah. Jin what was that about? You have some girlfriend we don’t know about?

I thought he was gay. This is a gay site!

You must be new here. He’s straight.

Oh :(

Maybe he’s been too busy fucking her to come play with us.

I bet it’s boring sex. Who needs to do streams when they’re getting laid. You better tell her to satisfy you, or one of us will have to come show her how she could do better.

“Yah, enough of that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I don’t have a girlfriend. And I don’t want to talk about what happened that one time. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again. Anyway, I’m tired. Time for bed. I won’t make you wait as long for next time. Bye!”

Ugh. What an awful stream. If it was going to be like this all the time, maybe he should have actually considered letting the website shut him down and take the cut.

But then how would you get everything taken care of with the restaurant.

He sighed. Is this how you experienced streaming too? He figured as much. His stomach tugged, disappointed he couldn’t talk to you about it. You always debriefed your streams with him, especially if you felt a little shitty during one. Now, because he was keeping this life of his separate from his life with you, he had no one who would understand to talk to about this. All he could ever do is provide support to you, but not you to him. It was still just as lonely doing this as it always had been. Only this time, Seokjin knew that it didn’t have to be this way. That some people could reveal other parts of themselves to get kernels of support when needed.

But that wasn’t going to be him. He was alone in this. And as he dragged himself to bed, feeling sorry for himself, he didn’t notice that he left his phone on silent.

“Detective? Are you there?” The svelte redhead approached my desk. I could see through the cameras that she helped herself to snooping around. Whatever she was gathering from my notebooks, it was a trap.

Any good detective knows not to leave his mess around. Any clues she was trying to gather from this dark, dark world, they would be nothing compared to reality.

Reality is darker. Betrayal, people thinking they know me because they know my past.

I light a cigarette, inhaling deeply. The smoke swirls around my head like a cloud. It’s cloudy here in Seattle, and that promise of heavy rain reassures me. He’s going to try to move the kitty tonight, and I’m not about to let him use her as a distraction.

She leans her large, milky tits over my desk. She’d look good there, spread out across it. I’m sure she knows too. Any dame like her would know what she’s worth. A tempting distraction, but I am too good to fall for it.

“God what the fuck even is this?” You exit out of the screen on your tablet, the cover mocking you for even considering it. Whatever the hell you were expecting from Clues to My Heart’s raving 5-star reviews, this wasn’t it. This was a pile of absolute garbage.

And it isn’t serving its purpose of distraction. You are still imagining the main character as Seokjin, only Seokjin in some twisted, fake machismo, desk set smutty nightmare of a book that is so full of plot holes and clichés that you know you can’t stomach it further. Reading an awful romance novel is clearly not the answer to escaping the awful feeling in your stomach.

You delete it from your library and sigh, staring at the shelves of your apartment, debating if you really want to read something or just go to bed and let yourself cry.

He stood you up. He stood you up and you looked the hottest you ever looked. This was going to be your attempt at connection, at knowing for sure that you were on the path toward something more intimate than friendship.

But now, it was clear: whatever expectation you had for the two of you, it might as well be dead and buried with whatever body this stupid book is trying to solve the murder of.

You tried calling him multiple times. His phone just rang on and on as the clock shifted from 10:15 to 10:30 to 12:00. For a moment, you thought maybe you got the date or time wrong. Maybe instead of tonight as in today he thought you meant tomorrow?

Or maybe he lost track of time by finding a dog outside of your apartment, and then he had to go find its owner so he never had the chance to tell you he’d be late.

But more realistically, maybe he just doesn’t want to see you and this silence is meant to be interpreted as a boundary. Seokjin is definitely the type who would feel bad rejecting you when you come onto him, and would apologize to you despite the fact that he’s not guilty. It’s happened before, in the kitchen incident.

Even if it’s not that, it’s the fact that you carefully selected an outfit for tonight, a silky black slip dress that you are terrified to wear because there’s no part of you that you can hide. The slippery material will highlight every curve, every line (especially panty lines), and every droplet of moisture that you might dribble or sweat out.

But in the last few months, you’ve been trying to do one thing every day that scares you. Today, it would appear you were going to go for two. And now, you are dealing with one terrifying thing that might just be worse than the first two: rejection.

It’s humiliating. You know you’re going to go to work tomorrow and will have to see him knowing that there will be some awkward confrontation or avoidance game. You’ll have to speak to him. He’ll probably call you into the back office and let you down gently. Will reinforce the fact that he’s your boss and that things have gone too far or some bullshit.

And then, just like how you’ve been cut out of the lives of people who meant something to you, it’ll happen again, as it always does.

1 Year Ago

It’s raining so hard that you can’t see the road, but you’re trying to drive through it anyway, trying to make it home in time so you won’t miss it. You got out of work late; you thought being a substitute teacher wouldn’t come with all the extra grading, but you were wrong.

A year ago, the elementary school nearby shut down, and with it came the layoff of all its teachers. A stupid idea, really, because that meant an already over-enrolled school was forced to shuttle its students across town to the other elementary school, doubling its student body without doubling its teachers. Somewhere in the thick of it, you were looking for a job, living in your parents’ house trying to float from one career to the other.

Your friends around you were moving; Wonwoo was already in a new time zone, making an upward move in every area. His former girlfriend-turned-fianceé worked in HR for a tech start-up and easily navigated getting him in as a coder. They had just secured a penthouse with a gorgeous view. His life was locked together. Your other friends, it seemed, had moved on in their lives as well. Two of them already had children and were married. Two more were engaged. Everyone else was jetting across the world on expeditions to places with sandy beaches and bottomless drinks. And there you were: mid twenties, desperate for change.

So when you saw the banner across the elementary school advertising a need for substitute teachers, you decided you were desperate enough to try. And as it turned out, you loved it. There was something magic about working with young children, seeing how they developed new ideas you would never in your adult dreams try to fathom. But to them, to fly across the world on a magical escalator or hippo was a true possibility and you wanted part of you to have that same freedom to dream of the impossible. Their creativity inspired you to push the boundaries of life and dream of more.

Not to mention, it also landed you a boyfriend. One day while you were substituting for the gym teacher, nervously handing out kickballs to a bunch of fourth graders for class and praying they didn’t knock each other’s teeth out, someone stepped into the gymnasium and padded his way over to you, looking for his youngest sister to take her to a dentist appointment. And not too soon after, you and Do Woon had your first day date, which turned into a night date, and then a breakfast date. It was more like a 3-day date where the two of you spent the entire weekend rolling around in his sheets. You only managed to escape that awkward conversation with your parents because they were out of town for the weekend. If they had known any different, you would probably have died from embarrassment.

Teaching has given you a lot of great things. But with that care comes a cost. You are now late for your father’s surprise birthday party and trapped in an insane rainstorm.

You weave around fallen tree branches, trying not to obsess over the clock as the minutes roll smoothly into each other, knowing that by now, the surprise portion of the party is over. They’re probably eating cake now and reminiscing on his milestones. Your mother is probably chatting to your aunts and uncles about the renovations they’ve made to the main bathroom. Do Woon is supposed to be there, and if your instincts are right, you’ll be getting engaged tonight.

It would be the perfect opportunity. All your family is there ready to celebrate, and your father who hates being the center of attention will have all the pleasure of dumping the focus onto you.

Do Woon has been acting odd the last few weeks. You’ve been pretending not to notice, especially when recent conversations have been skirting around topics you two used to discuss regularly. You have a trip to Bali planned for the fall, which he once said is where he would want to honeymoon. He’s given very few details about this trip since he booked the flight almost three months ago, and you suspect that’s because he doesn’t want to give any spoilers about the honeymoon suites or couple packages you both looked over when you decided this was where you wanted to vacation. You’re not sure you have enough time to plan a wedding in six months, but if this is what Do Woon wants, who are you to say no?

Since the start of your dating, he’s been thoroughly engrossed in a very specific timeline, and had no issues telling you so: he wanted to date for about a year, get engaged, get married (wherever you wanted, he insisted), have a honeymoon on some beachy shores and get started with making babies. He is the eldest of six. He wants a big family.

You’ve talked him down from that number over the last few months, having him promise instead you will see how things go and will take it as it comes. While he wasn’t entirely pleased with that compromise, you think his agreement is a good enough answer. But that’s how Do Woon is. He plans his life down to every meticulous detail. Which is why even if you don’t think you can pull off planning a wedding in such a short window of time, you know he can.

So tonight, you think it’ll happen. And unfortunately for you, you’re going to look like absolute rain-soaked garbage, the perfect accompaniment to your shitty day.

The once neatly wrapped gift next to you is now soggy from the downpour. You didn’t check the weather before heading into work today and left your umbrella in the car. It rolls around on the floor in front of the passenger seat, completely dry and mocking.

At work, you found out that they’re continuing to make staffing cuts despite the shortage, as many families have chosen not to enroll in the school next year, instead moving their children to private schools closer to their homes or homeschooling. As desperate as they were to hire you, the work you put into the year you’ve been here is now about to just melt away.

You don’t know how much longer you’ll have a job.

You anticipated this, of course, spent most of the fall applying for graduate programs. Of the ten applications you submitted, you’ve been waitlisted in two places: the local university here and the more modern (and urban) program not even remotely close to this place. You’d hoped when you sent those applications that things would be getting more serious with Do Woon, but it had only been a handful of months. You weren’t sure where the two of you were going. And now, you are hoping for the local program, not wanting to give up on your dream of teaching if it means you don’t have to.

Your phone lights up in the darkness of your car. One more missed call from your mother. But you’re so close, almost to your neighborhood. You know how poorly this is going to go.

As you take a final turn, making your way down the street, you see the street has started flooding, barring you from your block. It’s no use, either. You can see on the block after yours that those crossroads are also flooded. The only way to get home is to do so on foot. So that’s what you do, park your car on the non-flooded side street, prop the sodden gift under your arm, grab your umbrella and head into the rain.

The thing about thresholds is that they are a place where you exist in transition. From the street, you can hear a hum of music but don’t know the exact tune. You see faces lit by the warm lamps of your dining room, and can make out your uncle and your father’s boss. But you can also hear the rain thrumming on the roof, smell the Earth as the rain hits the soil. There’s the chill of the wind cutting through your damp clothing. The moment you step into the house, you’ll be someone else. A daughter still, but also someone else’s future wife.

The warmth of the house touches your face when you step in, the loud voices you’d heard from the other side of the door now having owners: your aunt yelling at your young cousin not to touch something, the sharp guffaw of your dad’s best friend.

You take off your soaked shoes and walk into the dining room. The cake has been cut, neat squares leaving only globs of frosting leaves behind on the golden tray. The neapolitan ice cream is abandoned and melting into an unappetizing brown sludge. Empty beer cans stack up on the table’s other end.

Your stomach gurgles. You’ve barely eaten all day. But you know that will all happen soon. There’s time for cake and celebration after you see the birthday boy.

You find him in his favorite lounge chair, foot rest out as he relaxes and listens to some story one of his co-workers is telling about a client.

“I’m telling ya, she had this massive tits that would knock over everything and everyone. So I says to her one day, you know what I says? ‘Ma’am, now pardon me for sayin’ so, I’m a respectable fella, but I think you might need to get a car blinker.’ And she asks me why and I says to her, ‘Because when you’re turnin’ around, we then’ll know to duck!’”

A roar of laughter bellows through the room, your father smirking at the story as he sips his beer. Ugh. You saunter over to him, fanning a smile across your face.

“Hi Dad,” you say, and face the rest of the guests. “Hi everyone.”

“Y/N! What the hell happened to ya, kid. Rainstorm getcha?” Your father’s boss asks.

You give an apologetic nod. “Yes, I was caught in it. Left work late. The road is flooded so be careful when you leave.”

“I drove over in the truck, so I’m fine,” he responds, sucking down the rest of his beer. “Ah, all out. Can I get you another Birthday Boy?” He nudges you with his elbow roughly. “What about you, hon?”

“I’m, I’m all good. Thanks,” you say awkwardly, trying to ignore the way he’s looking at you up and down salaciously. This man is older than your father, is standing next to your father and behaving this way. It makes you want to strip your entire skin from your body and wash it in the washing machine.

“Suit yourself. I’m gonna get some more of that cake anyways. You coming, Bill?” Bill, the apparent co-worker who was bragging about his evident sexual harassment, sighs.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, if I don’t see ya, happy birthday again. Thank your wife for the dinner. It was great. And it was good to see you too,” Bill waggles his eyebrows and walks behind you through the foyer and into the dining room. For a brief moment, you swear you feel him cup your ass in passing.

“Where have you been?!” Your mother’s voice carries across the room. You whip your head to search, finding her walking into the room from the back entrance to the kitchen. She must’ve been cleaning up because the front of her blouse is wet.

“I was working and I had to stay late. And then the storm happened and I had to park down the street. I’m sorry.”

“Well because of you, we awkwardly stood around for well over an hour waiting for you to show up and get everything set up so when your father walked in the door it would actually be a surprise. Which it wasn’t, by the way. He recognized Carl’s truck out front and I guess that was the big giveaway. You were supposed to help me with this, Y/N!”

Your father looks at your mother and sighs. “It was really no big deal. I hate surprises anyway.”

“For a milestone birthday like this, you could use the surprise,” she asserts.

“Well, I got one anyway didn’t I?” He says sharply, standing up and walking out of the room. The gift in your hands feels like dead weight. You set it down onto his chair.

“What happened?” You ask.

Your mother walks closer, looking around the room to ensure no one else is listening. “Your father is being laid off. He found out today. And then when Carl and Bill and all them showed up, they kept talking about it. Turns out no one else in his department is being laid off. Just him.”

Your stomach sinks. Your father supplies most of the income that your family needs to stay afloat. He’s not expected to retire for a few more years. Which means if he gets laid off, he’ll lose a few years’ worth of extra employer contributions to his retirement fund. And his boss and co-workers being such assholes to rub it in? Fuck them.

This wasn’t how you expected any of this to go.

“Oh god. Poor dad.” Your mother nods.

“Yeah, what a birthday. And you weren’t even there to share it with him because you were too busy to be here when it was the only time we needed you to show up. So thanks for that.”

Her words are like knives. You feel yourself being sliced open from all the guilt. She’s not wrong. You’d been the one to organize most of this party, to convince her to follow through with it. And you missed it. People around you have begun departing, shouting happy wishes to your father. All his unwrapped gifts sit on the coffee table next to you, colorful paper pulled open. You missed the entire thing.

“I didn’t mean to,” you try, but you know it's useless. Your mother waves goodbye to one of the neighbors. It’s stopped raining enough to not be a constant heavy click against the windowpane.

“Well you did anyway. It is what it is. Now are you going to disappear on me during clean up or are you going to help me?” She begins to weave the discarded wrapping paper out from under the gifts, setting them into a neat pile on the coffee table.

“I’ll get a trash bag,” you offer, and make your way through the house into the kitchen. Every surface is riddled with stacks of paper plates with balloons on them and plastic forks and spoons. A large yellow tupperware bowl idles by the sink, some vinegary salad now mixed with remnants of every other food from watermelon to potato chips. It’s the first thing you dump into the trash bag.

You follow the garbage, in and out of the half bathroom and dining room, back to the living room when you notice someone is missing.

“Mom,” you say. “Where’s Do Woon?”

“Was he supposed to be here? Because I didn’t see him.”

“He didn’t come?”

“No, Y/N. Unless he is hiding upstairs in your room for some reason, I have not seen him at all tonight.” She dumps a pile of plates into the trash bag. “Think you can handle the rest? My feet hurt and your father and I need to discuss some things.”

“Sure, I am just surprised he didn’t come. I thought–”

“God, honestly. For two seconds can you not think about yourself? It’s not your birthday.”

You fall silent, nodding your head as she steps out of the room and goes to find your father.

Something must be wrong, you think. You reach into your pocket and grab your phone, checking it for messages from Do Woon.

There are many missed calls from your mother, but none from him. Strange. The last time you talked was today. You had reminded him what time the party started. He didn’t respond, but he read the message, and you were satisfied with that.

You select his contact info and hit the call button. After a few seconds of ringing, it goes to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me. Not sure what happened tonight, maybe you got stuck in the storm. I know I did, it was crazy and I missed the entire party. Today’s been awful. But uh yeah, call me back when you get this. Love you.”

Maybe he is stuck in a work meeting? He does work late, sometimes unexpectedly, putting in extra hours at his office until you are getting ready for bed.

You shoot him a text.

You 9:02PM: Hey, missed you at the party. Are you working late?Read 9:02PM

Immediately you can see he has opened it. But after ten minutes, there is no response.

You 9:12PM: Everything okay? Read 9:12PM

You clean up the rest of the trash in the living room, tying off the bag and stepping outside. It has stopped raining. The world looks glassy as droplets fall from the tree limbs and refract the streetlights. You walk over to the trash bin, the glaze of cold water running down your hands as you deposit the bag in. You grab the mail.

No acceptance letters. For some reason that feels like the cherry on top of the shittiness that is today. Your mother’s bitter words, your father’s exhaustion, the weather’s chaos weaving into your insecurity. It all feels like some horrible dream.

You need Do Woon. He’s not much of a talker, but he is a good listener, and after a good ranting session, he’ll usually fuck the sadness out of you so you don’t have to think and afterward you’re usually too tired to do anything but sleep. That’s what you need right now.

Where is he? It’s been a half hour and no response. Maybe you’re being paranoid and soon he’ll call and poke fun at how worried you seemed. Maybe he’ll be mad that you are interrupting a work meeting. But today has been awful. And all you want is to hear his voice.

So you call him again, and this time it goes immediately to voicemail.

You 9:38PM: What is going on? Read 9:38PM

You 9:39PM: Please answer me. I’m getting worried. Read 9:39PM

You 9:39PM: Babe!

Message failed to deliver.

A glow falls onto the damp earth around you. You look around for the source and then up. As the rain clouds break apart above you, you realize you’re standing in the light of the moon.

He never called back. That was the end. When you think about it now, there were some vague signs of distancing, but it never amounted to anything that made sense. There, then gone, Do Woon cut you off one day and never looked back.

Much to your embarrassment, you didn’t handle the situation well. That night, you tried calling him three more times, only to receive a message that the number you tried to reach was unavailable. You’d considered driving to his apartment, but as the night wore on, you started to put the pieces together. He didn’t want to talk to you. He’d blocked you, and you didn’t know why.

For the first month after the ghosting-turned-break-up, you tried to get intel to figure out what happened, how you had so royally fucked up your relationship that he didn’t even want to tell you to your face. Unfortunately, most of your friends you’d made that year were through him, and with him cutting you off, so did most of your friends.

Your parents were sympathetic, to a degree. You were given approximately two days to mope. And then you were told to start looking for better jobs in case you, like your father, would be laid off.

“It’ll be a good distraction, I think!” Your mother had said. “Nothing says get over a relationship better than starting a new job.”

You and your father passed job postings back and forth for the next week. You were less than thrilled with the job market. Sure, jobs existed, but none with your skillset or interests or desired pay. To gain anything you would have to make a choice to lose something else, and it twisted your gut at the prospect.

But, in the midst of the heartache, came your rejection from the local university. It was for the best, really. You knew you only wanted to study there because of Do Woon, and without him being part of your life it didn’t matter anyway.

And just as you were at the end of your optimism, ready to let hope die and surrender to the dreamless haze, an email came in with an acceptance into the final university. A big city laid before you to explore.

Things snapped into place. You finished up the school year and told your parents you were moving out.

And now you’re here, in an apartment all to yourself, attending your dream program (or at least trying to) and learning how to cook a halfway decent meal. An apartment that has you rotting on a couch as you try to remind yourself that what happened with Do Woon was a fluke, and not anything you did wrong. And it certainly isn’t some sign that you’re doomed to repeat the same fate again.

You’ve learned in the last few weeks that he’s engaged to someone he met through a matchmaking service. In his profile picture, his future bride is holding an ultrasound photo and he has his hands on her very large belly. “Coming this summer: our own ray of sunshine” the caption reads.

You can’t imagine him ever saying that. He always hated cheesy things. But that’s the surprising thing about all of this: you also never expected him to ghost you and immediately start seeing someone else.

He was a fluke in the timeline. Not a rule, right? You know this. You know not everything happening once means you’re doomed to repeat it forever.

But why is that all you can think about with Seokjin?

You went to work this morning, and he said nothing. No, he probably won’t disappear into the abyss because he manages this place. But when his parents return, will he then? Is he just biding his time before he vanishes?

You hope not. God, you really hope not.

The day rolls on without a word between either of you. Maybe this is how it should be, you think. Two people. Uncomplicated. Not tied to each other by strands of anything.

Fate. This is how it works. It brings people together and then it pulls them apart.

#bts smut #bts fanfic #seokjin smut #seokjin #seokjin x reader #kim seokjin #jin smut #thanks for the sub

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leafjoon · 9 months

Text

Between the Lines - pt. I

tbhc!alex x reader this chapter is bascially a slow burn, fluffy vibe charged w some sexual tension between the reader who is in college n our beloved alix who becomes her editor. warnings: age gap, alex is 33, reader is in her 20's, cursing, alcohol.

In the heart of the university campus, a quaint café served as a haven for students. Seated at a cozy corner table Y/N and her best friend, Sophie, found comfort in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the hum of hushed conversations.

The soft glow of pendant lights cast a warm ambiance over mismatched wooden furniture, creating a warm atmosphere. Amidst the rustling of students immersed in textbooks and the distant murmur of espresso machines, Y/N and Sophie navigated the labyrinth of academia.

"Ugh, I suck," you groaned, holding your English lit paper in your hands.

"You don't," said Sophia.

"I got a C, Soph."

"Didn’t you do this on three hours of sleep?" she looked at you.

"Yeah," you grumbled.

"You'll do better next time."

"Ugh. I know. It's just such a blow to my confidence," you said, sipping on your ginger tea.

"I know. But this grade doesn't determine your skills. You're great at writing," she said, swirling her spoon in her iced coffee.

"Well. That's debatable," you replied.

She glared at you.

"Fine, fine. I'll stop talking shit about myself," you rolled your eyes.

"Good." She said pleased with your answer.

You scanned the coffee shop and saw students going about their normal routines. Some of them were hurrying to get to their lectures on time. Others were lazing around in their seats, talking to their friends. Chatter filled the room as you let out a stressed out sigh. You sulked, not knowing how you were gonna recover from this grade.

"Anyway, as I was telling you. I asked my dad about Mr. Turner. He said you can give him a call and ask him to check out your novel."

"Oh god,” you groaned. “I mean-thank you so much. I don't wanna seem ungrateful, I just-I don't know. It feels awkward showing someone my short novel. If you can even call it that,” you rambled.

"I get it. I get embarrassed when I show my tutor my paintings. And he always has something to say," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Soph, your paintings are incredible. And your guy is good."

"That's true," she said, a light blush coloring her cheeks.

You smiled at her. You loved your best friend. You met in high school and became close friends senior year. You used to spend hours at each other's places, watching shows and mulling over the characters. She was one of the few people who was there for you through thick and thin and you weren't afraid to show your vulnerable side to her, insecurities and all.

"I'll send you his phone number and you can contact him whenever."

"Okay. Will do." You said, scrunching your face.

"If you don't do it, I will.”

"Ugh, I'll do it, I promise."

"I'll hold you to it."

"I can't wait to go out on Friday. I need to get drunk and forget," you groaned.

"Same. We've been too stressed out lately. We need to let loose," Sophie added.

You and Sophie had a tradition. No matter the circumstances you always went out on the weekend. You often drank alcohol at your favorite bar or club and danced until your feet were numb and your hearts were pounding. Then you stumbled to one of your dorms and ate junk food or watched a shitty movie.

Sophie looked down at her phone, her clock reading 1:47 PM.

"Well, I have to run. I have Literary Criticism soon,” she remarked.

"With Mr. spits when he talks?" you replied.

"That's the one," she said, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

You chuckled. "Good luck."

"I’ll see you later," she leaned down, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

You, on the other hand, finished your lectures for the day. Your Mondays weren't as rough, consisting of only two lectures in the morning and god, were you thankful for that.

Your eyes darted to your phone screen, after you received a notification from Sophie.

Alexander Turner

+378 09 998 890

Anxiety gnawed at you. You took a deep breath and told yourself It’s fine. He gets paid for this kind of job. He’s probably seen worse writing.

You decided to be brave and text him as there's no way you were calling him.

Hello Mr. Turner. Peter Herring recommended you as an editor. I am currently working on a short novel and I am interested in hiring you. Would you be interested in that? Thank you in advance.

You typed it out, reading it again. You erased the words ‘short novel’ leaving it blank.

"Ugh." You said out loud. You decided to retype it and send it without thinking too much, letting out a sigh of relief.

As you were scrolling on your phone, it suddenly started vibrating and a number appeared. It read Mr. Turner.

Oh god. Why the hell is he calling me? Doesn’t this guy know how to text?

You answered your phone hesitantly, bringing it to your ear.

"Hello?" you said.

"Hi." a low voice spoke.

"Um. Is this Mr. Turner?"

"Yeah. What's your name, love? You didn't introduce yourself," he said in a thick British accent.

"Oh-um, I'm (Y/N)."

"Alright, (Y/N). You're interested in hiring an editor, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Great. How's Wednesday evening work for you? 7pm, my office? We can discuss the details then."

"Um, Wednesday evening? Yeah I'm good with that," you said.

"Alright. I'll send you my address then. Don't forget your novel," he added.

"Yes. Thank you," you sputtered.

And with that he hung up the phone. You stood there bewildered at this phone call. You just agreed to go to this random man's office on a Wednesday. You had no idea he was british. Why didn't Soph tell you he was british?

Well I guess you have an editor now.

In the sanctuary of your dormitory, you and Sophie nestled on your sofa as you found comfort beneath your favorite blanket.

"I had no idea he was british! His accent was so thick Soph. Like, I had never heard it before."

Sophie was laughing at you. "I thought I mentioned it."

"Well you didn't. Nothing could have prepared me for that. He was so swift and straight to the point. Skipped all the usual bullshit."

"Yep, that's Turner for you," she replied.

"How did your dad meet him again?" you inquired.

"Oh, he was his student in college. Mr. Turner lived in London for a few years and then moved here after my dad recommended him for this sort of writing position," she shrugged.

"Huh. That's interesting," you said. "Hey, what does this guy look like?" you asked, your curiosity peaking.

"Hmm. Let me show you his Facebook," she said.

"His Facebook?" you asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.

"What? He doesn't have Instagram. He's in his 30s." she added.

"Right," you nodded. You got up and sat next to her, both of you staring at her phone. She found his Facebook page and clicked on his photos.

"He's kinda cute," you said, breaking the silence. Sophie chuckled at your reaction. "He’s good looking," she shrugged.

He had big brown eyes and medium length hair that went past his ears, down to the nape of his neck. His beard seemed neat and trimmed.

"Don't get any ideas now," she looked at you, teasing. "I'm not. I want to see how he looks like so I'm not completely blind sided when I get there."

"Anyway," you continued. "Do you wanna sleep over tonight? My roomie's not here."

"Oh my gosh, yes. I'll go grab my stuff," she exclaimed. "Okay," you said in a singsong and slumped down on your sofa, stretching out your legs.

You couldn't help but feel jittery for Wednesday. You let your thoughts wander for a little, wondering what he was like.

The week was passing quickly, and it was finally Wednesday. You were preparing to leave and go to Mr. Turner's place. To say you were a little nervous would be an understatement. Your palms were sweaty, and you weren't sure what you were wearing was appropriate.

You questioned if you looked like you were trying too hard as you opted for baggy brown suit pants and a red shirt with long sleeves.

Ugh. I'm sure he doesn't give a rat's ass about what I'm wearing.

As you put on your big leather jacket and wrapped a black scarf around your neck, the words he spoke echoed in your mind. "Don't forget your novel." As you went back to your room, you made sure to grab your novel and quickly stuffed it into your tote bag as well as your dorm keys. You couldn't help but wonder if any of his clients had ever forgotten theirs.

You decided to take the bus to his office and followed the instructions he texted you.

102 Ave Street. Nr. 32. If you have difficulties finding it, call me.

As you strolled around the neighborhood, you spotted a house with the number 32. You walked past his charming little garden and couldn't help but admire how nicely maintained it was.

Now, standing in front of his door, a mix of excitement and nerves crept over you. Unsure of whether to give a knock or press the doorbell, anticipation filled the air. You decided to knock.

As you took a moment to take in your surroundings, the sound of the door being opened reached your ears. Stepping into the view was a figure of a pale man.

"Uh, hello," you said, extending your hand for him to shake. "Good evening," he said, a slight awkward smile on his face. He glanced down at your hand for a few seconds before finally reaching out to shake it.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Turner," you said, maintaining the handshake. "Likewise. Please, come inside and feel at home," he invited you.

"Thank you," you quietly replied as you stepped into his house, though a slight feeling of uncertainty lingered. It almost felt like intruding. "This way to my office," he directed, gesturing towards the left.

"Would you like a drink? Coffee or tea?" he asked. "Uh, tea would be fine. Thanks."

As you walked into his office, you settled into one of the inviting chairs positioned near his desk. Your gaze wandered to the oak wood bookcase that adorned the room, its shelves overflowing with a collection of books. Your eyes were drawn to the carefully placed plants that created a warm and inviting atmosphere. You wondered if anyone else lived in this house, although it seemed empty by the looks of it.

"Here you go," he interrupted your thoughts, setting down a mug with hot tea. "I brought you ginger. I don't know if you like it or not," he said with a serious tone. "Oh, that's my favorite actually," you said, smiling awkwardly.

"Great. Careful, it's hot," he looked at you and gave you a half smile. You blushed a little and brought the mug to your mouth, taking a sip. "So, did you bring your novel?" he said, staring at you.

You tried to speak and swallow at the same time and ended up choking on your drink. You coughed for a few minutes as Alex stared at you, his face laced with concern.

"Erm.." he shifted so he could tap your back. "Try to look up. It should help," he said.

You followed his instructions and looked up at the ceiling, coughing. Your throat seemed to calm down.

"S-sorry," you barely managed to say. "No worries. You alright?"

"Yes," you exhaled and took out the novel, handing it to him, trying to move past the awkward situation. "Thank you," he muttered.

He took your novel and opened it, setting it down on the desk. Your legs were only a few centimeters away from each other. You shifted slightly, not wanting to invade his personal space.

You realized he hadn't asked you to send him your novel and wondered if you had made a mistake. Perhaps you should have asked him about it.

"Um... should I have sent a digital copy of it to you?" you questioned. "No, it's quite alright. I prefer reading it in front of my clients," he said, his gaze not leaving the book.

You felt awkward, to say the least. It wasn’t pleasant having someone read your work right in front of you. Especially when you thought editors usually familiarize themselves with your work beforehand.

You fumbled with your fingers, unsure what to do with yourself. Bringing the hot mug to your lips, you took a few sips. Your eyes wandered around the room and settled on Alex. He looked like he was studying your work, wearing a serious expression on his face, his eyebrows furrowed.

He looked handsome. When a few strands of hair fell on his face, he tucked them behind his ear. You felt your cheeks heat up and looked away before he could catch you staring.

As you anxiously awaited his response, doubts clouded your mind about whether any of the sentences you wrote were coherent. You nervously retrieved your phone from your bag, feeling the clamminess on your palms. However, before you could reach out to a friend, he abruptly spoke up.

“S’good,” he looked up at you nodding. “Really? But you didn’t read that much.." you weren't sure what to say.

“I don’t need to. I can see that it’s straightforward and has a clear direction. It’s a bit wordy though and needs some work.” He added.

“Oh, okay,” you nodded. He noticed you slumped a little and found it endearing. He had to remind himself of your age and sensitivity.

“But don’t fret. It’s nothing we can’t fix,” he said, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Right,” you smiled politely. You looked at him for a split-second and then glanced down at your hands.

“Well. I need to read the rest of your novel now. I only wanted to give you a clear picture of what we were gonna do in the upcoming weeks and how this works,” you nodded.

“For now we can meet once every two weeks and then see how your work progresses. Does Wednesday work for you, around this time?” “Uh-yes. I can do that.”

“Perfect. I want to recommend two books for you to read that could help you with your writing. Could you grab “On Writing”, by Stephen King from the bookshelf there?” he pointed to a book with a brown hardcover.

You stood up and spotted the book he was talking about. “This one?” you asked. “Yes. And also the “Bird by Bird” on your left.” You looked around but didn’t see the book he was talking about.

He stood up, approaching you, his chest pressing lightly against your back. His hand reached out just above your head, and a tantalizing scent reached your nose. The subtle blend of cigarette smoke and lavender emerged from his clothing.

“That’s your right,” he said behind you, amused. “Oh, right,” you chuckled awkwardly.

He got back to his desk and handed you the book, your fingers grazing his.

“You don’t need to read these in over a week. This isn’t school,” he chuckled. “But they should help you improve and explore different methods of writing.”

“Thank you, Mr. Turner,” you mumbled. “Oh, feel free to call me Alex,” he said. “Okay. Alex,” you replied.

You felt strange saying his name in such a casual manner. It felt like you were talking to a friend your age, not a 30 something year old accomplished editor and god knows what else.

“Oh uh, how do I pay for this?” “My secretary will contact you for that. The first session was meant for us to get acquainted and make sure that we are a good fit."

“Great,” you said. “Alright.” He looked at you. “Right. Then I’ll be going. Thank you, again. It was nice meeting you,” you mumbled.

“It was nice meeting you too,” he smiled and guided you to the door. You waved goodbye, and exited his house, the cold autumn air surrounding you. Well, now you really have an editor.

Alex didn't expect, well, you. He knew you were younger but god, were you a pretty little thing. His usual clients were a lot older and well, half of them were men.

He tried not to get carried away as his mind swirled with different thoughts about you. He didn't want to be creepy and he never wanted to give you that impression. So he tried his best to be professional.

But you were making it so hard. With your pouty lips and your fumbling hands every time you waited for a response from him. You wore these perfectly fitting tops that hugged your body. Occasionally when you moved around, the fabric would subtly reveal a glimpse of your midriff, making it impossible not to gawk at you. He thought you were simply adorable.

"So, how are your classes going? Anyone giving you trouble?" He asked, genuinely interested. "They're going well," you trailed off, sighing.

"It's one of my professors. I don't think he likes me," you murmured. "Who?" he asked.

"Professor Miller," you slumped a little. "Oh. Well I don't think he likes anyone if that makes you feel any better," you laughed. "No but seriously, what’s the problem?" he asked.

"I have the lowest grade in his class," you said, rolling your eyes, a little embarrassed to admit. "Grades aren't everything (Y/N). I've had my fair share of shitty grades too."

"What if I just suck though?" you asked, finding it unbelievable how comfortable you felt talking to him after knowing him only for a few weeks. "Nah. I would have dropped you by now," he teased you.

You gasped. “I’m only joking. You have a lot of potential,” he said, softly gazing into your eyes.

You smiled, feeling at ease.

"If you want I can help you with your assignments. Give you tips and such. Free of charge," he joked.

Both of you couldn't help but notice that your knees were touching but you felt comfortable staying close.

"Are you sure?" you asked. "Yeah. What else am I gonna do with my time?" he said. "Thanks," you said, feeling like this is beginning to border on inappropriate. But you didn't care.

"How about tomorrow, after your classes, you come by and we can see what we can do."

You nodded. "Okay. Sounds great."

You had entranced him. He knew it was inappropriate. He was your editor, after all. And much older than you. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't stand the idea of any of these college guys having you. You were too good. Too sweet.

He wanted to be the one who owned you. He often imagined what it would be like to graze your delicate skin with his fingers. Make you shiver under his touch. Or how you mouth would feel around his coc-

"I hate writing!" you exclaimed, getting up from his couch and pacing around. You guys had moved from his office to his living room. He wanted you to feel comfortable.

He listened to you intently as you explained what you meant to convey in your latest pages. He could have easily done this over an email, but no, he had to see you. Your low voice, sweet like honey, reached his ears.

You sighed. "I don't know. I feel like I'm losing sight of my story. I have no idea what to do next." You said, biting your lip.

"Maybe you should leave it be," Alex replied.

"Huh?" you questioned.

"Well you've been working really hard at it lately. When was the last time you did something else you were passionate about?"

"I-," you paused, "I don't know," you mumbled, sitting down next to him again.

"See? You need to forget about it for a while. Create some distance."

You mulled over his words. "Is that what you do?"

"Course. Every artist does."

You looked at him like the world hung on his lips.

"Yeah. I can try that," you said, a worried expression on your face.

"No," he laughed. "Don't take this as another assignment. I mean really forget about it. Do something that doesn't make you think about writing."

You thought about it for a while and asked "Like what?"

He hesitated. "Well." Fuck it, he thought. "I have two tickets to the theater tonight," he raised his eyebrows slightly. "One of my friends canceled on me and you can join me if you want.”

His gaze met yours as you registered what he asked you. He looked at you, biting his lip, worrying if he had been too forward.

"What's the play about?" you asked, caving in. He tried to contain his smile and continued "It's ballet. The last swan lake."

"Oh, I've always wanted to see that," you said. "Great. We can meet in front of the theater at 7:30. That alright?" he asked.

"Yeah. Sounds good," you replied, trying to contain your enthusiasm. "I'll see you later then."

As you were getting ready in your small bathroom, you couldn't help but feel nervous about tonight, butterflies swirling in your stomach. We can meet for a drink beforehand, if you want. My treat. He told you a few hours ago, wearing a shy smile.

You had reluctantly agreed. You wanted to spend time with him so badly but you felt like you were doing something wrong. You hadn’t even told Sophie yet.

You got dressed, slipping on your silky tights past your legs. You decided to wear a delicate black dress with long sleeves that exposed your plush thighs. Pairing it with your leather jacket and your red scarf, you slung your small handbag over your shoulder, getting ready to leave.

You decided to take your earphones with you and listen to music to calm your nerves.

When you arrived at the charming bar he had picked, you flung the door open and entered. lThe cozy ambience enveloped you as you stepped inside, a welcoming contrast to the crisp evening air outside.

Alex, already seated at a secluded corner table, looked up from his menu, a genuine smile spreading across his face as he caught sight of you entering.

As you made your way towards him, the gentle flicker of candlelight played on the edges of his features. "You made it," he said, rising from his seat and pulling your chair out for you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, your cheeks rosy from the cold. You sat down, not knowing what to do with your hands or where to look. This felt strangely intimate.

“What do you want to drink?” he asked you.

“Uh. What are you getting?” you replied.

“Probably a beer.” He said.

“I guess I’ll get a glass of white wine then,” you replied, feeling somewhat awkward. You didn’t expect in a million years to have drinks with your editor.

“You sure? You can get anything you want. Like I said, it’s my treat.” He smiled.

“Thank you. Yeah I’m good,” you replied bashfully.

After the waiter brought your drinks you started delving into conversation.

"So, um, tell me more about yourself," Alex prompted, his gaze lingering on you.

You giggled, sipping your drink. "Well, there's not much to tell. Just a struggling student trying to make it out alive."

He chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "From what I've seen, there's more than meets the eye."

You met his gaze, and the air shifted, charged with an unspoken tension. "You know, I never expected my editor to be someone who could make me forget about writer's block."

He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. "Maybe I'm just that good at my job."

The conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving between discussions of literature, shared interests, and personal anecdotes. As the night progressed, the topics ventured into more intimate territories, the subtle dance of words revealing layers beneath the surface.

"You have this way of making the mundane sound interesting," you remarked, now both on your second drink. You could feel your face heat up from the alcohol.

Alex leaned in, his gaze intense yet inviting. "Maybe it's the company that makes it interesting."

The words lingered in the air, a palpable tension settling between you. Unspoken desires sparked beneath the surface.

"Well, I find the company interesting too," you replied.

A hint of a smirk crossed Alex's face as he took a sip of his drink. "Careful now," he said. "Interesting company can be quite... distracting."

A subtle blush crept onto your cheeks. "Distracting can be a good thing." you replied.

"What are you distracting yourself from?" he asked, his gaze lingering on yours.

“I’m not sure. Everyone has problems, I guess,” you looked down at your hands.

“Anything you want to share?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t want to bore you,” you chuckled.

“You could never,” he replied, his tender eyes meeting yours. You stared at each other for a few seconds before you cleared your throat and looked at the time. “Oh, I think we should get going,” you said.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Alex said and he gestured to the waiter for the bill. You thanked him for the drinks and promised you would return the favor next time you saw him. He agreed but knew he wouldn’t let you pay for anything, especially since you were just a student.

You had an amazing time seeing "Black Swan" at the theater. The ballet was captivating, and the music was incredible. You also noticed Alex glancing at you a few times throughout the show.

After the show, Alex walked you to your cab. Under the streetlights, there was a quiet moment filled with something more than words. You exchanged a look that said it all, a shared understanding between you. As you got into the cab, Alex stood on the sidewalk with a thoughtful smile and waved goodbye.

When you arrived at your dorm, your phone vibrated.

Did you get home safely? - Mr Turner.

Your heart fluttered.

Yes.

Great. Good night.

Night.

After washing your face and brushing your teeth, you huddled into your bed and drifted off to sleep, embracing your pillow. The night ushered you into a world of dreams.

#next chapter will be angsty and smutty smut smut i got yall #arctic monkeys #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fic #tbhc #tbhc alex turner #alex turner x y/n #idk if there r any mistakes but fuq it i guess ive been looking at it for so long

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rhaenin-time · 2 months

Text

oh no another break from my break because yes i did end up watching the episode.

It's SO bad you guys. To the point that I can see into the writers' room. They didn't even bother to close the drapes!

BUT! must... finish... chapter... and... establish... habit... of continuing to write despite HotD's bad practices because I've come too far...

I swear it's not a sunk cost fallacy. Okay it's a sunk cost but also I DO want to finish because I'm clearly still not ready to settle into original work, I don't want to start a new fic in a different fandom, and also... I do want to finish what will be a ridiculously long fic because I want to. Why is it so hard? Because everytime I put time aside and sit down to it, I start breaking down HotD's writing problems instead because thinking about F&B canon and thinking about where HotD went wrong... is kind of one and the same. Pretty much everything wrong with it can be traced back to deviating from the book.

Ugh, it's just annoying because before I started, I did read up a lot about specifically what kind of fic writing is actually beneficial for practicing original novel writing skills. And one of the big rules is that you need to resist the urge for wish-fulfillment or indulging in head canons with little basis in canon (nothing wrong with those fics they're just not considered a good way to build skills that transfer over to novel writing) and aside from your intentional and well thought out deviations, you're supposed to remain as consistent with the source material's themes, worldbuilding, and characterizations as you can.

Problem is that HotD already broke those rules in their expensive fanfic people keep claiming is canon. Problem is... I too included it as canon. Because I already accounted for the changes season 1 made to Fire & Blood and part of the challenge that actually started off as fun was reconciling those changes and trying to merge them with the source material.

But they've gone too far! And I know it sounds kind of weird and pretentious and self-aggrandizing (I am all those things don't get me wrong) but I'm annoyed that now it might look like it's MY fic that decided to do whatever it wants with canon, especially characterization. Because especially when there's so much bigotry and politics involved, I actually find it kind of distasteful when fic writers intentionally disregard established themes, characterization and worldbuilding in order to indulge in bigoted mindsets and interpretations. Don't get me wrong, I'm not arguing for censorship or anything I just find it distasteful, and bad practice when the writer is unwilling to admit what they're doing and those interpretations find their way into the actual fandom and you get people arguing for them regarding the actual source material. Again, especially when bigotry and bad politics are involved.

Which is also annoying because so many of HotD's unjustified deviations are rooted in the bigoty and bad politics that, again, Fire & Blood actually condemns. And (that part of) this fandom is so annoying as it is. And as weird as it sounds I actually was trying really hard to "lead by example" and be as fair as I could to the greens, because, again, I'm trying to develop good writing practices.

Anyways, I guess this is a Fire & Blood merged with season 1 fic now, and everything will now err on the side of Fire & Blood. Anything established after season 1 is just Corlys's ep 8 - ep 10 fever dream and he wakes up in real canon which errs toward book canon aside from the changes season 1 made that I already accounted for. HotD has not earned the right to call itself its own narrative, so it's part of the greater metanarrative that Fire & Blood is a part of. Maester Condal's volume is simply... a conflicting account that has strong evidence for part 1 that sometimes even overrides Gyldayn's accounts, but he ran out of material and started making shit up and the challenge is in figuring out WHERE. Somewhere in between, the real story lurks...

Feel free to swipe that for your own sanity.

Is it unhinged that I'm claiming that my sometimes crackfic where the key players include Rhaenyra's boobs, Laenor's lube mummy, and Rhaenys's mop dummy is more respectful to Fire & Blood than HBO is? Yes. But is it also true? Also yes. And that's the damning part.

This has been an unedited rant.

Edit:

Wait. Do I take this in a meta direction for my author's notes? Since Aemond is Condal's blatant and uncomfortably telling self-insert... Hmm... You know Aemond’s pretentious study group I made up because I think it's weird that HotD doesn't realize that it's downright impossible for royals to be as isolated as they try to claim? Well, one of the members is named Ryam Condal. And he went on to write a *totally true account. Unfortunately, he was too young and naive to see Aemond for the dweeb he actually is, and also Aemond gave him weird ideas about dragons and Targaryens that he never unlearned.

edit edit

Wait. Should I truly invent a Condal insert named Condal who's slightly younger than Aemond and has a dumb admiration for him and wants to know why he doesn't come to their study group anymore now that Rhaenyra's around to properly educate him?

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the-common-cowgirl · 1 year

Text

It’s Only Forever, Not Long at All…

Chapter 1: Into the Labyrinth

Labyrinth AU Mini-Series. Each Chapter based on the chronological soundtrack of the cult classic film, Labyrinth (1986).

Goblin King!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Rating: Ch. 1 is General

Summary: Life at home is not fair, your only escape is your beloved fairytale novel, The Labyrinth. However, everything is about to change when you make a heat-of-the-moment mistake, causing you to strike an unfair deal with the one and only, Goblin King.

Warnings: teenage angst

Word Count: 2960

A/N: I know chapter 1 doesn’t delve too far from the original story, however, it’s pivotal for the remainder of the story so I kept it closely canon and will start separating in chapter 2.

Series Masterlist

Thunder rumbles distantly as you make your way across the park. The skies are gloomy overhead but you pay no attention. No, your mind isn’t stuck in the present. It dances to a realm where a handsome king holds you in his arms as you stare deeply into his eyes: in love. You clutch the fairytale novel, The Labyrinth, close to your home-made, hand sewn corset you made all by yourself after becoming infatuated with this book nearly four years ago. Now at eighteen, your childish obsession has somewhat taken over your life.

Your bedroom was covered in “Labyrinth” memorabilia. You had learned to sew garments that fit the fantasy world you pictured in your mind, creating an extensive array of different pieces. Your step-mother had a music box crafted for your sixteenth birthday, as a way of trying to grow closer to you. It was a miniature version of yourself in a big, white, puffy fantasy wedding gown and hair done up in pearls and beads in an intricate way. You loved that version of you in that music box so much that you had set out to remake the gown, it had taken two years but it was nearly finished and you couldn’t wait to put it on.

Your stepmother’s attempt at becoming friendly with you had worked, until it didn't. She had merely suggested one night recently that you should pursue a degree in fashion after you graduated since you loved sewing garments so much. The suggestion infuriated you, for she had been so close to understanding what fueled your passion for creating things, yet so far. You only created and learned to sew because of your love of reading, specifically your love of this book. How could she be so blind to not see that? That night a verbal fight had ensued between your step-mother, father and yourself. A fight so bad, your step-mother picked up your baby sister, you baby half-sister, and left the room.

The residual feelings of unease still lingered in the home, weeks after the fight. Which led to now, in the park, you reciting the main character’s words to the Goblin King and the air around you as a way to escape your home-life and reality, if only for a short while.

“Give me the child. Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City to take back the child that you have stolen. For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is great,” your mind trails off as you try to remember the next line.

“Ugh,” you groan and hit the book in your hand to your head, maybe a little too hard as it stings slightly “ I can never remember that line!” It’s true, you couldn’t, but you were also in the middle of trying to memorize the entire book so you should’ve given yourself more grace. You open the book to the page and passage in which you are trying to recite. Reading the words on the page aloud to yourself, “You have no power over me.”

As suddenly as you read the line, a large, snowy white owl swoops overhead, capturing your attention to the sky and a single raindrop falls onto your cheek as you head is cast upward to the rapidly darkening sky.

Which reminds you that you probably need to be back home by now. Your father had asked you to babysit your sister so he and your step-mother could go to a local fundraising gala and socialize the night away. The rain starts to come down harder now and you make your way back toward your home, running over the park’s bridge, right by the gazebo. Then when you reach the street, the clouds let loose and the downpour begins. You’re showered with water as you spring down the street, across a neighbor’s backyard and when you finally reach the back porch of your home that you found refuge from the wet in, you realize that not only are your garment’s soaked, so is your favorite book.

Grumbling angrily to yourself as you step into the house, past the kitchen and dining room and into the receiving room as you head up the stairs. Your self pity is stopped abruptly in your tracks as your stepmother calls from the bottom of the stairs, appearing from thin air.

“You’re late,” she called and you turned around halfway up the steps, “and you’re drenched!” She shrieks and turns to your father who is just out of sight, “Paul! Please explain to your daughter about punctuality and being presentable!” Her hair is in an updo as she puts on her earring. Her dress is a beautiful pale, satin pink; she’s the epitome of punctual and presentable.

Your father appears from the other room, “Y/N, you were not supposed to leave the house without our permission. Do you not remember that you're grounded?” His voice is stern but softer than your step-mother’s.

“I’m eighteen dad, you can’t ground me!” You stomp, childishly on the stair you’re standing on above them, water droplets falling with your action.

Your father brings up his pointer finger in warning, “As long as you live under my roof, I can still ground you. Now,” he raises his finger and points above you to the second floor, “Please take good care of Sarah tonight.”

“She’s already down for the night,” your step-mother adds as your father walks into the other room, “But if she wakes, just-”

“I know, I know,” you cut her off, “rock her to sleep and sing her her favorite songs and while I’m at it, why don’t I just give her my favorite things?” You raise your arms in a dramatic shrug.

Your step-mother sighs and grabs the baluster of the staircase, “Y/N, please do not disrespect me,” she says with a soft-sternness too familiar to you from her mouth; a plea. “I’m trying Y/N, but you’re making it,” you roll your eyes and start to walk further up the stairs, “so hard!” Her last two words are yelled to you as you go to your room, slam the door, and fall face-first onto your bed trying to drown out her yelling from downstairs.

They make you angry, both of them. They didn’t understand you or your interests. But, your father at least had the good sense not to bug you about what he didn’t understand; she didn’t. She’d constantly ask you about the book, about your projects, about the different characters, all to only ask once more, as if she didn’t store away information so important to you in her mind. You’d assumed if she truly wanted to know you, she’d make an effort. The nicest thing she had done was getting you that music box but even then, she made it more about your hobby of sewing than your passion for the fantasy element.

After some time, you heard the front door slam and that seemed to wake Sarah. You took a deep sigh, internally cursing them for waking your sister, half-sister. Pulling yourself from the bed, you made your way across the hall in the direction of the screaming to your father and step-mother’s room where Sarah had been sleeping. As you opened the door, the screaming intensified and you covered your ears as you approached the crying toddler in her pink-striped pajamas. You picked the toddler up as she continued to scream, not soothed by your presence in the slightest. You bounced her trying to sing against her wails, pacing around the room hap-hazardly as Sarah’s screams only seemed to worsen. As you passed her cradle for the third time, you recognized a stuffed animal she had been sleeping with to soothe her; your stuffed animal toy. The one your mother had given you when you were a baby.

Of course they’d give Sarah your things, she was your replacement with your father’s new wife. She was their precious girl, you were just a product of his last marriage to them, an inconvenience. You thought bitterly about how your step-mother wanted you out of the house, away at university and out of her hair and then she could play “perfect” family with her perfect daughter and no more. Just the three of them, the way it was meant to be.

And in that moment, all your anger seemed to snap.

You raised Sarah up in the air, still screaming and recited the fateful words, the words no one should say, yet…you did.

“I can bear no longer!” Tears streamed down Sarah’s face, “I wish, I wish…Goblin King! Goblin King! Wherever you may be, take this child of mine far away from me!” The wind rattled against the windows, making your heart skip a beat, wondering if somehow this chant had in fact, worked. But when you looked outside, you had just realized the sky was dark and the sun had set. You turn your attention back to Sarah as she continues to scream. “Ugh, Sarah,” you were impatient but now more relaxed as you let off steam. Laying her down, still crying, you grabbed the stuffed animal from her crib as she reached for it and walked back to your room briskly, to where it belonged. As you made your way across the hall, back toward the room Sarah was in, you heard her screaming abruptly stop. Your hand lingered above the handle of the door, wary as to why Sarah had stopped crying.

Opening the door, you called out, “Sarah?” Looking at her crib, you could see movements beneath the blanket but you couldn’t see her face. As you neared the crib, it moved sporadically, not in the way Sarah would move if she had fallen asleep. “Sarah?” You reached for the blanket to pull it from her face to make certain she was alright but the blanket moved again and you heard mischievous laughing from beneath. Your heartbeat quickened as you snatched the blanket from the crib to reveal nothing; Sarah was not there.

Behind you, you heard shuffling along the floor, then laughing as you turned, seeing a figure go underneath the queen bed skirt. Bending down in search of Sarah, you lifted the bed skirt to see nothing. “Sarah?” Your heart beat was quickening as you looked for your baby sister. “Sarah, this is not funny.” Something touched your leg and you jumped, looking down to see nothing. Shuffling was heard across the room and laughing from three different places were heard. You looked all around you in a panic, shadowy figures that resembled cats were hiding and peeking out from all around the room. You screeched as the creatures slowly emerged.

Suddenly behind you, the windows burst open with a warm gust of air and you quickly turned to be flooded with the white feathers of an owl. Covering your face so to not get scratched you shouted in fear. Then, the air was gone, the noise was gone, it was still. Slowly lowering your arms from your face, you were met with a towering, silver haired figure in a long coat, tight pants, knee high boots and an eye-patch….staring at you with a mischievous glint in his remaining eye.

And you knew.

“You’re him aren't you? You’re the Goblin King!” You accused, stepping back in fright. “I want my sister back, please, if it’s all the same.”

The corners of his mouth quirked, “What’s said is said.” His stern voice held finality.

“But I didn’t mean it,” you pleaded.

His smile grew from your words, “Oh you didn’t?” Raising a single brow.

A creature, a goblin, ran from behind you, frightening you into another shriek, between your legs and behind the King who waved his hands in front of each other and procured a glass-looking ball from what seemed thin air, like a magic trick. “I’ve brought you,” the orb danced across his fingertips as he transferred it from one hand to the other, “a gift.”

You felt inclined to take a step toward him but refused that feeling, “What is it?”

“It’s a crystal, nothing more. But, if you turn it this way and look into it,” he turned the crystal closer toward you, “it will show you your dreams. But it is not a gift for an ordinary girl who takes care of a screaming baby.” He looked down to the crystal and his smile turned upside down as he looked up to you mischievously and threw the crystal at you, turning into a snake midair and landing on your chest. You screamed in terror as the snake fell to your feet and spun in tight circles, turning into a goblin and who laughed up at you.

When you raised your head to look at the king and you were suddenly in a new place, a realm of some sort, his realm. It was a dusty landscape and he stood above you, a warm wind blowing his silver locks across the tall black collar of his dust jacket. He raised a hand aside himself and procured an image of an ornate, golden grandfather clock whose hands spun sporadically. “You have twelve hours in which to solve the Labyrinth before your baby sister becomes one of us, forever.” He grinned devilishly, “At the center of the Labyrinth lies the Goblin City, and, my castle. You will find us there, waiting.” He pointed out beyond you.

You looked behind you to the massive maze in which you had to make it through in order to save your baby sister. At the center, far off in the distance, sitting atop a hill was a large castle: your destination.

“Turn back, turn back before it’s too late,” his voice rang behind you. As you turned you realized he had gotten closer, strangely close to you.

“I can’t,” you professed. “Don’t you know why I can't?”

He laughed deeply as he stepped backwards and began to disappear, “Such a pity.” His voice echoed around you, taunting you, encouraging you to fail.

You took a deep breath, stilling your mind and readied yourself for the task at hand. Turning, you set off and hurried down the hill to the tall, light dusty stone walls of the Labyrinth. Beginning your adventure into the world you had loved from pages for so long, that had now somehow, become your worst nightmare. You had to save your sister. You had to undo what you had caused. You had to solve the Labyrinth.

As you reached the towering walls you looked for an entrance into the maze and found there was none in sight, so you ran along the walls one way till you were nearly out of breath. Not seeing an end in sight, you turned and ran back the way you came and past that, until you were sorely out of breath. There was no entrance in sight, nothing but high stone walls that went on forever.

Feeling defeated and angry, you fell to the ground on your bottom, yelling, “It’s not fair!” Picking up a rock and throwing it to the wall without it to bounce back, rather, going through the wall. This puzzled you and you tilted your head.

“Life’s not fair,” a gravelly voice sounded behind you, causing you to startle. You saw a strange looking goblin walking about, spraying fairies and paying no mind to you.

“Hey! Don’t hurt them,” you reach out to scoop up an injured fairy that had been sprayed by this goblin. It looked at you with its little eyes and cute wings. You wondered why he had sprayed a thing so innocent and minding itself.

Then you felt a sharp sting in your hand and dropped the fairy, “Ow! It bit me!” Holding your hand to your mouth to stop the small pain.

“What did you expect a fairy to do?” He grogged and turned toward you as if we were dull.

“I don’t know…nice things like granting wishes?”

The goblin rolled his eyes, “Shows what you know, don’t it?” He returned to spraying the fairies but you had an idea.

Jumping up, “Hey, you live here don’t you? Why don’t you show me how to get into this place?” You put your hands on your hips with renewed hope.

The goblin and his sprayer turned, “Well, have you tried to get in?”

You furrowed your brow in confusion, “I’ve looked but there doesn't seem to be an entrance-”

“Just go through it,” he replied hastily, bored with your presence.

This puzzled you further. “Go through it?” You echoed and he merely nodded his head.

To get in you just walk in.” He spoke as if it were the plainest answer possible, the impossible.

Intrigued by his suggestion and oddly believing this goblin despite what help he offered to be very impossible, you decided to try it. So, you turned and walked to the stone wall with trepidation, hands raised. As you neared the wall, your hands slowly disappeared, then your arms, then you were on the other side of the wall, in the Labyrinth.

Elated, you returned back to the outside to thank this helpful goblin. “Wow, I just go through it!” He only rolled his eyes and returned to spraying the fairies. “Thank you, uh,” you hadn’t gotten his name.

“Hoggle,” he offered while paying you minimal attention.

“Thank you, Hoggle!” Excited, you slipped back into the maze. Turning around, you looked at the high walls before you and exhaled a deep sigh. Into the Labyrinth you went in search of your sister, to right your wrong, to defeat the Goblin King.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated but not necessary. ❤️❤️

IOF,NLAA Taglist: @sassysaxsolo @fan-goddess

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thebigbiwolf · 1 year

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Starvin' Darlin - Chapter 2

Pairing: Not quite friends to lovers Astarion x OC/F!Tav

Chapter Summary: Seeing Evelyn with Gale stirs up some unfamiliar and VERY unwelcome feelings in Astarion. And for some reason, she graces him with a midnight visit. I'm terrible with summaries but here's what's in store for you:

* A bit of possessive!Astarion if you squint

* More pining

* More biting

* Deep DEEP emotional constipation (my personal favorite)

Fic Tags: Minor spoilers for Act 1, The Bite Scene, Emotional slow burn, Angst, Teasing, Frottage (god I'm sorry), Pining, This is my first ever fic so idk how to tag things appropriately but you get the gist.

Fic Warnings: Eventual Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon (I cannot stress this enough), Bloodlust/Loss of control, Mentions of blood, lmk if you need anything else tagged.

Read on AO3: Here

Word Count: 5k

A/N: School and life have been kicking my ass but I finally got around to finishing this chapter and I couldn't wait to post it! I'm having so much fun writing in Astarion's POV. Huge thank you to my bestie @imaginarydromedary for being the best beta ever and for your endless patience with me.

The morning that follows that fateful night in Evelyn’s tent goes rather well, all things considered.

She approaches Astarion first. A pleasant surprise, considering they could hardly look at each other after he ravaged her the night before.

He looks over the novel he had been skimming, Shanties for the Bitch Queen . Admittedly, not one of his favorites, but reading material was scarce these days. He closes it with a soft thud and rises to meet her, all pleasant smiles and perfectly coiffed hair.

“Good morning.” he says, a curious tilt to his head.

She looks a bit more pale than usual with faded, grim circles forming underneath her eyes. Her bun is a bit unruly, some strands falling into her face and parted by the wine-dark bone of her horns. She either didn’t sleep well or is still reeling from the anemia.

The bruise he administered had spread and darkened, plainly visible even under the black ink of her tattoos. It seems she found no use in hiding it, then. Very well. It’s not like they keep extra scarves laying about the camp, anyway.

“How do you feel?” he asks, gently. He doesn’t mean to provoke her, but his curiosity is getting the better of him, and the slightest hint of shame is beginning to burrow its way into his conscience. Ugh . He thinks he prefers the tadpole.

“A bit woozy.” She responds, “I woke up this morning with the intention of asking you how one usually fares after being drained, but then I remembered,” she stops herself when she realizes what she’s about to say: I was your first. Unspoken, but lingering between them . It makes him want to laugh; A woman with a reputation such as hers acting so bashful .

“It’ll pass,” he reassures, “Just be glad I’m not a true vampire. A bite from one of them and you might wake up as a vampire spawn, like my good self. All of a vampire’s hunger, but few of their powers.”

“Speaking of hunger,” Evelyn says, realizing she’s famished. She turns from him and begins making her way towards the campfire. Finding that only charred logs and old cinders remain, she runs the black tip of her boot through the ashes with the intention of stoking the fire back to life, dust clouding, then dispersing before her.

He follows closely behind, observing. She seems well, all things considered. A bit out of sorts, but nothing a bit of rest couldn’t cure.

“You know, I had considered bringing you an apple,” Astarion starts, hovering by the pit, “Leaving it by your bedside before you rose for the day - ever the gentleman, but,” he clears his throat.

That newly recognizable twinge of something is curling its way back into his chest, causing him to squint in discomfort.

In truth, he didn’t know how she would react to him encroaching on her space. Not after that dreadful attempt on her life. He is a monster, after all. That, and she had already been so insufferably forgiving. Such kindness is likely to reach its end sooner rather than later.

“I - erm, didn’t want to disturb your rest.” is what he finally settles on. Polit , he thinks, Best not overdo it.

“That would have been nice of you.” She says it quietly, more to herself than to him.

“Oh, darling, you have no idea how nice I can be.” The flirtation sneaks its way out of him on an impulse. He’s about to apologize, something he seems to be doing a bit too often for his taste, when out of the corner of his eye, he catches one of their companions making their way towards them.

“It appears we have company.” Astarion sneers, “And here I thought I was going to have you all to myself this morning.”

To the elf’s surprise, most of them were quick to come around to the idea of a vampire spawn slinking about. Especially once they found themselves in the middle of an ambush, and Astarion very quickly made good on his promises to her.

Newfound strength coursed through his body, her blood weaving threads of heat through his veins as if it were his own. His speed was unmatched, cutting down half a dozen goblins before they had a chance to wail.

It was exhilarating .

The day flew by in flashes of red. Despite the many unnecessary stops Evelyn insisted on making to help undesirables, Astarion’s emotional high managed to remain relatively intact. That was, until their group settled in for the night.

As most of the others retired to their tents, the elf prepared for his nightly ritual: sifting through his collection of tomes and selecting one to read under the stars - his favorite way to end the evening.

It was supposed to be perfect. Uneventful. Quiet .

But, there was Gale: lost in thought and muttering to himself, or maybe to the conjured image of some woman’s head floating above his hand. Astarion may have been able to ignore that in itself, but the sound of light footsteps drew his attention.

Evelyn was approaching the wizard.

He scoffs. Of course Gale was showing off in hopes of procuring her attention. The man was practically putting on a damn light show in his desperation. It’s not enough that the wizard eats valuable items they could be using to pawn for coins, but does he really have to be such an unbearable distraction as well?

“Pretty,” he recognizes the word as it leaves her. The sound of their chatter was too faint for it to carry its way to his beautifully pointed ears, but he could just barely read Evelyn’s lips at this angle.

Gale startles, dropping his hand along with his focus. The woman’s visage vanishes. He looks embarrassed, shifting uncomfortably as he no doubt explains himself in some horribly mundane fashion.

Astarion returns to his book, scanning over the page, but the words refuse to settle in his mind. He stares at the ink, willing the sentences to fill his head with anything other than the nonsense unfolding in front of him, but his focus stubbornly remains on the chattering pair.

Gods, he’s talking her ears off.

At any moment, Evelyn will dismiss the man, embarrassing the hells out of him, which will make for an excellent show. That in itself is enough reason to keep watching. But the longer this goes on, the less he’s sure.

She seems to be enjoying their chat, nodding in agreement at Gale’s words, listening to him without so much as a hint of impatience. Gale then steps behind her, a bit too close for the likes of an average, friendly conversation. His chest almost touches the woman’s shoulder as he moves into her space, the cloth of his nightshirt just barely grazing her.

Something within Astarion begins twisting in protest. His thumb runs over the long-forgotten page in circles. The rough texture reminds him that yes, he was supposed to be reading, or at least attempting to look disinterested, but he can't will himself to turn away.

Gale smiles softly down at her, then begins to move his arms in a way that could only be described as a poor imitation of a wounded bird. Purple light emanates in front of the two of them in response. More magic tricks. Of course. As if that would be enough to impress the woman who’s supposedly been at the receiving end of every imaginable courting attempt in Faerun.

Astarion rolls his eyes, content to continue his chapter of The Realm According to Bumpo, before he notices Evelyn following suit, imitating the very same motions. She, however, has a grace about her, unlike the bearded beast at her side. Her movements are quick and decisive, abandoning all flattery for precision. The burst of light emanates from her palms, just as it had for the wizard.

She looks pleased. Elated, even. This is the first time he’s seen her smile since she made a fool out of him in her tent, caressing his body and reveling in its reaction, like he was some sort of toy. Though her expression looks different to him now. He can’t quite place his finger on why.

He swallows, attempting to alleviate the tightness in his throat.

A purple aura starts radiating around them, dancing and swaying in waves, as if the two were surrounded by a flowing channel of lavender, smelling of rosewater; the sun setting over a dark ocean. Even from a distance, the sight pulls at something inside him. An unwelcome ache settles within his chest.

Evelyn turns to the man next to her, unaware that they’ve been drawn closer by the magic enveloping them. She tilts her head back to meet Gale’s gaze. The way he’s looking at her, the flecks of gold in her irises locked with his: deep, brown, and moving, makes Astarion’s skin itch.

He finds himself wondering what color his own eyes were before his transformation. Were they so seemingly honest, so trustworthy in their melanism, before they became what they are now? Sharp, red, and tinted by bloodlust. Wouldn’t they be boring?

“You’re staring.”

He’s pulled from his brooding by the sound of Shadowheart’s observation. He hadn’t noticed her approaching him, distracted by that sickening, sweet smell. “Or has the tadpole gifted you with the ability to telepathically commune with books?”

“I’m simply admiring our wizard’s talents.” Astarion says, dismissing her with a wave, “Making sure all those expensive boots and rings haven’t gone to waste. It would be a pity, wouldn’t it? Unnecessarily sacrificing clothes that may have suited you while you’re having to traipse about in a tin can?”

The cleric snickers, “I see. Is that why you look like a kicked pup? Or, are you upset that your master’s replaced you with a new lapdog?”

He slams the book closed. The sound surprises Evelyn, and the magic surrounding her and Gale dissipates.

He doesn’t dignify Shadowheart with a response, nor does he spare a second glance at the others before retreating to the quiet solace of his tent.

”That wretched little…” He grumbles to himself as soon as he closes the entrance, tossing Bumpo atop the other novels in his collection, all piled haphazardly on the small desk occupying a corner of his living space.

This type of reaction was unusual for him. Astarion would normally be happy to engage in petty banter. The more scathing, the better, but Shadowheart had somehow weaseled her way into a tender area. It left him feeling exposed, and a bit nauseated at the idea of allowing someone so clearly beneath himself, at least in terms of wit, to get the better of him.

Taking a deep breath, Astarion focuses on releasing the tension in his jaw. Best not to let this ruin his entire night, he reasons, before lighting several half-melted candles littering his quarters. Their flames emanate a soft, golden glow, and the process is meditative enough to finish soothing him.

He doesn’t have watch tonight, so he allows himself some extra comfort, removing his shirt before sinking down into the soft furs of his bedroll. Astarion closes his eyes to trance, thinking the extra rest will do him some good, but the image of Evelyn rushes back to his mind - the way her soft lips parted in surprise, realizing her and Gale’s close proximity, and how his gaze flitted down to her mouth in return..

The wizard should be wearing a damn collar around his neck with how she commands his attention. It’s pathetic.

It couldn’t be a matter of coincidence, surely. She must know the effect she has on the man. If Gale harbors feelings for her ( yuck ), even if it were the result of close quarters, Evelyn could use it to her advantage. She had just revealed the effectiveness of similar tactics to him last night, and a powerful wizard would be a powerful ally.

Whereas, Astarion is just… a vampire spawn. Not even a true vampire. A slave. A nobody.

He rubs his face in frustration. The Sharran did have a point. Astarion may have an insatiable appetite, happy to receive all matters of attention from whatever suitors decide to shower him with it, but what about her? What if Evelyn found him less interesting, less worthy of her time and, subsequently, her protection?

No. His ego balks at the suggestion.

Besides, he had felt her lust for him not 24 hours ago. It moved through him as though it was his own, and the taste of her still lingers on his tongue. He heard the hitch in her breath - felt it under his own lips, and reliving the memory still stirs a familiar hunger within him.

Though, they still haven’t spoken about it.

The usually quiet, insecure part of him wonders if she’d just rather forget it altogether. He could empathize with that, at least. It’s easy enough for him to imagine their last encounter may have left her feeling disgusted, used.

Guilt worms its way back into his mind, cozying up right next to his tadpole but oh, so much worse .

He hasn’t felt like this since the beginning of his servitude. He assumed the emotion had been neglected long enough to be left entirely behind him, overshadowed by the threat of whatever new, interesting ways Cazador would think of to torture him at the mere suggestion of disobedience. But here, in the thin veil of safety he’s allowed himself to believe shrouds him, he aches.

It’s unbecoming.

Instead of resting as he should, Astarion isn’t quite sure how much time he spends ruminating on ways to quietly rid the party of Gale, before he hears the faintest rapping at the canvas of his tent.

At first, he believes he imagined it, and gives the noise little consideration before settling back into his trance. But then, he hears it again: quick, rapid tapping. A knock.

It surprises him. He hurriedly moves to stand. In the faint glow of the candlelight, the shadow at his doorstep dances against the closed fabric, smaller than himself and horned. A visit from Evelyn at this hour? Strange.

He undoes the ties and opens his space to her.

Her hair is undone, dark waves falling over her shoulders and obscuring the marks he gave her. She’s wearing the same clothes she wore to bed last night, the very same black breast band. It smells as if it's been washed, though, with no lingering scent of her blood. Her loose, matching trousers settle high on her waist, just above her navel. She looks exhausted.

Being run ragged by the events of the day while also having to contend with a missing pint or two of blood may have had more of a negative effect than anticipated.

Evelyn doesn’t say anything at first, but he catches her eyes glancing at his bare chest before retreating back to his own, cementing themselves there. He raises an eyebrow at her, smirking, and thinks about teasing her. The temptation threatens to get the better of him, but he refrains, not wanting this unexpected visit cut too short. “Need something?”

“I was hoping we could talk.”

Her stare is unwavering, a commitment worthy of admiration.

“Right this way.” Astarion bows slightly towards her, an arm raised behind him to gesture her inside. She steps past him, careful to not brush against his exposed skin. He closes the entrance behind them, shutting out the ambient noise and drowning them in silence. His space is large enough to accommodate himself and his essentials quite comfortably, but it's infinitely smaller with her here.

“I hope I didn’t disturb you.” there is a hoarseness to her voice. She must have woken up just before making her way over.

“No, actually. I was just catching up on some reading.” Not entirely a lie. He had been reading at several points tonight. “What is it you want to discuss? I’m assuming there’s a reason this couldn’t wait until morning, not that I mind.”

“It's about you.”

Oh. No midnight gossip, then.

"I’ve been thinking about how we’re going to continue feeding you.”

“You’ve been up all night tossing and turning because you're concerned about my eating habits?” he responds, unamused, and crosses his arms.

“I have not been tossing and -” she’s about to argue with him, he thinks, but her exasperation causes her to lose her concentration. She breaks eye contact, distracted by the toned curves of his biceps, then snaps her gaze to the floor. “Would you please put on a shirt?”

“Ha!” His laugh is humorless. “I’d like to think we’re well past the point of propriety. Besides, you're in my tent.”

Evelyn pinches the bridge of her nose. “I knew this was a mistake.”

“Come now, darling. Why are you really here?”

She sighs in frustration, as if he should already know.

“I wanted to talk about last night.”

“Ugh, I’ve already apologized. What more do you want?”

A moment passes in uncomfortable silence. He can practically hear the gears grinding in her head as she searches for the right words, and he'd give anything to reach out with his tadpole and take the unfiltered thoughts from her mind. Instead, he takes pity on her.

“Unless, you’re looking for another nibble?”

It's a joke, a way to clear the tension from the air. Entirely unserious.

She doesn't laugh.

Instead, she looks around the room: first at his assortment of decorative pillows, then to the empty elixir bottles piled in a corner, anywhere but himself. "Well, I - I don’t know.” She clears her throat. “I just figured after today’s performance, it may be for the best.”

Wait. What?

He stiffens, so taken aback by her suggestion that the elf almost believes he’s still mid-trance.

“What?”

“I may be willing to help you again, when necessary.”

She has to be joking.

“You’re joking.”

“No. I’m serious, if it would help.”

“It would.”

“Then, yes.”

They stand almost toe to toe, Astarion once again absorbing her warmth. He hadn’t noticed their height difference the first time they did this, too busy devouring the poor woman like some deranged beast, but it's notable here, on equal footing. Peering up at him, her nose aligns with his collarbones.

"Tonight, then?" she asks.

"Eager, are we?"

She shrugs with indifference, "Just in case we run into any trouble at the goblin camp tomorrow."

The very picture of practicality. What else did he expect?

"Alright, then."

"Alright."

That nagging sensation begins to tug at him again - the very same one he felt as he had stepped out of her tent last night. A weak but unshakeable tension, like a magnet, uncomfortable as it is alluring. The force of it draws his body closer to hers where she stands, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

Underneath her calm exterior, Evelyn’s heart is pounding. Though her breaths are steady, controlled, he can hear it from where he stands. For a moment, those are the only sounds filling the space between them, until the tiefling speaks up.

“You’re tall, for an elf.”

An oddly-timed observation, but a true one. His brother, Petras, was always outwardly envious of him for it. Though, he's not sure why it sounds so flattering coming from her lips.

“How kind of you to notice.”

She scans the room, searching for something, until she spots the table. Her fingers run along the dark ringlets in the wood, tracing the hardened puddles of forgotten wax, until they reach his heaping pile of books. She taps her fingertips on his leather bound copy of Bumpo .

“May I?”

He nods, unsure of what’s been asked of him.

Evelyn gathers the novels in her arms before piling them carefully onto the floor in a few leveled stacks, clearing the space. ”That should be enough room for one of us to sit,” she says, evenly.

Then, there is a heavy silence; anticipation. It hangs in the air thick as smoke, twice as suffocating. She's only taken a few steps from him, but it’s as though she’s crossed an ocean. The distance between them begins to develop its own gravitational pull, making the hairs on his arms stand on end.

“Whatever’s most comfortable, dear."

The tiefling nods, then plants herself on the table’s surface, legs hanging over the edge. Evelyn is now eye-level with him, her irises glossy; catching and reflecting what little light dances off the few remaining candles beside her.

She tilts her head at him, expectantly. Her face remains neutral - practiced, as though she feels nothing at all; as if she isn’t trying to drive him mad.

She’s back to playing her little games.

Fine.

Astarion’s posture straightens as he strides towards her, confidently closing their distance. He places his hands at her sides, not quite touching her, but still close enough to feel the heat emanating from her body, even through her clothes.

“Now, where would you like it?” The question sounds innocent enough, but the double meaning is not lost on her.

Her grip tightens at the table’s edge, knuckles whitening.

His head tilts downwards, looming over her like a predator, and the scent of vanilla invades his nostrils. The sweetness settles on his palate before spreading across his tongue, coating it with a rum-like burn. He runs the flavor over the sharp edges of his teeth.

"I could do it here," he whispers, dipping his nose and running the tip of it along her nape. He quietly revels in how she prickles beneath him, her body betraying her feigned indifference.

"Or, here." One of his thumbs trace the flat of her wrist in slow, circular motions, causing the pulse beneath it to flutter.

"Or…" His other hand slides atop her knee, fingers gripping and parting her thighs just slightly…

She snaps them shut.

"Just do it, dickhead."

He hums a laugh.

“As you wish.”

The cool brush of Astarion’s lips on her neck has Evelyn’s heart racing, a frantic drum beating against his ears. It’s just as intoxicating as he remembers, threatening to muddle the edges of his mind. “Just try to keep still for me.” he whispers.

The warning is sincere, but the stubborn woman misinterprets him. Thinking he’s toying with her, she opens her mouth, intent on insulting him, but stops short, whining pitifully when his fangs break the surface of her skin. Her body flinches at the initial discomfort, but otherwise remains virtually motionless; compliant.

Drinking from her now feels like an entirely new experience. This time, he anticipates the raging current - knows how to find his footing. Rather than being ripped under, it feels as though Astarion is floating, enveloped in warmth unlike any he’s ever known. At best, he would imagine it similar to a hug, had he ever been on the receiving end of one.

He begins to lap at the wound to keep it from closing, the press and drag of his tongue drawing out a few small, involuntary twitches from the girl. She’s being so good for him, staying put like she’d been told; fighting her own restlessness, the urge to squirm in place.

If only she would allow him to reward her, to offer his body in exchange for this endless parade of favors, he would take the chance in a heartbeat. It would be so, so easy with her, unlike any miserable encounter he’d been forced into partaking in the last few centuries. He knows he would enjoy her body, along with all the lovely little sounds she would make for him; the temporary bliss.

And it would be a fair price to pay for keeping him safe, fed, and warm .

The mental image has Astarion’s hand moving without his knowledge, too engrossed to notice his own palm caressing the side of her face. His thumb traces the edge of her cheek as he holds her there, allowing the weight of her head to rest against his fingers. Dark strands of hair brush against his knuckles, bringing him back to the present.

He thinks Evelyn hasn’t noticed yet, believes himself safe to correct the mistake without any mutual discomfort.

Which leaves him infinitely more overwhelmed when her smaller hand grazes up the length of his arm, wrapping it around his wrist to keep it in place. Her body relaxes into his touch, seemingly more grounded.

The intimacy is like a punch to the chest.

She’s suddenly too close for comfort. It’s claustrophobic - suffocating, strangling him along with whatever sense he had left, apparently. That damned vanilla, the dizzying scent of her blood -

Air, he thinks, I just need some fresh air.

Astarion pulls away from her, readying an apology and an excuse to swiftly dismiss the woman.

But when Evelyn meets his gaze, the words die prematurely.

She is a vision , freckles dappling her skin like star-covered porcelain, now flushed red from nose to cheeks. The whites of her eyes have gone glossy, dazed and dream-like, tempting him further into her space.

Her tongue darts out to wet her parted lips, the small gesture commanding his attention. He finds himself entirely fixated on them, as if it would take another life-altering, unnatural disaster to pull his focus away.

Evelyn’s lashes flutter in recognition, then she quickly releases his wrist. The residual heat fades before he can appreciate it, leaving him cold once again.

“Oh, sorry.”

“My apologies."

Their speech overlaps, then silence fills the room again, and they are left to stare at each other. His hands suddenly feel much too idle at his sides, itching. He throws on a polite smile, a familiar mask, but the expression doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Astarion has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. His hunger is sated, and he should feel satisfied. He should feel like a new man.

So why, then, does he only feel this intolerable weight in his chest?

Why does his stomach turn at the idea of her so carelessly offering herself up to any vampire spawn, let alone himself , despite the obvious danger?

Why is he so deeply frustrated by her lack of self preservation?

Isn’t this exactly what he wanted; to have her crawling back for more?

He can't help but wonder if this sudden apprehension is part of her little plan: to confuse him, drive him to distraction, then bring him to his knees like every other unfortunate man she’s had in her sights before robbing them and tossing them aside.

Out-seducing a vampire would admittedly be an admirable feat, but why? What could her angle be, when Astarion has nothing to offer her?

“Are you alright? You look… lost.”

He blinks back to the present.

“I - ” He coughs, " Ahem . Yes, dear. Of course.”

Hot, crimson streaks drip down the sharp bone of his chin. He springs into action, away from her unfavorable concern, and grabs his nightshirt from off the floor behind him. He has just the one, beautifully embroidered and sewn back together countless times by his own hands, now being used in place of a common napkin.

Evelyn gasps. The sound is like ice, piercing his chest when he realizes his mistake. The devil’s never seen him without a shirt on before now. Meaning, she had never bore witness to the elaborate poem carved into his back - ugly, raised scars painting his flesh and soiling his otherwise perfectly sculpted muscle.

He regrets not humoring her request to redress earlier.

The elf plays off the noise as if he hadn’t heard it, turning to hand her the clothes and hoping she knows better than to mention anything of it. She silently takes the garment from him and places it where he had bitten her. A blooming red stain soaks into the pale fabric. He’ll have to work on getting it out for the next several days, if it decides to come out at all.

Evelyn finally moves to stand, teetering a bit from lightheadedness. Astarion reaches out to steady her, but she shakes her head, declining.

“I’m okay.”

He retracts his hand. The damned thing’s gotten him into enough trouble tonight already.

“Well then, you should get some rest.”

She scoffs, “Wow, not even a thank you?”

He lowers his voice, practically growling at her, “My dear, if you’d allow me to properly thank you, you wouldn’t be leaving this tent. Maybe not for the next week, if I’m feeling generous.”

A pretty little flush once again spreads across her face. He’s rather pleased with himself, thinking he’s finally stunned her.

“And if you weren’t feeling generous?”

Rising to meet him, then. She is playing a very dangerous game.

Astarion closes what little distance there is left between them and grabs her face by the jaw, grip firm . The force has her stumbling, the back of her thighs meeting the hard edge of the table. Wood digs into her skin as the legs grate loudly against his decorative rugs, shifting from the sudden push.

Evelyn’s eyes shut, brows furrowed and panting as she clutches his forearms to steady herself.

To his wicked delight, she does not pull away.

His thumb drags over her bottom lip. The effort she’s expending not to whine at his gentle touch has him reeling. Her skin burns beneath his palms.

“Then, I’d strip you, tie your limbs to this desk,” he murmurs against her lips, before tilting to whisper his confession hot in her ear.

“And you wouldn’t be leaving this tent. Ever . ”

He abruptly releases her, turning away and waving her off.

“Now, go. We have a big day tomorrow.”

Not sparing the woman a glance, he begins gathering his books and setting them back onto the table beside her.

She says nothing in response, but he hears her tear open the entrance to his tent and step out into the night.

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