#Turns out there's nothing for an ass old game that I FRANKLY believe should get revived for newer gen consoles

[meikyuubutterflyofficial]

I've been playing this game for three days straight for no apparent reason

[kj-1130]

Nothing For Me

Part 7

Main Masterlist

Part 6|Part 8

     You and MJ’s relationship continued to grow as time went on. 

     As she started her first year of high school, you worked on yourself, wanting to be good for her.

     Overtime, you learned how to process and deal with things better. You focused on yourself and your developing relationship with MJ and needless to say, things started to look up. 

     The ‘present but not really present father’ thing didn’t affect you as much as it did, but it was still there. It was one of the only things you hadn’t fully processed and to be honest, you didn’t think you ever could. 

     Your father is there, and has been aware of presence for almost a decade. And not once has he given you any type of consolation or love like a father should. You would think after Pepper was getting more involved in his life and forcing him to clean up (most of) his act, he would open his eyes and realize that a whole human being was living with him, waiting for him to realize that they were supposed to be relying on him; not an AI built in the comfort of their room. 

     But nope. Absolutely nothing changed. If anything, things got worse. 

     He was away more often, focusing on the Avengers. Or he was with Pepper, the new love of his life. 

     You tried not to linger on the situation often, knowing it would only lead to pain in your chest. So you just stuffed it in the back of your mind, hoping one day that the pain would just lessen all together. 

     About two months ago, you and MJ had decided to make things official after going on your first date. At first you talked about how fast the two of you were going, but Michelle simply said ‘we’ll be u-haul lesbians then.’ That was the end of the conversation. 

     Currently, you and your girlfriend were facetiming. You would’ve made the trek to her house but she was about to study and you both knew that you’d distract her. Plus the two of you were due for some time away from each other considering the fact that you’re at her place almost everyday. 

     “Okay, so I found this recipe the other day and I’m just now remembering it.”

     MJ looks at you confused, “Okay?” 

     You roll your eyes playfully.

     “I wanted to try it with you. After my ban from your place has been lifted.” 

     “It’s not a ban,” she chuckled.

     “Well, it sure as hell feels like one ba-”     “Mr. Stark has arrived with a guest,” M.I.A cut you off. 

     “Who is this guest?” 

     “Secretary of State, Thaddues Ross,” the AI replied, pulling up pictures of the man. 

     “Hey M, I’m gonna call you back.”

     “Yeah, yeah,” she nods, looking a little concerned. “Take all the time you need. Let me know if everything’s okay.”

     The two of you give your goodbyes and you ask M.I.A to pull up the live footage from the conference room.

     “Perspective. The world owes the Avengers an un-payable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives… but while a great a=many people see you as heroes, there are some who would prefer the word “vigilantes”, is what you first hear when you start watching. 

     Immediately your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

     “And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?” Natasha asks.

     “How about ‘dangerous’?” he replies. “What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?”

     The secretary activates a screen behind him which begins to play the previous battles the Avengers and SHIELD have fought in. 

     “New York.” 

     He clicks a button, footage of chitauri, shooting guns, and Hulk smashing plays. 

     “Washington D.C”

     A new video appears, showing the insight helicarriers firing at each other with chaos following. 

     “Sokovia.” 

     The frame changes, showcasing the terrified citizens that were on the flying piece of land. 

     “Lagos.” 

     “That’s enough,” Steve interrupts. 

     Ross nods in response and begins his speech again. 

     “For the past four years, you’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That’s an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.”

     He places a thick document on the table and slides it across to Wanda. As the team slides the book to each other Ross starts talking. 

     “The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries… it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they’ll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary.” 

     “The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place,” the Captain begins. “I feel we’ve done that.”

     “Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?” There was a momentary pause as the two men’s eyes met. “If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes… you can bet there’d be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That’s how the world works. Believe me, this is middle ground.”

     At this point, you’re walking out of your room after transfering the feed to your tablet and making your way to the elevator.

     “So, these are contingencies,” Rhodey states. 

     “Three days from now,” Secretary Ross begins. “The UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords. Talk it over.” 

     Natasha speaks up, “And if we don’t come to a decision you don’t like?”

     “Then you retire.” 

     The elevator stops and you look up seeing the Secretary walk in with someone behind him. You give him a subtle disgusted look before turning your attention back to the security footage.

     As the deathtrap descends, you can feel his eyes lingering on you. 

     “Can I help you?” 

     “You’re a little young to be an intern.” 

     “You’re a little old to be looking at me like that,” you shrug, swiping away from the video on your tablet as you feel him looking over your shoulder. 

     Ross gives an awkward chuckle and furrows his eyebrows. When you reach the bottom floor, he gets ready to step out and places a hand on your shoulder. 

     You look at him like he’s lost his mind. 

     “You seem like a good kid. Be sure to make good choices.” 

     Raising an eyebrow, you refrain from saying what you want to say. You lift your hand and gently take his off of you. 

     “Don’t touch me,” 

     Once he exits, you hear the chatting start back up.

     “Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honor,” Rhodes told Sam. “Which is one more than you have. 

     “So let’s say we agree to this thing,” Wilson starts. “How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?”

     “117 countries want to sign this. 117, Sam, and you’re just like, ‘No that’s cool. We got it.” 

     “I have an equation,” Vision announces as you get back on the elevator. 

     “Oh this will clear it up,” Sam mutters. 

     “In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.“

     “Toaster oven’s got a point there,” you mumble, stepping back on the metal deathtrap. 

     Steve asks,“Are you saying it’s our fault?”

     “I’m saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict… breeds catastrophe. Oversight… oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.” 

     “Boom,” Rhodey says.                             

     You see Tony lying on the couch, quite relaxed, contradicting the tense atmosphere. 

     “Tony,” Nat starts. “You are being uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal.”

     “It’s because he’s already made up his mind,” Steve explained. 

     “Boy, you know me so well,” Stark starts, getting up and rubbing the back of his head. “Actually I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache,” he pauses to grab a mug of coffee. “That’s what’s going on, Cap. It’s just pain. It’s discomfort. Who’s putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”

     Tony puts his phone in a basket and taps the screen. An image is projected of a smiling young man. 

     “Oh, that’s Charles Spencer, by the way. He’s a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. Had a floor level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn’t want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn’t go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where, Sokovia.”

     He pauses for a second as the team soaks in the information.

     “He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won’t know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass.

     “There’s no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I’m game. If we can’t accept limitations, if we’re boundary-less, we’re no better than the bad guys.”

     “Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don’t give up,” Steve rebuttals.

     “Who said we’re giving up?” 

     “We are if we’re not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blame.”

     “I’m sorry. Steve,” Rhodey blurted. “That-that is dangerously arrogant. This is the United Nations we’re talking about. It’s not the World Security Council, it’s not SHIELD, it’s not HYDRA.”

      “No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change.”   

      “That’s good,” Tony starts. “That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.  

     “Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

     “If we don’t do this now, it’s gonna be done to us later. That’s a fact. That won’t be pretty.”

     Wanda finally speaks up, “You’re saying they’ll come for me.”

     “We would protect you,” Vision promised. 

     “Maybe Tony’s right,” the redhead speaks. “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off--”

     “Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?” Sam interrupts. 

     “I’m just… I’m reading the terrain. We have made… some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back. 

     “Focus up,” Tony says. “I’m sorry, did I just mishear or did you agree with me?”

     “Oh, I want to take it back now.”

     “No, no, no. You can’t retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay, case-closed--I win.” 

     From what you see, Steve stands to leave abruptly. 

     You then walk out of the elevator, tablet still in hand with the footage up. The captain walks past you just as you turn the corner and spot the team. 

     “Someone’s upset,” you hum. 

     You walk past everyone towards the fridge and grab a water bottle. 

     “Anyway, that was very childish. And kinda stupid.” 

     Inquisitive looks are thrown your way and you hold up the tablet awkwardly as you plop down on a chair. 

     “I was watching you. I kinda do that a lot. It’s not as creepy as it sounds.” 

     You open the bottle and take a sip. 

     “What are you doing down here kid--”

     “Ahhh,” you interrupt. “Don’t call me a kid. I haven’t been a child for years.”

     “Just answer the question,” Tony snaps. 

     “I like to stay informed. No one tells me anything and while you think that these private meetings only affect you, it doesn’t. It affects me too. You may not remember I’m your child but several people do. And that puts me in danger. So yes, I listen to your conversations to make sure it’s nothing I need to worry about.” 

     An awkward silence washes over as you gulp down more water. 

     “Anyway, I was just riding up and down the elevator waiting for you guys to finish. That Ross dude is kinda creepy by the way. But you’re really considering signing that thing?” 

     “Not you too,” your father mutters. 

      You let out a laugh and everyone looks at you strangely. 

      “Is this funny to you?” Rhodey asks. 

      “Yes,” you stop laughing abruptly. “I find it hilarious that this is the same government that was ready to drop a nuke on the city during the Battle of New York not giving a damn about a single civilian that was still in the area. I find it hilarious that this is the same government that lets thousands of children and women of color go missing and not do a thing about it. It’s funny that this is the same government that let HYDRA, Red Room, AIM; all that shit grow right under their nose. It’s funny because this government is the same one that uses taxpayer money for dumb ass projects and unnecessary military funding instead of using it to fund shit that helps the civilians they claim they care so much about. I mean how can you not find this situation amusing?”

     “Look,” Tony attempts. 

     “I’m not finished,” you challenge, looking him dead in the eyes. “This government don’t give a damn about y’all, especially not the three of us,” you say, gesturing to yourself, Sam, and Rhodey. “We’d be booted out of this country before you could even blink if they ever got the chance and you know that.

     “I don’t know why y’all are so adamant on gaining the government’s trust when they don’t give a flying fuck about you or these goddamn civilians. All they care about is power. They don’t care how many civilians come up missing or die in some tragic accident. It doesn’t matter what happens. When they see someone becoming richer or smarter or more powerful than they are, they will do anything to shut that shit down. 

     “I don’t understand how you can’t see that. And maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s just me and my experience,” you pause, catching the gaze of every person in the room with hard eyes. You take a deep breath and try to calm down. “Sign it if you want to. Think about how many lives you’ll lose then.”

     You stand from your spot and walk into the open elevator, ready to get to the comfort of your bed. 

-

     It had been two days since the initial meeting and you were currently sitting on Michelle’s bed watching her read. 

     “You’re really pretty,” you muttered out of the blue.

     You saw your girlfriend’s cheeks develop a subtle red tint as she mumbled back a ‘thank you, and continued reading. You groan and gently pull the book out of her hands. 

     “Hey,” she quietly protests. 

     “Please,” you pout, holding your arms out as an invitation.

     MJ fondly rolls her eyes before lowering herself onto you. You hummed contently and squeezed her before planting a kiss on her cheek. 

     She surprised you by turning her head and giving you a lingering kiss. That one kiss soon turned into something more. 

     Michelle gently pushed you onto your back and straddled your hips. Bending down she kissed you once again, her lips gliding with yours. 

     This continued for a few minutes, taking small breaks in between to breathe. You don’t think you could ever get enough of her and hoped that she was feeling similarly.

     You kissed until your jaws hurt. The euphoric feeling still lingered as MJ rested her forehead against yours, trying to catch her breath. 

     “We should do that again sometime,” you mumbled. 

     Your girlfriend nodded in response, giving one more chaste kiss to your lips before dropping to your side. 

     “Tomorrow,” she said after glancing at the clock that read 10:47. 

     “Guess I’m spending the night then.” 

     “I have no problem with that.”

-

     The next day, you were awoken by beeping from your phone. Once you were fully aware of your surroundings you picked up the device and read the notifications that M.I.A sent through. Scanning through them, you sat up with urgency and played the video. 

     “A bomb hidden in a news van ripped through the UN building in Vienna. More than 70 people have been injured. At least 12 are dead, including Wakanda’s King T’Chaka. Officials have released a video of a suspect who they have identified as James Buchanan Bares, the Winter Soldier. The infamous HYDRA agent, linked to numerous acts of terrorism and political assassinations.”

     Carefully removing Michelle’s arm from around your waist, you stand up and move to the corner of the room. You press the contact and hold the phone up to your ear. 

      “Nat what the fuck is going on?”

     You hear the woman sigh on the other side of the phone.     “Look, just… stay wherever you are.”

     “Yeah, okay, whatever. I want answers, Nat.”

     “(Y/n),” she says firmly. “Calm down and go back to whatever you were doing. Right now, this does not concern you and I would like it to stay that way. Do you understand me?”

     There was some silence, before you let out a forced chuckle. 

     “Okay, whatever. Bye.”

     “(Y/n) c’mo--”

     You disconnected the call and gently tossed the phone onto MJ’s desk.     “You sound stressed.” 

     Turning around to face the bed, you see Michelle sat up and leaning against the headboard. You nod slowly and crawl your way up towards her. 

     “I am.”

     You feel her hand take hold of your clenched ones and she rubs them, causing you to relax slightly. 

     “There was a um, bombing at the--the um… signing thing. And no one wants to tell me what’s going on, so,” you end the sentence, shrugging. 

     MJ’s head drops onto your shoulder and you let her cuddle close. 

     “They told me to stay where I was. So hopefully we can get something good out of that.” 

     There was no response and you thought she had fallen back asleep, but you were proven wrong when your girlfriend started getting up. 

     “C’mon,” she instructed, holding her hand out when she saw the look of confusion on your face. 

     Taking her hand, the two of you made your way to the kitchen. 

     She turned around and grabbed your shoulders. 

     “We are going to make some breakfast… or lunch whatever. And then we are going to binge watch until we can binge watch no longer. Alright?”

     You nod your head, chuckling and then got to work. 

-

     It had been days since you last heard from anyone. No updates from Natasha. M.I.A even told you there hasn’t even been a great deal of movement in the compound. Today you decided you would head back. 

     When you arrived it was quiet. As you walked down the halls you heard distant chatter and followed it. 

     Turning the corner, you were surprised at what you saw. 

     “What the hell happened?”

     The two men turned to look your way, but you were given no answers. 

     Tony had bruises on his face and he looked more tense than usual. Rhodey had some sort of tech on his legs. 

     “You fought them. You fought them all, didn’t you?” 

     Both men looked away and avoided your gaze. 

     “You didn’t even listen to what I said. This is what the government does. I tried to tell you, but you didn’t even fucking listen,” you ranted, your voice slightly raising.

     “Us breaking apart wasn’t the government. Most of this is on some guy th--”

     “Well the government allowed it to happen so I’d say it is their fault!” 

     You turned to your father with pleading eyes. 

     “Where are they, Tony?”

     “Kid, they’re criminals now, I don’t--”

     “Stop calling me that! I’m--I’m not some kid. I’m not your kid,” you let out a frustrated breath. “You--you couldn’t talk it out? Like mature adults? You just had to go assert your dominance somewhere--in what? An--an airport? Some vacant lot? You just had to fight. Do you not know how to communicate?” 

     You looked at the two men, shook your head, and brushed past them. 

     Just when things were alright.

-

     “(Y/n)?” 

     “What M.I.A?”

     You were currently laying in your bed trying to control the tears that were begging to fall from your eyes due to the amount of overwhelming shit you had been hit with. You talked with MJ for a little while and while it helped a bit, you honestly were still feeling like… well shit.

     “There’s a package for you.” 

     Furrowing your eyebrows, you head down to where the mail is usually placed, get the package with your name on it, and head back to your room. 

     Grabbing a pair of scissors, you cut the tape and open the box. Inside was a letter and a phone. 

     Hey sweetheart.

     It was Natasha’s handwriting.

     I’m sorry. I really am. We all are. I wish things wouldn’t have ended this way, but they did and we can’t really do anything about it now. 

     I listened to what you said. I listened and I tried my best to understand. I don’t think I ever wanted to sign the accords in the first place. The only reason I did so was so that we could stay together. So that I could stay with you. This team is the only family I’ve had in a long time. The fact that that stack of papers could end that scared me. 

     I just kept trying to convince myself that signing the Accords was the right thing to do; anything to keep this team together. Anything to keep everything from falling apart. 

     But the more I thought about it, I realized. You were right. Everything you said. This government doesn’t care. And if the government doesn’t care like they’re supposed to then we need to. People need the government, but they don’t have it. They do have us though. And they always will. 

     I love you. I didn’t say it enough and I don’t know when or if I’ll ever get to tell you that again. You are so precious to me and I’m sorry I couldn’t stay. If you ever need anything, you can always give me a call. 

     You wiped your eyes and gently picked up the phone. You held it in your hands for a moment before setting it down. You folded the letter back up neatly and placed both items in the top drawer of your nightstand. 

     You laid back down on your bed with less tears on your face. 

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

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[shurisneakers]

shut in [3]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, implied abuse, ptsd, fighting over beds

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: every part i introduce more anonymous characters smh. i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Don’t make me shoot you, Wilson.”

“It doesn’t have to end this way, agent.”

“How’s it looking out there?”

“There’s been some talk. Apparently Serpentine isn’t very happy that their intel is dead. They’ve got people looking out for you everywhere.”

A frown adorned your face. Sam was leaning forward on his arms, head turned down as he listened to Ransone.

“How dangerous is it?”

“I would say that everyone’s a little wound up. Best not to go anywhere even a little populated.”

“Noted.” It would blow over in a while. The media coverage of Pierce’s assassination would die down with the changing news cycle soon.

“I can have someone pick you up wherever you are. Just tell me where.” 

“Don’t bother. We won’t be here for too long,” you responded, Sam nodding in agreement. Once it quietened down you could leave, go back to Ransone without blowing your cover.

“Whatever makes you happy. Just let me know when you’re out.”

The click of the call ending took with it the only noise in the room.

Sam picked up the phone to remove the battery, discarding it to maintain your security. Burner phones were useful, but you didn’t want to take any chances.

“Wait,” you cut in, holding your hand out for it, “I need to make another call.”

The both of you were seated at the dining table. A piece of paper lay in front of you, playing the dangerous role of being the mediator. 

You were trying to ration out your supplies and create a schedule as a way of finding middle ground. Things were more or less calm for the last two days, but the fight over the bedroom was wading into territory that could only be solved by a good old middle school fistfight.

Currently you were figuring out a meal plan so that you could establish some kind of routine. With bread as the only uniting factor, the other three components were going on a rotation. You had reached all the way till Saturday before running out of possible combinations.

“I’m just saying-”

“Don’t.”

“We’ve exhausted all edible options, it’s the only combination left-”

“I will not hesitate to fatally wound you.” You were only half kidding. The ridiculousness of the ideas he was proposing was entertaining, and you knew he wasn’t being serious. It was hard to catch a moment where he was. 

“Fine. But in case we get to the point where peanut butter and jelly is the only thing that’s left, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

“I would rather die than shovel spoonfuls of plain jelly and peanut butter into my mouth.”

“Your survival game is weak,” he chided, tsk-tsking at you.

You only rolled your eyes at him, moving on to the next subject.

Bed.

“Easy, we just alternate days. You got the last two days, so I get the next two and then we just switch everyday.” Sam eased back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head leisurely.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” you asked, writing down the plan he had just presented. The bed wasn’t queen sized with memory foam or any kind of privilege like that, but it definitely beat the couch with its odd lumps and depressions.

“A week tops. Anything more is just excessive.”

“Hello,” you said, voice low, even though you were well out of earshot of Sam. He was eying you from the living room window. If he was as good as he claimed he was, he’d know how to read lips and you couldn’t afford to have him do that.

“Code?”

You turned your back to the window, facing the large trees that loomed before you. “1993. It’s me.”

“Y/N?” He sounded suspicious, a little shocked, and you understood why he would be.

“Living and breathing.” You toed at a rock that lay ahead of you.

“Word on the street is that you’re dead,” he pointed out dryly.

“Not me; Pierce. I escaped. It was a trap.” When the rock you were playing around with escaped after a particularly hard kick, you started pacing up and down instead, “Ransone put a hit out on him because he thought he was leaking information.”

“How on earth did he come to that conclusion?”

“Don’t know. He was dead before we got there.”

“Who is ‘we’? You got someone there with you?” You didn’t realise it had slipped out during your conversation. 

“Another one of our guys. Apparently I was a backup in case he didn’t show up, but he did, so now we’re stuck together.” You averted your gaze to Sam who was still observing you from the window brazenly, intently. 

“Where are you?”

“We’re safe.” 

“Alright.” He sounded like he understood, albeit not entirely convinced. “Stay low.”

“Will do.”

With that you hung up the call, dropped the phone to the ground and crushed it under your boot heel. When you were convinced that it was sufficiently useless, you turned on your heel, making your way back.

You walked back into the house, beelining to the kitchen to make up for your missed lunch, only to be greeted with Sam sitting on the couch looking at you inquisitively.

“Who was that?”

“Nobody,” you answered straightforwardly, opening the cabinet to get two slices of bread.

“If it has somethin’ to do with this situation we’re in then I need to know who you’re talking to.”

“Just drop it. It has nothing to do with you.” You found the jar of peanut butter he had already opened, using a butter knife to spread it along the bread.

“Somehow I’m finding that hard to believe.”

“Believe what you must. I’m going to take a nap,” you answered evasively, chewing absentmindedly on the sandwich you had just made. You didn’t bother to look at him as you headed towards the bedroom.

“Hey now, hold on a minute. Who said you had bedroom privileges? You’ve been using it for two days.” You stopped in your tracks, face scrunching in annoyance. “If you’re keeping vital information about my life from me, then I think I deserve to not have a fuckin’ backache when I wake up in the morning.”

You quickly weighed the pros and cons in your head, imagining how the next few minutes would pan out if you just said ‘no’ and left. But in every imaginary argument you proposed, the bottom line ended with him prodding at you until he either got the information that he wanted or the bed.

Frankly, the bed was something you were willing to sacrifice to get him to stop meddling in your business. It seemed like the only reasonable way to get him off your ass.

“Fine.” You spun around to face him. “We’re making an arrangement.”

“Whoever has the bed has to forfeit TV privileges for that day.”

“Sounds reasonable. None of those three movies can be played more than twice in a row.”

That was more to preserve your sanity than anything. You had already seen each of them once, bordering on thrice for Die Hard. Sam’s fault, not yours.

“We should have a codeword. In case there's danger or something. Or maybe if you just want to be left alone,” Sam suggested, finger pointing to the blank space left at the end of the paper. “But it’ll be like solitary confinement since it’s so fuckin’ quiet here.”

Almost on instinct your mind flashed to images of dark cells. Quiet sobs. Blood stains on the wall, originating from clawing at it. Sunlight through one small window at the top. Utter loneliness except for yourself.

You could remember the soreness in your legs from curling up into a ball for hours, rocking back and forth. The smell of drain water collecting in the basement where the cell was.

Isolation.

“You got any suggestions?”

“Huh?” You forced yourself back to the present. Your knuckles had a dull ache in them from holding the pencil too hard.

“Do you have any ideas for a codeword?” Sam repeated, looking at you intently.

“No, nothing off the top of my head.” You shook your head, trying to regain focus. You loosened your grip on the pencil, letting it fall to the table.

“We’ll just leave it at ‘Brooklyn’ for the time being.”

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed to whatever he was saying. It was just a precaution in case something major happened. It was rather unlikely that you were going to use it anyway. 

Codewords weren’t uncommon in your business, but it was mostly used for missions or other professional standings. Regardless of being less adventurous than what you tended to work on, this was work at the end of the day. 

“Is that all?”

“Yeah, I think we’re done.” His chair scraped loudly against the ground as he got up. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going out for a while. Need to shake off the possible osteoporosis.”

You didn’t bother asking where he was going, ears following his footsteps as he walked down the hall to the bedroom, probably to get his jacket that he hung up in the drawer.

You left the paper on top of the mini fridge, alongside the car keys and a few dollars you had nabbed in the hurry from Pierce’s house.

Staring around you at the silent room, you realised that there really wasn’t much to do. It wasn’t like you to have so much time on your hands. You could always go for a run or test out some of the weapons hidden here. 

You had the rest of the house to explore, plans to draw up, a post mortem to assess what went wrong on the mission, even though the last option wasn’t possible without Sam’s cooperation.

Fuck it, you decided. Couch it is.

Kicking your feet up, you grabbed the TV remote to flip to the news station. The town rarely had anything to report on but it would be worthwhile to know what exactly was available around. Possibly assimilate in the crowd in case you wanted to be hidden.

It took you a few minutes of mindless surfing through static channels till you found it. It seemed like a scene right out of a Hallmark movie; the reporter was holding a microphone to a child who looked like he understood nothing of what was going on.

You were barely paying attention as it flipped from segment to segment, other things taking precedence in your mind even though you willed yourself to relax. There really wasn’t much to make a note of other than a few good samaritans and how utterly boring the lack of content was. A few occasional glimpses of stores and other resources available in the background were the only interesting part.

You were starting to drift off by the time it reached the breaking news of the evening. Sam had already come back when the sky slipped into twilight. He barely acknowledged your form lazing on the couch, only offering you a greeting and a goodbye as he made himself his dinner to take to the room.

Your eyes were just about closing when the breaking news of that evening came in. It was all politics. People you knew from old missions waving and smiling their way to lead their country as if the dubious acts they committed behind the scenes to get there was erased.

Until you suddenly jolted awake, eyes wide open.

“Wilson. Wilson!” You hit the cushion furiously to get his attention when he didn’t respond the first time around.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“What?” he yelled in response, mild irritation in his voice. You knew it sounded like you were shouting bloody murder even though no one was around other than you two, but you didn’t care.

“Look at this!” You couldn’t stop gawking at the screen. “Fuckin’ unbelievable.”

“What? What do you wa-” He stalked into the room, ready to tell you to stop yelling but stopped mid sentence when he finally saw what you were so concerned about.

“Reports claim that the victim was attacked early in the afternoon at his villa. Officers say they found multiple signs of a forced entry, following which he was shot dead. So far no arrests have been made but the police have since released photos of two suspects of whom, they claim, have reason to believe orchestrated the attack.”

On the right side of the screen flashed yours and Sam’s picture side by side. Old mugshots from a petty offence you committed years ago for which Ransone bailed you out.

“The pair are said to be on the run after escaping before law enforcement arrived. If you have any tips on the whereabouts of-”

You turned to look at Sam. His stare didn’t budge from the TV as they once again reminded the public what you both looked like.

Years of anonymity, working in the shadows and creeping around to avoid being recognised only to have the entire country know what you looked like.

“Well, shit,” he finally exhaled. “Somehow I think our stay here just got extended.”

Part 4

[radiorenjun]

 I Don't Need It

• Pairing: Na Jaemin x Reader

• Genre: Angst, Comedy, Fluff

• Na Jaemin despised the idea of soulmates, he wanted to fight against fate for choosing his soulmate for him. Even if it means his stubborn childhood best friend wouldn’t stop trying to make him accept about the similar tattoos on their wrists.

• Warnings: mental breakdowns, heartbreak, rejection, major angst, arguments, flashbacks, physical injuries, fighting, underaged drinking, panic attacks, slight mentions of death. things are going to get much better from this chapter on. Or is it?

• Wordcount : 9.2k

• Masterlist here!

• Chapters: XV, XVI

“Oh dear Lord. Na Jaemin once listened to What Is Love by Twice and took it way to heart,” Hyuck tsked, shaking his head in disappointment, earning a few threatening glares from his older friends as they watch the lovesick boy sulk in his seat on the lunch table. “What? Am I wrong?” he asked, lifting a brow at them with an innocent shrug. 

“Fuck off, Hyuck,” Jaemin groaned, waving his friend off as he stared back at his phone screen with an empty expression. “Damn, Captain out here using the government name. What’s up with him?” Younghoon asked, walking up to the sulking boy with a towel over his shoulder, passing the cloth to Jeno. “He got into a huge argument with y/n the other day at the library,” Donghyuck explained, sighing as he patted his friend’s back sympathetically. 

“Yikes, I take it that it didn’t go so well?” Jihoon asked, wincing as he examined Jaemin’s seemingly lifeless state. The boy in question currently resembled a kicked puppy, his eyes held no emotion other than sorrow and heartbreak. Jaemin looked so ‘down in the dumps’ (as their coach had said before giving him a small time out) you could see his soul slowly leaving his body.

“No shit, dude. She told him to fuck off,” Hyuck hissed, wincing at the thought of his own soulmate telling him to get out of his life. “Ouch, for real?” Younghoon scrunched his nose, looking down at his captain who’s expression darkened as he looked down at his dirty sneakers. “I didn’t know Y/n could say that to the Na Jaemin, himself. Are you sure you aren’t just hallucinating things, Capt?” he asked once again, looking down at the boy before him. 

“He had it coming, really. Have you seen the awkward moments we had to go through because of how they keep pulling and pushing each other away? Damn, it was like I was watching a shitty anime adaptation on netflix,” Hyuck shook his head, tutting under his breath. Jaemin slowly raised his head up at the two boys towering over him, staring daggers into their souls. 

“I would very much appreciate it if you guys could stop gossiping about me like I’m not listening right in front of you and fuck off. Let me mourn for the rest of my life in peace, please,” Jaemin rolled his eyes, leaning the side of his face against his knuckles as he propped his elbow up on the table. “He’s got it bad, huh?” Chani commented, walking up to the boys and leaning his arm over Hyuck’s shoulder. 

“Definitely,” Hyuck agreed, nodding. 

“Lee Haechan, you’re not helping either,” Jeno rolled his eyes, crossing his arms against his chest. “Well what am I supposed to do, man? I gave him advice and all he did was just talk and do little things. Jaemin, listen, to win a girl’s heart you gotta go big or go home,” Hyuck advised with an enthusiastic tone, receiving nothing else but a heavy sigh from the said boy. 

Jeno gave out an annoyed groan, snapping his head around to look at his best friend. “So what are you going to do now? Are you really going to leave her alone?” he asked hesitantly, watching Jaemin’s sulking state carefully. Jaemin hummed, shrugging nonchalantly, pursing his lips in thought. “Well, if that’s what she wants then, I guess I have no choice,” he mumbled.

“What? Really?” 

“Look, what do you want me to do? I fucked up. I tried to fix things by small actions and waited for her to be more comfortable with me and I still fucked that up because I couldn’t be patient and time is running out. We’re graduating soon, I tried to talk things out and I still lost control of my emotions and somehow managed to fuck it up without the slightest bit of effort,” Jaemin snapped, running a hand through his hair and tugging on the roots out of frustration. 

“I get it, I fucked up. I don’t need to be constantly reminded that I lost my soulmate and I’m going to be alone forever,” he raised his hands up in defeat, groaning. “The least I can do right now is to leave her alone to have some time to herself. Maybe if I do that she won’t hate me as much.”

Jaemin was really hopeless at this point. He didn’t know what to do. He knew he had to do something to try and make things better, but he fucked up too much this time. He believed that the relationship you two have now is unrepairable. He screwed up his chances of making it up to you once again, and now he’s just going to sulk around until he gets over it. 

Jeno and Hyuck exchanged similar glances of sympathy, sighing heavily. “You can’t just give up like that, dude. You just gotta try a bit harder,” Younghoon slung an arm over the younger boy’s shoulders, giving him an encouraging smile. Jaemin pursed his lips, hanging his head with his doe eyes staring holes into his shoes before shaking his head ‘no’. 

“I can’t. I really fucked up this one, you don’t even know,” Jaemin felt his heart ache at the memory of your exhausted expression that was now engraved into his skull. The way your eyes no longer held the adoration you had for him for so long. He internally wondered why he didn’t notice the sparkles in your eyes had faded whenever he came into your line of vision. Moreover, he regretted the fact that he didn’t cherish the moments when he could gaze into the adoration you held for him in your heart. 

“I made her turn into the old me. God, I fucked up bad,” he groaned, rubbing his face with his hand in distress. Younghoon sucked in his lips, gazing up at the two boys, widening his eyes and nodding at the distressed boy beside him, gesturing for them to help him comfort him. Jeno clicked his tongue, crossing his arms against his chest as he shook his head in disappointment.

“Are you really going to give up just because of that?” Jeno deadpanned, furrowing his brows. “What do you want me to do man?” Jaemin peered up at his best friend, letting out a puff of breath. “I really don’t know what to do anymore, at this point I should just fucking give up. She won’t even give me a chance, anyway. What’s the point anymore?” Jaemin claimed, his eyes half-lidded.

He felt tired. He just wanted to go back home and sleep until his problems go away. But he knew he couldn’t. He had to do something to fix this, he wanted to do something to fix this. But he was at loss, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He was already on thin ice, if he fucked up one more time, he wouldn’t know what’s going to happen next. And frankly he didn’t want to think or risk it. 

“No shit, sherlock.” Jeno scoffed, rolling his eyes incredulously. 

“You repeatedly hurt her for two years straight, asshole. I wouldn’t forgive you if I were her either,” he added with a heavy sigh, shaking his head at the younger boy who just gave him a glare in return. “Thanks for pointing that out, Captain Obvious. What else do you want me to do, huh? Climb the Eiffel tower?” Jaemin groaned, slumping against his seat. 

 “Then stop fucking sulking,” Jeno scolded. “You know very well sulking about your problems isn’t going to make anything better. You know that better than anyone, captain.” 

“Don’t use the ‘captain’ bullshit on me now, Jeno. I’m not in the mood,” Jaemin looked away from his friend, his eyes scanning the lockers in front of him. “Well, you better be in the mood sooner or later. The final game’s coming up, you better get your head straight before Coach actually gets serious and kicks you off the team.” Jeno scoffed, earning glares from Hyuck and Renjun. 

That finally put Jaemin back into his rightful state of mind. He had been working for the position all throughout his sophomore and junior year, he knew he wasn’t in the best state to focus on anything right now but he couldn’t give up the position he had been working oh-so-very hard for the past two years. ‘God. What the fuck am I suppose to do?’

Younghoon sighed, placing a hand on his friend’s knee, patting it. “The two of you are literally hopeless. But I’m happy that Y/n rejected your dumb ass,” he commented with a tight-lipped smile. Jaemin turned to his friend slowly, who wiggled his eyebrows at him in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m being serious, by the way.” Younghoon added, retracting his hand. 

“Gee, thank you for expressing your thoughts, Mr. Huang,” Hyuck chuckled, slinging an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Hey, hear me out first!” Younghoon exclaimed, pushing his arm off of his shoulders with a roll of his eyes. “Listen, I’m happy she rejected you because it would be pretty stupid for her to just forgive you all of a sudden despite the fact that you haven’t learned from your mistakes.” He explained. 

Jaemin furrowed his brows in confusion at the boy’s words, “what’s that supposed to mean?” he retorted in an almost offended tone. “I don’t know if you realise this yet, Jaemin. But it seems that you truly haven’t learned from your stupid mistakes. She told you countless times she doesn’t want you to bother her and you did the exact opposite. You didn’t give her any time to slowly let you back into her life,” Jihoon shrugged simply, finally gathering the courage to speak up. 

“So what you’re saying is that it’s okay for her to barge into my life doing all that soulmate crap for the past two years and I’m not allowed to do the same?” Jaemin asked, raising a brow at him as a scowl stretched across his lips. Jeno groaned in frustration, raising a hand to rub his temples to keep himself from snapping at the oblivious boy. 

“See! He doesn’t even get it!” Jeno exclaimed, rubbing his forehead as he stared hopelessly at the boy sitting down in front of him. “Dude, you can’t just walk into someone’s life after hurting her twenty-four seven for two years straight, thinking that you would be forgiven in an instant. Hell, if we were Y/n we wouldn’t even want to look at you,” Jeno elaborated, taking a step back and crossing his arms against his chest. 

“You can’t blame the poor girl for being cautious. You’re supposed to be her soulmate, the one who’s supposed to make her happy. You’re doing a shitty job at doing so, if I say so myself. If anything I’m proud of her for saying no to you so kindly, if I were her I would tell you to get out of my life permanently. You’re making her lose her trust in you even more as time goes on. Get that through your thick skull, you asshole.” Jeno spat, his eyes narrowing at the younger boy with rage glossing over his pupils. 

Jaemin’s friends always considered you as their sister, they always cared about you and they always try to defend you and Jaemin whenever they can. But they knew this was getting a little bit too far. Your graduation ceremony was coming up soon. Prom was coming up. The final game is coming up. Not to mention the finals afterwards. 

Everyone was more than beyond stressed in their own problems. And the fact that Jaemin was sulking about his problems instead of doing something about it was pissing them off to no end. The fact that the two of you were visibly hurting because of it was pissing them off. They wanted things to go back to the way they used to. But they knew things can’t end that way. Not anymore. 

The least they can do now was to try and get Jaemin’s mind to think straight again. 

“By the way you’re acting got me thinking, are you actually doing this because you’re starting to like y/n or is it because you just want to hurt her even more?” Jeno asked (almost growled), his tone lowering as he glared daggers into Jaemin’s figure. 

“Jeno, wait, you’re-”

Jaemin shot up from his seat, standing up in front of his best friend with his eyes wide in shock. “What the fuck Jeno? You know very well I would never hurt y/n. At least on fucking purpose, you know that better than anyone. Why the hell are you even saying that?” Jaemin shot back, his eyes wide in shock at Jeno’s false assumption. Jeno’s gaze remained unwavering, taking a deep breath before continuing to speak again. 

“Are you sure about that Jaemin? Because it seems to me all you’ve done so far is hurting y/n. And by what you said about Y/n not forgiving you made it sound like you’re purposely doing this because you wanted revenge against Y/n for ‘bothering’ you the past two years. Tell me, Jaemin. Are you doing this because you feel bad? Are you doing this because you actually like her? Or are you doing this because you want pay back?” 

Every word that spilled out of Jeno’s mouth was like a slap from reality. Of course Jaemin likes you! Of course he feels bad! He just said those things because he was just furious with himself. Right? He was just frustrated that things haven’t been going very well lately with your relationship that he couldn’t help but make it sound like he was only doing this for revenge. 

Right? 

“Of course I fucking like her,” Jaemin shot back rather hesitantly, the anger in his eyes dissipating. Instead, sadness and confusion had taken place across his features. Truth be told, he was quite confused about his own feelings. He longed for your presence. He wanted to talk to you again. He wanted to give you soft cuddles again. He wanted to shower you with his love just like he always did back when the two of you were still kids. 

But yet again, he has been hurting you alot. No, scratch that, he’s been hurting you with every selfish step he made. Does he really feel something for you or is this his way of getting you a taste of your own medicine? He can’t possibly-

“Get your shit together, Jaemin. If all you’re going to do is hurt her, you might as well just leave her life the same way she left yours months ago. And if you want things to be on good terms again, you might want to think a bit more,” Jeno spat, walking away to his locker, leaving the boy lost in his thoughts. 

“Well, that was surely something unexpected.” 

“I know!” you groaned, spreading your arms out on the table with a frustrated groan, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment. “I don’t know what got into me. I was on the brink of crying that day. In a library too! Thank god it was empty, oh god.” you rambled, a look of pure horror spread across your features. 

“Okay, okay. Calm down, just- repeat what you said to him just one more time,” Hyunjin coaxed, showing you his index finger. “I refuse to repeat myself, I rather bask in the cringe of my own previous words. Good day,” you gave Hyunjin a bittersweet smile before frowning abruptly and leaned your chin on your arm, jutting out your bottom as you recalled your conversation with Jaemin last week. 

Speaking of Jaemin, he hasn’t made any efforts to talk to you again since then. He stopped sending you random chocolates in your lockers and small pebbles with small doodles drawn sloppily with a posca marker. He stopped trying to make small talk with you. And considering you were now avoiding him even more than you already are, you haven’t seen him much unless you pass by the school field to go to the teacher’s office to get something. 

Were you a bit too harsh with your words? This is what you wanted right? You wanted him to leave your relationship as it is before anything bad happens to ruin it even more than it already has. But yet again, what was the point? Your relationship with Jaemin now is almost as non-existent. And you didn’t know what to feel about it.

You tugged the sleeve of your sweater down to take a peek of your hidden tattoo, a small frown on your lips as your eyes scan the small drawing that lead to all of this mess. Did you make the right choice when you rejected him? Was yelling at him a bit too far? He is your soulmate after all, maybe you should’ve given him a chance?

“Stop it,” Renjun chuckled, reaching from across the table to flick your forehead 

You grimaced, looking up at your group of friends with a perplexed expression. “I’m literally just breathing right now,” you deadpanned, rubbing the spot he flicked with a small pout. “We can hear the gears inside your head, you’re thinking way too loud, y/n.” Yeeun commented with an amused smile, wrapping her arm around yours.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about Jaemin,” you sighed, giving her a half-hearted smile. “As usual,” your friend chuckled, rolling their eyes at you. You pursed your lips, “shut up. I kind of feel guilty for what happened back at the library now.” You pulled your arm away from Yeeun’s hold with a small pout on your face. 

“Why the hell would you feel guilty? You should feel proud of yourself,” Renjun furrowed his brows, opening the milk carton he bought earlier before school had started. “I don’t know, I just feel guilty? I never really snapped at Jaemin like that before. Or anyone else,” you shrugged, picking off the chocolate from Hyunjin’s dessert box with the spoon beside you. 

“Hey! Get your own!” Hyunjin exclaimed, slapping your spoon away from his box with his own. “Stealing from a friend tastes way better, sorry not sorry,” you grinned, shoving the spoon inside your mouth with a small hum. “We’re kinda proud of you for standing up for yourself like that though,” Renjun mumbled under his breath. 

You felt your heart ache slightly at the thought. “I mean,” you pulled the spoon out of your mouth and clicked your tongue in thought. “I’m not one to back out of confrontation, so I’m kind of proud of myself for saying no as well. But I just really feel guilty for doing so, is it because he’s my soulmate?” you frowned, leaning close to take another bite of Hyunjin’s dessert.

“It’s normal to feel bad. It shows that despite everything he’s done, you still like him. Whether it’d be because of the soulmate system or because of your own feelings, you still like him. It’s normal to be angry at someone and feel like shit about it afterwards. We’re here for you,” Yeeun leaned her head against your shoulder and rubbed your back affectionately. 

You looked up, watching as your friends gave you encouraging smiles, showing you that they’re here to back you up no matter what. “We won’t be mad either even if you did say yes. Because, let’s be real. If my soulmate finally realised they’re being a piece of shit, I would snap at them and forgive them when I’m ready,” Renjun chuckled, continuing on munching down his salad. “We’ll always be here to back you up, even if it doesn’t seem like it,” Hyunjin nodded in agreement. 

“Thanks guys, I really appreciate it,” you sighed, mustering up the strength to give them a genuine smile. But alas, the empty feeling in your chest didn’t disappear. Not even a bit. But it made you feel a bit at ease knowing you have someone to turn to whenever you need it. 

You missed him. It wasn’t a secret among you and your friends. You missed Jaemin even if you didn’t want to. You missed the happiness bubbling up inside of you whenever he comes into your line of vision, you missed the butterflies swarming in your stomach whenever you hear his voice. You missed how he would complain about how his tummy hurts when he accidentally drank milk at the most random of moments. 

You missed how despite how he found your affections and small antics extremely bothersome, he never failed to do the littlest things to show that he still cared about you. You couldn’t even count how many times you would fall asleep to the scent of his hoodie whenever he accidentally left it in your room. You couldn’t count how many times you wrote small love letters at the back of your notebook whenever he pops up in your head. 

You couldn’t count how many times you would crack a small smile whenever you caught a small glimpse of his. 

It hurts to think that you lost your chance of ever feeling the same happiness you did before. At least, not in real life considering you’ve been having too many dreams of Jaemin. You’d wake up all happy and hyper then in a minute your mood will spiral down like a toilet bowl when reality hits you smack on the face. Though, you knew very well that you should just move on considering college was just around the corner.

You didn’t want to think about this anymore. 

“Hey y/n, you got a minute?” 

Your head shot up from your phone, eyes wide in surprise to see none other than Lee Jeno himself. “Jeno?” you leaned your head to the side a bit, wondering why he was standing right in front of you when he was supposed to be in practice right now with Jaemin and the others. “Shouldn’t you be at practice?” you asked, pulling the strap of your bag that was slipping off your shoulder. 

“Coach cancelled today to cool us all off before the game next week,” Jeno shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets with a small shrug. “Right, the game! Good luck with that, by the way,” you beamed, eyes wide in realization when you realized that the last game for the guys was next week before exams starts. “You’re not coming?” he asked, leaning his head to the side in confusion. 

You wanted to. You really really do. You always had a front row seat so you can see Jaemin play at a close view. You remembered how you always cheered enthusiastically for him, Jeno and Hyuck back then, handing them cool water bottles afterwards. Putting up a bright smile as you watched Jaemin stare back at you with annoyance, his eyes showing how much he didn’t want you there. You remembered pretending to be oblivious to the sympathetic looks Jeno and Hyuck would always share whenever you attempted to make small talk with him. 

“Oh nope, I’m not. I’ll probably be napping or studying since finals are only a month away,” you lied, shaking your head with a small soft smile. You, knowing yourself, you’re probably going to watch one of your friend’s lives during the game and cheer in your room so you don’t have to see Jaemin in real life after the argument that went down last weekend. 

“You know you don’t need to lie right? I can’t count how many times you complain about how you studied a day before your exams,” Jeno chuckled, rolling his eyes as he nudged your shoulder with his teasingly. “Shut up, I spend most of my time doing last minute homework. I need breaks too sometimes, you know,” you scoffed, pushing on his arm with a dramatic huff. 

“Look at the bright side, no matter how little you study, you magically ace it without effort,” Jeno joked as you walked towards the vending machine in front of your school lobby. “There’s this thing called praying. Or satanic rituals a day before the exams,” you snickered, pulling your wallet out as you examined the food displayed through the transparent glass. 

“You want anything? I’ll pay,” you asked, turning to your taller friend with a soft smile, who shook his head ‘no’ at you. You shrugged as if to say ‘your loss’ before taking out a small bill and pushing it through the tiny slot. “So, what did you want to talk about, Lee Jeno?” you asked with a rather teasing tone. “You never talk to me in private unless there’s something you want,” you commented with a small snicker, pressing on the small button on the side of the machine. 

“Well, I hope you don’t mind me talking about this. It’s about Jaemin?” Jeno asked in a rather hesitant tone, sucking in his bottom lip nervously. 

You both heard the can drop into the opening slot at the bottom of the machine with a loud ‘clank!’ When he finished your sentence, you swore it sounded way too similar to how your heart dropped into your stomach at the mention of the brown boy. “Oh,” you replied almost inaudibly, kneeling down to grab your drink out of the slot. 

‘Say no. Are you seriously going to talk about the guy you just rejected after 2 years of pining for him to his best friend?’

You gulped silently, grabbing your drink as you took a deep breath to compose yourself. You stood up and gave him a weak smile, “what about him?” you asked, wincing internally at how weak your voice became at the thought of talking about the boy you were so whipped about. “You know you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Jeno must’ve noticed how uncomfortable you felt when he brought him up as he cleared his throat. 

“No, no. It’s fine, I’m okay. I’m okay with talking about him. It’s just Jaemin,” you shrugged, trying to appear as nonchalant as you possibly could. “You sure?”Jeno asked, furrowing his brows as he stuck his hands in his pockets nervously. “It’s really okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Jeno gave you a kind smile, one that almost made you take back what you said, however your pride got the best of you.

“It’s fine, really,” you nodded, giving him a reassuring smile as you internally yelled at yourself for not being honest to your dear friend. 

“I don’t want to invade on your personal issues with Jaemin or anything, but-” Jeno paused, furrowing his brows as he attempted to think of a nicer way to express his statement. “It’s pretty obvious that the two of you are in a rough patch and I don’t know if you noticed but Jaemin is pretty stressed out about this,” he grimaced as he realised that his words were leading to literally nowhere. 

“I’m sure you’re pretty stressed out as well, it’s pretty evident considering the tension between the two of you is way more than obvious and-”

“Jeno, where are you going with this?” your tone turned emotionless as you let out a heavy sigh, looking down at your shoes before looking up at your friend with eyes void of emotion, rubbing them with the palm of your hand. “I’m sure whatever you want to say is important but if you can’t tell I just want to go home and sleep until I have to get up,” you explained with a small smile. 

Jeno’s eyes widened a bit, surprised at how your bright demeanor vanished in a few minutes without leaving a single trace. ‘So Mrs. Dong was right about soulmates unrequited love being emotionally and mentally draining, then.’ Jeno thought to himself as he sucked his lips in to think of a way to express his thoughts without causing you to run off. 

‘Fuck it.’

“I know you probably don’t trust him anymore or you’re probably afraid of getting hurt after everything he’s done. But if- As if to say that Jaemin were to try woo-ing you over one more time, without fucking up that is, would you give him another chance?” he asked, his tone turning serious as his eyes hardened and stared into yours as if to spot any trace of you lying. 

‘Oh, so this is what this is about.’ you thought. 

“Did Jaemin put you up to this?” you asked, rubbing your palm against your temple as you felt the emptiness in your chest being replaced by non-other than the dull ache that is heartache. “Did he not get the message to leave our relationship, whatever’s left of it anyway, alone before it gets worse?” you sighed, chuckling slightly at the thought of Jaemin’s stubborn ass asking Jeno for a favor. Grimacing at how mean you sounded.

“No- no! Not at all, I asked you on my own accords. Jaemin has nothing to do with me asking you this-hell! He doesn’t even know that I’m here talking to you right now, trust me,” Jeno exclaimed, raising his hand up and using the other to cross his heart, symbolizing that he promised you that he was telling you the truth. You smiled a bit at this. 

“Why are you the one asking? Not to be rude, Jeno, but this doesn’t concern you,” you raised your brow, taking a step back as you twisted your drink open with curiosity. “I know, it’s none of my concern but honestly watching the two of you go on trying to solve this by yourselves is like watching the Twilight series except there’s no weird fantasy creatures and a werewolf falling in love with an infant child,” Jeno blurted out, scratching the back of his head, chuckling at his own little joke. 

“Oh,” you replied, letting out a small chuckle at his joke before your smile faltered. “Well what do you suggest I do? So far I’ve only been receiving advice from people that have heard only my side of the story. Considering you’ve heard Jaemin’s side of the story, what do you actually suggest I do?” you asked, stuffing your thumb in your pocket as you sipped your drink, lowering your gaze to your shoes nervously. 

“I suggest you follow my advice earlier. If Jaemin ever decides to try again and not fuck it up, I would advise you to consider giving him a chance,” Jeno shrugged. “I’m not saying that all the things he did were okay. Hell no, if I were you I would totally kick his ass for taking your kindness and affection for granted, I assure you. But Jaemin has been... trying really hard,” Jeno explained, sadness flashing against his eyes. 

“Trying hard?” you asked in a whispered tone, looking up at your friend with slight confusion. “Yeah!” he replied with a small bright smile. “You may not know this but Jaemin spends his time now wondering about what small cheesy things he could do to make you smile. Ever since you ghosted him, he’s been thinking about you alot. It was almost annoying.” he giggled, remembering the countless times Jaemin’s face would flush red whenever he realised he was thinking about you back when he was still in denial. 

“You may not notice it considering he always does this whenever you aren’t around. Despite the fact that Jaemin was always an asshole to you, he’s always think of you twenty four seven. It’s always ‘y/n would’ve liked this’, ‘this is something y/n would hate’, ‘y/n would’ve done this’, y/n this and y/n that. The idiot was whipped as hell but his stubborn ass didn’t realise how much he actually cares for you until now.” 

“Remember how you would leave him small letters in his locker or give it to him straight up before running off because you forgot to do your homework and you needed to do it before the bell rings? I swear, he always had this lovesick smile on his face when he watched you sprinting down the hall yelling at people to get out of the way,” Jeno chuckled, recalling the moments when he and Hyuck would spot Jaemin smiling to himself in front of his locker as he read the letters you send him every time you passed his locker. 

“That’s not- I don’t believe that,” you shook your head, not believing your ears. This couldn’t be the Jaemin you knew. You remembered vividly of how his eyes held no love whatsoever whenever you came into his line of vision, the way the happiness evaporated from his pupils the moment he turned his head at your figure. The angry glares he would give you whenever you do something small yet cheesy.

“Don’t you remember? When I gave one of my letters to him in person, he threw it away without a second thought. You saw it with your own eyes, Jeno. You can’t lie like that to me, that hurts, dude,” you frowned, clenching your fists as you recalled how he gave you the sweetest smile he could muster when you gave your small letter to him at one moment. And the next moment, you saw him crumpling it up in his hands and throwing it to the nearest trash can at the corner of your eyes. 

“Well, that was kind of our fault,” Jeno frowned, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “We swear, we didn’t know he would act like that in front of you. I swear he would have those wide smiles whenever he read your letters and occasionally Hyuck and I would tease the hell out of him. Usually he would just shove the letters back in his locker or something, we didn’t expect him to throw it out in front of you,” Jeno looked down, his expression filled with guilt as he gripped the saddle of his bag. 

“If we hadn’t teased him like that in front of you, maybe he wouldn’t have done that,” he mumbled under his breath. You stared at him in disbelief, it was like you were hearing about a completely different version of Jaemin. Yet you couldn’t be sure if Jeno was telling the truth. Jeno wasn’t one to tell lies, he was always the mature one in complicated situations. But you knew sometimes he would lie for the best. 

“I’m sorry, I find it very hard to believe you right now,” you bit your lip nervously, a dull ache appearing in your heart as you realised how sad you sounded. ‘Why is it so hard to believe that Jaemin would do something that nice? Why can’t I believe it? Jeno can’t be lying, right?’ you thought to yourself, feeling your heart sink at the fact that you couldn’t bring yourself to the fact that Jaemin could actually harbor feelings for you deep down even though he doesn’t realise it. 

“Hyuck took this picture a couple of months ago, that was before you stopped giving him letters, I think,” Jeno clicked his tongue, pulling out his phone and unlocking it before opening his chats with Donghyuck, scrolling up until he found the picture he sent before handing his phone to you. You furrowed your brows, holding his phone in your hand as you read their messages closely. 

It was indeed two months ago. Donghyuck had sent Jeno a picture of Jaemin’s locker. You zoomed in on the picture, spotting a stack of letters made from the pages of your notebook with dates on them at the corner of his messy locker. You could see a few were slightly crumpled as if the textbooks had something to do with it, but you could recognize that posca yellow marker anywhere. 

Your eyes widened slightly as you felt your heartbeat pick up its pace inside of your chest. “That’s pretty nice of him,” you mumbled, you didn’t have the strength to keep up your emotionless facade as you couldn’t help but crack up a small smile. Handing Jeno back his phone, you gave him a tight-lipped smile, leaning your head to the side in curiosity. “Why are you trying so hard to convince me to give him a chance, exactly?” you asked, letting out a small puff of breath. 

Jeno shrugged, giving you the same tight lipped smile as he shoved his phone in his pockets. “As I said before, I’m tired of watching this whole story slowly leading to an end where the two of you end up being miserable simps for the rest of your lives,” he joked, scratching the back of his head as he gave you one of his iconic eye smiles. You let out a small sad chuckle, looking down at your shoes in thought for a small moment before looking back up at your friend. 

“I’ll think about it. How about that?” you nodded sadly, you weren’t lying. You really did need time to think about all this. “Of course, I guess I’ll see you later?” Jeno nodded, sucking in his bottom lip as you waved him goodbye. “I’ll see you around, yeah,” you gave him a polite smile before walking away from the taller boy to the bus stop. Completely oblivious to the fact that Jeno had kept his fingers crossed behind his back while biting his lip, wishing desperately for Jaemin to not screw things up this time.

‘Well that’s definitely uncalled for,’ you thought as you fished your phone out of your bag to check the time. You didn’t know what to feel, you didn’t know what to think of this situation. You were confused to say the least.  If the y/n from two years ago was listening to this conversation right now, you know for a fact that she’d either be over the moon or she wouldn’t believe her own ears. But at this moment, you didn’t know what to think of this. 

Maybe, just maybe, if Jeno had told you this ages ago, maybe you would’ve still kept on going. Though, if he had told you this ages ago, would you still be willing to keep up your bright demeanor just so that Jaemin can step on you a lot longer? If you still kept going back then, if you just pretended that the fight between you and Jaemin didn’t happen like you always do, would things turn out differently? Would Jaemin agree to give you a chance? 

You didn’t know. Frankly you don’t want to. It’s best that some things are just left the way they are. 

“Honey, Jaemin’s outside of the door. He said he wants to talk to you,” your mom called you out from the front door. Your jaw dropped as you quickly placed the spoon back into your plate of your mom’s famous pasta, abruptly getting up from the couch and placing your plate on the coffee table before dusting any weird crumbs off of your clothes. 

Clearing your throat, you yelled out a quick ‘be right there!’ as you made sure to tidy yourself up to ensure that you look presentable enough to look humane and not like a body that just got pulled out of the river. Your heartbeat increased with every step you take towards the front door, your clammy hands tightened into balls of fists as your anxiety crept up inside of you. 

‘Jaemin? Why is he here? He hasn’t spoken to you ever since the fight you two had at the library. More importantly, does his parents know about said argument? The Na’s aren’t ones who would shove their noses up into other people’s business but oh dear god, what if Jaemin told his parents and his parents told yours? 

Safe to say you had a really terrible feeling about this. 

Feeling your heart ache at the memory of your argument, you felt your heart growing empty and cold. Shaking the thoughts out of your head, you took a deep breath before poking your head into the room where your mom was smiling up at a seemingly exhausted Na Jaemin. You grimaced at his appearance, feeling your heart ache even more by how much of a mess he looked right at that moment. 

His hair was messy and disheveled, as if he had been tossing and turning in his for hours. There were heavy dark bags under his eyes, signifying his recent lack of sleep. He was in his casual attire: his iconic black nike’s sweatpants and a plain baggy white shirt and some random slippers that were probably a hand-me-down from his dad. 

Nonetheless, he looked really cozy. His appearance never failed to make your heart flutter in your chest, the small smile on his lips doing things to your stomach. You couldn’t help but dart your eyes down to the small (assumingly recycled) paper bag from Starbucks in his hand, furrowing your brows at this you attempted to walk towards them as casually as you can. 

“Mom?” you gulped, walking up towards her as you gripped your fists tightly behind you to hide your nerves. “Y/n, sweetie, look! Jaemin came to pay you a visit,” your mom exclaimed, smiling widely. It’s obvious that she’s using this opportunity to make the two of you finally talk face to face, clearly as she didn’t know anything that had happened after the dinner party your families had a couple months ago. 

Jaemin gave you an awkward smile, raising his free hand to give you a small wave, in which you returned with a small awkward wave of your own. “I’ll leave the two of you to catch up,” your mother nudged your arm and gave Jaemin a kind smile before walking back to the kitchen to give you two some privacy. Sucking in your bottom lip nervously, you watched your mom walk around the corner before looking back at the boy standing before you. 

“Hey,” he greeted in an attempt to make small talk. 

“Hi,” you responded breathily, putting your hands behind your back so he wouldn’t see you clenching your fists nervously. 

“I-Can we talk? Outside?” Jaemin spoke softly, biting his bottom lip nervously, nodding towards your front porch. Oh how those three words brought you so many unpleasant memories. Is this the same anxiety people in relationships feel? The two of you aren’t even together and you’ve gotten into so many fights in the past two years, it’s almost ironic. 

Before you could open your mouth to say something, Jaemin had already beat you to it. “I know you probably don’t want to, but I swear it won’t take much more than at least two minutes. But if you don’t want to it’s-” Jaemin spluttered out, stumbling over his own words as he looked down at his shoes to calm himself down. “Okay,” you agreed in a soft tone, nodding slightly at the older boy. 

“Are you sure?” Jaemin asked, looking up at you in slight surprise, relief evidently surging through his veins as you gave him a reassuring nod. He really did thought that you’d say no to him after your fight last weekend. “Yeah, it’s fine. Let’s talk outside,” you nodded, opening the front door, gesturing for him to walk out first. 

Kissing his teeth, Jaemin walked out of the door, watching you follow him and close the door behind you quietly before leaning your back against it. “I see you got a car?” Jaemin asked all of a sudden. Your gaze shot up from your feet to the brown headed boy in surprise, letting out a small ‘huh?’ in response, only to see that Jaemin was looking at your new white car. “Oh, yeah. I got my driver’s license recently and my aunt gifted me one to celebrate,” you nodded.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Jaemin nodded, sucking his lips in nervously. There was a pregnant pause between the two of you as your thoughts jumbled up to think about what to say next.  

“I’m sorry.” 

Your eyes went wide at him, your breathing hitched as Jaemin looked down with eyes filled with guilt and sorrow. “What?” you blurted out, confused at his sudden apology. “Look, I know you probably don’t want to see me right now and I know you told me you don’t want to see me anymore. But I can’t help it but try at least one more time. I promise I won’t waste your time anymore than I already have,” Jaemin ran a hand through his hair in distress, taking a deep breath before looking back up at you with eyes filled with regret and guilt, taking you aback by his sudden bold statement. 

“I’m sorry. About everything. The fight at the library, the dinner party with our parents, the music box, the gifts, everything I’ve ever done to hurt you. You didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by someone like me. You didn’t deserve to go through the mean bullshit I put you through the past two years, and you don’t have to forgive me for it. Because frankly, if I were you I won’t even bother forgiving myself either,” Jaemin started, letting all of his words pour out of his mouth from the heart. 

“I’m sorry for constantly embarrassing you in front of our friends and families whenever you show the slightest bit of affection towards me. I’m so sorry for throwing your gifts away right in front of you whenever our friends tease us a bit too much, that was a dick move of me and you didn’t deserve to have your efforts thrown into literal waste,” he grimace at the mention of throwing your heartfelt letters in the trash right in front of your eyes in front of his friends almost a year ago. 

He tightened his grip on the strings of the paper bag, biting this lip nervously  before continuing with his apology. “I swear I’m not making up any excuses for myself. I really do feel terrible for everything I did, I didn’t realize that I was hurting your feelings this bad for two whole years. You just wanted your soulmate to like you back, I should’ve at least tried to try,” he felt his heart getting even more heavier with every second that passed. 

“You really don’t have to forgive me and here’s something to make up for all the gifts I broke or threw away,” Jaemin outstretched his arm to hand you the paper bag, looking straight into your eyes with a small sad smile as you wordlessly grab the bag from him. “I-I don’t want to pressure you or anything but I would really like it if you come to the game next week, your usual spot feels empty without you there,” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I promise I’ll leave you alone for real if you really want me to. I know I probably don’t deserve it, but if you’re willing to give me a second chance, I would take it in a heartbeat and I would be willing to make everything up to you. You don’t have to go and you don’t have to decide right now. I just came to give you that- God, why am I so awkward,” he buried his red face in his hands for a brief moment before looking up at you with a flustered expression. 

You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at his embarrassed state. ‘So this is what it feels like when you’re not the one embarrassing your ass off to give a gift to your crush, huh?’ you thought to yourself with a small smile. ‘How ironic,’ you sucked in your lips slightly before looking back at Jaemin with a genuine expression. “I’ll see you later,” Jaemin waved, turning quickly as to not fuck things up anymore than he already has. 

You gave him a small wave, turning around and entering your house to walk back to your couch and finish your pasta, placing the paper bag on the coffee table as you took a large bite of your pasta and pulled the tape that sealed the bag shut. As you were thinking everything over as you mindlessly chewed on your food, you pulled the bag and leaned it over towards you to examine its contents. 

Inside were a couple bars of your favorite chocolate bar, a note folded in half, a big packet of honey flavored chips, a small gift wrapped in notebook paper tied with a red string and a small decorative box with Jaemin’s name attached to it. You bit your lip, pulling out the note first and unfolding it as you pulled out the small wrapped gift, reading it as you unpackaged whatever Jaemin had gifted you. 

‘Hey Y/n. I don’t know if you’re going to be reading this or not. But if you do, I just want to say hi just in case you didn’t want to talk face to face I would at least ask your mom to give you this so the letter could convey my apologies way better than I actually would in real life.’

You pulled the red string off slowly, placing it carefully on the table as you slowly peeled the paper away to reveal a small familiar porcelain figure that was no bigger than the size of your palm. Your eyebrows raised in surprise at this, this porcelain figure was the same figure that came along with the music box your grandmother gave you before she passed away. You turned it around to inspect it even more, spotting the same crack on the edge to conclude that it was indeed the porcelain from your old music box. 

‘I know you might be wondering how the small doll was still intact considering I broke the whole music box to the point it was unrepairable, but trust me, I was hella surprised to see that this little thing was still intact. Maybe my carpet floor had softened the impact? I don’t know it was still very pretty and I wanted to give you back something that was previously yours. I know, you gave it to me but I really want you to have a piece of your grandma left with you, so don’t fight with me on this one, y/n >:(’

You couldn’t help but grin at the small smiley face he drew on the edge of the paragraph, letting out a small giggle as you placed the porcelain doll gently on the table beside your plate, taking a spoonful of your food before digging your hand back in the paper bag to fish out the decorated box. It was quite heavy considering you had to use two hands to pull it out. 

With a small huff, you place the box on the couch beside you. Crossing your legs over the other and placing the letter on your lap, you pulled the lid off of the box and placed it beside the paper bag before looking back inside the box, shock coursing through your veins. You felt your heart warm up at the contents of the box, feeling your stomach do somersaults in your body as you slowly picked up the contents one by one. 

The box was filled with nothing but your childhood polaroids the two of you took throughout your whole youth, some aesthetic pictures Jaemin took of you without your knowledge or consent during your freshman and sophomore year of middle school and high school (hell you didn’t even know he still took pictures of you). There were a few polaroids decorated with small doodles and hearts with sharpie markers. You spotted a few old post-it notes you had used to give Jaemin cheesy pick up lines, but this time they had small responses. 

‘Hey Jaemin, are you a camera? Because every time I look at you I smile. :D’

‘Hey Y/n. You better check the mirror, you’re the reason why I’m smiling right now :D’

‘If I had a genie that could grant me three wish, I would use them all just so you can be with me’

‘Well I’m here now, what are you going to do with the other two wishes?’

‘Your hand looks heavy, let me hold it for you, Jaemin :D’

‘My heart feels heavy, can you hold it for me?’

Your grin grew inevitably wider with every pick up line he wrote, heart fluttering as your stomach swarmed with butterflies. Rubbing your face to keep yourself from combusting as you dug your hand through the box to see the old letters Jeno had been talking about. You opened one of the dirty letters which was covered in small stickers and doodles. (which you assume was Jaemin’s doing, considering he has a clear eye for aesthetics)

‘I knew you liked really cheesy romance stuff and considering I watch a lot of k-dramas and shows in my free time, you know very much I’m going to put my romantic expertise into good use. It felt nice being the one giving gifts, no wonder you like giving me stuff so much, this is actually fun. I hope this isn���t too much for you. I know this probably isn’t going to make up for all the damage I’ve done in the past two years but at least I tried my best.’ 

You liked to write the dates on your letters just in case things like this happen and you would have the opportunity to look back and cringe at your own cheesiness and mediocre writing. You honestly couldn’t believe your eyes or Jeno when he said Jaemin had kept your letters in his messy void of a locker. But now that you had a living proof that he actually cherished your letters. You couldn’t help but feel some sort of comforting hope in your chest.

Your heart no longer felt empty or void of emotions, it felt full again. Though, not completely filled, it was better than feeling complete nothingness. You were still very much scared of trusting Jaemin with your own heart again, you were still very much scared of getting hurt again. But there was something inside you that was begging you to trust Jaemin again and let him back in your life. It has been telling you to do so ever since you saw how genuine he was being. 

‘I probably didn’t tell you this when we were talking but believe it or not, I actually really really like you. And I really want to try where this all can lead to, and if you’re willing to trust me again I would try my best not to fuck it up this time. I don’t expect you to say yes or anything to me. If you decide not to come to the game, I totally understand and I’ll leave you alone just like you asked. I missed hanging out with you, Y/n. I missed my best friend. I miss having my soulmate around, and I’m sorry that it took me this long to realise how important you truly are to me’

He really isn’t giving up is he? Well, if he hasn’t given you up like you did with him. Are you willing to repeat his previous actions and stop listening to your head and start listening to your heart again? Are you willing to give him up again? 

I’m sure you know the answer to that already.

I feel like the end is quite rushed. i’m so sorry if so. I’ve been working on this for two weeks lmfao and it’s currently two am right now so Imma go to bed hehe. This series has like... what three chapters left? DAMN ITS BEEN A WHOLE YEAR SINCE I MADE THIS SERIES. DW I HAVE A HYUCK SERIES COMING UP SOONER OR LATER LMFAO.

T A G L I S T : @candiednickles @itlittlefangirl @cherrym4rk @gotoartistprofile @d-nghyck @kingjvngins @aconeptun @chaeshii @lixseu @morks-watermelon @12am-musings @cherrystay @lowkeyviv @btm-taeyong @gothmingguk @luvlyjaemin @cowward @smileyyuta @cakelyn @uncovermenow666 @comically-sleep-deprived @wtfhaechan @xcherrybbyx @wishing--butterfly​ @wordsgodeep @astroboy-lele @sweetmoonlight9 @chwenchew @stuckwithhyuck @yunoelea @angelrenjunie @dae-chan @jenseoull @marklexleaf @yasmini24 @cloudreads @sptegami​ @mango-bear​ @dumplingley​  @bereavedswallow​ @etherealbyeol​ @247byun​

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[feysandfeels]

Sometimes I think of the trigger Lucien must have gotten when he saw Feyre die and Tamlin holding her crying. He probably made a parallel about what happened to him and Jesminda. I believe that's why he didn't help Feyre so hard in relation to Tamlin in the second book, because Tamlin got the opportunity he didn't get.

Of course there's every part of Tamlin being his High Lord and he owes him allegiance, but I believe his trauma has been addressed.

Of course, that's not an excuse, but I can't stop thinking about it.

Hiya Sugar, I know you asked me this like three weeks ago, sorry I'm just getting around to it.

So this mainly has two sides to understand first is what was happening to Lucien. Here we need to take into account his history of abuse at the hands of his family and Tamlin. The second is clearly how Feyre understood the situation from her own place of enunciation. Still I think this is one of those discussions in the fandom where you should tread lightly because I don't think either side is entirely wrong to feel what they felt and every argument has a well crafted response that is enlightening.

Lucien.

I think by this point denying that Lucien is a victim of abusive relationships that showcased their abuse not only physically but mentally and emotionally is just irresponsable and willful blindness. Lucien's family dynamic speaks of a toxic environment if I ever saw one. The Jesminda's death at the hands of his brothers and father is something that has left a scar as visible as the one across his eye. This is an experience that molds how he interacts with other people as friends, as romantic partners, and also how he understands romantic relationships that he is not involved in (Feyre and T*mlin).

From this angle, yes, UtM was extremely triggering for him because yet again he was placed in a situation where the loved one is killed and the other person "can't do much" about it (the quotation thingies are because T*mlin was being useless af here and he should have done more than just beg, Lucien's situation he was magically and physically restrained). He understands T*mlin's nightmares better than almost anyone, and as he told Feyre, T*mlin will never not hear the sound of her neck breaking. I do believe that if T*mlin had talked about this with Lucien, he might have dealt with the whole thing better.

We can't also ignore that Lucien carries a lot of guilt regarding Jesminda. He couldn't save her and seeing his friend die in a similar manner must have brought up his own traumas so its understandable that his full on attention might not have been spent towards understanding what Feyre was going through. We all are dealing with things and it's fair when you don't have the mental space to see what is happening to those around you, even when you are as observant as Lucien is. If your mind is not seeing, it doesn't matter if your golden eye sees it all. This guilt of not being there for the ones he loves (in any capacity) is also shown in WAR when he realizes better what happened to Feyre and he says something about being the villain in her story. As much of an Elucien fan that I am I do think that part of his reasoning for going to fetch the army was to make amends with Feyre. He felt guilty for not being there for her friend. (Yes he had a lot more to address on his plate, there's no doubt of that). In a way I do think he recognized that he could have done more.

On top of this we add that Lucien's relationship with T*mlin is based on a partly on the loyalty earned from saving him from his brothers. I think that it is not for nothing that in ACOSF Eris says that he's the one that sent word to T*mlin about what was happening to Lucien, which implies the existence of a friendship that predates the murder of Jesminda. This means that along with that loyalty there must be some old fashion good hearted feelings that nourish what we see as the friendship these two have. What I mean is that probably Lucien's vision of T*mlin is the friend he used to be way back when and the loyalty for offering a "home".

We don't know when exactly T*mlin started being abusive towards Lucien, but at least we can all agree that during ACOMAF he was. It wouldn't also be a stretch to think that in the pre-acotar days there might have been incidents of physical abuse, but so far we don't know for sure. There is a missing piece of information that we don't have yet because Lucien was more feisty during UtM when his life was at risk, than he was during MAF... this tells us a lot of how T*mlin was handling things with him.

There's also something to be said with how Lucien understood abuse. It's a heavy possibility that he perceived abuse like he saw it in the AC. He had a naturalized version of what abuse is, that for him w abuse looked like and felt like what he lived in the AC, so what he experienced with T*mlin pre-acotar did not seem to him as abuse (even when it was). And after Amarantha he began to understand the multiple faces of abuse and thus started to being afraid of T*mlin. Lucien could have also been dealing with the realization that a centuries old relationship had be tainted with abusive behaviors.

I do think that Lucien thought that he tried as hard as he could with the tools he had. But that does not mean that he shouldn't have done more. The problem is that Lucien didn't know he could. Like if he had fought with Tamlin for Feyre's sake where would he go then? Feyre had the option to go to the Night Court, Lucien did not. I like to believe that if he had known the truth about the NC before and had him and Feyre talked about it they would have said fuck you Tamlin, bye, black is the new spring. But he did not know. So he stayed on the comfortable zone of pushing but not jeopardizing his "home". You can hardly blame him for how he played the game when he did not know he was playing with one hand tied to his back.

I will not excuse though when he tried to grab her against her will during the woods. I understand that he was scared and desperate, but I still think that it was not right.

Feyre.

When I stand from a Feyre point of view there are two things that speak to me above all others. First she died for Tamlin and she bargained her life for his court -Lucien included- so I understand the she expected him to push and fight hard for her too. I know there's a quote about her recognizing that T*mlin had fought for her but that she had fought harder for him, and I think that can also suit her relationship with Lucien to an extend. I'm not saying that Lucien is like T*mlin, because no, not at all, not even in the least; but I do think she would have liked for her friend to fight for her well being like she fought for his during UtM.

Second it is hard to be see your friends still be friends with your abuser. Yes Feyre doesn't know all the variables that affect their relationship, the toxic loyalty that T*mlin saving Lucien created, the genuine friendship that was there before her and before Jesminda... but I understand the pain to see your friend not draw the lines for your sake.

This offers a beautiful arc for Lucien in the sense that only recently there has been a movement of "tell me if I'm friends with your abuser", and this awakening is a reality that a lot of people are facing. Is hard to untangle yourself from a person you have known for x amount of time, because you are trying to see the abusive person in the face you related to kindness or something not abusive. Again, we don't know how their relationship was pre-Feyre, perhaps Tamlin had been nothing but a sugary cupcake with Lucien and it's hard to associate that version of his friend to the version he is post Amarantha, the version that will physically abuse them; perhaps T*mlin had always been an ass but "the good outweighed those few instances of abusive behavior". What I'm trying to say is that sometimes it is hard to make a clean cut when the abuser turns out to be the person who saved you (from an even worse abuser but like you get what I mean).

I will not do him the disservice to say that he might not have connected the dots and thought that T*mlin's behavior was abusive towards Feyre. Even if he was just understanding how abuse can look like and even if he was reliving Jesminda's death I do think he could see that T*mlin's behavior was abusive towards Feyre (here I am making the distinction between reliving the trauma of having his love murdered and him recognizing abuse). Lucien is clever and intelligent. I think he did see what was happening, but that implied also a massive shift of reality for him that he was not prepared to see and did not have the tools to deal with, he was also struggling there.

Final thoughts.

I think Feyre is not wrong to feel a tad of distaste against Lucien through ACOMAF. Speaking from a personal experience it is quite sad and tough to see people who you conceived as friends not stand up to you when you are suffering at the hand of your S.O who happens to be their friend. It sucks a lot because you truly feel alone and you feel that at the end of the day they did not take care of you at the expense of taking care or helping or remaining on the good graces of your abuser.

But I think that simply condemning Lucien's actions during MAF without understanding the complicated history of abuse he has, is irresponsable. You are of course allowed to say that he is not fave and that it left a bad taste in your mouth, that's fair, but to condemn him the way I've seen this fandom do without an ounce of empathy or critical reading is just baffling (which to be quite frankly is also something I saw everybody after ACOSF with Rhysand, they condemned his actions without truly taking five second to understand the historical context of them).

Characters are allowed to make mistakes and are allowed to fall short in any given situation, because we as living creatures sometimes fall short in life. What's important to me is that Lucien is learning and when Feyre returned to the SC in WAR we could all see that he changed his approached towards the situation and was there for her. And also you will pry this off my hands but the fact that he is invited to their Solstice celebrations speaks of the state of their relationship right now, they are understanding of what the other is going through and I do think they are making amends and creating a friendship that acknowledges the mistakes they have both made towards the other one.

Yeah this was a long ramble.

Again, apologies it took me so long to answer

Long live Lucien and Feyre. I can't wait for them to grow closer.

[geekybisexualwriter]

“I’m Glad You Kidnapped Me” (Five Hargreeves x genderneutral!reader)

Request: Can you do a Five Hargreeves x reader where Y/N and Five are friends and he finds out that Y/N’s mom is Cha Cha and kidnaps Y/N while they have Klaus. Y/N and Five become close and Cha Cha finds Five and almost drowns him and as Y/N is giving him mouth to mouth, he wakes up and they kiss. Thx 

Requested by: anon

(A/N: That was an amazing idea, anon! I hope I do it justice.)

(A/N #2: I accidentally deleted a different request, and I don’t remember much of it, so sorry if that was yours!)

(A/N #3: Sorry this took so long! I just started remote learning, and it is much harder than I thought it would be, and I have some family stuff to deal with as well(not getting into it). I’ll be updating as often as I can.)

Word count: 1672

Warnings: mention of kidnapping, slight fluff, waterboarding

Taglists: 

Permanent:  

@five-scoffee

@peepeeparkerr

@linthebinbag

5 x reader:

@sitherin-mxschief

@paradox-psychosis

Y/N sighs, staring out the window of the hotel room that they shared with Uncle Hazel and their mom. It was around midnight, and they were supposed to be sleeping so they could be on their A-game tomorrow to kill even more people. 

They hated it more than anything. They would do anything to be whisked away, to not have to deal with- 

And suddenly, they were knocked unconscious by a panting Five, standing over them with a baseball bat(idk how he got it). He picks them up and gets in a car that he stole, setting them down in the backseat with a smirk.

*THE NEXT DAY*

Y/N was sleeping soundly on the couch in the living room in the Academy when they wake up to yelling.

“What the hell, Five? You kidnapped a person!” A woman with long dark hair with blonde highlights glares at a boy who seemed to be around Y/N’s age.

“Yeah, that’s messed up man.” A man with short dark hair and piercing dark eyes shakes his head at a boy with a school uniform on.

“This can be used to our advantage! I now have a bargaining chip to use against Cha Cha!” The Boy (just accidentally did an homage to the comics. Nice.) says, tired of his siblings’ empathy.

“The ‘bargaining chip’ has a name and feelings, you know.” Y/N sits up and glares around at the group of adults and one boy, who all stare at them. “And one of the feelings that it’s feeling is anger.” 

“I don’t care about your feelings, but I do care about your name,” The Boy says, his patience clearly wearing thin(per usual). “What is it?”

“Like I’m telling you, you’re the person who kidnapped me,” Y/N says with a death glare at him. “I don’t trust you.”

The Boy growls but keeps his anger in check for a change. “Fine. I’ll tell you mine. I’m Five Hargreeves, and you are?”

“You’re Five Hargreeves? A boy?” Y/N chuckles. “Like I’m going to believe that. The real Five Hargreeves is like eighty.” 

“Fifty eight.” Five grumbles. 

“I really don’t care. Let me go.” 

“Not until your mom finds you. And then you can go back to her, but not until you give me information on what they’re going to do next.”

“Well, that sucks for you, because I’m not telling you anything,” Y/N says, a big smirk on her face. Of course, that feeling was only skin-deep, because she had no idea what they were going to do. They wouldn’t tell her anything, not that she was interested, although it would have been helpful right now.

“Oh, you will.” Five chuckles darkly. “Trust me.”

“I don’t.” Y/N snaps. 

Cha Cha wakes up at 5 am on the dot every morning, rising from her bed and looks to the place where she always first looked on a mission(which was pretty much constantly), her child’s bed, usually finding a sleeping Y/N, who would be normally snoring quietly. But this time, she found her worst nightmare.

Y/N was gone. 

Cha Cha’s eyes widen, and she runs from her bed to Y/N’s, tears running down her face. “No no no no no no…” she mutters to herself repeatedly. “HAZEL!” 

Hazel, the lazy one, slowly opened his eyes to look over at Cha Cha. “Hm?” he mumbles, barely registering anything, let alone tears. “What happ’n’d?” 

“They are nowhere to be found.” Cha Cha says quietly.

That sure woke him up. “Y/N?” 

Cha Cha nods, not having enough emotional energy to say a sarcastic remark about how obvious it was that it was Y/N. “And I think we know who it was.” She says, her voice filled to the brim with the perfect mix of anger and worry.

Five pours himself a cup of coffee, pleased with himself. “I should probably get them something to eat…” he mutters, going upstairs to some room that he had chosen for Y/N. And by chosen, he checked to make sure it didn’t belong to anyone else and shoved them in there. 

Y/N was sitting there, a million possibilities on how to escape flying through their head when they hear the door open and look up to see Five. “Oh. It’s you.”

Five rolls his eyes. “Yeah, no shit. I just came here to see what you are and aren’t allergic to.”

“Oh, so you won’t let me starve out! That’s a relief.”

“Yeah, so that you can live to give me information on your mom and her partner.”

“Oh, no way. Although, my opinion might be changed with my appetite…” 

Five studies their face for a moment and chuckles. “Absolutely not, you’ll just make me steal you stuff and then you’ll never tell me anything. Oldest trick in the book.”

Y/N sighs in fake defeat. “Aw, man! That was my entire plan, all foiled by you again, Hargreeves!” They laugh. 

Five laughs a bit too despite himself. “You’ll never defeat me, …?” He looks at them questioningly, realizing he still hadn’t gotten their name.

Y/N thinks for a moment. Well, they did like him, but not that much. Wait, did they just think that? “Robin.” They say, deciding that they would think about that more in-depth later(if your name is Robin, then just replace it with Casey). 

Five nods slowly. “You just gave me a fake name, didn’t you?” 

Y/N shakes their head. “Nope. Robin/Casey is my real name.”

“I don’t believe you, but that doesn’t matter right now. So, for real, what is it that you’re allergic to?”

Over the next few weeks, Y/N and Five became closer and closer. Unfortunately, so did Cha Cha and Hazel at finding out where Five Hargreeves was located.

Cha Cha smiles to herself in front of one of those big pinboards(like the one in the conspiracy theorist meme). “Finally…” she whispers. Hazel comes up next to her with a couple of cups of coffee. “Find ‘em?”

Cha Cha takes one of the cups and sips from it gleefully. “I sure did. Now let’s go kick some ass.”

Y/N grins, moving their scrabble piece to create the word ‘vivacious’ earning them twenty-one points and the game. “I win!”

Five glares at them. “You must have cheated somehow. I never lose.”

“Oh my gosh. You are SUCH a sore loser!” Y/N laughs harder shifting themselves into a better position on the living room floor. 

“I am not! I just don’t like losing!” He exclaims.

Y/N chuckles and starts to reset the pieces. “Another game?” 

Five was about to agree and vow to defeat them this time, but he was interrupted by a loud crash. 

“Y/N!” Cha Cha yells. “WE’RE HERE, HONEY!” she runs up to Y/N and gives her a quick hug and a kiss on the head. “Go to Hazel, he’s outside. I’ll deal with this… thing.” She looks over at Five in distaste and a deathly glare.

“No,” Y/N mutters, barely being heard as they glance at Five.

“What was that, sweetheart?”

“I said no,”(not relating to this whatsoever but if you’re a fan of Heathers the Musical, search up I Say No deleted song) Y/N says more clearly and meets her mothers’ eye line. “You are not going to kill him.”

“And why not, dearest?” Cha Cha mutters through gritted teeth.

“Because… of the Commissioner. She will ask questions about why he is dead, you know.” Y/N says, thankful they found another way other than admitting their feelings.

“So smart…” Cha Cha’s hand cups their cheek with a loving smile. “But quite frankly, I’d rather die than let you be trapped here.” Her hand drops down to the space where her gun was supposed to be. “Oh come on...” she mutters. “I forgot my own damn gun.”

Y/N’s eyes light up. Maybe then she wouldn’t kill Five! Best case scenario, Y/N leaves and Five’s okay. They’d rather stay here with him, but they’d take this over Five dying any day of the week.

Cha Cha’s eyes graze over the mansion. First thing you learn about as an assassin? Everything is a weapon. Her gaze captures the sink and her smirk starts to grow. Guess she would be doing this the old-fashioned way. 

With a smile, she grabs Five’s hair, thankful that he was a kid again and was easy to push around. And before either Five or Y/N could react, she drags him over to the sink and turns on the tap violently, sticking Five’s head under, waterboarding him. 

With wide eyes, Y/N rushes over to her mother and starts pulling Cha Cha’s arm yelling at her to stop. Five was turning blue and struggling to get out of her grasp. 

Finally, Cha Cha slips up and is pushed to the floor. She tries to get back up but is pushed down again by an angry Y/N. “Leave. Now.” Their voice shakes with anger. 

“Sk-” Cha Cha is cut off. 

“No. Leave right now.” 

Cha Cha sighs and gets up, walking out the door. “Come back to me when you’re ready to admit that Five Hargreeves is nothing but an assassin who kidnapped you!” She yells.

Y/N ignores her and gets to work, putting Five on the ground, giving him mouth to mouth and pumping his chest up and down.

“Come on…” she mutters, leaning down and doing it all over again.

Suddenly, Five starts coughing up water, the color slowly returning to his face. “Y-Y/N?”

Y/N nods, their eyes welling up with relief tears. “Yeah. It’s me.”

Five smiles and sits up slightly. “So, was that the only reason why you didn’t want me to die?”

They shake their head. “No… there was another reason.”

“Oh?” Five looks at them, not really believing that someone like them could love someone like him.

“I think I’m in love with you.” Y/N looks at him, smiling nervously.

“Well, I know I’m in love with you.” Five smiles back, leaning in to kiss them. 

Y/N grins and kisses him softly and then pulls away. “I’m so glad you kidnapped me.”

[raysofcrosby]

NOW THAT I FOUND YOU – M. BARZAL

requested: yes | no

warning(s): cursing, slight mentions of sex, but other than that, nothing.

word count: 5,868

authors note: welcome to my new series :) i have no idea how long this is going to last, but i’m pretty excited for it. so, first things first, considering what i have planned for the character of jeremy, i didn’t want to use a real rangers player. so jeremy is a fictional dude on the team. i think that’s it for now, i’m not really sure what else i can think of about this series. so, oh well, enjoy :)

my masterlist | stuff i have planned | who i’ll write for | requests

"I can't take it anymore!" Tito said, storming into the locker room and stomping his way over to his cubby. "I am literally going to take her to the Brooklyn bridge and throw her into the Hudson."

Mat looked up from his skates and over at his best friend as he plopped down into his cubby, huffing, and puffing as he got undressed. He looked over at Anders, who was looking at Brass...the three of them all sharing confused looks at their locker neighbor. "Uh, you okay over there Tito?" Anders asked, looking at Mat for at least the slightest hint as to what he could be rambling on about.

"No clue," Mat mouthed, shrugging his shoulders and looking back down as he continued to tie his skate.

"No, I'm not okay," Tito tossed his sweatshirt into his cubby and stepped out of his joggers. "Does anyone want a newly 22-year-old female college student? Because I have one and I'm not opposed to passing her off before I result to murder."

"I'm pretty sure that is illegal, buddy," Jordan said, walking by and patting him on the shoulder. "Both are, actually. Like, highly illegal."

"Oh, God Tito," Matt said, coming out from the bathrooms. "What are you bitching about now?"

"She ironed my underwear." Tito tugged on his pants over his compression shorts and sighed, shaking his head.

"What?" Mat laughed, reaching behind him and grabbing his compression shirt.

"Y/N...she ironed my underwear," he stood up and turned towards his cubby, pulling a pair of ironed boxers out of the duffle he had carried in with him and turned back towards the guys. "I went to grab a pair this morning and I was greeted with this! They're stiff, feel powdery and quite frankly smell like shit–"

"Are you sure that's the soap and not just your horrible hygiene?" Matt joked, tossing a water bottle at him.

"Manchuk...Matty," Tito smiled, turning in their direction. "How do you two feel about having a live-in nanny? Her cooking skills are subpar unless even worse if the recipe comes off of Pinterest. She consumes more wine than water– but she's great with kids."

"I'm just finding it hard to believe your only problem with Y/N is the fact she ironed your underwear," Jordan said, shaking his head. "What's the catch?"

"Yeah, there's got to be something else that has you considering pre-meditated murder," Matt chimed in with a loud laugh.

"I NEED TO GET LAID, all right?!" Tito yelled, tossing his ironed pair of boxers back into the duffle bag. "I need to have hot, drunken sex with a stranger who lets herself out in the morning! I need to get laid so fucking bad, but I can't do it with my sister in the room across from mine! It's gross."

The locker room was silent as his teammates just stared at him. Mat wanted to laugh at his best friend but didn't want to do it at his expense. Sure, he'd been there a time or two, what young guy in his 20's hasn't. But never had he yelled about it to his teammates in such an exaggerated fashion. "Have you thought about telling her that?" Mat asked, grabbing his practice jersey and sliding it on over his head. "Y/N's pretty reasonable, I'm sure she'd agree to go to a friends or something for the night."

"Oh yeah, let me just go ahead and tell my little sister, 'hey, do you mind getting out of the apartment for the night? I need to get my dick sucked. Thanks, don't tell mom!'" Tito sat down to put on his skates, giving Mat a sarcastic look. "Does that sound good to you, Barzy?"

"I don't know about Barzy, but that sounds great to me," Matt laughed as he tied his pants. "Why is she staying at your place? I thought she was in Uni? Doesn't she have a dorm?"

"Nope, she followed her doucheface of a boyfriend down here and he convinced her to stay in his apartment instead of getting a dorm." He stood up and reached into his locker, grabbing his practice jersey. "Next thing I know, she shows up at my door crying, saying they broke up and she's been at my place ever since."

Mat remembered that night. He and Tito were pre-gaming, finishing off their drinks, and waiting for the uber to arrive. They were coming off of a high, absolutely destroying the Maple Leafs 5-0 and that high followed them home. Everyone on the team was going out– it was a well called for a celebration, even the guys with families at home. Normally, the team would pregame together before taking ubers over to whatever club or bar they decided to take over for the night. But those who did have kids at home wanted to stop at home and say goodnight to their wives and kids before heading out.

They were talking about whether or not they wanted to wait up here for the uber or wait down on the street when a knock barely made noise about Tito's playlist. Mat thought he had heard something but wasn't sure if he had confused it with the bass or not. So, he brushed it off. It wasn't until a small break in the song when the two of them could hear three rapid knocks, followed by the sound of your voice coming from the other side of the door, did they know that you were there.

Mat was closest to the door, so he was the one who walked over and looked through the peephole. He knew it was you just based on the sound of your voice from when you knocked, but, it didn't hurt to be safe and check to see who was at the door– that way Tito couldn't blame him if he let a random into his apartment. He recognized the hoodie you were wearing, it was the Beauvillier Islanders hoodie that Tito had gotten you for your birthday just this past summer. Mat told him it was a stupid gift, but Tito laughed, saying that it was his way of tricking you into finally wearing something in support of him since you had stopped wearing Islanders gear the moment you started dating Jeremy last fall. A Rangers player you had met on a girls' night out in the city. "A mix of interests" as your excuse, and Tito was bothered that his sister wouldn't wear his team's logo anymore– but instead, the logo on their top rival.

It was a mess, but one that Mat never, ever wanted to get involved with.

But there you were, dripping wet from the thunderstorm that had been hovering over the city from the moment he walked into Barclay to play. You had the hood on your head and you were avoiding eye-contact with the door– but he knew it was you. So, he opened the door with no hesitations, barely getting out a simple hi before you brushed by him and darted down the hallway, a door slamming behind you.

Tito, in true fashion, paused his music and stomped after you, mumbling about how you were just going to stroll into his apartment, that he pays for, and slam his doors without even saying hello. Mat remembered laughing, just because the Beauvillier sibling dynamic was an interesting one. He came back a few moments later, shoving his phone into his pocket and walked over to Mat. He said that he couldn't get much out of you but the fact that you and Jeremy had broken up and he needed to pay the cab driver downstairs $40 for driving you from Manhattan.

Tito was a good brother. He could be a huge pain in the ass, sure. You and he had had more than your fair shares of endless, rigorous chirping fights that most of the time, left Mat standing there just looking between the two of you like he was watching a match. But still to this day, Mat could never understand why Tito didn't seem all that bothered about how abruptly you had walked into his apartment. Tito had you and Francis, and more often than not, always brushed you off as one of the guys thanks to your tomboy upbringing. Mat had a sister and she's dated one too many assholes for his liking, so he could spot it from a mile away.

Your face was swollen and red and he was more than positive that you had cried the entire car ride there.

And you've been living at Tito's ever since.

"I'm serious, I need her to leave," Tito was following behind him as they left the locker room to head out to the rink. "And I can't just kick her out."

"You literally just talked about shoving her into the Hudson," Jordan laughed, shaking his head. "I think you can do something as simple as, 'hey, maybe you should find someone to stay with for a while.'"

Tito just rolled his eyes as he stepped out onto the ice, skating beside Matt. "I'm serious Barzy, I think she's driving me insane."

"It was one incident, Tito," Mat said, shaking his head. "Y/N isn't that bad."

"It wasn't just one incident," they cut the corner, Mat pushing himself ahead. "She almost burnt down my kitchen trying to make breakup cupcakes. She's redecorated my bathroom with bath bombs and make-up, she even got rid of my Shrek shower curtain!"

"To be fair, that's your guest bathroom and that Shrek shower curtain was hideous"

"Regardless! She's slowly taking over my entire apartment and turning it into her...her...her stupid lovesick breakup reno project!" He tossed his arms up in the air, letting them fall back down and almost hitting Brass in the head. "Oops, sorry bud!"

Mat laughed as they cut another corner, shaking his head. "Have you ever tried talking to her?"

"No, because then she'd get her puppy eyes all going and I'd feel like even more of a douche for wanting her out." He huffed, shaking his head. "I need an excuse, something to just...get her out for a few weeks until I can find her someplace to stay for the rest of the year. Then plead with her housing office to find her a dorm."

"I don't know what to tell you, man." Mat said, skating ahead.

"I'll come up with something, I'm sure I can cash in a favor somewhere." Tito sighed, as the two of them joined the rest of their team at center ice for stretching.

Mat just laughed, shaking his head at his best friend. Sure, if he was in the same position, it wouldn't exactly be his ideal living situation to have his sister living across the hall– but he definitely wouldn't be as against it. At least, he didn't think so.

~

"I've figured it out."

Mat felt his foot slip against the wet tile and his heart practically jumped out of his chest as the slipping feeling. He held his right arm out, holding himself steady against the tile before ducking his head beneath the shower head, letting the conditioner rinse from his hair. He looked over his shoulder to see Tito standing at the opening of the shower area, freshly showered with a towel wrapped around his waist. "Yeah, can we not talk about this right now?"

"I'm just letting you know, I figured it out." Tito smiled, nodding before walking away from the shower.

Mat shook his head, spitting out some water before turning off the water and grabbing the towel he had hung up just to the right. He wrapped it around his waist, shaking his head as he ran his fingers through his hair to get all of the excess water out. He almost dreaded making his way back towards the locker room. Tito had been pestering him all practice, trying to make him come up with ways he could kick you out.

Fake an insect infestation? No, then he'd have to leave his apartment too.

Figure out a way to get some flooding in her room? But then he'd have to hire someone to clean up all of the water.

Every outrageous idea possible had crossed his mind and Mat had to listen to it for the entire practice. As if the practice itself hadn't been draining on him, listening to him go on and on was even more.  But, he was playing the best friend role, and did say he would help him on one condition– it didn't involve hurting your feelings.

"Great, you're here, now listen–"

"No to the insects. No to an animal break-in and we already decided that pouring water on her stuff and saying a pipe was leaking wouldn't work," Mat said, sitting down in his locker and looking at Tito. "What in the hell could you have come up with now?"

"Remember how I said I could cash in a favor?"

Mat nodded, standing up and grabbing his street clothes as he turned his back to Tito. "Yeah, did you figure it out?"

"I sure did."

Mat stepped into his boxer briefs and dropped the towel as he picked up his joggers. "All right? And who's the poor sucker?" Tito hadn't replied as fast as he had been and Mat would be lying if he said it wasn't a little concerning. He tugged the waistband of his joggers up before turning to see Tito smiling at him. "What are you looking at?"

"I'm looking at the poor sucker who owes me a favor." He had his classic shit-eating smirk on his face, the kind cameras always zoomed in the moment he checked someone hard.

Mat blinked once, twice, three times before the reality set in. His brain was racing through every recent time he spent with Tito, never once remembering an event where he said that he owed him a favor. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You owe me a–"

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you said," Mat put his arms through his sweatshirt, tugging his down and over his head before running his fingers through his hair again. "But I don't know what you're talking about. When did I ever owe you a favor?"

"When I saved your ass that night at Nest when you were picking up the redhead but that hot tinder girl with blue hair you invited showed up." Tito stood up and walked over to Mat, still smiling. "I performed the perfect, switcharoo maneuver so that the redhead never noticed you took tinder girl home."

"You took the redhead home! How is that helping me?" Mat turned towards his locker and grabbed his phone and Gatorade, shaking his head. "Besides, that was two years ago."

"It was a win for both of us! You didn't get totally bitchslapped in the club and I got laid," Tito followed behind him, staying on his heels. "It may have been two years ago, but you still said, 'Tito, man...I owe you one.'"

"I don't–"

Tito cut him off, standing in front of him as they stood in the hall. He crossed his arms, his smile falling from his face. "And now I'm cashing it in. You're helping me get Y/N out of my apartment."

Mat rolled his eyes, resting his hands on his hips. "And how exactly am I supposed to help you with that? You've literally exhausted every plausible option." When Tito didn't come up with a reply, Mat just shook his head and brushed by him.

"I've got an idea bro, I swear," He jogged up behind him as they walked out of the arena to head towards the parking lot. "But, you're probably not going to like it."

As the crisp fall air greeted them, Mat could hear the voice in the back of his head telling him not to entertain Tito. A gut feeling deep inside that this wasn't going to work out– none of Tito's ideas ever worked out. "What is it?"

Tito hesitated, unsure just how his best friend would reply. Sure, he's had plenty of other crazy ideas before– but this one might just be way out there. But he didn't care, he was a young, physical and thriving man in his early 20's– and at this point, he didn't care about logical reasoning. He just desperately needed to get laid. And if that meant brushing his sister off onto his best friend, he'd do it.

"You're going to pretend you're utterly heartbroken from some break up and can't be alone–"

Mat stopped in his tracks, whipping around to Tito with wide eyes. "Dude what the–"

"Y/N is a total empath and when I tell her all about your emotional turmoil and that I don't know how to help, she'll no doubt step in. Then I'll just figure something out to keep her out of my apartment and boom, problem solved."

"Problem not solved!" Mat yelled, waving his hand at Tito. "Your problem literally has about a million plot holes in it!"

Tito closed his eyes and took a deep breath, sighing before opening them and looking at Mat. "I'm going to need you to hear me out before you say no– which, may I remind you, isn't an option anyway."

Mat took a deep breath and sighed, knowing damn well that somewhere down the line, he'd regret this very moment he even gave Tito the chance to explain. Even his initial explanation seemed so fucking stupid that there was no way it could ever work out. But maybe, if he allowed him to explain, he'd realize just how unrealistic his plan was, and just drop the entire idea then man up and tell Y/N to stay with a friend. "Fine," he stopped at his car, unlocking it so Tito could get into the passenger seat. "But you're buying lunch."

~

This was such a bad idea– he knew it would be. From the moment the suggestion left Tito's mouth the first time, Mat knew it wouldn't work. There's no way it could. Hell, even Liana said it was when he called her for advice after his lunch. And as far as common sense goes, he likes to think that Liana has a lot more

Tito's plan stayed the same– Mat was supposed to play brokenhearted and after lunch, the two of them would go over to his apartment, where you would be home from class. Tito would comment on how Mat 'hasn't been the same' and make a joke about how the two of you should just live together in your misery. You, the empath that you were, would take an interest in Mat's "broken heart" and offer to help in any way. Tito, knowing Mat was actually in the middle of turning the third guest bedroom in his apartment into a man-cave/gaming room and how much you love decorating, I.E. his bathroom, would suggest that maybe you could help him with that too.

It wouldn't work, Mat was convinced of that from the moment the entire idea left Tito's mouth. He'd known you almost as long as he knew Tito, meeting you the summer after the 2015 IIHF World U18 Championship. You were only a year younger than them both and for the three weeks that Mat had stayed with your family, he felt like he got to know you pretty well. You guys weren't best friends by any means, but you were definitely good friends. Your friendship growing when you decided to transfer to Fordham and when you weren't hanging out with Jeremy or your classmates, you were with Tito, Mat, and their teammates.

Needless to say, he was confident walking into the apartment knowing that there was no way that you would fall for this horrible excuse. You wouldn't leave your room in Tito's apartment to come and stay with Mat because he was "too brokenhearted to function." But leave it to Tito to think that you would fall for it. He tried not to break character, he really did. But how the hell was he supposed to pretend to be brokenhearted from a failed relationship, when he's never felt that?

He's had relationships before, sure. Break-ups? Absolutely. But none so bad that he felt like he wanted to drink himself into a slumber or just hide under the covers for the rest of time. He had outlets to get out any negative emotion. He had hockey and he had the boxing classes he attended with Tito every now and again. Besides that, he never had strong feelings for someone to the point where he was feeling what you were feeling.

As predicted, you had agreed to go with Tito and Mat over to Mat's apartment to see just what he had to deal with. He felt a twinge of guilt when you started to ask the simple questions:

How are you feeling?

Do you want to talk about it?

What happened?

He and Tito hadn't gotten that far in the plan– creating a backstory, which should have been another sign that this was never going to end well. So, on the ride to his apartment, he just stuck with short answered replies– "fine" "not yet" "it's still too soon." And he wanted nothing more than to smack Tito in the passenger seat, who was trying his damndest not to laugh.

When they got to the apartment hours later, Mat led you to the third guest room, showing you just everything he had. In a corner on tarps, he had three cans of paint, all unopened and a bunch of painting supplies. In the middle of the room, boxed furniture he'd been too lazy to move. He was barely focused on what you were saying when he felt his phone vibrate and saw Tito nodding at him.

Tito: see? i told u. total diy/renovator. you could get free labor out of this.

Mat: one problem there, bud. she doesn't seem too keen to get out of your apartment. all she's done is offer to take me to lunch for the next week to 'talk about my feelings'

Tito: okay? go talk about your feelings.

Mat: I DON'T HAVE ANY FEELINGS

Mat: I DON'T HAVE A RECENT EX-GIRLFRIEND

"Are you two okay?" You asked, almost scaring the two boys. Mat shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket, staring at you with wide eyes. You had an eyebrow raised and looked awfully suspicious of them both.

"Do you guys want dinner?" Tito asked, already heading towards the door. "I can order some pizzas from down the street."

"That's okay," You said, following him towards the door. "I've got this new enchilada recipe I wanted to try and–"

"No!" Tito couldn't be any less obvious that he didn't want you to follow him, his raised voice causing you to step back and look at him in shock. "I uh, I mean...I already ordered them. Barzy and I talked about it...right?"

Mat glared at Tito, wishing deep down that this plan would fail, but knowing that he couldn't leave his best friend out to dry. "Yeah...we did." He turned to you, crossing his arms. "Hope that's okay."

"No, it's fine," you replied, nodding. "Pizza is good."

Tito clapped his hands together and smiled. "Great, I'll be right back!"

He couldn't have run out of the apartment any faster, leaving you and Mat there standing in the middle of the room. This wasn't part of the plan and Mat was pissed. He stared at the door, contemplating telling you about your brother's ulterior motive to all of this– but it wouldn't hurt Tito...it would hurt you. So he decided against it and turned to you, sighing. "We can go wait in the living room for him to come back."

You nodded and followed him out of the guest room, walking down the hallway. "Can I have something to drink?"

"Water? Wine?" He asked, waving you over to the couch as he stopped in the kitchen. "Tequila?" God, how he wanted a drink. At least it might alleviate the headache Tito's antics were causing.

"It's Monday," you laughed, leaning against the back of the couch. "I guess I could go for some wine."

"White or Red?"

"You have both?"

He laughed, turning around and placing two unopened bottles– one of each. "My mom likes red, I like white. It's her leftover bottle from when she was here a two weeks ago."

"I'll take a glass of white, thank you."

He nodded, putting the bottle of red back into the fridge before moving towards his cabinets and opening the drinking glasses– reaching up to the top and grabbing two wine glasses. When he turned back around, he looked over at you, ready to say something, but he stopped.

You were still leaning against the back of his couch, left arm draped across your stomach as the other held onto your phone. You were chewing on the inside of your cheek, your eyes glued to the screen. He normally wouldn't think anything of it, except for the look on your face. Even from where he was standing, he could notice the frown and the way that your eyebrows were burrowed towards each other. He noticed your fingers on your left hand were fidgeting, plucking at your Fordham long sleeve. Everything about you standing there was just...small, quiet– radiating energy that said, 'I don't want anyone to see me.' Which, in all of the years that he knew you, was the complete opposite of who you were.

He couldn't help but wonder what the hell Jeremy did to screw you up this bad.

He poured your glasses, putting the cork back into the bottle, and made his way to you. You were so lost in your phone, that it wasn't until he cleared his throat, that you realized he was standing there.

"Oh," you stood up a little straighter, putting your phone into your front pocket before taking the wine glass from him. "Sorry, I was just..."

"No need," he said, waving you off. "I don't need an explanation." He walked around the couch and sat down, nodding at you to join him.

You sighed, taking a sip of your wine before sitting down beside him, sinking back against the cushion. "So, Tito hasn't tried taking you to a strip club to help you out of your breakup funk?"

Mat laughed, his head leaning back against the cushion. "No, he hasn't," he took a sip of the wine, tilting his head to the side. "I don't think he'd leave if he did."

"He tried to offer to drop me off at that knockoff Magic Mike, two days ago." He looked at you like you had two heads, his mind spinning in circles at just how long Tito has been trying to get you out of his apartment. "It didn't work, it's not my scene."

"Male strippers?"

"Male strippers that aren't the cast of Magic Mike," you joked, laughing softly as you stared down into your wine. "I don't know, I just haven't really been in the mood to do anything besides go to class and sleep."

He wasn't sure how to reply. Even with Liana, he'd never really been that open with talking to her about his relationships or hers. That was a no-touch topic in their siblingship– only ever talking about it, just to say that they were seeing someone new. Never what happened during or after. Not to mention, he was supposed to be like you, heartbroken. He tried to copy your mannerisms– slumped into the couch, relaxed face– he even went as far as to try and tell himself to copy the tone in your voice.

But all he felt was guilt for playing into Tito's scheme and a genuine need to talk to you about what happened. He just didn't know how to go about it.

Your phone rang before he could ask you the dreaded 'how are you feeling' question, and you sighed, digging your phone out of your pocket and putting your wine glass down on the table. "What, Anthony?"

Mat held back his laughter as he took a sip of his wine. One thing was for sure, your attitude towards your brother hadn't changed from pre-breakup. He looked at you, your eyebrows knitted together as you brought your hand up to your forehead, rubbing it. "What do you mean? Is my stuff–" you sighed, closing your eyes. "No, you won't get electrocuted if you–"

He reached out, bumping his elbow against yours and raising an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

You looked at him, shaking your head as you pulled your phone away from your ear. "He forgot his wallet at home and went back to the apartment– I guess something leaked and my bathroom and room are flooded."

Mat had to act like he was surprised, but if anything he was pissed. This was the one scenario that they didn't agree on– simply because it wasn't fucking plausible. "Well have you talked to him? Maybe there's–"

Your head fell back against the cushion and you closed your eyes, sighing. "I didn't leave a faucet on, I didn't even go into my bathroom before we– can you stop interrupting me?"

He could hear Tito rambling on through the other side of the phone, no doubt barely giving you time to talk because he didn't want you to fill in the gaps of his fake story. "Well, where am I supposed to go?"

Mat chewed on his bottom lip, bringing the glass up to his lips as he knew this was when Tito was suggesting that you stay with him. He couldn't look at you because the guilt was taking over. He could tell you were stressed and obviously, Tito hadn't been exaggerating at just how bad you were after the breakup with Jeremy. And if he looked at you any longer, the guilt would swallow him up and he'd cave in and tell you everything.

"No, I'm not asking–" you sighed, taking a few deep breaths and exhaling before speaking again. "Because Anthony, it's rude! "

Mat felt like reaching over and grabbing your phone, ending the plan then and there. But again, he knew that the Beauvillier sibling dynamic was a lot different than any other one. Tito knew when to stop pushing, you were his sister after all. So, he sat next to you, sipping on his wine and waited for you to ask the question they'd been pushing you to do all along.

"Can you just...ask, please?" His eyes went wide the moment he heard the emotion in your whispered reply. "I can't just...move everything, I don't even have everything. It's all at Jer–" you stopped yourself, sitting up and hunching over, resting your head in your free hand. "And he said that's all that was available?"

He kept sneaking looks at you from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge whether or not the emotion in your voice was leading to tears. He brought his phone out of his jacket, opening to type a message to Tito.

"Fine, I'll...I'll just ask," he froze as you turned to him, holding your phone away from your ear. "Hey Mat?"

He placed his phone face down and away from your sight of vision you couldn't see that he was about to send a text to Tito. "Yeah?" Yikes, that wasn't casual enough. "What's up?" Better.

You were holding back tears and for the first time, he could see the dark circles beneath your eyes, still peaking out from whatever make-up you had put on that morning. Yeah, this plan wasn't good– this on was definitely a punch in the gut. "Do you think I could stay here? I don't have much and I–"

"Yeah, no," he cleared his throat. "No, I mean yeah...you can. I've got the guest bedroom."

You nodded, looking away from him and brought the phone back up to your ear. "There, happy?"

Oh, you have no idea how happy Tito was, was all that Mat could think as he brought his phone back out. "Can I at least come and get some stuff to– Yeah...okay. Yeah, see you."

You hung up the phone and your head fell back against the cushion, eyes closed. Mat looked at you, wondering whether or not he should dare to see if you were okay. He started to reach a hand out to nudge your arm when his phone vibrated.

Tito: IT WORKED! I'M FREE!

Tito: well...at least for the next week i am. i’ll need to figure out another excuse for the extra week i guess.

Mat: dude...i don't think this is a good idea. y/n's like...really emotional right now.

Tito: AND I'M GOING ON A TWO WEEK DRYSPELL.

Mat: okay, get laid tonight and let her come back.

Tito: nope. i'm using all seven days of this time and look on the bright side, now you'll get the guestroom done faster than you planned.

Mat: are you at least coming back with the pizza?

Tito: no, just her clothes. caroline is coming over in an hour.

He laughed in disbelief, shaking his head as he looked at you– still lying in the same position from when you hung up the phone.

Mat: dude, you so owe me one.

Tito: 👍🏻

Mat put his phone back into his jacket pocket and turned to you. He was sure that the movement on the couch would have been enough to get you to open your eyes– but you didn't budge. He reached out and nudged your arm and you opened your eyes and turned to look at him. "What do you think about Chinese?"

"Let me guess, he's not getting the pizza?" You asked, drained of any energy.

Mat bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. "No, he said they were packed," the lie was a lot better than telling her the truth. "If you're not feeling Chinese, we can go to Chipotle?"

"I don't know," you sighed, picking up the wine glass and taking a long sip. "Do you think we'd miss him?"

Not in a million years. Even if they did, he'd just drop the bag of belongings in front of Mat's door, no doubt.

"I'll buy you a large guac and a large queso," He smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "Free of charge."

"You had me at large guac." You looked at him and then back at your wine glass, downing the rest before placing it back onto the table and turning towards Mat. "Besides, he's the one who didn't bother to offer me the couch in the new 1 bedroom he'd be staying in until everything is fixed. He can wait a few extra minutes if we're not back in time."

Mat just nodded, standing up with you and playing into your mood. "Yeah, fuck that guy."

You laughed, and for the first time since he walked into yours and Tito’s apartment...he saw you smile. He felt proud of himself for being able to cheer you up in some way. And maybe, he thought, if Tito wasn't going to look out for you...he could.

It was only for seven days, how bad could it be?

[ma-lark-ey]

I'm making this post the disclose my current opinions on the Dndads discourse and how frivolous its become.

I would like to preface with one thing;

This post contains content of grooming and manipulation, as this has been the main discussion in this fandom and the issues. I am speaking from my own personal experience, as a former victim of grooming who only recently escaped my abuser. I will not say their name, those who I feel comfortable knowing further information on this already know.

this is my trauma, and I am speaking from my experiences. This is one of the hardest possible topics I could touch on, and I beg anyone who still cares to listen, whether I change your mind or not. Listen.

I've wrestled with my support of this podcast for eleven weeks now. Maybe longer. Since before the discourse became a major thing. I've wrestled with this since episode 34 was released, and I need you understand that.

I need you to understand that I believe the hosts have done what they can to fix these issues. And I genuinely do not see what people still want from them. I will address each topic one at a time, and if I touch on things lesser than others, please understand that this discourse triggers a trauma that I underwent less than a year ago. a trauma I am still processing.

1. Grant, and his over sexualization.

The jokes revolving Grant and his sexual orientation or exploration were sometimes in very poor taste, I am not that blind. I will not defend them or say they weren't as bad as they are. But here'd what people have to think about when we talk about this; Those jokes are already in the episode. They cannot be removed, and the best the hosts can do about that is avoid that humor in the future. Humans are not perfect, and humor is ever growing part of a person, its always a tossup of if a joke will land or not. These did not, and they have not made these jokes since they got called on it.

On the Discord claims about them discussing his porn history, I can say nothing on that. I've seen no sources or proof that that happened. I won't make any opinions or comments on that until I've seen concrete proof that these conversations happened.

2. The Unsafe Discord.

They're Discord is no longer unsafe. Blanket statement, no discussion open. Here's the thing and here's where I'm going into my personal experience; Discords minor precautions arent up to par either. The DnDads hosts have made their 18+ channels, they've made the Discord clear to not be a totally kid friendly place and has tried to separate adults and minors. But they genuinely can only do so much. Minors can easily bypass these guidelines, and that is where we get to the whole grooming argument.

As a grooming victim, this is not the slippery slope people make it out to be. And adult fans,,this is where I'm telling you to sit down and shut up for a minute. Listen, for just a moment. I know I'm "just a kid" but, I've lived the possible outcomes you've thrown out. I lived that experience, and I lived. I survived, and the way you talk about it is so invalidating to me its absolutely disgusting.

I'm prefacing this with this may sound ineloquent, and not as "pleasant" as I usually like to sound. Because with this I expect people to listen. Its not in the public ass Discord server where you should watch out for the child. Its if you see an 18+ individual actively DMing that person, and this minor speaking about this person as if they're a major part of their life.

I need you to understand that I was genuinely wary of one of our own community members when I first began speaking with them, because of this trauma. I wary of ALL of our community members. I didn't share my other socials with people in this community unless I knew their content first. There have been multiple times I've stopped myself from messaging who I will call "My Annus" because of this trauma I've endured.

And I'm sorry, but Waterdeep genuinely has no precautions set in place to separate adults and minors that the DnDads Patreon does not. You cannot act like saints and villainize them, when they adjusted and became you. Then either both of you are saints or both of you are demons.

Children interacting with adults is always a bit set back at first. But I've been groomed. Twice. And you people act like its obvious, like it can happen so easily. And it does, it happens easily. First its them texting you so much you feel overwhelmed, then its them becoming someone you rely on. Someone who makes you pity them.

And its not gonna be people who are SIGNIFCANTLY older. (i.e, I feel much less worry interacting with 30 year olds than I do 18-22 year olds.) Because the adult people that feel 'more understandable' to be friends with cause their just barely adults? they tend to pry harder. They can get away with it. Thats just fact. The people who say "Oh I'm eighteen, but I just turned eighteen" I'm always the wariest of. Not because I'm convinced they're bad people or whatever, but because both times; my abuser was one of those people. This was two different people as well.

And thats what the adults of this fandom won't address. That its not the slope they've made it out to be. Because then they have to retract statements they made, and a lot of people, minors and adults, just don't have the humility to do that.

The only advice I can give to people in the server, who are worried for the minors. These are the only signs I can give you, and this is from my experience or the experience of other survivors I've spoken to, and I'm by no means saying this is concrete.

Abusers tend to be /just/ enough of an adult to be considered on, but not so old that it'll be considered weird for them to befriend a minor. The age gaps I see most often are 14/19 or in that kind of range. They'll go for the lonelier or newer folks, the ones who haven't built their group in the community and are just entering. The ones looking for their place in the hierarchy. If you want to help protect us, you watch like a mother bear when a new minor joins.

A lot of us don't realize its happening until its too late, and by the time we realize the situation we've fallen into its too late for us to get ourselves out. The majority of us have weak wills and a fear of conflict.

3. What the Hosts have done in response.

I honestly, genuinely think the hosts have done a lot of steps in the right direction. And in recent episodes? man, they've tagged their shit better than the McElroys, and no I'm not reaching there.

Honestly, they kind of did before to, on topics they knew were really rough for some people.

When they warned for the Willy Stapler stuff, I was grateful. They warned me I may be triggered by Ron and Willy's dynamic before I was forced with it. The McElroys had a scene with grooming in Grad, and I wasn't warned. I couldn't mentally prepare myself and I had a minor reaction to it. And thats not at all to shit on the McElroys, anyone who knows me know I love that family more than anything. That they saved me. Thats just a statement I need you all to understand.

The Hosts aren't "ignoring us" they're listening to us. They genuinely are. They saw we wanted content warnings, and they gave us some of the best content warnings I've seen. They've content warned episodes I didnt see reason for content warnings.

4. The Transcripts.

Look, this is beating a dead horse at this point. I, personally, have debated beginning to transcribe episode. I know they said they will, and I trust their word. But thats all we can really do, right?

I've transcribed things myself before, guys, and thats hard. and it takes time. and knowing them, they'll want to get all the current episodes up at once, and thats gonna take a hot minute to get down. And we can go into "Well why didnt they transcribe from the beginning?" and well, that's because transcribing just wasn't a thing until recently? Like again, going back to MBMBAM and McElroys, they don't even have all of TAZ transcribed last I checked (I believe their transcriptions go from Grad-Stolen Century, and anything before Stolen Century doesn't have one yet. I may be wrong on that.)

I will not speak on the other grievances and issues people have brought up in the show. The topics I covered are the only ones I feel comfortable speaking on on a public platform, where my words can sway opinions.

There is no TL;DR, because as I said in the beginning; if you can't read this, you aren't listening well enough nor willing to actually discuss the issues you have. You're looking for something to be mad about. Period, end of discussion.

I don't say that to act like I'm some authority on this, or some higher being above all of you for "being forgiving." Because, frankly I don't forgive them. I will continue to support them for making steps in the right direction, and upping their game. But, I won't forgive them for their jokes or the brief lack of precaution in the server. But, I will move on and I will support them. Because, as a victim of the problems people brought up in those situations, the steps the took are the best ones they could have. And I am grateful for that.

If other survivors read this and disagree, you're perfectly valid in that. We all went something, and it effects each of us differently. My heart goes out to you, as well, I know how isolating and genuinely terrifying those experiences and situations can be.

To those who aren't survivors and have read this; I beg you to think about this.

I am open to discussion further on this, but to an extent. There are some opinions I hold in this message that I will flat out tell you to not debate me on, not because of anything other than what I said in this post was hard enough to me to say.

Thank you for your time. EDIT: I implore anyone reading to the read the notes on this post, more information and discussion can be found and all of it is just as important. 

[winetae]

wall to wall (m.) 01

↳ in a pornographic movie, refers to a series of sex scenes with no plot.

⇁ female reader x hoseok 

⇁ smut, porn star!au

⇁ sex work, insecurity, jealousy, slut shaming/objectification (not the sexy kind), role played scenario that includes: d/s dynamics - dom!hoseok, porn star level dirty talk, stuff that should never happen in a kitchen bc hygiene, daddy kink, impreg kink, rough sex, spanking, a lot of finger sucking, this fic is a poor attempt at social commentary

⇁ 22.5k

. . .

Temporary popularity is the biggest threat to your career right now. Without a solid core fan base you’re doomed to be forgotten. If not now, then in a month or two, and if not then, surely by the end of the year. That’s how quickly the adult film industry cycles through their actors, especially when you’re a woman. Your agent comes forward with a proposition to help put you back on the map.

↳ or, my contribution to the lights, camera, action collab : )

part 01 | part 02 | part 03

author’s note | inspired by the piece ‘slut-shaming: pornstars are humans too’ & the life after porn documentaries on netflix. thank u to jordan, eva, amy, venus, addie and lu for being a part of this collab !! *inserts a million heart emojis and a big fat NUT emoticon*

re:warnings, the slut shaming is done by others and can also be considered as internalized oppression. it’s something the reader struggles with and eventually works to overcome. this first part isn’t as smutty as the second but regardless i hope u can bear with me lol. ty, as always, for giving my writing a chance. i hope u enjoy it or at least take something from it !

wall2wall can be read as a sequel to my fic money shot. same disclaimer applies: this story does claim to accurately portray the world of adult entertainment

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SCENE 01 - YOU’VE GOT MALE. TAKE 01. ROLL A.

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Today is just one of those days you wish you had slept straight through. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be dying from the sheer dullness of having nothing to do.

You huff out a sigh, bored out of your goddamn mind.

Head cradled in the crook of your left palm, you use your available hand to refresh your instagram feed. Much to your disappointment, nothing new shows up. The same video of a dog chasing its own tail plays on but you pay it no heed, the novelty having worn off after the first few times.

The next half hour passes by in a similar fashion, each result proving to be as unavailing as the last. You’d think that after a while you’d give up and find a new distraction to pass the time but whether out of habit or boredom-induced insanity, you persist with your fruitless attempts.

Today really fucking blows, you think glumly, the curve of your mouth thinning into a grimace. As the adorable corgie keeps the infernal cycle going, yapping and running around incessantly, you’re struck with a terrifying thought. Maybe this is how you will die - condemned to live your life stuck in the worst sort of monotony imaginable.

What you had expected to be a “quick and easy” shoot has turned into a tedious ordeal that you don’t see ending anytime soon. And whilst on-set complications and prolongations are frequent enough that they’re almost expected, today really takes the cake. Even during your rookie days, you can’t recall running into delays of this scale.

To top it off, the weather app announces a record-breaking heat - which in itself is bad enough. As luck would have it, it gets worse. The place rented out for today’s filming lacks proper air conditioning, equipped instead with electric fans that look like they’ve been around since the 1980s.

A quick glance into the vanity mirror confirms that you look as frazzled as you feel. Because of the humidity level that weighs down the air, your hair is in a right state. You fight a grimace off your face. The straggly hair coupled with the oily sheen on your face...it’s far from your best look, to say the least.

And to think thousands of people will get to see it up close in 1080p resolution... It’s a terrifying concept.

You’re already dreading the upcoming sex scenes that you’ve yet to film. It’s always a messy affair - fluids of all kind end up literally everywhere - but the sweltering heat undoubtedly makes it ten times worse. A shudder works its way down your spine.

Frankly speaking, the mere thought of having hot and wild sex in these less than ideal working conditions kills your libido. Under the glaring studio lights, surrounded by sweaty crewmen and pressed up an equally feverish body - it’s basically the porn equivalent of a fuckin’ barbecue party.

Yeah, no thanks. You’d rather be at home, with the air conditioner at full blast, nestled in the comfy cushions of your sofa as you marathon a series of your choice on netflix. Only the promised sum of money keeps you from bolting and calling it quits altogether.

“So when are you gonna drop the new boy toy?” a voice buzzes in your ear not unlike a pesky fly.

Tempting as it is to ignore it, you peel your eyes away from your reflection just in time to catch Seokjin shoot you the most unimpressed look in his repertoire, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched in judgment.

In the background, an old ceiling fan whirs on but does nothing to cool you off. If anything, its constant rattling only exacerbates your growing headache.

“What are you talking about?" You flick a piece of imaginary lint off your dressing robe, your tone neutral.

Seokjin’s brown eyes see right through your feigned air of indifference. Months of working by your side have made him an expert at reading your body language, be it naked or clothed. A wolfish grin adorns his face as he swoops in for the kill.

“Oh come on. You know exactly who I’m talking about. Jongmin. He’s short - comes up to right about here.” Seokjin holds a hand up to his chest to illustrate his point, deliberately shaving off a few inches off your boyfriend’s height in order to antagonize you.

You bite the inside of your cheek, careful not to spit out the retort that’s perched on the tip of your tongue. It takes a great deal of effort to unclench the muscles in your jaw but you manage to school your features into an expression of polite confusion.

Seokjin frowns, dissatisfied with your lack of response. You don’t need to be a mind reader to know that he’s currently thinking of new ways to provoke you.

When the silence stretches on and he’s yet to riposte, you allow yourself  to relax again, believing that he’s given up on being an asshole.

To your chagrin, you’re sorely mistaken. The last of your self-restraint is finally put to the test as his next words do nothing to quell your irritation.

“Jongmin.” He repeats slowly, like you need it spelled out for you. “He follows you around everywhere like a lap dog. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so, you know, pathetic.”

“His name is Jimin,” you correct for the nth time.

Instantly, you reprimand yourself for playing into his games and granting him the attention he so craves. Fulfilling his twisted desire is the last thing you hope to achieve. Staying silent would be the sensible thing to do but your brain completely bypasses the memo. The moment your mouth opens it’s impossible to quash the urge to justify yourself.

Maybe it’s your pride coming into play. Maybe it’s Seokjin’s uncanny ability to get under anyone’s skin at will. Whatever the case may be, you stammer out, on the defensive, “And he’s not my 'boy toy'. We - it’s not - we’re dating.” But the word feels like a weight on your tongue. You swallow.

The statement earns you a scoff of incredulity. “Dating? Him?”

You finally set your phone down and aim a glare his way, abandoning all pretense at being indifferent because—Jesus. Is the idea of you dating that unfathomable? He’s never been this worked up over any of your other relationships. Granted, none of them have ever lasted this long but is it really any of his business who you choose to see in your free time?

“I don’t get what your problem is. What’s so wrong with me dating?”

“Have you seen who you’re dating?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?!”

While this isn’t the first time your agent lets a judgmental comment slip from between his pearly white teeth, it’s usually not laced with spite. Seokjin is never outright hostile, preferring sweet words of manipulation and thinly-veiled insults to shows of aggression. The attempt to get a rise out of you does not go by unnoticed. His anger, this time, feels personal.

You wrack your brain, quickly sifting through your recent memories to try and figure out why he’s chosen to be such an ass today. You’re certain that you’ve filled out all the necessary paperwork required to proceed with today’s filming, and yes, after thinking it over, you know that you went to the obligatory medical checkup last week. So there really is no reason for him to bitch at you unless—

The proverbial light bulb flickers on and it all suddenly makes sense.

You’re willing to bet a hefty sum of money that the high-paying gig you turned down two weekends ago is to blame for his abnormal crotchety behavior.

Yes, that would explain it.

Due to Seokjin's well-known propensity to hold a grudge for longer than average, the odds that he’s still hung up over the lost deal are pretty high. And as much as his disappointment and frustration are understandable from a business standpoint, you don’t appreciate being used as a verbal punching bag for him to expel all those pent-up feelings.

Seokjin hums, a knowing smirk pulling the sides of his mouth upwards. Fleetingly, and not for the first time, you find it a shame that his cockiness tarnishes his otherwise handsome face. “I give it another couple of days until you get bored. How long has this gone on for? A month? How are you not yanking out your hair from the sheer boredom of dating...that."

A muscle in your jaw ticks.

“He’s not Voldemort, you coward. Would it honestly kill you to say his name?” Seokjin’s expression begs to differ. You cut him off before he can add fuel to the fire. “And I won’t get bored. Jimin’s - he’s a perfectly nice guy. We’ve been seeing each other just fine—not that it’s any of your concern.”

“Yes, he’s nice,” Seokjin concedes easily, brushing off any attempts at putting an end to the conversation. He grins, wide and smug, like he knows you can’t refute what he’ll say next. “Perfectly nice and boring. The kind of guy you’d bring back home if your parents were straight-laced folks that wanted to marry you off to a choir boy. Seriously, how the fuck did a guy like him end up in the porn industry? He belongs in a church or, I dunno, maybe some neighborhood book club - not behind a camera filming you getting flogged by a daddy dom.”

You sniff. “Just because he tucks his shirts in doesn’t—”

“It’s not just the shirts, honey.” He leans over to pat your hand in a gesture of consolation. Used to his antics, his attempt is easily blocked by a swat of your hand.

You muster the dirtiest look you’re capable of, the kind of look that sends men to early graves, but he simply smiles in response, completely unfazed.

Any person with the minimum amount of tact would know to politely change the subject. It’s unfortunate that your agent does not belong to that pool of individuals, choosing instead to be selectively blind to overt social cues.

He continues on, unperturbed, like he has a point to prove. “Believe it or not, I know you. Sometimes, for whatever reason, perhaps a lapse in judgement but who the fuck knows, you like to venture out of your comfort zone and experiment. Like with the chickenshit gingerbread spice concoctions they come out with at Starbucks to celebrate turkey season and Christmas or the cream cheese makis they make for the white crowd who want to eat sushi but don’t like anything other than white rice and seaweed. And, trust me, while I’m all for diversity and broadening your personal experiences, don’t you think there’s a reason why you always go back to your preferred choice of an iced latte with two sugars?”

“Did you just compare Jimin to a gingerbread latte?”

Okay, so admittedly you’ve made some questionable food and beverage choices in the past, but the comparison is a fucking reach. 

“You’re absolutely right." Seokjin gives a firm nod of his head, his expression serious. "Now that you mention it, he’s definitely a vanilla soy. Bland and boring. Targeted towards the middle-aged soccer moms that think veganism is a trend, not a lifestyle. Wants to be a people-pleaser but misses the mark.”

“I didn’t know it was Share Your Unwanted Opinion Time,” you grind out from behind a strained smile. “If I had, I would have said something about your receding hairline earlier.”

It’s a low blow but the way Seokjin’s plump lips curl in displeasure makes the dig worth it. One of his hands automatically shoot up to flatten the bangs that are usually slicked back with copious amounts of gel.

Offended, he spits, “It’s not receding! There’s a difference between premature balding and a bleach job gone wrong.”

"I'm not sure people care to differentiate. Looks like a receding hairline to me." You shrug while picking at your nails. “You’re nearing that age, too, so.”

“You just try looking this good at 30. Fucking try.” 

He waits for a reply but your interest has already waned. You scroll through your phone, bored once more.

Seokjin makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat at the clear dismissal. You swear you hear him grumble under his breath - something along the lines of never going blonde again - but can’t find it in you to care, not when he’s finally ceased his nagging.

"Filming in twenty!" someone shouts from outside the door.

"They’re running behind schedule," Seokjin notes after glancing down at his gold wristwatch. "How can they take more than an hour to fix the lighting? Tch. Bunch of fuckin’ amateurs."

He aims a glare in your direction as if their incompetence is somehow your fault. 

You have half a mind to glower back but miraculously withhold your sentiments. Admittedly, he isn’t wrong - the team you’re working with today keeps committing blunders even rookies wouldn’t dare perpetrate - but you’d rather get your driving license revoked forever than to acknowledge that Seokjin’s right and inflate his already unnaturally huge ego.

Something heavy plops into your lap. When you look down, the glossy surface of a magazine reflects the harsh lights suspended over the vanity table back at you.

“I didn’t want to resort to this but you leave me no choice,” he says in response to your look of confusion.

“What’s this?”

You hold up the magazine expecting the worst. It’s heavy in your hands, the pages thicker than the gossip rags you’d find in a dentist’s waiting room. 

“’s the newest issue. Came out this morning. I’d actually like it back once you’re done because I haven’t finished reading it and God knows how hard it was to get my—hey, you can stop flicking aimlessly, I saved you the trouble and bookmarked the page,” Seokjin explains a bit impatiently.

When you shoot him a glance, his attention is trained on your face, not the magazine. He barely blinks. Like a snake honing in on its prey. And that kind of intense focus - that can’t be good. After all, you’ve known Seokjin long enough to suspect that whatever trick he has up his sleeve will give him the advantage he needs to deliver the killing blow.

Gingerly, you flip through the pages like you’re afraid the magazine might self-destruct in your hands. Which would be a waste, in your opinion, since Exquis is a damn good magazine - perhaps less intellectual than Playboy, but definitely classier than Hustler. Its reputation speaks for itself. Known for hiring the best photographers and carefully combing through their models, it’s selective, only picking the cream of the cr—

Everything around you stills.

Your eyes narrow at the spread because there, on the page Seokjin’s taken great care to bookmark, a model poses provocatively on a lounge chaise near a crystal clear pool. It’s similar to a shoot you’ve done in the past but you can tell right away that the quality of this is above and beyond anything you’ve ever done. The lighting is better, heck even the barely-there-swimsuit looks like it costs ten times more than whatever you had been told to throw on at the time.

The vexation you feel only worsens once it finally registers who the model is. Her youthful and pretty face carries a permanent haughtiness that not even makeup or acting can entirely mask.

The pages crease in your hold as you flick through the rest of the spread dedicated to the up and coming talents. With every new page that has her plastered on its glossy surface you feel your stomach sink. 

2...3...4...

“Five pages,” you curse under your breath. For a magazine this renowned, it’s...a lot. Commendable, even. Your nose crinkles. “Well, fuck. me. sideways.”

Seokjin gloats, reveling in your outrage. “Hmph. I told you, didn’t I? Passing up the opportunity to work with Kim Namjoon would come and bite you in the ass.”

“Aha! So you have been a little bitch because I refused to shoot with Namjoon.” You whirl around in your chair and use the magazine to jab him in the chest. He easily steps aside, avoiding your attempt at wrinkling his trademark Armani button-down shirt.

“It was the chance of a lifetime and you knew it.” He turns his nose up and sniffs.

“That’s what you said about filming with Min Yoongi last month.” You roll your eyes. “I can’t take you seriously if you’re gonna say the same thing every time a new guy shows up.”

“Shooting with Agust D did help you gain some mainstream popularity. You’ve gotten love calls for catalog printings and your name is now automatically on the invite sheet for every C-list event in town. Namjoon would have given you another needed boost.” Seokjin folds his arms, lecturing mode switched on. You struggle with the instinctive urge to tune him out. “Sure, he’s got a niche audience, but he’s famous in his field and it would have helped expand your fa—“

“Not to kink shame or anything because we don’t do that, but Namjoon is a freak. And don’t deny it, I’ve seen his videos.”

“He’s specialized in particular—“

“You were the one telling me not to film all sorts of shit right off the bat,” you cut in, refusing to back down from your stance. There’s no way you’ll let him sweet-talk you out of this one, not after the multiple videos of Namjoon you’d binged one weekend. “Stick to one story.”

“Well, we’re not exactly ‘right off the bat’ anymore, are we? We’ve passed that stage. Right now is a crucial time in your career so you’ve got to make it count. Filming rehashed videos of the same pizza delivery guy scenario gets boring and fast. As pretty as you are, you’re not offering anything new to the table, are you?”

Fuck him. He’s right and you know it. Temporary popularity is the biggest threat to your career right now. Without a solid core fan base you’re doomed to be forgotten. If not now, then in a month or two, and if not then, surely by the end of the year. That’s how quickly the adult film industry cycles through their actors, especially when you’re a woman.

Still. “I refuse to work with a guy whose porn alias is Cock Monster.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Well I said no,” you insist stubbornly.

“Well if you had said yes, maybe it would be your ass cheeks getting their own two page spread in Exquis instead,” jabs Seokjin, hitting you where it hurts. 

Ugh. The reminder that Joy’s bested you yet again riles you up even more. That, coupled with the likelihood of your career ending imminently, makes you stop and think.

Your agent goes on to say, “Don’t you want the AVN for best newcomer? Where did that competitive edge go? At the rate this is going, Joy’s going to steal it from right under your nose.”

“Like fucking hell,” you hiss. The magazine bends under the strength of your grip. “That one’s mine.”

You absolutely refuse to lose out to her. Every fiber of your being rejects the idea of letting her one-up you again.

“Not if you don’t start branching out. The last time you did anything substantial or interesting was about a month ago. It’s already old news. People are going to forget you shot that sequence altogether if you don’t do anything that puts you back on the map.”

A pause. “…I really don’t want to film with someone who willingly named himself Cock Mons—”

“Fine.” Seokjin heaves a resigned sigh. “You don’t have to fuck the monster willy. Willy monster? Hm. Wouldn’t it make more sense to name himself Monster Cock and not Cock Monster? Wonder why he does th—”

You suppress a snort. “Please spare me while you can. It’s amazing, that talent for making everything sound a lot worse than it already it is.”

“Why, thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“You trying to insult someone who’s willing to find you someone else to work with? I can always ask Monster Meatstick if he’s up for—”

“No! No, that’s - not necessary.” You force out a smile that wouldn’t fool anyone into thinking its genuine. “Why would I ever insult you? You’re the best agent one could ask for.”

“That’s what I thought.” He takes your compliment, forced or not. When he smiles, smugness rolls off of him in waves. “One day you’ll realize you’re taking my talent for granted. I’ll find you another onscreen partner even though you don’t know what you’re missing out.”

“Thank you.”

“But!” He interjects and this time you don’t bother swallowing down your groan, already dreading the stipulations he has in store for you. “You have to promise to hold up your end of the bargain and try your best.”

Indignation colors your face. Your mouth falls open, retort at the ready. “When do I ever slack off on the job?! I’ve never given a half-assed blowjob in my life - and trust me, the temptation was there. Do you have any idea how hard it is to stay focused when the guy can’t cum on command? I once had to get my jaw realigned.”

“I’m not saying you’re slacking off,” he backtracks, switching tactics. His expression is soon replaced by the business-like smile you’re used to seeing on the regular. Tone buttery and appeasing, he tries to convince you through flattery instead. “You work hard and do a good job… I wouldn’t have signed you on otherwise. The problem isn’t with the quality of your work but with - all the rest.”

“The rest?” you parrot back dumbly, trying and failing to comprehend.

Seokjin scowl returns, unable to keep his genuine emotions under wraps.

“D’you honestly think you’re at a point in your career where you can pick and choose your jobs like this? Ever since you started dating that - that thing - your workload has significantly decreased. And not because you lacked opportunities. You had them but you turned them all down.” Visibly getting worked up over the issue, his voice rises an octave, then two. “What should’ve been a good spring board, only brought you back to square one. I know I can’t force you to take jobs if you refuse to, but I can say that your potential is going to waste. I’ve never seen someone sabotage herself like this before and it’s driving me up the wall. While I get that you’re under the delusion that you’ve found true love or whatever Disney fantasy Jungmin has sold you, you can’t turn down projects over and over again without there being serious repercussions. You’re smart enough to know this. I shouldn’t have to remind you.”

Seokjin’s chest heaves as he takes in several big gulps of air, visibly out of breath after his monologue.

For him to explode like popcorn kennels in the microwave... You reckon he’d let his feelings pile up inside him for a while, silently stewing.

You’ve never seen your agent look so visibly distressed. He’s normally the picture-perfect image of composure so the sight that greets you is enough of a shock to render you speechless.

Deep down, Seokjin probably means well. There aren’t a lot of agents like him; you’re one of the lucky ones. Most girls are discarded by their agencies as quickly as used tissues once they get milked for all their worth. 

Thankfully it’s never been that way with Seokjin. He claims that he’s in it for the long run. According to him the quick buck isn’t worth seeing the light die out in girl after girl. Perhaps that’s why he takes the task of ensuring your safety so seriously. How many times has he warned you to steer clear of this or that seedy director or ban you from attending drug-heavy parties? While his behavior can come off as overbearing on the worst days, at least he cares.

Sadly, it’s more than you can say for most.

In a way, he’s the only one in this business rooting for your success—if only because his paycheck depends on how well you perform. You like to pretend there’s more to it than that.

“I’m not - what’s Jimin got to do with any of this?” you splutter, still digesting the long tirade you’ve just been subjected to. 

“Are you serious? That’s all you got from what I said?”

“Well, no, but I still fail to—”

“Do you think me a fool?” He crosses his arms tightly across his broad chest. “The only scenes you’re willing to shoot are when he’s on set. Are you a kid or something? Since when do you need supervision to shoot a sex scene?”

“N-no. It just worked out that way, okay?” In reply to his dubious expression, you force yourself to explain. “Okay, okay - I get it. Maybe I might’ve lessened my workload recently but it has nothing to do with Jimin, alright? My vagina needs rest from time to time. Just because it’s my job doesn’t mean I don’t need a break. I’m human too, not some blow-up doll.”

“You expect me to believe that he has nothing to do with it? You were perfectly fine before he entered the picture. And now that you’re all loved up you only pick—”

A knock, so timid you barely catch it, cuts off the rest of his sentence.

“Yeah? Come in, I’m decent!” you yell - not that you care whether someone sees you naked or not. The concept of modesty has long been lost on you. Some might call it shamelessness or vanity, but you take pride in how you look. And why wouldn’t you? Your body is your bread and butter. You spend hours in the gym every week so that your ass looks good no matter what camera angle.

“It’s me.”

The door opens a crack and the speaker tentatively sticks his mop of hair through the small opening. As soon as you recognize him, your heart leaps at the sight and you quickly tighten your robe together.

“Oh, speak of the devil,” Seokjin mutters under his breath.

You resist the urge to throttle him and plaster on your brightest smile instead.

“I wanted to see how you were doing. Sorry I took so long... I would’ve come earlier but they needed my help.” Jimin scratches a spot behind his ear, sheepish. “Someone tripped over the cables and smashed a camera lens so we had to find a replacement. The director threw a fit and wanted to call it quits so we’ve been trying to calm him down this entire time. He did - eventually, anyway, after he called his dealer on set.”

A disapproving frown tugs at his mouth corners and mars his otherwise perfect appearance.

You take a moment to swoon internally. You’ll never get tired of admiring your boyfriend. Unlike the majority of the on-set personnel, he doesn’t reek of weed or booze or stale cigarette smoke. His ironed clothes and immaculate appearance always make it easy to spot him amidst the hungover crew.

“That’s fine! I kept myself busy.”

Jimin returns your smile, his eyes creasing into beautiful half-moon crescents. You don’t know what kind of love-struck expression covers your face but next to you Seokjin makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a gag and a cough.

“Oh! Here, I brought snacks. I didn’t know what you liked so I just grabbed everything I could get my hands on.” He holds up a paper plate stacked with treats no doubt stolen from the catering service. “I know I kind of went overboard but I wanted to make sure you kept your sugar level up.”

“That’s sweet of you,” you coo, reaching to take the plate from him. He’s piled on the sweets so high that it’s a miracle nothing has toppled over yet. You aren’t especially hungry but take a bite out of a chocolate candy to show how much you appreciate the effort. Its gooey consistency melts on your tongue, the taste so sweet it sticks to your teeth.

“How adorable,” chimes in Seokjin, his hand grabbing a licorice stick from the mountain of candy before you can swat him away. “Thanks Jongmin.”

“Jimin,” he corrects good-naturedly, his smile not budging an inch. You think, privately, that’s what you like the most about him. Not many have the ability to block out Seokjin’s bullshit so effectively.

“Mmh,” your manager says around a mouthful of candy. “Seokjin. Pleasure.”

You elbow him while gritting your teeth. “Can you...give us a moment?”

Seokjin swallows down the treat and opens his mouth in protest. He has the audacity to look betrayed. “You’re kicking me out of our room so the two of you can get it on? Really?” 

Jimin’s cheeks flush and you quickly cut in before your agent can make matters worse.

"I just want to talk without you breathing down my neck. Weren’t you going off earlier about how I didn’t need adult supervision anymore? Well?”

“Fine. Fine! But you owe me. Again.” He grabs his portable phone charger from the vanity table before making his exit. “And don’t forget what we talked about!”

What a fucking drama queen. You have no idea why he always insists on making a scene when you know for a fact that he would’ve left of his own volition in five minutes anyway. For reasons he has no trouble disclosing, he can’t stand Jimin’s presence.

“I won’t,” you grumble just so that you can get him out of your hair faster.

The door slams shut with more force than strictly necessary. Silence hangs in the air for a brief moment before Jimin turns his warm gaze towards you.

“What was that about?” 

“Uh, nothing. You know how he is...” You play with the ends of your braided hair. “He can’t go very long without throwing a tantrum.’

“He seems very protective of you,” remarks Jimin, a thoughtful expression painting his angelic face. “I think that’s why he’s not that fond of me.”

“Nonsense,” you rebut immediately as you take his hands in yours. “Who could ever not like you?”

Jimin allows his lips to quirk into a small, self-deprecating smile that you promptly erase with a kiss. His lips feel pillow-soft against yours, and you let yoruself indulge in the feeling before pulling back.

You sigh, remembering the scene you’ve yet to film. “If only my co-star was you.”

He laughs at that. “Seokjin would probably throw a fit, huh?”

.

.

Jimin treats you to dinner that night.

He chooses the restaurant. It’s a small, quaint place, tucked into a hidden corner just minutes away from the bustling main street of the shopping district. It’s not the kind of place people stumble across by accident but judging by the occupied tables, business is doing fine by reputation alone.

The owner comes out to greet Jimin by name. They exchange warm greetings, the woman asking him how his brother’s been doing and whether he’ll stop by anytime soon.

“Ah - I’m not sure... You know how he is... I’ll let him know you said hi.”

“Tell him I’ll give him an extra serving of ribs. That was his favorite, right?”

When her eyes trail over Jimin’s shoulder and spot you, she grins so wide you’d think she won the lottery or something. “Park Jimin! You’ve gone and found a girlfriend! And so pretty, too. Ah, really...time sure flies by. I remember when you first started coming here - and now!”

You smile back, greeting her with a polite handshake. The owner is quick to usher you into a small booth in the back. She hands you the menus while patting Jimin on his shoulder. “I’ll get you drinks. It’s on the house.”

“You don’t have to do that!” protests Jimin, shaking his head. “Really. It’s not—”

“Nonsense.” She waves a hand at him. “You’ll get two more if you keep that up, Park Jimin.”

Once she knows she’s earned Jimin’s compliance, she leaves with a satisfied smile. You can tell by their genuine interactions that she’s close to Jimin. Family, perhaps? Either way, this isn’t a place Jimin tracked down on yelp. He flips through the menu with ease, like he’s done it hundreds of times before. 

“Sorry about that,” he says once she’s out of earshot. “I used to come here all the time with my family when we all still lived here. They moved and live in a different town now so we haven’t had a meal together here in years, but. I still come here. The food is good, of course, but - I dunno. I have good memories here so I thought I’d share it with you. It sounds stupid now.”

He laughs quietly, cheeks flushed a pretty pink. 

“I love it.” You can’t help but smile, cheeks hurting from the force of it. Invisible liquor runs through your bloodstream, a ball of warmth unfurling in your belly. “Thank you.”

A pause ensues. It’s one of those moments in which you’re unsure if you’ve said too much or not enough. Being here with Jimin means a lot. You’re not the most verbose person but you hope that Jimin can feel your sincerity.

Maybe your stare comes off as too intense because Jimin breaks the eye contact and clears his throat.

He fiddles with his earring and says, “The food is really good!”

Pink dots his cheeks as he attempts to change the subject. “I don’t know how long the place has been around for but the food is exactly the same. Apparently it’s the sauce they use? Auntie still won’t share the recipes with me and I’ve known her since I was a kid.”

He chatters on, gaining confidence when he notices you’re not put off or bored by his numerous anecdotes. As time passes by, he’s visibly more relaxed. His laugh is more natural, less restrained, like he’s using all the muscles in his face and not just the ones near his mouth.

It’s a stark difference from the first date, you think. Back then he had come off as quite shy, preferring to let you lead the conversation, only offering up tidbits from time to time. Now the conversation flows easily. Nothing feels forced or awkward and - it’s nice. The normalcy of it. Like a hot cup of tea before bed or the scent of the fabric softener your mother uses. It’s something you find comfort in, that you can see yourself coming back to and not growing tired of.

Seokjin can say what he wants - that Jimin’s too uninteresting, that you’re too mismatched of a couple - whatever. 

Jimin likes you for you.

When you’re out on dates or when the two of you talk on the phone late into the evening, he rarely brings up your job. Instead, he asks you questions about your favorite TV shows, your dipping sauce preferences, the first album you purchased. These small details might seem inconsequential to others but to you, they’re a welcome breath of fresh air.

For all the talks of Jimin being too average and too normal, men like him are in reality surprisingly hard to come by.

Because what you haven’t failed to notice since you began your career as a porn star is that people love the idea of you. People who avidly watch you from their laptop screen in the comfort of their own home think that you’re some type of sex goddess - that you’re basically up for anything. In their minds, you’re a fun girl who loves sex, all kinds of sex, any kind of sex, and who doesn’t have any qualities or attributes other than making people cum until their limbs go numb.

Your feelings? Not really important. Feelings would make you human and being human would ruin their favorite fantasy.

That’s what takes you a while to learn - you don’t get paid to have sex, you get paid to sell dreams.

It doesn’t bother you at first. In a way, you think, it’s like acting. The porn star people jerk off to daily is a character you play, a mask you can take off at your leisure once the camera director yells ‘cut!’.

Very quickly, you learn people don’t share the same sentiment. To them, the line that distinguishes you from your job persona isn’t blurry - it simply doesn’t exist.

In the beginning, you’d stayed optimistic. Once people get to know you past the image they’ve built up in their heads, surely they’ll realize you’re not a sex-craved addict who only has dick on the brain, right? But with every new date you accept to go on, the reality of your situation only leaves room for disappointment and barely reigned in revulsion.

Even in non-romantic situations, people let you down. Old classmates, neighbors... It pisses you off that they assume you have no self-worth just because you’re a sex worker. Stevie from 308 down the hall once tried throwing crumpled bills at you, expecting you to crawl over to him for a fifty. The memory is enough to set your blood boiling. You can’t wait until you earn big enough bucks to move out of your shitty apartment into a nice high-rise penthouse, away and above all the scum of the Earth.

“You okay?” asks Jimin, noticing the crease that burrows your brow. “The food alright?”

You blink several times, belatedly realizing you had zoned out. Guilt and embarrassment well up within you.

“M’yeah,” you swallow down the spoonful of stew stuffed in your mouth. “Sorry.”

Jimin chews his bottom lip. Finally, he settles with, “Tell me if I’m boring you.”

“No, no! You’re not.” His evident doubt does nothing to alleviate the sudden nausea swarming your lower belly. “I’m serious, Jimin. I’m - Sorry if I gave off that impression. I just - I have a lot on my mind but you’re lovely. I’d tell you if you were - you know. Promise.”

“Would you? Sometimes I think you’re too nice.” It’s not delivered as an insult, but it doesn’t exactly sound like praise, either. 

You force out a snort. “Heh. Wish you’d tell Seokjin that.”

“He’s not too cross with me, is he?” Jimin’s expression looks awkward, like he’s forcing his facial muscles to stay relaxed and mien nonchalant.

“Wh- oh, you mean because of earlier? He isn’t. That’s not him being angry. It’s not even you. It’s me. We just have - a slight difference in opinions, I suppose. If you can even call it that.”

“He doesn’t want you to date me,” concludes Jimin.

The frustrations you’d repressed earlier in the day come back. Why does Seokjin’s opinion matter? You huff, putting your spoon down.

“He’s not my dad. And even if he was, I’m grown. I can make my own decisions.” You roll your eyes. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll get over it... It’s not like it’s any of his business in the first place.”

“Still...” Jimin says, unsure. “He’s your agent. I wouldn’t want the relation between you to sour because of me.”

“Honestly, I’m convinced it’s not even you he has a problem with. We talked about it today and I think he’s getting antsy because, um, you know, I haven’t accepted any big offers lately. Like, I’m staying too much in my comfort zone or something. He says that in the long run that can be detrimental to my career.”

It’s a bit strange, discussing your work with Jimin. You both work in the same industry, Jimin as a second camera assistant and you as an adult entertainer, but outside of filming sets, you rarely acknowledge what the other person does for a living.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He wants me to branch out and try new things.”

“What, you mean anal? Gangbangs?”

“Um, yeah. All that, probably...” You have to blink several times because of the shock of hearing Jimin say that so casually. “...Is that okay?”

“Huh?” Jimin in turn blinks at you, like your question doesn’t properly register. “Oh, yeah, sure. I’m fine with it. You said it’ll be good for your career?”

“Apparently.”

“Then, yeah.” He shrugs like he isn’t bothered by the news at all. “Of course that’s okay.”

A part of you wants to push the issue, ask him why he’d be fine with his girlfriend filming intense sex scenes with random men, but that inner voice is snuffed out before the poisonous thought has time to take root.

Isn’t this what you always wanted? A boyfriend who is accepting and understanding of your profession?

You wash down your worries with a gulp or two of soju, determined not to let your own insecurities ruin the rest of your night.

.

.

Less than 24 hours after you’ve agreed to work on a worthwhile project of Seokjin’s choosing, a slew of texts blow up your phone. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s your agent. A quick scroll through your phone reveals that your agent has left you with no less than 15 messages, 1 voicemail, and 3 e-mails.

It’s...a lot. You’ve grown to expect that kind of fanfare with him. Like any man who deals with legally binding contracts on a daily basis, Seokjin ensures that you keep your word. He can be extremely persuasive when he sets his mind to it. You’ve seen men and women alike succumb to the force of his magnetism. Back when your filmography had solely consisted of amateur sex tapes shot in bad lighting with low-grade filming equipment, Seokjin's charms alone had been sufficient to win over lukewarm casting directors and book you jobs.

SEOKJIN : hey!!!!!!!!

SEOKJIN : ???

SEOKJIN : wow. you’re leaving me on read.........the audacity. 

SEOKJIN : i raised you on my back and this is how you repay me?

SEOKJIN : do you not respect your elders in your household?

SEOKJIN : i swear if you’re blowing me off for jimmy instead of answering your calls .........

SEOKJIN : or blowing jimmy. either one.

SEOKJIN : ok it’s been 10 min. i’m chill but not that chill.

SEOKJIN : can you please stop sucking dick and read your emails. it’s important.

YOU : ever heard of multitasking? god gave us two hands for a reason

SEOKJIN : oh. nasty.

SEOKJIN : way to ruin my lunch.

SEOKJIN : well. suck down that nut sauce asap

SEOKJIN : cos what i sent you needs your undivided attention

YOU : i’m nasty?? me????

YOU : you don’t hear me saying nUT SAUCE you freak

SEOKJIN : nutté sauce

SEOKJIN : there. fixed it.

YOU : ...that’s not even a thing

SEOKJIN : well it should be!

SEOKJIN : adding accents makes it instantly classier, don’t you think? nutté sauce. has a nice ring to it.

SEOKJIN : honestly. sounds like some fancy four star french starter now.

YOU : ???? it absolutely doesn’t but ok

SEOKJIN : imagine. during a scene you just yell out

SEOKJIN : “i’d like a serving of your nutté sauce to go”

YOU : dicks would shrivel up on the spot

SEOKJIN : what? i think it’s brilliant!

SEOKJIN : my talent is wasted as an agent. should’ve been a scriptwriter instead.

YOU : yes i’m sure the oscars are weeping over the missed opportunity

He takes your sarcasm at face value, feeding you more ridiculous variants of faux french cum lingo—that which you very wisely choose not to reply to. Instead of humoring him, you open the .pdf file he’s sent your way, ignoring the near-constant buzzing of your phone as he’s no doubt pestering you for an immediate answer.

Had it not been necessary for business, you’d have blocked his number ages ago. In fact, after that nut sauce comment you’re seriously reconsidering, business obligations be damned. 

To his credit, the film project he suggests you work on doesn't sound half-bad despite its questionable title. Why anyone would choose to name it THE SPERMINATOR is beyond you.

As you read through the proposition, you’re surprised to find it’s tamer than the initial imaginary scenario you’d played out in your head. Expecting to read through a long list of unnameable kinks and dicks, the scene description is rather domestic all things considered.

Your shoulders sag in relief. You enjoy sex as much as the next person, but even you have limits you’re not willing or eager to cross. You’re a human being, first and foremost, and, contrary to popular belief, not competing in the sex olympics.

From what you’ve read so far, nothing in Seokjin’s offer seems too strenuous or perverse. The scene in question is centered around a young, newly married couple trying to conceive for the first time and the sex acts are described as “romantic insemination” - whatever the fuck that means. The only complication you can think of is that you’ve never played the part of a married couple before. None of your previous films specifically target couples or women. Is romance something you can sell accordingly?

You’re quick to shake the concern off once you remember that no one cares if your acting is shit or not. All you probably have to do is yell out ‘Daddy’ a few times mid-thrust and call it a day.

Honestly, you’re a bit disappointed in Seokjin for choosing such a safe, no-risk project - especially since he constantly advocates the risk-return trade off as the way to live by. But you’re not about to start complaining. You’d rather shoot this type of innocuous scenario than ridiculous, hentai-like scenes involving freakish get-ups and toys of monster proportions not realistically made to fit in a vagina.

The deal is perfect. Almost too perfect.

Subconsciously, you must realize something is wrong. Maybe Seokjin’s many lessons have finally rubbed off on you because there’s a persistent voice in your ear warning you that the film proposition is a trap, one that you’ve unfortunately walked straight into.

Your wariness increases when he refuses to send you the script upon request. Alarm bells ring off but by then it’s too late.

“The thing is... Director Ryu wants to try a new type of project," Seokjin says over the phone once you call him up for answers. "He thinks he’s going to pioneer a new genre of porn and revolutionize the industry - his words, not mine.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“How do I explain this without you getting the wrong idea..."

“Is this meant to reassure me?!” Dread drips from your tone. You should’ve suspected something was off from the very moment Seokjin suggested to shoot vanilla porn as your next big project. What a joke.

“Calm down, it's not as bad as - whatever you're thinking.” Too bad that his attempts to calm you down have the opposite effect. “He’s been wanting to try out a new improvisation format for his porn movies.”

“Come again?”

A beat of uncomfortable quiet passes. Reluctantly, Seokjin explains, “Which means - there isn’t an actual script to go off of. That’s why I couldn’t send it to you - because there is none. He wants it to be as realistic and natural as possible so he’s looking for actors who can go with their gut and create their own scenario instead of ones who need to be directed.”

Your resounding silence speaks for itself.

Sure, sometimes they provide scripts to act as guidelines, roughly giving the actor an idea of how the scene will unfold, but no one is expected to follow it word for word. Most porn films rely on improvisation rather than scripts because of how notoriously bad porn stars are at acting and memorizing more than a few lines at a time, and the introduction scene never lasts very long anyway for it to make a noticeable difference. Besides, after filming a handful of movies, you’ve noticed the dialogue is more or less all the same.

What bothers you is that this director wants you to carry out a movie that relies heavily on improvised dialogue. Convincingly.

“C’mon,” Seokjin tries when you refuse to deign him with an answer. “It’ll be fun. You like acting, right?”

“Seokjin...” You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to keep your composure in check. “How do I break this down for you? I think you’re forgetting the most crucial detail here - I can’t act! The closest I've ever gotten to acting is faking an orgasm and I’m pretty certain that doesn’t count."

“And you do that very well!" says Seokjin encouragingly. "You'll be fine. Don’t stress over it. Your scenes with Min Yoongi last time were perfectly acceptable!”

“That’s the thing.” Stress makes your voice raise a half-step. “He did, like, 90% of the acting! Back then, all I had to do was moan and act like a slut! Which hardly counts - I was being myself. Whatever this - thing - you’re attempting to rope me into - I’m not qualified for it.”

“Sweetheart, we’re not aiming for the fucking Oscars here.” When he laughs, it’s practiced enough to sound sincere. “At the end of the day, it’s still porn. Nobody’s expecting you to be the next Meryl. And besides,” he presses on, clearly refusing to change his mind. “This is exactly what you need right now. Something fresh, something new. If you pull this off, you’ll gain exposure.”

“If I pull it off. Big if."

“I know it sounds like a gamble. I get it, I do. But remember what I always say? High risk—”

“Yes, yes. High reward. I get it.” Your frown deepens. “There’s no way to know this will work, though.”

“A good co-star already guarantees you half of the success. And luckily for you, the guy they signed on seems like the real deal. He’s hot, you’re hot. People will pay money to see you two fuck regardless of how good or bad the acting is.”

“Well. That’s reassuring,” you say, voice as flat as a board. “Although I suppose watching porn on mute is always an option if it comes to that.”

“It was a joke!” What worries you is that it doesn’t sound like it is. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ve seen some of your co-star’s tapes. He’s got a mouth on him, if you know what I mean. Just let him lead and it’ll go swimmingly.”

“It’s one thing to follow someone’s lead during sex but you want me to - to improvise for God knows how long! That’s just asking for a disaster to happen.”

“You said you were up for a challenge!” Seokjin throws your words back at you, his tone accusing.

“And you said this would be beneficial for my career! How is making a fool out of myself going to help me any? I don’t want to be remembered as the girl who can’t act to save her life.” You want to cry in frustration. If you had wanted to act you would’ve chosen that as your major in college. “I don’t - I can’t do this. I’m not - this isn’t what I signed up for! How do you expect me to convince viewers what they’re watching is real...”

“Just—” Exasperated, he takes a deep breath. Exhales. “Trust me. When have I ever been wrong about film projects.”

Is putting your career at risk really worth it? You’re not sure anymore.

On the bright side, it’ll finally get Seokjin off your back, you reason, trying to remain positive. That in itself is worth celebrating, right?

Fine. You’ll agree to it out of pettiness. Once Seokjin realizes what a terrible idea this entire ordeal is, you won’t hesitate to rub it back in his face. He’ll never hear the end of it.

"Who am I working with, anyway?”

"Ah, hm, well." Hesitation creeps up his voice for the first time, putting you instantly on edge. "...You won't know him. He's new to the scene - got started a month or two ago, I forget."

"Great. Not only am I being used as a lab rat for this director to experiment on but you're also pairing me with a fucking rookie. Jesus.”

"He’s not half bad! He’s not bad at all, actually. I wouldn't be insisting if I didn't trust him not to blow his load early."

"Aren’t I lucky,” you deadpan. “So I don't have to worry about him busting a nut before the director gives the signal?"

“All you’ll have to do is act like a married couple with baby fever,” he talks over you, ignoring your overflowing sarcasm. “And how hard can that be? You’ve been loved up with Jumin for a month now - that’s plenty enough practice if you ask me. I know you’ll be able to sell that romantic shit to the public without too much trouble.”

“It’s Jimin,” you correct from force of habit.

You’re promptly ignored — not that you expected anything less from him.

"Just give it a thought? And get back to me when you make up your mind. The sooner the better. The offer won't stay on the table forever." Even over the line, you can picture Seokjin raising his eyebrows at you, expectant. “If you’re serious about this job, you know what you have to do.”

You both know that you’ll accept the offer. Seokjin’s got you all figured out. As much as you don’t like being pushed around, the need to prove yourself is your main driving factor. The acquaintances who sneer at you, the family members who’ve shun you, the peers who expect you to burn out after the five month mark—you’d rather roll over and die than prove their misconceptions right.

It’s a matter of pride when you sniff and reply, “I’ll think about it.”

But the decision is already made before the call ends.

.

.

SCENE 02 - THE SPERMINATOR. TAKE 02. ROLL B. 

.

Eight days later you find yourself squeezed into a brazenly short dress that zips in the front, more fit for a night out in a club than a dinner at home. It’s so ridiculously tight, you feel like a prey being swallowed down by a snake. There’s no room to breathe. You can’t wait for the scene to start, if only so you can dispose of the piece of fabric and never wear it again.

Unfortunately, your outfit gets worse because thrown over the clubbing attire is a frilly apron with small hearts embroidered along the hem. The mismatch is jarring. You’re not sure what look the stylist is going for but the end result is very...peculiar.

You comfort yourself with the knowledge that it could always be worse.

A quick glance at the digital clock on your phone confirms that you’re running on time. Good. After your last gig, the last thing you want is to spend hours waiting for the personnel to set up the cameras and sound equipment correctly.

Thankfully, today’s team works like a well-oiled machine. All that’s left are the last-minute preparations before the shoot begins.

Your false eyelashes are still drying when Seokjin elbows you sharply in the ribs. You crack open an eye to glare at him. “Ouch - ah, seriously? What is it now?”

“That’s him, that’s him!” Seokjin whispers under his breath, his gaze glued to a point somewhere beyond your shoulder. “Wooow. Aren’t you a lucky bitch? I’d gargle his nutté sauce for breakfast, if you get what I mean. He looks way better in person, damn.”

“Firstly - please never say that out loud again.” You fake a gag. “How do I buy myself a new set of ears?”

Seokjin ignores your dramatics. He shoots you a look. “You let that last guy draw a starfish on your face with his crème de la nut but did you hear me go sick?”

“That’s not the same and you know it!” Your jaw drops in indignation. “And can you stop trying to make nut cream a thing for the love of—”

“What’s this about nut cream?”

You whip your head around, mortification already etched onto your features. Your mouth opens, defense at the ready, only for your throat to clamp up.

“Oh.” You blink up in surprise because - well, Seokjin’s earlier assessment isn’t embellished. The guy is fit as fuck.

You’d seen photos in passing, had even googled his name out of curiosity, but the two-dimensional version of him pales to his real life physique. There’s a sharpness to his features that the camera fails to pick up on, a vibrancy that gets lost in the medium. 

“Hey. I’m Hoseok.” His grip is firm, assertive, and your eyes naturally wander over his form. The loose muscle tee he’s thrown on puts his toned arms on display and makes it easier to admire the seemingly endless expanse of sun-kissed skin. He’s neither too thick nor too spindly, his muscles lean and firm instead of bulging. Strong but not intimidating. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise.” You swallow, mouth dry.

You expect him to leave it at that like most of your past co-stars usually do. Or worse - for him to abandon all pretenses and cross lines that aren’t meant to be crossed. As someone who has experienced it all - from standoffish to creepy and vile - nothing surprises you anymore.

But unlike your, admittedly low, expectations, his gaze is warm and friendly. He speaks smoothly, leaving no time for an awkward silence to instill itself.

“Yeah, I know who you are! I saw a video or two of yours before - you were featured on the agency’s main page last month, right? Fuckin’ genius, by the way. Best stuff I’ve seen in a long ass time.” An easy grin sits on his face, nothing about it fake or contrived. “I hope we get along today. I haven’t done much work myself - yet anyway - but I hope this can be a good experience for the both of us.”

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seokjin assures, patting your shoulder like a proud parent. “_____ here is the best talent I’ve signed on.”

“That I can believe,” Hoseok chimes, his smile never waning. “I’ve heard good stuff about you. I won’t lie - it reassured me a fuck ton when I heard I’d be working with you. The stuff we’re doing is, well, it’s a bit of a gamble at this point, but I’m sure it’ll go well because I’ll be working with you.”

For a brief, embarrassing moment, you’re robbed of words, unable to respond to his flattery. From experience, you know to be wary of guys like him. Whenever someone lays it on thick they always have an ulterior motive. But what could possibly be his?

“Seokjin’s saying that because I’m the only one who can stand his nagging,” you finally say, your shoulders stiff. Maybe it’s because you’ve just met, but it’s hard to figure him out and it doesn’t help that you’re naturally wary of strangers.

“Oh hush. You love me.” Sensing how guarded you’ve become, Seokjin mercifully offers you an out. “It was nice meeting you, Hoseok. Wish we could stay and chat but she has to get ready to film the pre-interview portion.”

“Oh yeah, that’s cool. Catch you later.”

You offer a quick smile he returns tenfold, its brightness momentarily dazzling you.

Slightly dazed from the intensity of it, you stagger behind Seokjin, sun spots dotting your vision. Your surroundings blur together as your mind tries to recover from the interaction.

“Sooooooooo?” Seokjin sing-songs once you’ve walked far enough to be out of earshot. His brows are raised knowingly, an infuriating type of smugness clinging to his features. “What did I tell you! He’s hot enough to single-highhandedly melt a glacier, huh?”

You scoff, not willing to admit anything. “He’s okay.”

“Oh c’mon. He’s baby daddy material for sure. Which works out well for you since he’s gonna pump one into you later.”

For once the grimace that crosses your face isn’t exaggerated. “Please. Stop. Talking. I’m this close to heaving out my lunch.”

You’re not even joking with that one. Attractive as Hoseok may be, any talk of baby-making is enough to dissipate any smidgens of lust.

The reminder of what the upcoming scene entails and the expectations people carry crash down on you like a pile of bricks. Although you’ve done your best to ignore the fact you’ll be acting today, the meeting with Hoseok yanks you harshly back to reality.

You’re going to act. As a married couple. Trying to conceive a baby.

Three things that have never, ever been on your bucket list are now about to be crossed out in the span of the same afternoon. To that you can only say - what the fuck is my life.

Like a mounting wave before the inevitable crash, panic crests within you. You feel it gradually build and build, flooding your lungs and every crevice of your body with overwhelming anxiety.

Seokjin sighs. “How are you going to make it through today? The whole point of the sex scene is to get you pregnant. Or fake pregnant. You know what I mean.”

“Um...” You try to laugh but it comes out shaky. Seokjin shoots you a concerned look. “I’ll be fine! Really! I can do it. It’s just acting like you said, right? It’s not like he’s actually gonna knock me up in real life. So. Totally fine. It’s fine. Perfect.”

Seokjin’s concern grows. His eyebrows pinch together and his expression turns serious. He asks with no trace of mockery, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay!” you reply. It’s too rushed of an answer to convince him. Your palms feel clammy and you wipe them off your damned apron. “Just. Nervous. Y’know.”

His steps slow to a halt and he places a warm, heavy hand on your shoulder. The weight, familiar and comforting, grounds you to reality. “Hey. What’s there to be nervous about? You got this.”

“Yeah.” You nod. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll trick yourself into believing it. “I’ve got this.”

“Look. Let me be honest for a second. I’ve been an agent for eight years now and I’ve seen a lot of talents come and go. No pun intended.” You smile back at him weakly. “You’ve got something...extra a lot of them lacked. I knew the moment I saw you on film you’d go far. The energy you bring onscreen is insane. I know today might seem new and strange - but so was your first ever professionally shot film, right? And you got through that fine. You’ll do great. I know it. And, not to toot my own horn, but I’m always right.”

That earns him a laugh. The nerves are still there but thanks to his pep talk it’s easier to breathe.

Despite being a big pain in the ass, Seokjin is exemplary at his job. Without him, you’re acutely aware you wouldn’t have gotten half as far as you have. Having him by your side is a reassurance in itself.

Someone calls your name, pulling you from your thoughts. When you turn around, you’re face to face with the round, bespectacled face of Director Ryu. You reckon he’s in his early forties but he acts younger than his age. It’s your first time working with him but so far he’s been nice enough, if a little full of himself. Not that you’re unaccustomed with working alongside conceited colleagues.

“Oh good, you’re back. You can get seated for the interview bit.” He points over to a chair placed in front of a pale yellow wall. From close up, you can see a paint job is in order, the old coat chipping off in several places. “Alright, this won’t last long - just need you to answer some questions on tape and we’ll be good to go.”

“Sure thing.” You nod and follow his directions, sitting still while the hair and make-up artist steps up to give your lips a final touch-up.

Strictly speaking, the before and after interviews aren’t a necessity. In your experience, directors mostly film the short question-and-answer sequence when you’re set to film hardcore sex scenes as a way to show viewers everything is consensual and that you thoroughly enjoyed the experience despite whatever might have transpired on screen.

You reckon the director wants to film you today to document the process behind his “groundbreaking film project”. Cue roll of eyes.

Somebody needs to tell him he isn’t inventing anything, you think while watching him fiddle with the camera until he’s completely satisfied with the angle. All he’s done so far is add unnecessary pressure on you. You hope Hoseok is faring better because the amount of performance anxiety you’re experiencing is an instant boner killer.

“You nervous?” the director asks once he’s done adjusting the camera lens.

While by some standards you’re still considered a newbie in the industry, you’ve done this enough times to fall into a routine. Wake-up, breakfast, get ready, arrive before call time, fill out all the paperwork and get ready to shoot your solo stills. It’s familiar enough that you’ve long stopped getting pre-performance jitters.

Today’s rush of anxiety is as surprising as it is unwelcome. They don’t want to hear that particular truth though, so you keep your reply sweet and bubbly.

“Nah,” you grin, wide and easy. “I’m super excited to film today!”

“Oh yeah? Is it perhaps because of your co-star?”

Your smile freezes for a second. Somewhere over the director’s shoulder you can see Seokjin nodding enthusiastically while giving you the double thumbs up. “Hoseok? He’s hot, sure.”

“Ooh. Already on a first name basis?”

“Hm?” you let out a noise of polite confusion, only belatedly realizing that his viewers know him better as his porn alias, J-Hope. But there’s no way in hell you’re going to yell that out loud while he’s fucking an orgasm out of you. Not only does it sound ridiculous but it’ll shatter whatever carefully crafted illusion you manage to build. “Um, yes. We’re getting to know each other. He’s very friendly.”

“I’m sure he is.” And there’s an implication there that doesn’t sit too well with you but thankfully Director Ryu chooses to move on and put that particular subject to rest.

“You ever shoot an insemination scene before?”

“Not yet.” You make sure to keep the smile on your face even if your cheeks are beginning to hurt. “I can’t wait to get to it. It’s a fantasy I’ve always had but never tried out for myself. I’m excited to film a first on camera!”

The director has yet to call you out for your bullshit so you slowly start to relax. Acting is a bit like lying, isn’t it? Maybe you can get through today after all.

You breeze through the rest of the questions, forcing out practiced laughs here and there all whilst keeping your voice syrupy sweet. It’s quick work, especially when you know what to expect. Before you know it, it’s already time to film the pièce de résistance. Everyone that’s allowed on set during filming filters into the kitchen, conversations between crew members dying down as they use their last recreational moments to check their phones.

The director’s filming style exempts you from shooting the customary pre-shoot sex stills which are essentially promotional pictures of you and and your partner in every sex position that you’ll be filming for real later on. You’re thankful for that, at least. Even with all of your on-camera experience, staying perfectly silent and still with someone’s dick inside you is no easy feat. It’s worse when you have to keep eye contact with your co-star and fake sexual gratification because the shot calls for it.

Hoseok waves at you from the other side of the room, the hair and makeup artist dusting some powder across the slope of his nose.

How can he look so relaxed?! You’re barely holding your lunch down. Honestly, it’s a miracle you’re able to now tat the butterflies are back in full force, making a mess of your stomach.

You feel queasy but try not to make it too obvious even as Seokjin comes around to check up on you. The last thing you want to do is make a scene, especially when your onscreen counterpart's demeanor is making you look amateurish in comparison.

Maybe Hoseok is a better actor than you’re able to give most porn stars credit for because try as you might, you fail to detect any nervous undercurrent in his tone. For someone who is supposedly starring in his first major project, he doesn’t seem all too bothered about how it might play out.

How does he do it?! In all honesty, if Seokjin hadn’t informed you of his rookie status, you would be none the wiser.

There’s an ease with which he carries himself, a fluidity in his movements that belies no anxiety or awkwardness. Even from this distance you can tell that there’s never a hint of hesitation in his movements or speech; he doesn’t seem self-conscious in the least. He talks and moves with the assurance of someone who has been in the industry for months, not weeks.

In that moment you envy him. You’re so nervous about the upcoming scene that it’s hard to feign an air of professional detachment.

His boisterous laugh is loud enough to carry across the room and interrupt your line of thought. When you look over at him again, you find him folded in half, hands clutching his sides, and wearing a grin so bright it eclipses the entirety of his face.

“He seems nice.”

You jump, startled by Jimin’s sudden appearance. You hadn’t even heard him draw near. With a sheepish expression, you turn to look up at him only to find him already staring off into the distance. There’s a strange look painting his face, and a small crease in his brow that usually isn’t present. When you follow his line of sight, you’re met with the image of Hoseok talking animatedly to the the small crowd that’s flocked around him.

“Yeah.” You aren’t sure what else to say. Although there’s no sarcasm attached to his words, you can’t help but find Jimin unnaturally tense.

Which makes sense, you concede guiltily. A mere stranger is minutes away from dicking down his girlfriend. You’re not sure how you’d feel if you were to stand in his shoes.

You breathe in deep, silently willing away the knot of distress in your belly. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing. It’s just a job. A profession that Jimin has always been fully aware of, even before you’d begun dating.

Even as you remind yourself of the facts, it does little to dispel the lingering feelings of doubt and guilt.

“Hey.” Jimin frowns at you in concern. “You alright?”

“Yep!” you say then immediately sigh, knowing that lying to your boyfriend is pointless. “I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Nervous?” Jimin’s worry grows, the crease in his brow deepening. “What about?”

“Just—” You gesture around with your hands. “All of this.”

“Oh.” He looks genuinely surprised. “But you don’t usually get nervous... Is it the impregnation thing you’ll have to do? I know you’ve said you’re not a big fan of that. Or... Is it something else?”

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. It’s a bit of everything yet at the same time nothing you can clearly pinpoint and put a finger on. In all logic, you know that you’re feeling disproportionately stressed out but you can’t stop yourself from feeling how you feel. “It’s not that I don’t want to film. I just - I’m worried I won’t do well.”

Jimin takes your hand between his, running a thumb in soothing circles across the surface of your skin. He repeats the motion several times until your heartbeat is completely synced to his touch.

“You’ll do great. You always do.” The lines of his mouth bend into a smile. “I’ll be on the sidelines cheering you on.”

“My very own cheerleader.” You allow yourself to relax and and smile back fondly.

As much as you worry about Jimin being upset with you filming sex scenes with other actors, he’s never been anything less than the supporting boyfriend you’ve always dreamed of. Seokjin calls Jimin’s constant presence on set maddening, but you’re thankful that your boyfriend sticks by your side while others might flee or shame you.

Suddenly, you’re overcome with emotion. Maybe it’s the stress, or maybe today you’re more hormonal than usual, but your eyes threaten to well up as you grip his palm tightly in your own. “Jimin, I—”

“Okay, lovebirds!” Seokjin claps his hands once, effectively ruining your moment. “Hand-holding time is over. We’re moving onto the more R-rated stuff.”

“Seokjin!” you hiss, upset over his horrible timing.

“It’s fine.” Jimin shakes his head. “He’s right, shoot’s about to start anytime soon. I need to get ready, too.”

“Right.”

Reluctantly, you let go of Jimin’s hand.

“Don’t pout.” He laughs and presses a quick, chaste kiss to your mouth. “I’ll wait for you after filming and we can go grab dinner. Italian sound fine?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” You bob your head eagerly. “I’m literally dying for carbs. Italian sounds more than perfect.”

“Good.” 

You can’t resist sneaking in one last peck before Jimin retreats behind the cameras and you’re pulled to stand in front of a granite kitchen tabletop. Director Ryu is waiting for you, Hoseok already by his side.

From close-up, your co-star looks even more striking. The make-up artist’s work highlights his features without going overboard. The lines of his face are sharp, like every single one has been meticulously drawn. What usually would give someone a hostile and unapproachable impression is balanced out by the liveliness that lights up his eyes and his wide smile that looks almost too big for his face.

“It’ll start in the kitchen and then we’ll work out way to the bedroom.” Director Ryu points down the hallway. “I was thinking of keeping it all in the bedroom but nothing screams domesticity more than kitchen scenes, right?”

“Uh-huh.” You give a polite nod. Next to you, Hoseok coughs into his fist.

“Depending on how this goes we might have to take several takes - just keep that in mind.”

That’s nothing out of the ordinary. Sex scenes are never filmed in one take. There’s always one thing or another - a smoke break, a flaccid dick, a lighting fixture that needs to be changed. A 45 minute porn movie is the result of the editing team that painstakingly goes through, cuts and assembles hours of footage.

“Remember,” Director Ryu instructs, one hand cocked on his hips. “You’re still stuck in that honeymoon phase. All the two of you want to do is fuck like horny bunnies but your husband’s been away all day. Both of you have been waiting for this reunion for hours and hours. I want to feel that level of tension, got it?”

Hoseok nods like a dutiful student, his expression comically serious. You’d laugh if it wasn’t so inappropriate.

“Yep. Ok. Got it.”

You just want the director to stop talking so that you can get this over with quickly. The monologue is just delaying the inevitable.

Director Ryu spends extra minutes setting up the scene, emphasizing how in love and passionate the two of you should behave, describing how long you’ve been wanting to try for a baby, going into explicit detail about what the sex scenes should convey to the viewers. He just goes on and on and on with no end it sight.

At this point even Hoseok is growing restless. His feet refuse to stay still and his eyes dart around the room as if his attention is drawn elsewhere. It’s Hoseok’s constant fidgeting that draws Director Ryu out of his monologue. He finally senses that there’s a unanimous decision to start filming and retires behind the camera to settle himself in his appointed chair.

Hoseok shares a long look with you. “Is he always like that?”

“God, I hope not.” You lower your voice to whisper, “Seokjin - my agent - he says apparently Director Ryu wanted to make a career off of documentaries once he graduated from film school but quickly switched genres once he saw how little filming the mating habits of koalas was earning him.”

“Ah,” Hoseok nods conspiratorially before his features shift into something more serious. “Hey. Before we start, is there anything you’re not comfortable with? I know this scene is supposed to lean towards vanilla but you never know... I’d rather make sure. Just in case.”

You blink, taken aback. Hard limits aren’t really discussed outside of hardcore scenes. Sure, everyone is given a safeword before shoots begin but even screaming out “STOP!” or “Can we take a break from filming?” is enough to put the filmed scene on hold.

“Ah... No. I’m okay. But thanks for asking.” A moment passes and you add, “Is there - are there any words or kinks that bother you?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “Not for this one. Just - if there’s anything you’d rather me not say or do, don’t hesitate.”

You nod in reply, not sure of what else to say. Unfortunately your past experiences with men have made you suspicious of any form of flattery or kindness.

Soon, though, you relax. What reason is there for Hoseok to deceive you? Maybe he still has that rookie mindset. You can relate to the eagerness and the desire to do well you’d had in your early days of filming.

“Alright. Good luck, Hoseok.”

His smile is so bright that it erases your previous doubts. Surely someone with ill-intentions wouldn’t be able to smile like that, right? You return a tentative smile of your own. Something akin to understanding seems to pass between you. Although you don’t know Hoseok and he doesn’t know you, you trust him enough for this scene.

The moment is broken when Director Ryu directs Hoseok to wait outside the camera’s line of vision and you’re left alone in front of the kitchen stove.

Any moment now, you think. A telltale silence falls over the staff members as they all anticipate the director’s signal for the scene to start.

The first few seconds are always tricky. You’re no actress. There’s no switch inside of you that flips on and off as soon as the director commands “ACTION!” and “CUT!”. The world around you doesn’t fade out, your ‘porn star persona’ doesn’t claw its way out from within you and lunge for the nearest available dick. Sometimes, if you’re not attracted to your onscreen partner, you find your mind drifting off, making an inventory of your fridge and wondering what you’ll be able to cook up for dinner with two eggs and leftover rice.

When Director Ryu shouts “ACTION!” and slams down the plate, you freeze up. Usually you have an idea of what to say or do, but the words and actions won’t come to you this time.

Someone behind the cameras lets out a light cough. Oh right, you blink down at the simmering pot of water in front of you. The cameras are recording you making an utter fool out of yourself.

The spike of humiliation forces you into action. You’re more professional than this, damn it. You give the water a tentative stir, movements wooden and stiff. It’s hard to concentrate. All you can do is watch as the water simmers to a boil, the sound of bubbling water like a roaring current in your ears.

A door creaks open, signalling your onscreen husband’s return home.

To your horror, you find that you’re unable to move, as if your limbs had forgotten their primary function.

Before the scene had started, you had envisioned yourself throwing yourself into the arms of your loving husband and welcoming him home with a shower of kisses and words of affection. You had internally rehearsed it, had even thought of what you could say to him between pecks, but the reality is far removed from what you had practiced.

“Darling?” Hoseok’s voice is soft but loud enough for you to hear him over the angry sounds of boiling water. The vowels he uses are rounded, different from the bright pep in his tone from earlier. 

You want to respond but your tongue feels like lead, too heavy in your mouth to articulate and form the proper reply. What are you supposed to call him, anyway? Honey? Hoseok? A nickname derived from his name? What do newlywed spouses call each other? Why couldn’t you give this more thought before the cameras began rolling?

Panic balloons inside you, threatening to burst. For a terrifying and mortifying second, you think that you’ve gone and ruined everything. The muscles in your shoulders bunch up and you half-expect the director to shout ‘CUT!’, give you a public scolding for missing your cue and berate you for your overall ineptitude.

Hoseok’s arms wrap around your middle before you have time to agonize any further. Just as you suspected, his arms are strong, the lean muscles flexing as he readjusts his hold around your waist. What you don’t expect, however, is the unadulterated warmth he radiates. His body burns hot; even through the layers of clothing separating the two of you, his warmth seeps through. But it’s strangely comfortable, not unlike basking in the afternoon sun during the last days of summer. You let yourself melt into his embrace.

“You’re not even going to say hi?”

With your back turned to him, you can’t be sure, but you imagine the pout playing at his lips. He tucks his chin in the crook of your shoulder. If he feels any awkwardness, he doesn’t let it show.

Miraculously, your mouth seems to be in working order again. It takes you a few seconds too long to find the appropriate answer, but it finally comes before the director can cut in to make any remarks.

“If I turn around right now, I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you,” you explain. “And - I don’t want to ruin our dinner.”

Just to keep up the pretense, you add a handful of spaghetti into the pot of water.

Hoseok lets out a hum from behind you. He’s standing close enough for you to feel the vibrations low in his throat.

“I hate it,” he says after a stretch of silence.

You pout. “What? My cooking? What’s wrong with it?”

“No, silly. I hate -” he sighs, buries his face in your neck before looking back up so the camera can capture his expression. “I hate not being with you. I missed this.”

He hugs you from behind before kissing your neck. It starts off innocuous - his lips pressing short, chaste kisses down the column of your throat. Quickly, however, his mouth lingers on your skin.

“Ah - don’t. I’m cooking!” you shriek when his teeth scrape over a sensitive spot under your jaw. Your protests are half-hearted and go by unacknowledged. The pot of pasta could overflow right now and no one would care, least of all you.

Hoseok noses your neck while he tightening his grip around your waist, the movement bringing his hips flush against your lower back. You give the pot in front of you a very unenthusiastic stir, attention focused instead on the way his lips tenderly skim the surface of your skin, testing and teasing. The sensation feels nice - and keeps your mind off of the several cameras directed your way.

“But I went all day missing my princess,” he sighs, open mouthed against your neck. “Spent all day thinking about you.”

“Y-you did?”

“Mhm.” He gives your exposed shoulder a peck. Then another. “Thought about your cute little laugh.”

His line catches you off guard. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out.

Porn is often crude and to the point. You’re used to men complimenting your body parts or praising your skills in bed. You’d never minded, either. But Hoseok’s choice of words make you eager in a different way.

“What else?”

“Well, your cooking, for sure. Without you I’d be eating out of ramyeon packets for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

You let out a snort.

“That’s true. Your cooking is so horrible it’s offensive.”

“Hey now. Don’t be mean.” He pokes your cheek before pinching your chin to turn your head towards him. “I can cook a decent omelet.”

Hoseok’s a good few inches taller than you so you have to strain your neck to be able to look him in the eyes. The slight discomfort barely registers. You’re too transfixed by the way he stares at you. It’s hard to place the expression because you’ve never seen it on a fellow actor before. Normally, the men you work with stare you down with hungry and lustful intent, but there’s none of that in Hoseok’s gaze.

The expression on his face cannot be described as innocent, either. He licks his lips, drawing your attention to the pretty lines of his mouth delicately curved into a smile.

“I missed the way you feel in my arms.” His voice sounds deeper, this time. “I missed holding you close to me. Kissing you. Reminding you how much I love you. I missed the look in your eyes when - “

“When?”

He smirks. “You sure you want to hear it? What if you can’t keep your hands off of me after? I don’t want to be held responsible for soggy pasta.”

“Hoseok,” you whine, one of your hands reaching down to slap at the hold around your stomach. 

He tightens his hold around you and your breath hitches, suddenly all too aware of how firm his body feels behind you. The smirk on his face widens as he leans forward to confess his next words.

“I was thinking about how I miss the look on your face whenever I make your pussy sloppy with my cum.”

“Hoseok!”

One moment he’s crooning sweet words of affection, the next he’s spitting out filth. The quick back-and-forth gives you whiplash but you can’t say you dislike it. Unlike the tired and overused clichéd porn scenarios you’ve filmed in the past, Hoseok’s unpredictable behavior has the advantage of keeping you on your toes.

“You missed it too, hm?” He kisses your neck, lips soft and warm. “Kept thinking about how pretty you sound. So, so pretty. Especially when I give you what you want.”

“How would you know what I want?” You turn your head forwards so you can pretend to check up on the cooking pasta. “You were away all day.”

Hoseok’s eyes flash dangerously.

“How would I know?” he parrots back, his tone sweet and mocking. Something about it sends tingles down your spine and has you standing up straighter. “I always know what my pretty wife wants. I know because your body can’t lie to me.”

His hands wander, one of them inching up the material of your frilly apron to reach between your breasts. The movement is slow enough for a camera to zoom in and follow its trail. Hoseok rests his hand on your left breast and gives it a squeeze.

“See?” He repeats the action. “Your heart’s racing like crazy.”

You swallow audibly, finding it hard to come up with a witty riposte.

He continues with a chuckle, “You can’t deny it, can you? Your body’s too honest for your own good. It’s okay. You don’t have to say you missed me. I know.”

His self-assured way of talking makes it easier for you to react. This - the cockiness, the playfulness - you’re familiar with.

You roll your eyes and continue to give the pot in front of you a few additional stirs only for your breath to hitch when he starts to grind his hips against your lower back in time with your stirs.

Fuck is your only coherent thought. He rolls his hips so well it’s impossible not to imagine them doing something else. Your bottom lip grows numb from how hard you bite it.

“Of course I missed you.” You keep your tone as light as possible, determined not to show that his words and actions affect you.

Hoseok’s eyes narrow. He removes his hands from around you but keeps his front pressed against your back. He smiles again, dimples poking through.

“You don’t sound convinced... That’s fine.” It sounds like the beginning of a challenge and you soon learn why.

His nimble fingers play with the knot of your apron and you tense, expecting him to make quick work of your clothes and dive straight into dessert, so to speak. Once again, he surprises you by leaving the apron alone, hands falling to his sides.

His knees hit the floor, the noise startling you. Before you have the chance to truly react, he’s quick to pull your hips backwards until your back is arched. The sudden change in position forces you to adjust your stance so as to keep your balance.

“Hoseok?” you start to question but he cuts you off with a tut and light smack to your ass.

“You just keep your eye on dinner like you were doing before.” His fingers play with the hem of your short dress, stretching the fabric until it bunches up around your hips and leaves your lacy thong on display. “You can do that, right?”

Flustered by the position he’s maneuvered you into, with your hips thrust back obscenely, legs splayed wide and pussy on show, you grip the wooden spoon in your hand with more force than necessary. “It’s just pasta. I can manage.”

Maybe you sound less indifferent than intended because Hoseok seems more amused than offended by your feinted nonchalance. He barks out a laugh, his hands spreading the meat of your cheeks aside to get a better view of your lace-covered bits.

Privately, you wish you could witness his reaction. If there’s anything that turns you on, it’s knowing how much someone else wants you. If feels good to know that you’re wanted and desired. Even if fucking is part of your job description, the act needs to be mutually enjoyable for you to be completely satisfied.

“Sure.” The lilt in his voice is so sweet that it borders on condescending. “While you do that, I think I’ll have my appetizer.”

It’s corny, overused and a little degrading - exactly the type of one-liner you’d ordinarily find in porn - but he gives you no time to call him out for it. As soon as he’s done talking, he wags his tongue out and drags it across the red lace, and the repeated up and down motions quickly dampen your panties.

You notice with great frustration that he takes care to avoid your clit, focusing instead on licking broad stripes over slit and, to your surprise, around your rim.  He doesn’t stop until your underwear drips with the accumulation of your essence and his saliva. The soaked lace rubs against you, the rough texture adding pressure to your most sensitive zones, until you can’t tell if the extra sensation is a blessing or a curse. Your hips jerk forward every so often, unsure if you’d rather lean into or escape his torturous games. Because as amazing as Hoseok’s tongue feels, you know your body well enough to be able to tell that this particular tempo won’t bring you to your peak.

An appetizer, he had called it. That’s exactly what the teasing ministrations feel like - a small sampling before the main course. It’s satisfying and maddening in its own way. Good, but not enough to satisfy your ravenous appetite.

He unearths himself from your dripping core, chin shiny with your juices.

“Keep focus,” he instructs as he slots two fingers inside of you. You’re wet enough that they slide in without too much difficulty, the stretch making your stomach clench. “I thought you said you knew how to cook pasta.”

Against your will, you force yourself to focus on the bubbling water in front of you. As much as you want to push your hips back and ride his fingers until you’re pushed over the edge, you can’t take the humiliation of messing up pasta - even if it is for the sake of a porn scenario.

It’s fucking pasta! You have to be seriously inept to mess up such a simple dish...

But what should have been an effortless task becomes more challenging than expected. Hoseok refuses to go easy on you. If anything, your stubborn silence is all the motivation he needs to thrust his fingers inside of you harder, curving them at an angle that makes your knees wobble. You struggle to keep any incriminating noises at bay but despite your best efforts, several muffled moans slip out one after the other.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the logical side of you points out how dangerous all of this is. What if, during your impending orgasm, your body seizes up and knocks the boiling water everywhere during the process? You quickly switch off the gas stove at the thought. Better be safe than sorry.

Just then, Hoseok adds his tongue to the mix, his fingers relentless in their pursuit of your pleasure. You bite back a curse as the wooden spoon slips from your hold and clatters to the floor.

“Ah fu - Oh God,” you stutter, hands holding on to the edge of the counter for dear life.

You’ve been eaten out God knows how many times in your life, but not many have instinctively known what really gets you going. Hoseok laps at your core, tongue collecting the moisture that seeps through the fabric of your ruined panties, while his fingers scissor you open for his cock.

Your stomach clenches as you imagine how well he’d fill you up. Who the hell would ever want pasta for dinner when Hoseok could feed you his cock instead? Definitely not you, that’s for sure.

It’s easy to picture it. All he’d need to do is stand up, unzip his pants and spear you open with a practiced roll of his hips. Maybe he’d make you toss a salad while he fucks you from behind, slapping your ass whenever you forget to keep stirring the ingredients together. Or perhaps he’d let you ride his dick on the kitchen floor, too impatient to make it to a more comfortable surface.

Your imagination knows no bounds. Once you start, you can’t stop thinking of more lascivious scenarios, each one more daring and debauched than the last. The heat between your legs becomes unbearable and still, you ache for more.

Hoseok pulls away from the apex of your thighs and snorts, the sound pulling you out of your depraved thoughts. The pace of his thrusting slows down without stopping completely, his fingers still pressed deep within you. Your arms tremble as they try to keep you upright, knuckles white from the strength of your grip around the counter’s edge. You exhale shakily.

A whine works its way into your voice. “Why - why’d you stop?”

Ignoring your protests, he pops his fingers out of you and indulges in one last lick of your swollen pussy, before gathering to his feet. He rolls down your dress back over your bum and peers over your shoulder, acting as nothing had ever happened.

“Thought you said you’d take care of dinner, hm?” Hoseok has the gall to hum in disappointment.

Your mouth opens in outrage. “You!”

Hoseok pouts. “I thought we said you wouldn’t blame me for any soggy pasta.”

“You’re impossible,” you say without any real heat to your words.

“But you love me that way.”

He smiles as he leans in to kiss you, lips sticky and warm. You follow the pace he sets as best you can, unaccustomed to the way he takes his time - like you’re a delicacy that demands to be savored and not gulped down. On-screen kisses are usually rushed, messy, with too much tongue. They’re a scripted affair, more for show than out of real affection. When men tuck back your hair behind your ear or palm your cheek, it’s only to better angle your face for the camera.

There is something intimate about the way he holds you, the way he looks at you. Inwardly, you can't help but admire his acting skills. There’s something tender about the way he handles you that’s distinctly different from any of your previous onscreen partners. Sure, you’ve shot vanilla sex scenes before, but never of this variety. None of the male actors’ performances have made you wish, even fleetingly, foolishly, that the scene was real.

Hoseok pulls up for air before your mind can wander off completely, his panting mouth a hairsbreadth away. Lips touching but not quite.

Blearily, you blink your eyes open. You’re close enough that your noses brush against one another, your breaths mingling together. Hoseok’s eyes remain closed throughout, like he doesn’t want the moment to end. He looks so content that you can’t bring yourself to do anything else but melt further into his embrace, gaze drinking in the minute details of his face - like the tiny moles dotting his cheekbone and upper lip and the pretty curve of his eyes.

“And cut!”

You both jump away from each other, startled. For a second there, the storyline you’d been instructed to follow had slipped from your mind. You’re unsure if the lapse in judgement is good or bad but you don’t let the question linger in your thoughts. You’ll have plenty of time to dissect your performance at a later time.

“Good, good. That wasn’t what I was expecting but I don’t think anyone has any objections?” Director Ryu claps his hands. “Fifteen minute break sound good everyone? Then we’ll relocate to the bedroom to shoot the next part.”

There’s a general hum of agreement from the crew members. Chairs and various other equipment scrape the floor as the personnel prepare to migrate to the other room for filming. Jimin’s gaze meets yours briefly but all he can do is smile weakly in your direction before he’s ordered to help push some of the equipment down the hall.

Someone comes up to you with a bottle of water while another steps closer to blot the beads of sweat near your hairline and reapply a layer of lipstick. The make-up artist knits her brows in concentration until she’s satisfied with the touch-ups. She then moves on to Hoseok, make-up palette and brush at the ready, and grumbles loudly about the sticky residue covering his face. You hear Hoseok bellow a laugh, the sound so infectious that even the make-up artist joins in. 

You sip your water through a straw, careful not to smudge your freshly applied lipstick, and check your phone for any missed messages.

“Was all of that okay?”

“Hm?” You look up and are surprised to see Hoseok stare at you expectantly. “I, uh, know some girls aren’t into ass play. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked before jumping the gun but I figured - since you said there wasn’t anything major you were adverse to filming...”

His voice trails off.

“I liked it.” The admission is an easy one. “It did take me by surprise, but - I don’t have any complaints.”

“Ah, really?” Hoseok’s mouth corners upturn in relief. “That’s good to know. I was thinking - for the next scene - what if - I mean, are you okay with calling me Daddy?”

You tilt your head as you mull over the proposition.

“Daddy?”

“It’s not - you don’t have to. But listening to Director Ryu go on earlier made me think of something we could do. I think it fits well with the general idea. What do you think?”

“I’m fine with it.” Using the title doesn’t make you squeamish so you shrug in compliance. It’s not the first you’ve had to incorporate a daddy kink into the scene and it likely won’t be the last. You don’t see why you wouldn’t or shouldn’t do it with Hoseok. “I’ll follow your lead like I’ve been doing.”

It’s only as you’re following him towards the bedroom that you recall that you’ve yet to get to the crux of the scene - the damned impregnation kink. Even though you’re considerably less nervous than you’d been an hour or two ago, the thought of begging someone you barely know for something so intimate makes your stomach flip-flop. You don’t even have unprotected sex with Jimin and he’s your boyfriend.

Speaking of Jimin, you try to sneak in a peck or two before filming but Director Ryu intercepts you before you can make a beeline to where Jimin’s stationed behind a camera.

“How are you feeling?” The overhead light reflects off his round glasses and makes it impossible to hold eye contact unless you want to become semi-permanently blind.

“Good---”

“Wonderful. Well, we’ve positioned cameras here, here, and over there. There’ll be another camera man who’ll film with a handheld camera for closeups. Just keep that in mind. I know we’re giving you free-range to do what you feel is best and most natural but I’d hate to ask you to re-shoot because the camera couldn’t capture the both of you properly.”

You nod and he continues, “Also - please remember that you’re acting as a horny young married couple. I remember at that age I was up for anything, you get what I’m saying? People think just because you put a ring on your finger the sex automatically becomes stale. Fuck that. Show people married couples are freaks in the sheet.”

“Uh... Alright. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He claps a hand over your shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”

Freaks in the sheet? What did he expect you to do? Try out all the sex positions in the Kama Sutra?

“What did he want now?” Hoseok leans over to whisper once you’re seated comfortably on the bed. You’re hoping the mics don’t pick up the conversation but would rather not take the risk of being overheard bad-mouthing the director.

Shrugging, you say, “Just that this scene should be spicier.”

Hoseok raises his brow, lips quirking into a smirk. “That so?”

The same cockiness you’d caught a glimpse of during your escapade in the kitchen is back and the memory you associate it with makes the back of your neck prickle with heat. You clear your throat and avert your eyes.

Thankfully Director Ryu interrupts before Hoseok has the chance to fluster you further. You follow each of the director’s voiced directives until you’re comfortably seated on Hoseok’s lap, dress hitched around your waist because of how far your knees are spread on either side of Hoseok’s thighs. There’s a quick, last minute adjustment as Director Ryu ensures that the camera in the left corner picks up on everything it’s supposed to.

Satisfied, he lets you take the reins from there, then gives the cameras the signal to begin rolling.

You don’t waste a moment, taking his earlier commentary to heart. It’s your turn to pepper kisses all over Hoseok’s golden skin, leaving faint traces of rouge behind like an artist signing their own painting. You stop a few times to admire your work. Lip prints and lavender bite marks color his skin and the sight awakens a possessive streak you didn’t know you had.

Your enthusiasm to mark him up gets a little out of hand.

"Mhm." Hoseok grunts when you lick over a sensitive spot under his jaw. "Slow down, princess. There's no rush. We have all night."

He cups his chin between his hands so you have no choice but to relent and direct your gaze up at him. You’re pleased to see that he’s not completely indifferent to your touch; despite his instructions to take it slow, the smoldering look in his eyes tell a different story.

He runs the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, the pink flesh no doubt swollen. You take the digit in your mouth, unprompted, and run your tongue against its underside, wishing that his cock could fill your mouth instead.

Hoseok makes a noise low in his throat, not quite a growl but close.

"And I intend to take my time with you." The look he levels you with promises a night full of mind-numbing pleasure. Ribbons of heat curl around the base of your spine. "Want to make you feel good."

"You do," you agree, words muffled around the thumb you refuse to let go of.

You take a hold of his wrist and free your mouth, only to quickly replace it with his forefinger and middle finger. The stretch of two digits makes you moan lewdly.

Hoseok’s eyes darken. He lets you play for a few more seconds before he takes back control, his fingers pushing deeper into your mouth until they hit the back of your throat. You swallow down a gag, but his fingers don’t let you rest for long. He drags them over the flat of your tongue, watching as spit dribbles down past the sides of your mouth, and repeats the motion, pumping into your mouth steadily like he would a cock.

As nice as it feels to be filled with his fingers, whether in your cunt or mouth, you’re ready for more. Subconsciously, your hips grind down in his lap, shifting this way and that until you’re perfectly seated over his hardened length.

Drool is pushed out of your mouth as Hoseok squeezes a third fingers in with the other two. You suck harder, hoping that all your efforts will spur Hoseok into finally fucking you. The knowledge that he has to, at one point or another, keeps you from whining and begging pathetically for his cock. You can exercise patience if you put your mind to it; you’re sure of it. 

Your on-screen husband decides to test that resolve.

His other hand starts to wander south, his fingers toying with the short hem of your dress that’s been rucked up even higher with all your rocking and grinding. The movement of your hips slow, your brain unable to keep up with the stimuli coming in all directions.

A crack resounds in the room, the sharp sound startling you more than the sting that accompanies it. Hoseok’s palm rubs over the heated area, only inflaming it further.

“And who told you you could stop?”

The second slap is notably harsher than the first, and your hips automatically lurch forward hoping perhaps to lessen the impact of the sting.

You know he doesn’t expect a verbal answer; his second hand keeps your mouth plugged up, making any attempt at talking unintelligible. It doesn’t stop you from trying, only because you know the muffled protest are greatly appreciated amongst viewers. And if the way Hoseok’s digs his fingers into your smarting ass cheek is any indicator, you’re confident that he also enjoys your squirming and messy display.

“Keep moving, princess. I need both your holes nice and wet.”

The way his voice dips an octave makes your stomach twist in arousal. You long to tell him that you’re sufficiently wet enough for him to slide his cock inside right away but all you manage are pitiful garbled words.

He raises an eyebrow at your delayed response and your hips move before he can smack the globes of your ass for a third time. You have an inkling he’ll only hit harder with the intention of leaving marks of his own all over your skin.

It’s a careful balancing act, but you figure it out as you go. Bounce too fast and the fingers in your mouth will make you gag. Move too slowly for his liking and he won’t hesitate to add to the collection of handprints on your ass.

You lose track of how long he makes you play this game. Your mind focuses on sucking while keeping your jaw slack enough to accomadate the width of three digits. Drool pools down your chin, and you’re certain whatever the make-up artist had done to your lips is now ruined. Worse off are your panties. At the stage they’re at now, you’ll have no choice but to throw them out. Hoseok’s pants might need be as unsalveagable as your thong, you think inwardly, judging by the large, dark wet spot you’re currently sitting on.

“Mmh, good girl.” 

He gently slides his fingers out, strings of saliva attached. He hums in satisfaction at the lewd sight and rubs his fingers across your swollen lips and shiny chin, spreading the fluids and what’s left of your lipstick over your mouth. You swallow, mouth sore from being used roughly for so long.

“This hole is sufficiently wet, I think,” he appraises, eyelashes fluttering before he casts a long look down your body until it reaches where you’re seated on his clothed erection. “Let’s check this one too.”

The way he smirks at you but makes no move to check himself lets you know that he expects you to do the work.

You let your hands trail down your body slowly, cupping your breasts as you do, enjoying his hooded gaze and the way his cock twitches beneath you a bit too much. When you reach the hem of your dress, you lift your hips up to pull the fabric up to your navel giving an unobstructed view of your lace-covered pussy.

Hoseok stare intensifies but you don’t feel any embarrassment from the scrutiny. “Well you certainly look ripe.”

His fingers toy with the delicate string of lace around your hips. He lets the material snap against your skin a few times before he grows bored or impatient with his own game and gives the lace a harsh yank. It tears easily and the leftover scraps fall into his lap.

“... But just to be sure -” His hands grip your waist and manhandle you onto your hands and knees. Your head spins from how suddenly he’s moved you around to his liking that your arms give out and you fall face first into the clean smelling bed sheets. “Gotta give my favorite hole of yours a better look.”

His hands hoist your hips at a higher angle so that your soaked center is visible for the cameras to pan onto. Hoseok slides in two fingers easily, then a third. Loud, obscene noises echo in the otherwise quiet room, noises that are quickly joined by your unabashed moans of pleasure.

Your core is on fire. Hoseok’s fingers are just as good as you remember them to be. No, better. The three fingers pump into you in measured strokes, the drag slow enough to keep you dangling over the edge without pushing you over.

Hoseok spanks your ass, hissing between his teeth as you clench around his fingers, no doubt imagining your inner walls hugging his cock instead. 

“Christ. You’re always such a soft, wet little thing down here,” he croons in dulcet tones. “I could play with you all day.”

You thrust your hips back, shameless.

“Please! Please Daddy, I’ll be so good, I just - please - I nuh, need it. Need your cock fucking me full. I’ll take it so good, you know I will. Want you to - please! Daddy, I need your cum.”

“Shit.”

He fumbles in his haste to flip you onto your back. He crawls over your body, and you watch fascinated as he dives down to kiss you like a man starved. He looks almost feral, pupils so dilated the brown of his eyes is almost gone.

Heat blooms in your stomach as he kisses you deeply. The press of his lips against yours renders you a little less coherent as time ticks on, every brush of his tongue making you a little more dizzy with want.

Everything about him burns. It feels like being kissed by the sun itself. Every caress, every lick and nip leaves you feverish all over, like your drunk off his touch.

"Let me," he says, pinching the zipper of your dress between his thumb and index finger.

You wrap your hand around his and guide his movements. His gaze never leaves yours and it makes shivers run down your back. Even though you're the one controlling his movements for the time being, the look in his eyes makes it abundantly clear that the control you wield is only temporary.

When your dress finally falls open, you try not to preen too much under the reverent look that falls over Hoseok’s face. Your back arches a little off the bed, pert breasts thrust towards him - an appealing offer he doesn’t dare refuse.

Hoseok circles a thumb around your nipple, rubbing and flicking until it hardens into a stiff peak.

You wonder, distantly, how this looks like from the outside looking in. The man in front of you is a stranger in all senses of the word. Yet the way he touches you - like there are years of built-up affection behind every gesture - makes you second guess everything you know.

"Fuckin' love your tits.” He sighs, awe reflected in the dark of his eyes. "Love playing with them. Love how wet it gets you, how hungry your little pussy gets."

"Please,” you mewl, his words igniting a new wave of heat. It rolls over your body, leaving no extremity untouched. You burn from the inside out with raw desire.

You squeeze your own breasts in a bid to get him to touch you more. Hoseok merely chuckles, finding your desperation entertaining. One of his hands reach down between you to play with the wetness that clings to your core like a second skin and it takes everything inside of you not to rub yourself against him like a bitch in heat.

"What is it, princess?" His lips quirk into a smirk like he already knows the answer. "You're looking quite needy. How did you manage to hold it in all this time?"

“Stop teasing,” you growl, the lack of friction making you irritable. "I need your cock. And why - why do you have so many fucking clothes on?”

He chuckles, chest vibrating in amusement.

“Take them off,” you insist. Then, you grudgingly tack on a “Please” for good measure.

As hot as Hoseok looks like in his “work clothes”, he looks infinitely better naked, you decide as he chucks off his button-down shirt and gets started on his leather belt. With each new piece of clothing that gets discarded, the anticipation building inside of you skyrockets.

You take a moment to soak in his lithe figure, not bothering to hide how affected you are by the view. He’s nicely sculpted; you can tell right away that he takes care of himself. Swimming or dancing maybe? You hesitate between the two. His muscles are lean, nothing like the bulging biceps and thick forearms typical of the stereotypical gym rat.

Hoseok’s dick is, unsurprisingly, as pretty as the rest of him. It’s long and curved, a prominent vein running along its underside. The thatch of pubic hair that rests above his dick is neatly trimmed, the dark hair contrasting with the tan skin of his abdomen and the rosy hue of his erect length. Your eyes swoop down his thighs, licking your lips unwittingly at the alluring sight presented to you.

“Daddy,” you say, the whine in your voice unmistakable. “Want your cock.”

For a brief moment you’re tricked into believing he’s given in to your demand, but find yourself disappointed when he contents himself with rubbing his hardened member between your thighs, the glide slippery thanks to the copious amount of your essence that’s pooled there.

“Like this?” Hoseok asks, tone too sweet to be anything but mocking. The head of his cock bumps into your swollen bundle of nerves one, two, three times. You keen, your hips canting upwards in a bid to get more friction. “Want to rut against me until you get nice and creamy?”

He uses his right hand to spread your slick lower lips so that he can nestle his cock snuggly between them. He rolls his hips, the undulations fluid and dirty, and smirks at how you moan brokenly beneath him.

Your stomach clenches. “Need it in me."

"You'll get it," he promises after kissing you sloppily, lips sucking on your tongue. His breath is ragged but his voice steady, firm. "I'll give you everything you need. Make you cum so many times you know who owns this sweet pussy."

He speaks so surely, carries himself with so much confidence, that in the moment you can't help but believe him. The line between staged and reality blurs and you find yourself nodding eagerly, begging him as best you can to give you what you want.

The first tentative push of his dick wipes you clean of coherency. He slowly eases himself into you, reaching forward to lace his fingers with yours. It’s - more intimate than you expected. He squeezes your hand tightly in his when he finally manages to bury his entire length inside of you.

“Perfect.” He kisses the side of your temple before drawing back, his hard cock dragging deliciously against you. With a fluid hip thrust, he slides back in and you feel the stretch moreso this time around. The curvature of his cock has him pressing up against your walls in a way that robs you of breath.

"Daddy! Hh - ah, oh God. You're too b-big."

"Mhm, that's right. Daddy's fat cock is splitting you open. I'll plug you up with it later so none of my cum will leak out."

Every time he pulls back, your pussy clamps down tightly around him, unwilling to be empty even for a second.

Hoseok’s nostrils flare in arousal. He grabs your left tit and squeezes, using it as a hold to better fuck into you. With his body hovering above yours, his hand staking claim of your breast, and his cock drilling into you, you have nowhere to go. Pinned to the bed and unable to do anything but take everything he delivers, you wrap your legs around his waist and moan.

"Daddy's gonna fuck some babies into you,” he rasps, his eyes dark pools of lust. "Gonna breed your sweet pussy over and over. You'll be so full of my cum that you'll be pregnant with my babies for sure."

“Oh fuck. Yes, yes - oh my nhhg.” You sob as Hoseok drives his cock into you with more force. While the piston of his hips isn’t rushed, he pulls out to the tip only to slam back in to the hilt every time. The stretch burns in a good way and the sound of your moans are rivaled only by the wet, obscene sounds from your coupling.

"Fuck. Your cunt just - shit." He cracks down a hand against your ass and you shriek, not expecting it. "You're so tight, holy shit."

"Want it. Want you to fuck me good."

"I will," he says lowly, the promise reverberating deep in his chest. "I'll fuck you until you're begging me to stop. Fill you up so much, you'll be bloated with it."

And it should freak you out, the imagery he paints with his words, but the thought of laying there and him fucking you so well that you won't be able to feel your legs has you gushing out more wetness.

"Mmmh.” Maybe he can feel how soaked you are because he comments, “This is my favorite hole of yours, princess. Always so fuckin' drenched. I bet we’ll have to throw out the sheets again." He chuckles. "You must be hungry for it, right? I made you wait so long. No wonder your pussy is clenching like that. It needs a big, fat cock to milk dry."

“I missed it,” you cry, body skidding a little higher up the duvet each time he fucks into you. Your eyelashes flutter, lids heavy. It’s hard to concentrate, let alone form words, when your brain feels like complete mush. “I - I need your cum. Daddy, please.”

"Don't worry, gorgeous. I've got you. Daddy will feed your cute pussy his cock."

"Th-thank you, Daddy."

"Love you," he murmurs. It’s a quiet confession, lost somewhere in between the mattress creaks, the loud slaps of Hoseok’s hips slamming against yours, and the string of whimpers and groans pulled from your throat. It’s quiet but you hear it.

One of your hands reach up to pull him down by the neck so that your lips meet. He kisses you open-mouthed. It’s a filthy kiss, one that makes you moan into his mouth. You’re certain that if you had been standing your knees would have wobbled.

When you let up for air, Hoseok’s staring you down, his red-bitten lips plump and shiny.

"Love this pussy. So sweet and wet for me. Always for fucking swollen, like it's waiting to get a pounding. Love that. Love how eager you are to be bred by my thick cock."

The impregnation kink is - a bit much. You've never really imagined having kids, at least not anytime soon. You can’t even keep your plants alive for fuck’s sake.

But the way he suggests it is nothing like what you had imagined. His suggestions are - vulgar and primal. Like the urge to fuck you full of his cum is biological and he can’t smother it.

For a moment, you let yourself entertain the thought of being his breeding bitch - of laying on your back and letting him fuck load after load of cum inside you until your pussy physically can't accommodate any more. Of not having any other worries or thoughts but take his cock every moment of the day.

"You just got tighter.” He curses under his breath, voice thick with arousal.  "Such a warm little hole. Taking everything I give it. You'd take anything if it meant getting bred by me, right?"

“Yes, yes,” you chant, pleasure coiling inside of you. “Give me more! I need it."

"Shit. You can't handle more, princess," he tries to reason. "Daddy needs to be gentle with you. Your hole is so small, it'll hurt if I go harder."

"Daddy promised to fuck me.” You whine, uncaring if you sound too bratty and demanding. "B- Breed my hole. It's yours. Puh-please use me."

"God." Hoseok groans, his features twisting in what looks to be pain or pleasure. With tremendous effort he pulls himself out of you and your eyes widen in panic.

“What? Daddy why? I thought—”

He shushes you, reaching somewhere overhead to grab a fluffy pillow. "Just wait a sec, okay? There you go.”

The pillow is placed underneath your hips, keeping them elevated. When Hoseok takes his glistening cock in hand and directs it back in, you both moan in unison.

"Oh fuck, I’m gonna, ah,” you gasp as your mind goes blank with pleasure. The new angle is heaven on earth. It’s almost too much, too quick, but Hoseok’s firm grip on your hips prevents you from alleviating the pressure.

"Take it." He grunts, brows knit together. Every powerful snap of his hips makes your breasts bounce, your breath hitch. Without his hands keeping you pinned down, your head would have collided with the headboard by now. "Be a good princess and take your fucking."

He gains momentum, the new angle facilitating the slide of his cock. He drags the flat of his palm down your thigh and takes a hold of your knee before hoisting it up over your shoulder. The stretch burns the back of your calves but you’re so fucked out, you can’t even find the words to complain.

When you glance up, it’s to fall upon the sight of Hoseok brushing his sweaty fringe out of his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, his skin dewy from the film of perspiration wrapped around his body. Beads of sweat trickle down his heaving chest but he chooses to forgo a quick break. On the contrary, he pushes in deeper like he’s determined to carve out a permanent space for his cock.

"Just gonna keep you here,” he huffs, his eyes the shade of cloudless night sky. “Everyday I'll fuck my cum back inside of you so that you'll always stay full. Want to fuck you forever. Don't want this to end."

"Want it too," you sob, orgasm hovering just on the periphery. "Want you to keep me full forever. Ugh - oh fuck! Hoseok- I'm—"

"You gonna cum around my cock, princess?" He angles his hips downwards, relishing in the wanton cry it elicits. "Gonna give me everything?"

"I'm yours," you profess, jaw slack with pleasure.

It doesn’t take much more for the orgasm to crash over you, Hoseok fucks you through it, groaning as your inner walls spasm around him. He breathes out curses, lip drawn tight between his lips, and doesn’t wait for the last waves of your orgasm to abate to chase after his own end.

In the throes of your pleasure, it doesn’t register then that Hoseok has been holding back all this time. If you thought he had been fucking you hard before, it’s nothing compared to now. He growls and bends forward, forcing your leg to stretch even more, and pushes in and out of you at a pace that makes you scream.

You don’t even have time to come down from your first high that you’re already thrown towards your second. Hoseok plugs your mouth up using two digits, his fingers a firm pressure against your tongue. Your eyes roll back, too overwhelmed from the feeling of being stuffed on both ends.

“God, I could fuck your holes all fucking day.” His rhythm begins to falter as the pressure inside of him grows, his movements frantic and less controlled than they’ve ever been. “How about that? I’ll fuck my princess’ mouth properly next time, stretch it out nicely. Then you’ll let me have your ass, hm?”

Shit, shit, you whimper around his fingers, spit bubbling down the sides on your mouth. It’s scary knowing you have no way to stop the oncoming destruction.

“Yeah, I can tell you love that. You’re gonna cream my dick again, aren’t you?” You can’t tell if the sound he makes is a laugh or a grunt. All you know is that you feel like you’re about to burst. “C’mon, be a good girl and milk my cum out. You better get every last drop.”

There’s an underlying threat in his command. You do your best to obey his words, not wanting to disappoint.

Hoseok pushes his cock in as deep as it can go and grinds his hips into yours. His cock reaches so deep that you swear he might hit your cervix. And considering the nature of the scene you’re portraying, maybe that’s what he intends.

He swipes his fingers through the mess of your cunt, zeroing in on your sensitive clit. He swirls some of your fluids over it before giving it a sharp pinch that makes you cry out. Your hips fly off the pillow but Hoseok is quick to pin you back down. The never-ending drag of his cock along your walls paired with the rough ministrations to your clit is all you need for the pressure inside you to snap.

Above you, Hoseok moans, low and throaty, as he finally dumps rope after rope of warm cum inside of you. He throws his head back, exposing the collar of purplish bruises you sucked onto his skin earlier. Something about the view satisfies you immensely - not that you’d dare voice these thoughts out loud.

Hoseok’s strength gives out and he sags onto your body, his breath warm against your skin. He feels hot, like a furnace, but strangely it’s not uncomfortable. It’s almost like having a personal heating pad; the soreness of your muscles melts away with each passing moment.

Much to your displeasure, your post-coital bliss doesn’t last forever. He's given the signal to pull out and obeys, careful to keep your hips propped up so that his load of cum won’t slosh out. He’s still got a role to play, after all, and the end goal is to get you pregnant.

A cameraman walks forward to zoom in on your swollen and used pussy - physical proof of your exploits. The haze lifts. You become more aware of the people standing on the outskirts of your vision, lighting or sound equipment in hand.

“And that’s a wrap!” Director Ryu calls, his cheeks stretched to accommodate the width of his grin. “Good job everybody!”

You breathe out a sigh, glad your day is finally over. Seokjin walks up to you with a robe for you to throw on and you nod in thanks, slipping the satin gown over your sweaty body.

Around you, the staff start milling about, putting the equipment away and gathering their belongings. You pay them no heed, your attention focused on getting changing into showering and changing into comfortable clothes. You’re in the middle of taming your messy hair when your stomach erupts into growls, reminding you of your hungry state. What you’d do for a big slice of piz—

You remember your date with Jimin and speed up, not wanting to make him wait around for you any longer. It’s not hard to spot him - he’s waiting outside of your dressing room, can of coke in hand.

Something about his smile feels off.

Maybe it’s the way his eye corners don’t crease or the slight strain the curve of his mouth that betray him.

Your expression falls. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing - it’s nothing, don’t worry,” he says after a short, tense moment of silence. The look on your face must have reflected your feelings of doubt because he proceeds by reaching out and pulling you tight against him. Pressed up against his shirt, you can smell the faintest trace of the fabric softener he uses and its scent, familiar and sweet, mollifies you somewhat. “You did amazing today, baby. As usual.”

The compliment you’ve been waiting for makes the sides of your lips rise automatically. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Almost too well.” He hums, one of his hands stroking the back of your head.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit, “ you admit. “The results wouldn’t have been half as good if Hoseok hadn’t been my partner. He’s new in the game but he doesn’t act like it, does he?”

“He doesn’t, no.” Jimin agrees. “He’s... he’s something, alright.”

Your grin widens. All your worrying had been for nothing, in the end. The shoot had gone without a hitch, all of the set members coming up to you with praises of a job well done. You can’t recall the last time any of your performances had elicited such a response post-filming. Even Director Ryu looks particularly pleased, a permanent grin etched onto his features as he reviews the tapes. The knowledge that you’ve done well fills you with a pleasant giddiness that warms your insides and makes your cheeks hurt from how wide your smile stretches.

“Oh good, you’re still here.” Hoseok beams. A damp towel hangs around his neck and the ends of his hair are wet like he’s just gone and doused his head under the bathroom faucet. “I was worried you had left. I just - thanks for earlier. I had a lot of fun! If the chance presents itself, I hope we can work together again.”

“Thank you.” You want to praise him too, know that his performance deserves it, but your next words are cut off before they have the chance to form. Jimin steps closer to you, his grip on your hip tightening suddenly.

When you glance up to check on your boyfriend, he’s sporting a serious expression that you’ve rarely seen before. He doesn’t look angry, but it’s clear as day that he isn’t too pleased with the present situation. His face is closed off, cold, unwelcoming - so drastically different from the usual cherubic sweetness you’re accustomed to seeing.

You’re at a loss for words, unsure of who to address first. What’s going on?

Hoseok senses the sudden change in atmosphere and chooses to tactfully retreat.

“Good work, man.” He nods at Jimin and then shoots you a wave. “See you around sometime, ______ !”

Your eyes follow his exit before you turn to face Jimin again, hoping the smile on your face masks the worry you feel bubbling on the inside.

“Jimin what - I mean, are you sure you're okay?”

Jimin returns a strained smile of his own. “I’m fine.”

Your gaze lands on his right hand that’s still squeezing your waist. It borders on uncomfortable but you try not to let it show. You must not do a very good job at schooling your features because Jimin quickly apologizes for his behavior.

“Sorry.” Jimin lets you go once he notices your discomfort. “I just - I don’t know. You’re right, I’m not acting like myself. I think...seeing you say that stuff and act that way just - I’m not sure why, I guess - Since usually the sex isn’t like that, it caught me off guard.”

“You didn’t like that I acted like I was in love with him.”

“Would anyone?” he shoots back, smile sardonic. “It just looked so convincing in the moment. I guess it got me worked up.”

Sure, Hoseok is hot. If you had to work with him again, you would in a heartbeat. It’s not often you land a colleague you’re so sexually compatible with, who also happens to be so well-mannered and good-looking. It’s like hitting the jackpot, really.

But - just because you’d fuck him again for professional reasons, doesn’t mean that you’re interested in him beyond that.

“Jimin. I don’t want to be with anybody else but you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” The muscles in his face relax. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

.

.

It’s not until later, as he fucks you uncharacteristically hard in the backseat of his car parked in the back lot of the film studio, that you begin to wonder if things really are as idyllic as you believe them to be.

.

.

.

[alphawave-writes]

Clapback

Fuse/Caustic (GasGrenade? Fitznox? Dunno, I’ll use them both) SFW fanfic

Read it here or find on AO3 via this link.

Synopsis: Caustic decides to confront Fuse on a certain incident that occurred live on intergalactic waves involving Fuse's hand and his posterior.

—

Caustic is certainly not the guy to get his ass slapped. Caustic is certainly not the type of person to let people close enough to even slap his ass in the first place, but the games forces him to take a closer proximity to people. Relationships are confusing, messy diagrams of webs and chains and links, just as human bodies are, and it reminds Caustic why he never went into Genetics. Or, for that matter, why there are few who would dare approach him.

But Fuse is a special type of individual with all of the worst traits of the dumbest legends. He has the loud mouth of Mirage, the act-first-think-later attitude of Octane, and—on the rare occasion he gets serious—the wry snark of that pestiferous Crypto. It's no secret that Salvo is full of savages, which makes him a surprisingly capable teammate, so of course the producers of the Apex Games decide that for his very first game, he should be in a team with Caustic and Bloodhound. Of course he talks a big talk, but otherwise he has shown himself to be a capable individual on the battlefield. Unlike Crypto or Natalie or the countless other scientists he knew in the past, Caustic doesn't expect Fuse to be the kind to stab him in the back.

And then Fuse slaps Caustic's ass. Live. For all to see.

And with that, his carefully tailored public reputation, the persona of Caustic, it has all crumbled down to a few key words. Caustic: the man who's ass got slapped on intergalactic waves, and appeared to like it.

"Mate, it's just a cheeky thing the mates do to each other on Salvo. You're telling me you guys don't slap each other's ass after a game of footy or somethin'?"

"This is not Salvo," Caustic reminds Fuse for what must be the hundredth time. Internally, he has to remember to check up what 'footy' is. Probably Salvonian slang for something gruesome.

"Yeah, nah, I get that, doc, you don't have to remind me," Fuse sighs. "Look, even I admit I was tryna rile up the crowd, but I didn't mean to get you stuck in all this sh—mess." 

At least the man has some common sense not to use such vulgar language around him. Quite frankly he finds such crude words indicative of low intelligence. "It does not matter what the crowd thinks," Caustic says, even though he knows that's a bit of a lie. "What matters is that you have put me in an uncompromising position."

"Well, I haven't got you to an uncompromising position yet," Fuse smirks.

Caustic glares at him. "I expect you to rectify this immediately."

"OK, OK, sheesh. Look, I'll let ya in on somethin', if you wanna let the whole thing slip away, you just gotta let it die first. Fighting fire with fire may work on the field, but it ain't gonna stop people from coming up with ideas. Trust me, the amount of people who thought I was shacking up with Mags—er, Maggie—of all people…" Fuse shivers. When Caustic doesn't look convinced, he adds, "I've got an interview coming up tomorrow. If it pops up, I'll just say it's a Salvo thing. If it doesn't, I ain't gonna say squat."

Caustic doesn't know if Fuse is more wily than he gives himself credit for, or if he is just as idiotically open as Caustic assumes him to be, but his first instinct is to trust Fuse will keep his word. It's a strange instinct for Caustic to have.

"Fine. But I expect you to not mock me anymore in the future."

"No prob, doc. Although if you don't mind an old fella saying something?"

Caustic just knows he's going to regret this.

"You do got a nice ass. Real girth to that thing," Fuse wolf whistles appreciatively as he not so surreptitiously glances at Caustic's behind. "Ditch the apron, and I bet that beauty could be an ordnance on its own."

"Fuse," Caustic growls.

"That's the name, don't wear it out," Fuse smirks.

With a surprising amount of speed, Caustic takes Fuse into a hold and shoved him to the wall. His voice is low, his hold absolute. Months  and years in the Apex games have taught him many, many ways to kill and just as many to subdue.

"Oy, easy on the vest."

"What's your game?" Caustic hisses.

"Nngh. Let go of me!"

"Or what?"

Fuse tries to turn his head, his laidback expression transformed into something darker. Caustic does not disbelieve Fuse's claims of being a mercenary on the last, but he found his boast of being one of Salvo's best a stretch. But he's

"You wanna try me, Doc Nox?" Fuse grunts.

"How did you…?"

That second of surprise is all it takes for Fuse to slip out of Caustic's grasp and reverse the situation, pushing Caustic into the wall. It is now that Caustic sees he has miscalculated. He was too tight, put too much strength and effort to shove Fuse into the wall. The correct grip is a little bit lower, utilising not just hands but knees. Fuse's hold might seem more laidback compared to Caustic's attempt, but there is no doubt that Fuse has done this plenty more times before in the past. Despite his bigger size, Caustic doesn't imagine he will slip out quite so easily unless Fuse allows him to.

So there are hidden depths to this man after all. A fascinating test subject for the future, to be sure.

"Don't think I didn't do my research before comin' here. I gave it all up to be here, and I don't go all in without knowing the stakes. Had a client of mine try ask me to track you down. Said that ain't my style, but I remembered. And when you stay a merc at my age," he taps his skull with his metal hand, "you tend to remember things."

Caustic grunts. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"We all know being in the Apex games protects you, and you know what? It's the same for me, mate. You play up the cameras, kill and get killed over and over again for entertainment, and if they like you, you get to live another day. And I also know once people know who the mysterious doc Caustic is, they ain't gonna risk letting you kick about and murk up the Apex bloody games."

"Then blackmail me. Kill me," Caustic hisses.

"Believe me, if I were hired to, I will. But since I'm not…" Fuse lets go of Caustic. He takes a step back, his light fingers drifting away from Caustic’s clothed limbs. The move is casual but done deliberately. A lot of what Fuse does and says, Caustic realises, is deliberate. Whether it's the result he wants is a secondary concern.

Caustic turns to Fuse and stares. "I do not know if you're idiotic or moronic to let me go without some form of payment."

Fuse sighs. "Doc, this ain't the games and this ain't Salvo. You said that, right? Ain't gonna spill your secret because I feel petty or nothing. We both want to be here, and we'll do our bloody hardest to stay here. You wanna take it out on me, take it out on the ring." His lips curl into a smirk. "I'm also more than happy to take it out in the bedroom, if that's your thing."

Caustic bristles. He's no imbecile, he knows when he is being propositioned, but he is not playing that game. Not with a man he barely knows. "You still want something from me. Tell me now."

"Well, if you really want to buy my silence," Fuse allows a small smile, "how about a drink sometime? You, me, couple bottles of beer, bit of classical music. Get to know each other better."

There is a lot to decipher with that sentence. A lot. But of all the the things Caustic can possibly address, "Classical music?"

"You know, Acca Dacca, INXS, Tame Impala. The real classics, not like that stuffy ones, ey?"

Caustic stifles a groan. "When you say classical music, I was expecting Mozart. Beethoven."

"Would you accept if I did that kinda classical music?" Fuse crosses his arms and leans just a bit too close to Caustic. 

"Typical Salvonian," Caustic mutters under his breath. Always so forward. Always think they can take whatever they want.  

"Ain't an answer, mate," Fuse says.

It's data. Possibly useful data from a new test subject. That's what he's going to tell himself. "One drink, at a venue of my choice. I can and will leave at any time I choose." 

"Deal. Tomorrow at 8 alright?"

"Fine."

"Cool. Then I'll see ya later, darl." Before Caustic can react, Fuse gives another firm slap to Caustic's ass and quickly walks away without another word, disappearing down the hallway.

As Caustic watches Fuse walk away, hand on his ass and equations ringing through his head, he begins to suspect that he might have bit off more than he can chew. He takes out his notepad, which he uses to write notes on the go, and flips over to the latest page.

8pm 12th February. Meet up with subject Walter 'Fuse' Fitzroy for alcoholic beverages and music. Objective: obtain data on subject. Ascertain weaknesses and strengths. Assess whether to team up with for future battles.

Note to self: bring padded pants and lotion.

[mst3kproject]

Invasion of the Star Creatures

I promised you guys something truly awful this week, didn’t I?  Well, how about a space invasion ‘comedy’ (big emphasis on the air quotes there) produced by Samuel Zarkoff to be a double-bill with The Brain that Wouldn’t Die?  The closest thing it has to a star is Frankie Ray, whom MSTies might know as the writer of Laserblast.  He also wrote Zoltan, Hound of Dracula, which I really, really need to see one of these days.  Film Historian Bill Warren described Invasion of the Star Creatures as ‘so helplessly bad it’s almost unwatchable’.  Let’s find out if he was right.

Fort Nicholson is the world’s center for atomic research, despite apparently being staffed entirely by idiots.  The two biggest idiots are, unfortunately, our main characters.  Their names are Philbrick and Penn.  No, I don’t know which is which.  No, I don’t care.  I’m gonna call them Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice.  The first ‘comedic’ sequence involves Rick With The Squeaky Voice sitting in a barrel pretending he’s going to space, and getting his ass set on fire.

That sets the tone for the whole movie quite nicely. It’s stupid and it’s not funny, and it never gets any better.  In fact, as we shall see, it gets significantly worse.

For some reason, Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice are assigned to a mission to explore a cave recently exposed by a nuclear test.  This turns out to be the base for two seven-foot space women, Tanga and Pona, and their tuberous minions, the Vege-Men, and the entire party is soon in their clutches.  The aliens say that they have come to save humanity from destroying ourselves through nuclear war, but naturally the army isn’t into that.  Rick With The Squeaky Voice discovers that kissing the women puts them into a daze, allowing the two idiots to escape, but of course nobody back at Fort Nicholson believes their story.  Is it really up to these two to stop Tanga and Pona from heading back to their home planet with their report?  We’re doomed.

I don’t remember which review it was, but I once invited you to imagine a movie in which every character is Dropo or Watney Smith.  This is that movie.  This is proud of being that movie.  The aliens try to read the two Ricks’ minds and one is completely empty while the other is full of superhero fantasies.  Pona calls what she sees ‘completely illogical and infantile’, which is a fair description of the whole movie.

There’s a sequence where one of the army men shoots a rattlesnake that was about to bite one of the Ricks, and then cries because ‘he might have had a family’.  They try to lampoon the thing in old movies where the characters walk through the same set from different angles by doing it without cutting away or changing the camera angle, but it just looks dumb.  The Colonel gives a long-winded speech about the merits of getting straight to the point.  A forced march stops for a lovely picnic and wine tasting.  A guy gets his ass kicked by a Vege-Man and declares, “that’s the first time a salad ever tossed me.”  There’s a running ‘gag’ about fans of ‘Space Commander Connors’ recognizing each other’s secret decoder rings and immediately going into a full-on geek-out.

None of this is funny, much of it is downright embarrassing, and the worst part is that the writers have no idea how to include their attempts at comedy in the story.  Rather than the hijinks advancing the plot, every time something that’s supposed to be funny happens, the whole thing comes to a dead halt.  This gives the impression that the movie is stumbling around in the dark with no idea where it’s going.  It finally seems to settle on a plot when we find out that the spaceship is about to leave and must be stopped.  After some bullshit the Ricks convince the Colonel (and only the Colonel) to help them take on the aliens.  At this point I was thinking that this movie was pretty terrible but it hadn’t actually pushed me to the point of being tempted to turn it off…

And then it got racist.

The last ten minutes or so of Invasion of the Star Creatures are a downward spiral in which it seems like they gave up trying to be funny in favour of being actively offensive. First, they encounter what’s supposed to be a group of Native Americans on horseback.  Rick With The Squeaky Voice tries to get their attention by saying “hey, Kemosabe, I wanna buy some blankets!”  The Natives don’t speak much English but they do a lot of grunting, and threaten to kill the Colonel because they think he’s General Custer (?!).  Then they kidnap everybody and force them to smoke the peace pipe and drink firewater and the white guys only escape once the Natives have passed out.

Holy shit.  Not only is this repulsive, it is, as previously noted, irrelevant.  It has no effect on the plot other than to waste time.  The Natives do not help them defeat the aliens and neither does the Colonel, who is also in a drunken stupor.  And then, just when we think this can’t possibly get any worse, the defeated alien women declare that they must throw themselves on the mercy of the Earth Men.  This turns out to mean marrying them, and the dialogue specifically likens marriage to slavery, which Tanga and Pona seem to consider a point in its favour!  The end of this movie left my head spinning.  It’s like I watched a guy get ‘comedically’ knocked over by a punching bag for forty-five minutes and then he suddenly turned around and punched me in the face.

(Hey, I just realized… remember how I said the cave was exposed by a nuclear test?  The dialogue emphasizes how this whole area is irradiated and dangerous – and then totally forgets about it.  It’s never mentioned again and the characters take off their protective gear and never put it back on.  So… that was useless, too.)

There is stuff in this movie that could have been funny.  The secret decoder ring stuff almost got a smile out of me once or twice, because the characters seemed so earnest in their love for ‘Space Commander Connors’ and his lore.  The ‘Vege-Men’ also had potential.  We get to see a greenhouse room where they’re grown to be the women’s slaves, and the seedlings are hands or feet sticking out of flowerpots with a few leaves around them.  This is fairly amusing and I could see it being the juvenile form of a sentient plant on Star Trek TOS.  Adult Vege-Men are actors in stupid carrot costumes that they obviously can’t see out of very well, which should have been funny just because it’s so terrible, but Invasion of the Star Creatures is so bad you can’t even laugh at it ironically.

The idea of using a bumbling idiot as your main character, let alone two bumbling idiots, frankly baffles me.  Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice are supposed to be the guys we, the audience, identify with.  We’re supposed to like and root for them and to perhaps be able to imagine ourselves in their places, but the only thing I feel for them is contempt.  Why would anyone want to see themselves in these guys?  Perhaps it’s an attempt to say that anybody can be a hero, but the two Ricks don’t even qualify as that.  When they save the world, it’s basically by accident.  The ending, which rewards them with promotions, medals, and beautiful wives from outer space, actively makes me angry because they didn’t earn any of that!

Invasion of the Star Creatures works very hard at being pointless, and there’s very little in it that comes anywhere near a theme.  If any such thing exists, its in Tanga and Pona’s insistence that they’re here to save humanity whether we like it or not, and how the humans react to that idea.  The women say it would be a shame to see a young civilization destroy itself because nations were too stupid to work together.  Rick and Rick With The Squeaky Voice reject this entirely, which is supposed to be a joke: these guys are in the army, so if humanity transcends the need for conflict they’d be out of a job.  The rest of the plot then seems at pain to emphasize that humans cannot work together, and do not want to.

After all, the two Ricks’ attempts to summon help come to nothing.  The Native Americans never understand that these men want assistance, and the Colonel thinks it’s all a Space Commander Connors game before sliding under the metaphorical table, having never done anything useful.  The Ricks themselves spent most of their time arguing and complaining and in the end succeed only through good luck on their part and poor timing on that of the invaders.  Usually a story that begins with ‘aliens want to save primitive humans from ourselves’ would end with ‘the aliens were wrong about us’.  Invasion of the Star Creatures seems to want to say the aliens were right the whole time!

So there you have it – Invasion of the Star Creatures.  It started off kinda bad and not funny, then swirled down the cinematic toilet into outright offensive, racist, sexist drivel.  I’m trying to think of some small thing I can say about it that’s nice, but I’m having a very hard time.  I guess I kinda liked the rumbly noises that represent the alien language – that was more fun than just having the actresses spout random gobbledygook.  Other than that, I’m at a loss.  The actors suck, the sets suck, the effects suck, the costumes suck, and everybody involved was a bigoted dickweed.  Fuck this movie.

[sinsbymanka]

This is a submission for the @cozy-autumn-prompts​ event, brainchild of the lovely @scharoux​. Thank you for the amazing prompts! @tightassets​ and I submit the following art (belonging to her talented hands) and fic (my doing) for prompt #4: By The Fire.

Title: It’ll be a Hell of a Story Rating: M Pairing: Female Cadash/Varric Tethras, Maria Cadash/Varric Tethras Tags: Flirting, UST, Fantasizing, Pre-Relationship, Non-Inquisitor Cadash

Read on AO3

It should have been a simple problem.

Simpler than the breach swirling threateningly above them, at any rate.

They’d managed to survive the whole world going to shit, but that massive hole in the sky was still gonna be a problem they needed to solve. Sooner rather than later. And to do that, they needed people. Soldiers. Mages. Weapons.

Lyrium.

And whenever someone said ‘lyrium’, they always looked at the dwarf. Like the humans and their skirts and their wars hadn’t upset the whole damn lyrium trade. Varric debated throwing his hands up and washing them of the whole thing.

Demons. Holes in the sky. Templars. Mages. None of it was really his cup of ale.

But there had been red lyrium in the temple. And that… well, that was his problem. He’d put it out in the world. He was responsible for the spark that ignited the fire, and now he had to deal with the inferno. Besides. He could find a lyrium dealer with one hand tied behind his back, right?

He could kick himself for his optimism.

Ruffles couldn’t get the Merchant’s Guild or Orzammar to play ball, not a surprise. Too much risk to sell to this ragtag bunch on top of a mountain, not enough reward. Even Varric wouldn’t be able to pull enough strings to make it work, which meant he needed the Carta.

Of course, the one time in his life he wanted them to appear, they were nowhere to be found. Frankly, that was suspicious. There’d been Carta crawling all over Haven when he arrived, it didn’t take much to see their signs. Dwarven marks carved into cabins to mark drop points. Snow clearly brushed back to cover paths. Several short, shady dwarves in the tavern that kept to themselves while they played cards.

If he’d have known he’d need them later, he would have said hello. He’d been too worried about spinning tales to make the chantry dance to his tune and trying to ingratiate himself to both sides of this damn mess so he could get back to Kirkwall with his fine dwarven chest hair intact.

Maybe they’d all died in the aftermath of the temple exploding. He’d seen a couple Dwarven corpses, but not enough to make up a whole crew, and there’d been multiple operating in Haven. Did that mean the rest fled?

Varric scratched his stubble while he picked his way down the icy, gravel path. His eyes still roamed, trying to find any signs of seedy deals lingering in the shadows, but all he saw were scared refugees and soldiers not even old enough to grow a beard. The wind cut through them all and they scurried past without even looking down at the dwarf.

Well. Back to his fire to regroup and think of another plan before he froze into a nice chunk of rather handsome ice.

Honestly, it was hard to believe that somebody didn’t look at the chaos and see profit to be made. They didn’t make Carta as tough as they used to, apparently. Where were all the tough, savvy business people? The clever rogues able to stay one step ahead of all the competition? What about someone who could look at this mess and decide to chip in, if only because that hole in the world threatened everything?

Varric scoffed to himself and shoved his hands in his coat. Carta dwarf with a heart of gold? He’d grow a beard first.

He sighed and turned the corner, letting his eyes drift covetously to the fire not twenty paces away.

And almost stumbled to a complete stop. There was a woman sitting on his bench, next to his abandoned supplies, munching on a flaky pastry while flipping through his book.

A dwarven woman. One that looked like the right kind of shady he’d been trying to locate all damn day.

But the cunning tip of her head as she read, the blade on her thigh, the sheer audacity of her, was nothing notable. Not compared to the curves accentuated by her snug breeches and the tempting swell of her breasts tantalizingly framed by a shirt not quite as scandalous as his, but close. Her red hair was braided away from her face, but wisps of it danced in the wind, tickled her freckled nose.

She lifted her eyes from the page and locked eyes with him. Hers crackled with intelligence, energy, and absolutely wicked satisfaction.

At a glance he knew three things. First. She was Carta. Second. She’d been watching him look for her.

Lastly, and most importantly, she was the best kind of trouble. And that made her more dangerous than she even knew.

She didn’t break eye contact, didn’t even bother to drop his pilfered book. Instead, she raised her snack to her lips and took a slow bite, watching him watch her like she was a queen upon her throne and him some lowly petitioner.

And honestly, that was the right of it. Which shouldn’t make him think of getting on his knees and throwing those shapely thighs over his shoulders, but dammit he hadn’t expected to find the most gorgeous woman in the world in the middle of the Ferelden muck.

She lifted his book, tipped her head to the side, and smirked. “It’s not bad, but you’re sodding verbose, Tethras. You should probably get a better editor.”

Every thought in his mind screeched to a halt, replaced by one word.

Minx.

“Sorry my personal belongings aren’t up to snuff, Princess. I’ll leave better material out for you to peruse next time.” Thank Andraste his mouth was still working, because he’d lost control of his feet completely, dragged towards her like a victim of an unseen mage.

She snapped the book shut and tossed it easily onto the ground, ignoring his nickname to pat the bench beside her. It was a clear invitation, and he almost forgot how absurd it was to be invited to sit on his bench. Almost.

“I’ve been looking for the Carta all damn day.” He narrowed his eyes, making a show of grumbling displeasure to hide his ridiculous glee.

Her only answer was a sly smirk and to recline back on one palm. “I know. I was watching.”

“See something you like?” He gestured at himself, watching her stormy eyes drop from his face down his stocky body, lingering pointedly on his displayed chest. Then she swept a burning path back to his face.

“It’s not a terrible view.” She admitted.

He smiled at her. The most charming, brilliant smile he could summon. The same one that had many a fine dwarven barmaid tumbling over themselves to get him another glass of ale. His redheaded temptress only gave him a predatorial smirk in return.

“Should I assume you’re here for business?” He asked.

Or pleasure.

He didn’t dare say it. Not to her. There was something… something about her that made him pause, consider her carefully. Something that screamed if he gave her that power over him, he’d regret it the rest of his life.

It was the eyes. Must have been. He’d never seen a more endless set of eyes in his damn life.

“I’m curious.” She declared, tapping her free hand on the bench while she studied him. “I was on my way out, you know. Too much crazy religion for my taste.”

“The Chantry freaks you out more than the demons?”

“I can shoot the demons. It’s frowned upon to start murdering old women squawking at me, but they are annoying.”

She wrinkled her nose in evident distaste and something flipped in his stomach. The wind picked up again and took more of the hair from her braid, whipped it across her cheeks.

He had the sudden, maddening urge to trace his gloved fingers over her jaw and tuck it back behind the shell of her ear before cupping her cheek and drawing her sweetly towards him in a passionate kiss that-

She was either far too clever for her own good or used to inspiring a chaotic inferno of lust wherever she went, because she clearly saw the direction his thoughts veered off into. And all the woman did was bit her lower lip between her teeth to stifle a laugh he was sure would be throaty and sinful.

Yeah. He definitely didn’t need to sit down next to her on the bench. He needed three feet of space between her and him at all times to stop himself from doing something stupid.

His legs didn’t get the memo.

He plopped his ass right next to her, their thighs touching teasingly, but she didn’t bother moving. Instead, she simply eyed him with a distinct blend of wariness and interest. He sensed it would take more than his roguish charm to break down that caution, but he didn’t need to do all of it now.

He was used to playing the long game, after all.

“What’s your name, Princess?”

“Cadash.” Varric’s heart leapt in triumph. That was a good name for lyrium. A very good name. It was about time he had some good luck.

Then she added the kicker. “Maria Cadash.”

Oh. Oh they had hit the fucking vein with this one. They didn’t just have Cadash clan operating in Haven, they had one of the fucking heirs to the whole pot. A winning hand, if he played it right.

“Nanna sent me a letter telling me to get the hell out of dodge before the humans blew up the sky. Again.” She smirked, shaking her head. “But I’d just gotten comfortable.”

“We can keep you quite comfortable, Princess.” Varric insisted. Maker, he had hit the nail on that head with her nickname. He had bonafide Carta royalty on his hands and he’d do well not to lose her.

She leaned forward, her shirt dipping open with the motion, drawing his eyes for just a second and making him think of other things he could have in his hands. Because he was weak. A weak, weak man.

Maria held his gaze, brought the sweet back up to her mouth, and bit into the flaky dough. His eyes flew to the sugar dusting her pretty lips. He had half a mind to lean in and kiss it off.

“You know, those are bad for you. Not a single apple actually in them, Princess.” Varric rasped.

Maria slowly licked the sugar off her bottom lip. “I only like things that are bad for me, honestly.”

Varric leapt on her admission of weakness. “Well in that case, why not supply the Inquisition? You couldn’t make a more dangerous decision if your life depended on it. Think of the rush of danger. The cloak and dagger thrill. The late night missions and secret assignations…”

He sweetened his voice to the same low, cajoling tone he’d used on templar, guards, coterie, and all the worst of Kirkwall. She watched his mouth move with rapt attention, her snack forgotten.

Varric didn’t know how his arm slipped behind her back, but suddenly his palm was on the curve of her spine in a gesture that seemed carelessly intimate. Maria didn’t pull away. Their knees touched, her chin tipped up, and for a wild moment Varric waited for her to lean in and capture his mouth.

Instead, her smile curled up like the fire they sat beside. She tore her eyes from his to look at it with a shake of her head.

“It’ll cost you.” She warned. “This is risky. Risky isn’t cheap.”

Some things were worth paying any price for, weren’t they?

“We’ll find the coin.” He promised. “And you get to stay at the center of the action, just like you want.”

Her eyebrow climbed up her forehead. “You think I want to be underneath a spiraling hole in the bleedin’ world freezing my tits off?”

“Of course you do.” He stated, picking up an abandoned mug and holding it out to her in a silent toast. “It’s gonna be a hell of a story, Princess. Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Just the slightest bit of her wariness fell away, revealing a wicked glint of humor and a spark of madness he’d seen too often in a dozen other brilliant women when they had made up their mind to have an adventure with or without him.

“No.” She declared with relish. “I suppose I wouldn’t want to miss it for the world.”

[crossdressingdeath]

Just a reminder that if you have time and feel like writing that post you mentioned about how you would rewrite each DBH character’s story given unlimited runtime, it would be very cool to read.

Ah, right. Quick note that I don’t know much about Connor’s machine path or the violent revolution path or any ending to Kara’s story that doesn’t involve successfully getting past the border guard so I will be skimming those parts of the story. Also it’s going to be pretty vague because Details Are Hard. (Also I’m tired so this is probably not going to make a lot of sense or be in any sort of reasonable order.)

Okay, general points first. I feel like the three stories should intersect more, even if only in a “seeing the aftermath of their actions” way; maybe Connor and Hank are sent to investigate Zlatko’s death after Kara and Alice have gone through, for example. You’ve got three protagonists active at the same time and they barely interact! Come on, give us a little conversation. And of course the public opinion system needs to be used a lot more; it only effects two things in the whole game, come on! It doesn’t impact any of the major human characters, and that just feels wrong. I’ll. come back to this in Connor’s section because I feel like it would be best used there (since there really aren’t many humans in the story outside of his parts and the ones who do show up have reasons to side with or against the deviants outside of public opinion), but if nothing else I’d like it to lead to us seeing humans demonstrating/fighting with the deviants. Also I would like to see at least a few examples of androids deviating peacefully, like Connor does; I don’t believe for a second that there weren’t androids who deviated in a place where they were surrounded by people who were with them all the way.

So, first off: Markus. Mostly I’d just want to extend the timeline a bit and add some more Jericho missions, because oh my god you cannot join an organization of people with no weapons or resources of any kind, become their leader, and successfully change society in less than a week. So just... more evidence of Markus slowly winning Jericho over and helping them gather supplies and resources. Show him helping them set up actual supply lines! Rescuing deviants! Winning over allies! Including human ones, because the idea that there isn’t a single human working with Jericho when pretty much every major human character is in fact on the deviants’ side is... dumb. Also, individual missions with North, Simon and Josh; it would be good to spend more time getting to know them, since as it stands it’s... kind of hard to care all that much when they die. I might also add short scenes where we see Connor’s targets arriving in Jericho if they survive, just to add more connection between the stories (and also I like them and wish more had been done with them). And make Simon a love interest (because this is a choice-heavy game and so I should be able to make the choice to play exclusively as gay androids if that’s what I want), and make it easier to avoid having a love interest; let’s not create a situation where entering into a relationship less than a week after gaining emotions is all but mandatory, hm? Also, maybe Markus should meet Kamski one time? As the guy fulfilling Kamski’s deviant-related plans? Come on, one meeting. Maybe clear up Kamski’s motivations just a bit. And, crossing over with Connor’s story, maybe a bit of stuff them both being part of the RK line and how it went from a caregiver android to a detective android. Oh, and change it so that you’re not guaranteed to have fatalities on the violence path, because insisting that only pacifism can possibly end happily when fighting against oppression seems kind of... not great, all things considered. Frankly given the androids’ combat abilities it kind of makes more sense to have unavoidable deaths on the pacifism route, or alternately to have different unavoidable deaths on both routes, but being admittedly a softy I am very happy to have it be possible to have no deaths on either route. I don’t necessarily expect it to be easy to save everyone (it might make sense to add in missions where you make preparations to increase their odds of survival, or do something similar to Simon’s possible death in Stratford Tower where one of other protagonists’ actions has an effect on the sequence of events), but it would be nice to have it be possible.

On to Kara; I mentioned this before, but instead of her story being a cute-but-boring game-long escort mission where you have to protect a small child who is entirely useless I’d give her a story about uncovering how deviancy works and the history of it. Whether it really is just a glitch or something more, what rA9 actually is... all that fun stuff. No idea how that would actually go, but it would be more interesting than just running to Canada. If nothing else we could get more backstory on how the hell Kamski managed to create androids who are so realistic that that they can develop emotions. And if it is just a glitch there can be more discussion on whether or not simulated emotions are as real as actual emotions, because the fact that they brought up the concept of deviant emotions being a simulation and did nothing with it just feels like a massive waste of potential. And I’d add some more ways to live; from what I understand it’s really hard to keep everyone alive unless you maybe possibly condemn a couple and their baby to freeze to death or get killed by a revolution and keep things peaceful in Markus’s story. While I do want more interaction between the stories, I don’t think your choices in one story should automatically lock you out of getting the best ending for one of the other stories (with the obvious exception of the situations where that actually makes sense; can’t get the best ending for Connor and Hank if Markus nukes the city while Hank is in it, for example). At least with Kara; her story is so separate from Markus and Connor’s that it doesn’t make sense for Markus’s actions to lock her out of escaping to Canada! Also, it adds nothing to the story to have Alice turn out to be an android and robs Kara of her close human companion who has a massive impact on her life; yeah, there’s Rose, but she’s in... what, two missions? That’s less than Karl, who has the additional story impact of having been Markus’s father figure for (if memory serves) years before the start of the game, so there’s no dynamic to build; it’s already there. Keep Alice human! It’s a completely pointless twist! ...I recognise that this does mean that Connor can get a young human girl killed by succeeding in stopping a deviant, but it wouldn’t take much to rewrite his run-in with Kara to not involve a chase across a freeway. Again, I’ll come back to this when I get to Connor’s section. But imagine the impact of things like Todd’s abuse and Zlatko’s section if Alice is human; showing that these villains don’t necessarily see androids and humans as different, but in a negative sense this time. Also, I’d like a sort of prologue to her story featuring the incident that got her broken and led to her being repaired at the start of the game.

And of course now we get to Connor, the best boy who deserves the best. I’ll start with the things I said I’d come back to. First, the public opinion system: imagine if Hank’s thoughts on deviants (instead of just changing for no apparent reason beyond a handful of meetings with people who generally kick his ass and then run away or die with at most a bit of conversation) could be altered by public opinion of the deviants’ cause. Even better; by that and his relationship with Connor. Picture a situation where Hank doesn’t trust or like deviants at all due to them running around killing people but still helps them because he wants to help Connor. It would just be very good. Also, since Connor is the only character hanging out exclusively with humans (what with the station full of cops he’s working out of): imagine more missions taking place (or at least starting) in the precinct where Connor can interact with his sort of coworkers and how the conversations with them could change as time passes and public opinion changes. Also again the possibility for a conflict between dislike of deviants and fondness for this particular android, just for fun. And, also just for fun, maybe a bit of character development for Gavin where he’s still a dick (because honestly he’d be less fun if he wasn’t) but if public opinion is high he’ll pretend not to notice Connor sneaking into the evidence locker and fucking around in there for a while when he really definitely isn’t supposed to. Come on, if you’re going to have heroic cops you could at least do something with more than one of them. Also, more Captain Fowler. All we know is that he and Hank are old friends and he’s totally okay with Hank beating the shit out of Perkins; all in all I’d like to know a bit more about him. And with Kara and Alice: the freeway chase works, sure, but I would like the option for Connor to at least try to save Alice; by this point Connor is already showing signs of software instability, if we change it so that Alice is human him putting the mission aside to save a little girl makes sense and gives us a good sense of who he is as a person, and it fits neatly into steadily escalating refusal to complete his mission that eventually reaches full deviancy. If I’m remembering the order right it’s Ortiz’s android (who you can’t let escape), Kara (who you can let go based on Hank’s orders), Rupert (who you can let go to save Hank), the Tracis (who you can let go just because), and then Markus (who you have to deviate to spare); changing it so that you can let Kara go to save a little girl she’s protecting fits the escalation (you could easily argue that Connor has something in his programming about saving human lives, and as one of his earlier missions shows him being specifically trying to save a little girl it makes a great deal of sense that he wants to protect Alice. Also like. Imagine having the option to push Alice out of the way of a car at the cost of Connor’s life. It would be very effective, I think. Also it’s another opportunity to make Hank like you because he would for sure react well to you saving a small child from getting hit by a car.

Alright, moving on; I’d like some more assignments with Connor before he joins the DPD and gets partnered with Hank, showing him actually earning the title of deviant hunter? Also that way we aren’t stuck with the conclusion that CyberLife decided to send their prototype out into the world to partner with the police in investigations after one mission, which said prototype may well have failed to complete. And we could show more of Connor struggling with what he’s being ordered to do but having no way of stopping himself due to a complete lack of any interaction with anyone with functioning emotions, except for maybe CyberLife technicians. Actually, I’d also like to see what it’s like for Connor going to CyberLife for repairs and debriefing and such, because I doubt it’s fun. Other than that... well, Connor’s story is pretty good all things considered, but there are a couple tweaks I’d make. Aside from the previously mentioned exploration of what it means that he and Markus are both part of the RK line, I’d maybe cap off the added early story for him by adding him being hesitant about turning in Ortiz’s android if you’ve been pushing for more software instability and only going through with it when it becomes clear that if he doesn’t all he’ll achieve is getting himself caught not doing his job, which wouldn’t be a good look. I feel like the most effective way to do it might be if it’s not under player control; if his software instability is high enough he’ll be uncertain about it, and if he’s not he won’t be. And if he is uncertain you could add some options to the interrogation where he can win trust by telling the android he was scared of what would happen to him if he didn’t turn him in (followed by him immediately insisting that that was just a cunning ploy and in no way true when pressed on the matter if he did it out loud and not through an interface). Also: why wasn’t it Hank who pushed Connor to deviate. You spend Connor’s entire story with Hank! He is Connor’s tie to humanity! Why does Connor deviate in one conversation with a complete stranger and not his dearest friend! I desperately want a situation where Hank learns too much or something and Connor is ordered to shoot him and you can either go through with it (killing Hank) or deviate and shoot whoever gave you the order instead. Also then there could be hugs. And maybe forehead kisses because please. Connor deserves a little smooch honestly. He’s earned it. And then if your relationship with Hank is low enough that he’s already dead at this point you can have the conversation with Markus. Also, I would love an addition to the machine path where if you have a high relationship with Hank you can choose to deviate before fighting him (instead of just walking away despite that preventing Connor from finishing his mission quickly) or to deviate after fighting him when he’s got Hank hanging off the edge of the roof. Think about it; a moment of horrified realisation where Connor’s software is finally pushed to the breaking point by having to choose whether or not he will kill his only friend for the sake of his mission where he’s left desperately asking himself what the hell he’s doing? Like, if nothing else it would hammer home the fact that at this point Connor is choosing to remain a machine (assuming his software instability is high enough) to have to choose it twice even at the cost of Hank’s life. Actually three times, because the initial choice would be before this point. Also going that way it would be possible to play through the machine path up to the fight with Hank and still net Connor’s best ending, which would just be nice I think. Also, more hugs. Hugs are good.

...Okay, that’s all I can think of for now. Also it’s uh. almost 1 AM here and sleep is in fact important. So I’m going to wrap up here; maybe I’ll make some more posts later if I think of anything else.

[theroyalmile]

No Returns, No Exchanges

Disclaimer: I have debated for quite a while whether or not I should post this blog.  Social media is such a curated space for joy and happiness, it can feel oppressive at times.  There is so much life-changing positivity, from engagements to new jobs; and don’t get me wrong, that happiness is great to see.  But on the other hand, all of that positivity makes me feel like sharing any kind of negative information is attention-seeking and an immense overshare.  So let’s ask ourselves why I feel that way.  Why is happiness celebrated while the sad, sometimes harsh realities of life are thought to be oversharing?  More specifically, why do we feel like life-changing news can only be shared when it doesn’t make other people uncomfortable?  Our expressions of pain should not be regulated by the comfort levels of the people who surround us.  There comes a time when not sharing something begins to feel like hiding something, and hiding something turns to shame.  That is a feeling that I refuse to welcome into my life right now.  So here we go. 

It has been a while since I posted anything… a really long while.  It has been rare, these past few years, that I have even felt I had anything much to say let alone write anything, mostly because my life has been fairly normal, fairly unextraordinary, and I am rather blessed to be saying that during such a difficult time for so many. The few moments where I have felt like I had something to say have been fleeting, and after a good 2am word vomit on paper, I have filed these musings under “not to be seen by the light of day” which is probably for the best.

 Sometimes in the past I would find myself wishing I had something interesting going on in my life, something worthy of commentary… I don’t know, I was thinking like a cool hobby, an interesting skill, a kick-ass career, or a run in with Tom Hardy like I’d always dreamed of… something.  

 Well, to whoever is in charge, this is not what I meant, and I would like to request a refund. 

 Because as its final parting kick in the ass 2020 decided to gift me with breast cancer.  This isn’t a bad punch line, it’s just the truth.Let me give you a second to process that one.  I certainly needed a few.

 The thing is, a little itty bitty 3-centimeter tumor- that’s not something I can give back, as much as I might want to.  It’s not a too-large sweater you can return with a gift receipt, and it’s not a bad haircut you can complain about and get your money back (though it certainly will include one in a week or so!)

 A lot of you already know this story and frankly it’s not one I can tell with much finesse or humor, so I will keep it brief.  It was a dark and stormy 6pm when I found a lump in my breast in the shower back in November.  My initial thought was “you’re a crazy lady and a hypochondriac, let’s give it a few weeks since this is probably nothing.”   A few weeks, when my imaginary lump seemed to not actually be imaginary, I figured okay, it’s time to see my doctor, it’s probably nothing but we need to make sure.  I was in fact so unconcerned about it that I didn’t even see my regular doctor. I figured I just needed a medical professional to feel me up and let me know what to do next.  I didn’t even bother mentioning it to my parents. (For context of my laissez-faire, when I was 14 I found a lump in my breast that turned out, after little fanfare, to be a cyst which was unceremoniously drained on a cold metal table by a male doctor in a somewhat traumatizing but ultimately benign event.  That’s a longer story for later). 

 Cue a physical exam, confirming I was not crazy and there was a lump, but it was probably nothing; an utltrasound, confirming the lump was a shape that they did not like, but it was probably nothing; and an ultrasound guided biopsy, in which the probably nothing was sampled.  The week between Christmas and New Year’s was spent impatiently waiting for the news, increasingly feeling that my probably nothing was maybe, actually something.

 On December 28 around lunch time I received a phone call in the middle of the work day from the radiologist, who while very nice, was someone I had only met once while she shot a needle in and out of my boob.  She asked me how I was doing and then told me my test results were in.  “I’m sorry to say it’s not good news,” she said.

 And believe it or fucking not my immediate thought was “It’s not good news… it’s great news!” My brain supplied this as if on autopilot like some kind of 90s game show host, knowing fully well that I would not be so lucky because we are not living in a Brooklyn 99 episode.  It’s weird where your brain goes under duress.

 It was one of the most uncomfortable phone calls I have ever had, wherein I found myself trying to reassure a complete stranger that I was okay and I’m pretty sure I even said, “it is what it is.”  I was told a breast surgeon and oncologist from my provider network would be in contact and the call ended. Ultimately, I was diagnosed with Stage 1B Triple Negative Invasive Ductal and Lobular Carcinoma.  No returns, no exchanges.

 I am two months into my diagnosis, and 1/8 of my way through chemotherapy, the first part of a three series treatment (to be followed by surgery and then likely radiation.)  This Friday, after my second chemotherapy treatment, I will begin to lose my hair.  Anyone who knows me at all knows that the hair loss will be a pill likely far harder for me to swallow than the chemo itself.  And while the look may have worked for Demi Moore in GI Jane, I do not have her bone structure, nor her body.  I anticipate I will look more like the yellow peanut M&M, which while obviously the best M&M of the bunch, I think we can all agree is not a cute look for me.

 I do not say this to be melodramatic, I just say this because I am cynical and pragmatic by nature: I am not particularly surprised that I have cancer.  And this is for several reasons, some of which probably deserve a longer blog later.  To put it simply, I have been surrounded by cancer, both by choice and by cruel fate and happenstance, my entire life. 

 Cruel Fate and Happenstance: Having several relatives who have gone through cancer, and a mother with a BRCA 1 genetic mutation (which I had a 50% chance of inheriting, and in fact did) I always figured it would eventually happen to me.  The odds this condition dealt me? “About 13% of women in the general population will develop breast cancer sometime during their lives. By contrast, 55%–72% of women who inherit a harmful BRCA1 variant… will develop breast cancer by 70–80 years of age.”  That 55-72% is the kind of percentage you want winning the lottery, but the lottery this most certainly is not, and that much I understood. So, I always figured something like this would probably happen.  Did I think I would be 28? No. But I figure that just makes me an overachiever. 

 Choice: I volunteered at a cancer support non-profit from the time I was 12 to the time I was 22, and I wrote my college senior thesis in anthropology on women with ovarian cancer, the cancer that killed my aunt Lizzy when I was 4 years old.  I have likely read more books on cancer than your average newly diagnosed person, which I find to be both a blessing and a curse.  On one hand, I know some of what’s coming.  On the other hand, I know some of what’s coming.  Of course I don’t think any of these things gave me cancer but you might say I have been training for this my whole life.  I think this joke is far funnier than pretty much everyone I say it to except my immediate family, because the Tenney/Koss folk are very big on gallows humor, in which case this is hilarious.  Comedy is our family coping mechanism, and I am guilty of occasionally forgetting not everyone is wired like that.   

 So where are we right now? Taking it day by day.  Do I frequently find myself wallowing in self-pity these days? Sure.  But all the same I feel truly lucky.  This is a feeling I am trying to hold on to, because I think the other options might be truly unbearable.  Why? Well, I found this tumor.  I’m 28-years-old, which means I am hardly old enough for a regular mammogram and MRI.  My last yearly physical was a TeleHealth appointment (hence no actual physical) and I will be honest, I never made a habit of regularly checking myself like I should have.  But this tumor just presented itself casually during a shower.  Breast cancer, when caught early, is highly treatable and curable, and I am fairly confident, knock on wood, that is where this particular nightmare is headed.  The fact that it was caught early: pure luck. 

Another reason I feel lucky is for the most part, I feel like I actually have the stability to handle the oncoming struggle.  I have a large and wonderful support system, an incredible and supportive partner, a savings account with actual savings in it, and a job where I am cared about as a human.  If this had happened to me three years ago, almost none of these things would be true.  There will never be a good time to have cancer, but some times are apparently better than others.  Of course, the ongoing pandemic means I can’t have people go with me to chemo, or my wig fitting, or my surgery consultations, and alone a lot of this seems much more daunting and difficult than it might otherwise have been, but I am trying to make a habit of counting my blessings, and despite this terrible thing I’ve been given, my blessings are many.

 There isn’t a “right way” to have cancer, but I think there might be a “right way” for me.  I am a private person and I find sharing some of these details difficult and more than a little uncomfortable, but I am also intimately familiar with the healing nature of writing and comedy, so I am going to give it a shot.  

 And now that I think of it… the peanut M&M is going to make a really great Halloween costume. 

[96harmony96]

Chapter 14

The next morning dawned with an odd surreality. I made it to work, and then through most of my pre launch day in a kind of chilly fog. I couldn’t get warm enough, despite wearing a cardigan over my blouse and a scarf that didn’t match either one. It took me a few minutes longer to process requests than it should have, and I couldn’t shake a feeling of dread.

Lauren made no contact with me whatsoever.

Nothing on my smartphone or e-mail after my text last night. Nothing in my email inbox. No interoffice note.

The silence was excruciating. Especially when the day’s Google alert hit my inbox and I saw the photos and phone videos of me and Lauren in Bryant Park. Seeing how we looked together—the passion and need, the painful longing on our faces, and the gratefulness of reconciliation—was bittersweet.

Pain twisted in my chest. Lauren.

If we couldn’t work this out, would I ever stop thinking about her and wishing we had?

I struggled to pull myself together. Mark was meeting with Lauren today. Maybe that’s why Lauren hadn’t felt pressed to contact me. Or maybe she was just really busy. I knew she had to be, considering her business calendar. And as far as I knew, we still had plans to go to the gym after work. I exhaled in a rush and told myself that things would straighten out somehow. They just had to.

It was quarter to noon when my desk phone rang. Seeing from the readout that the call was coming from reception, I sighed with disappointment and answered.

“Hey, Camila,” Megumi said cheerily. “You have a Magdalene Perez here to see you.”

“Do I?” I stared at my monitor, confused and irritated. Had the Bryant Park photos lured Magdalene out from under whatever troll bridge she called home?

Regardless of the reason, I had no interest in talking to her. “Keep her up there for me, will you? I have to take care of something first.”

“Sure. I’ll tell her to have a seat.”

I hung up, then pulled out my smartphone and scrolled through the contact list until I found the number to Lauren’s office. I dialed and was relieved when Scott answered.

“Hey, Scott. Camila Cabello.”

“Hi, Camila. Would you like to speak to miss. Jauregui? she’s in a meeting at the moment, but I can buzz her.”

“No. No, don’t bother her.”

“It’s a standing order. she won’t mind.”

It soothed me immensely to hear that. “I hate to throw this in your lap, but I have a request for you.”

“Anything you need. That’s also a standing order.” The amusement in his voice relaxed me further.

“Magdalene Perez is down here on the twentieth floor. Frankly, the only thing she and I have in common is Lauren, and that’s not a good thing. If she has something to say, it’s your boss she should be talking to. Could you please have someone escort her up?”

“Absolutely. I’ll take care of it now.”

“Thanks, Scott. I appreciate you.”

“It’s my pleasure, Camila.”

I hung up the phone and sagged back in my seat, feeling better already and proud of myself for not letting jealousy get the better of me. While I still really hated the idea of her having any of Lauren’s time, I hadn’t lied when I’d said I trusted her. I believed she had strong, deep feelings for me. I just didn’t know if they were enough to override her survival instinct.

Megumi called me again.

“Oh my God,” she said, laughing. “You should’ve seen her face when whoever that was came to get her.”

“Good.” I grinned. “I figured she was up to no good. Is she gone, then?”

“Yep.”

“Thanks.” I crossed the narrow strip of hallway to Mark’s door and poked my head in to see if he wanted me to pick him up some lunch.

He frowned, thinking about it. “No, thanks. I’ll be too nervous to eat until after the presentation with Jauregui. By then whatever you pick up will be hours old.”

“How about a protein smoothie, then? It’ll give you some easy fuel until you can eat.”

“That’d be great.” His smile lit up his dark eyes. “Something that goes good with vodka, just to get me in the mood.”

“Anything you don’t like? Any allergies?”

“Nada.”

“Okay. See you in an hour.” I knew just the place to go. The deli I had in mind was a couple blocks up and offered smoothies, salads, and a variety of made-to-order paninis with quick service.

I headed downstairs and tried not to think about Lauren’s radio silence. I’d kind of expected to hear something after the Magdalene incident. Getting no reaction had me worrying all over again. I pushed out to the street through the revolving door and scarcely paid any attention to the man who climbed out of the back of a town car at the curb until he called my name.

Turning, I found myself facing Christopher Vidal.

“Oh…Hi,” I greeted him. “How are you?”

“Better, now that I’ve seen you. You look fantastic.”

“Thanks. I can say the same to you.”

As different as he was from Lauren, he was gorgeous in his own way with his mahogany waves, grayish-green eyes, and charming smile. He was dressed in loose-fitting jeans and a cream V-neck sweater, a very sexy look for him.

“Are you here to see your sister?” I asked.

“Yes, and you.”

“Me?”

“Heading to lunch? I’ll join you and explain.”

I was briefly reminded of Lauren’s warning to stay away from Christopher, but by now I figured she trusted me. Especially with her brother.

“I’m going to a deli up the street,” I said. “If you’re game.”

“Absolutely.”

We started walking.

“What did you want to see me about?” I asked, too curious to wait.

He reached into one of two large cargo pockets of his jeans and pulled out a formal invitation in a vellum envelope. “I came to invite you to a garden party we’re having at my parents’ estate on Sunday. A mix of business and pleasure. Many of the artists signed to Vidal Records will be there. I was thinking it’d be great networking for your roommate—he’s got the right look for music video.”

I brightened. “That would be wonderful!”

Christopher grinned and passed the invite over. “And you’ll both have fun. No one throws a party like my mother.”

I glanced briefly at the envelope in my hand. Why hadn’t Lauren said anything about the event?

“If you’re wondering why Lauren didn’t tell you about it,” he said, seemingly reading my mind, “it’s because she won’t come. she never does. Even though she’s the majority shareholder in the company, I think she finds the music industry and musicians too unpredictable for his tastes. By now, you know how she is.”

Dark and intense. Powerfully magnetic and hotly sexual. Yes, I knew how she was. And she preferred to know what she was getting into at all costs.

I gestured at the deli when we reached it, and we stepped inside and got in line.

“This place smells awesome,” Christopher said, his gaze on his phone as he typed out a quick text.

“The aroma delivers on its promise, trust me.”

He smiled a delightful boyish smile that I was sure knocked most women on their asses. “My parents are really looking forward to meeting you, Camila.”

“Oh?”

“Seeing the photos of you and Lauren over the last week has been a real surprise. A good surprise,” he qualified quickly when I winced. “It’s the first time we’ve seen her really into someone she’s dating.”

I sighed, thinking she wasn’t so into me right now. Had I made a terrible mistake by leaving her alone last night?

When we reached the counter, I ordered a grilled vegetable and cheese panini with two pomegranate smoothies, asking them to hold the one with a protein shot for thirty minutes so I could eat in. Christopher ordered the same, and we managed to find a table in the crowded deli.

We talked about work, laughing over both a recent baby food commercial faux-blooper that had gone viral and some backstage anecdotes about acts Christopher had worked with. The time passed swiftly, and when we parted ways at the entrance of the Crossfire, I said good-bye with genuine affection.

I headed up to the twentieth floor, and found Mark still at his desk. He offered me a quick smile despite his air of concentration.

“If you don’t really need me,” I said, “I think it’d be good for me to sit this presentation out.”

Although he tried to hide it, I saw the lightning quick flash of relief. It didn’t offend me. Stress was stress, and my volatile relationship with Lauren was something Mark didn’t need to think about while he was working on an important account.

“You’re golden, Camila. You know that?”

I smiled and set the drink carrier down in front of him. “Drink your smoothie. It’s really good, and the protein will keep you from feeling too hungry for a little bit longer. I’ll be at my desk if you need me.”

Before I put my purse in the drawer, I texted Cary to ask if he had plans on Sunday or if he’d like to go to a Vidal Records party. Then I got back to work. I’d started organizing Mark’s files on the server, tagging them and placing them in directories to make it easier for us to assemble portfolios on the fly.

When Mark left for the meeting with Lauren, my heartbeat quickened and a clutch of anticipation tightened my stomach. I couldn’t believe my excitement just from knowing what Lauren was doing at that particular moment, and that she’d have to think of me when she saw Mark. I hoped I’d hear from her after that. My mood picked up at the thought.

For the next hour, I was restless waiting to hear how things had gone. When Mark reappeared with a big grin and a spring in his step, I stood up in my cubicle and applauded him.

He took a gallant, exaggerated bow. “Thank you, Miss Camila.”

“I’m so stoked for you!”

“Jauregui asked me to give you this.” He handed me a sealed manila envelope. “Come to my office and I’ll give you all the deets.”

The envelope had weight and rattled. I knew from touch what I’d find inside before I opened it, but still the sight of my keys sliding out and into my palm hit me hard. Gasping with a pain more intense than any I could remember, I read the accompanying note card.

Thank you, Camila. For everything.

Yours, G

A Dear Jane brush-off. It had to be. Otherwise, she would’ve given me the keys after work on the way to the gym.

There was a dull roaring in my ears. I felt dizzy. Disoriented. I was frightened and agonized. Furious.

I was also at work.

Closing my eyes and clenching my fists, I pulled myself together and fought off the driving urge to go upstairs and call Lauren a coward. she probably saw me as a threat, someone who’d come in, unwanted and uninvited, and shook up her orderly world. Someone who’d demanded more from her than just his hot body and hefty bank account.

I shut my emotions behind a glass wall where I was aware of them waiting in the background, but I was able to get through the rest of my workday. By the time I clocked out and headed downstairs, I still hadn’t heard from Lauren. I was such an emotional disaster at that point I felt only a single, sharp twinge of despair as I exited the Crossfire.

I made it to the gym. I shut my brain off and ran full-bore on the treadmill, fleeing the anguish that would hit me soon enough. I ran until sweat coursed in rivulets down my face and body, and rubber legs forced me to stop.

Feeling battered and exhausted, I hit the showers. Then I called my mother and asked her to send Clancy to the gym to pick me up for our appointment with Dr. Petersen. As I put my work clothes back on, I mustered the energy to get through that last task before I could go home and collapse on my bed.

I waited for the town car at the curb, feeling separate and apart from the city teeming around me. When Clancy pulled up and hopped out to open the back door for me, I was startled to see my mom already inside. It was early yet. I’d expected to be driven solo to the apartment she shared with Stanton and wait on her twenty minutes or so. That was our usual routine.

“Hey, Mom,” I said wearily, settling on the seat beside her.

“How could you, Camila?” She was crying into a monogrammed handkerchief, her face beautiful even while reddened and wet with tears. “Why?”

Jolted out of my torment by her misery, I frowned and asked, “What did I do now?”

The new cell phone, if she’d somehow found about it, wouldn’t trigger this much drama. And it was too soon after the fact for her to know about my breakup with Lauren.

“You told Lauren Jauregui about…what happened to you.” Her lower lip trembled with distress.

My head jerked back in shock. How could she know that? My God…Had she bugged my new place? My purse…? “What?”

“Don’t act clueless!”

“How do you know I told her?” My voice was a pained whisper. “We just talked last night.”

“she went to see Richard about it today.”

I tried to picture Stanton’s face during that conversation. I couldn’t imagine my stepfather taking it well. “Why would she do that?”

“she wanted to know what’s been done to prevent information leaks. And she wanted to know where Nathan is—” She sobbed. “she wanted to know everything.”

My breath hissed out between my teeth. I wasn’t sure what Lauren’s motivation was, but the possibility that she’d dumped me over Nathan and was now making sure that she was safe from scandal hurt worse than anything. I twisted in pain, my spine arching away from the seatback. I’d thought it was her past that drove a wedge between us, but it made more sense that it was mine.

For once I was grateful for my mother’s self-absorption, which kept her from seeing how devastated I was.

“she had a right to know,” I managed in a voice so raw it sounded nothing like my own. “And she has a right to try and protect himself from any blowback.”

“You’ve never told any of your other boyfriends.”

“I’ve never dated anyone who makes national headlines by sneezing, either.” I stared out the car window at the traffic that boxed us in. “Lauren Jauregui and Cross Industries are global news, Mother. she’s light-years away from the guys I dated in college.”

She spoke more, but I didn’t hear her. I shut down for self-protection, cutting off the reality that was suddenly too painful to be endured.

Dr. Petersen’s office was exactly as I remembered. Decorated in soothing neutrals, it was both professional and comfortable. Dr. Petersen was the same—a handsome man with gray hair and gentle, intelligent blue eyes.

He welcomed us into his office with a wide smile, commenting on how lovely my mother looked and how like her I was. He said he was happy to see me again and that I looked well, but I could tell he spoke for my mother’s benefit. He was too trained an observer to miss the raging emotions I suppressed.

“So,” he began, settling into his chair across from the sofa my mother and I sat on. “What brings you both in today?”

I told him about the way my mom had been tracking my movements via my cell phone signal and how violated I felt. Mom told him about my interest in Krav Maga and how she took it as a sign that I wasn’t feeling safe. I told him about how they’d pretty much taken over Parker’s studio, which made me feel suffocated and claustrophobic. She told him I’d betrayed her trust by divulging deeply personal matters to strangers, which made her feel naked and painfully exposed.

Through it all, Dr. Petersen listened attentively, took notes and spoke rarely, until we’d purged everything.

Once we’d quieted, he asked, “Sinuhe, why didn’t you tell me about tracking Camila’s cell phone?”

The angle of her chin altered, a familiar defensive posture. “I didn’t see anything wrong with it. Many parents track their children through their cell phones.”

“Underage children,” I shot back. “I’m an adult. My personal time is exactly that.”

“If you were to envision yourself in her place, Sinuhe,” Dr. Petersen interjected, “would it be possible that you might feel as she does? What if you discovered someone was monitoring your movements without your knowledge or permission?”

“Not if the someone was my mother and I knew it gave her peace of mind,” she argued.

“And have you considered how your actions affect Camila’s peace of mind?” he queried gently. “Your need to protect her is understandable, but you should discuss the steps you wish to take openly with her. It’s important to gain her input—and expect cooperation only when she chooses to give it. You have to honor her prerogative to set limits that may not be as broad as you’d like them to be.”

My mother sputtered indignantly.

“Camila needs her boundaries, Sinuhe,” he continued, “and a sense of control over her own life. Those things were taken from her for a long time and we have to respect her right to establish them now in the manner that best suits her.”

“Oh.” My mother twisted her handkerchief around her fingers. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

I reached out for my mother’s hand when her lower lip trembled violently. “Nothing could’ve stopped me from talking to Lauren about my past. But I could have forewarned you. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it.”

“You’re much stronger than I ever was,” my mother said, “but I can’t help worrying.”

“My suggestion,” Dr. Petersen said, “would be for you to take some time, Sinuhe, and really think about what sorts of events and situations cause you anxiety. Then write them down.”

My mother nodded.

“When you have what will surely not be an exhaustive list but a strong start,” he went on, “you can sit down with Camila and discuss strategies for addressing those concerns—strategies you can both live with comfortably. For example, if not hearing from Camila for a few days troubles you, perhaps a text message or an e-mail will alleviate that.”

“Okay.”

“If you like, we can go over the list together.”

The back-and-forth between the two made me want to scream. It was insult to injury. I hadn’t expected Dr. Petersen to smack some sense into my mom, but I’d hoped he would at least take a harder line—God knew someone needed to, someone whose authority she respected.

When the hour ended and we were on our way out, I asked my mom to wait a moment so I could ask Dr. Petersen one last personal and private question.

“Yes, Camila?” He stood in front of me, looking infinitely patient and wise.

“I just wondered…” I paused, needing to swallow past a lump in my throat. “Is it possible for two abuse survivors to have a functional romantic relationship?”

“Absolutely.” His immediate, unequivocal answer forced the trapped air from my lungs.

I shook his hand. “Thank you.”

When I got home, I unlocked my door with the keys Lauren had returned to me and I went straight to my room, offering a lame wave to Cary, who was practicing yoga in the living room to a DVD.

I stripped off my clothes as I crossed the distance from my closed bedroom door to the bed, finally crawling between the cool sheets in just my underwear. I hugged a pillow and closed my eyes, so tired and drained I had nothing left.

The door opened at my back and a moment later Cary sat beside me.

He brushed my hair back from my tear-streaked face. “What’s the matter, baby girl?”

“I got kicked to the curb today. Courtesy of a fucking note card.”

He sighed. “You know the drill, Camila. she’s going to keep pushing you away, because she’s expecting you to fail her like everyone else has.”

“And I keep proving her right.” I recognized myself in the description Cary had just given. I ran when the going got tough, because I was so sure it was all going to end badly. The only control I had was to be the one who left, instead of the one who was left behind.

“Because you’re fighting to protect your own recovery.” He lay down and spooned against my back, wrapping one leanly muscular arm around me and tucking me tight against him.

I snuggled into the physical affection I hadn’t realized I needed. “she might’ve dumped me because of my past, not her.”

“If that’s true, it’s good it’s over. But I think you two will find each other eventually. At least I’m hoping you will.” His sigh was soft on my neck. “I want there to be happily-ever-afters for the fucked-up crowd. Show me the way, Camila honey. Make me believe.”

[openheart12]

I Did Something Bad

A/N: Today is my lovely adoptive mom’s @burnsoslow birthday! I never thought me making a post about yk what would lead to our friendship and Kryce! I hope you have the best day ever and that it is every bit as amazing as you are! I’m so thankful for your friendship and how you make me laugh until I cry or pee fvhujskdghfn and you’re the only one who could ever make me into a Drake stan. I love you so much! Eat all the cake you can for me! Happy birthday, love! I hope you know how much I adore you ❤

A/N 2: This is very much full of Donald Trump hate and despitement because who wouldn’t hate him anyways jkhkdjgh there’s also quite a bit of cussing 

Word Count: 2,613

Thank you @rigatonireid for pre-reading!! 

“This is bullshit,” Kurns exclaimed as Bryce and Dick were watching the events unfolding at the United States Capitol. “This is why you don’t vote for oranges.” She said while rolling her eyes. 

“Agreed,” the two men replied in unison. 

“Jinx!” They replied again at the same time that led to twenty minutes of them saying “jinx again” in response until Dick finally gave in and let Bryce win. 

“You win, Bryce-y poo,” he had said. Kurns had kept her attention glued to the television during their little game. 

“You okay over there, banana flavored moonpie?” Dick asked, directing his attention over to Kurns. 

“No, look at all those turnips. And the cult leader himself told them to do this shit. People actually voted for this moron? They should all get head CTs to check for brain damage which they undoubtedly have.” 

“Would it make you feel better if we overthrew the government while kidnapping Donnie?” Dick asked seriously. 

“Yes, actually,” she answered with a wide grin. 

“Okay, let me make a few phone calls and can you download some episodes of My Little Pony on Netflix for Bryce?” Kurns nodded her head in response, she also took the liberty of downloading Among Us on their phones so they wouldn’t be bored on the flight. 

The flight from North Delanois was a little over eight hours and being on a plane that long with a toddler, well Bryce, was going to be a challenge. 

It was a private jet so hopefully it would be more bearable, but just in case she also downloaded a few episodes of Max and Ruby and Yo Gabba Gabba. She also downloaded some episodes of Parks and Rec and Friends for herself. 

After packing the essentials; clothing, toiletries, handcuffs, whipped cream, ice cubes -who knew- and My Little Pony gummies, they were off to the airport.  

“Dick Kock,” Dick said introducing himself along with Kurns and Bryce. 

Kurns was decked out in a Taylor Swift 1989 t-shirt and a pair of leggings with her trusty white vans whereas Bryce was dressed in a rainbow colored polka dot shirt, black and white striped pants, one blue croc and the other was yellow, and socks with weed on them. Him and Kurns had forgotten about meth since it already landed them in jail one. Chris P. Bacon was still a sore subject for the pair. 

They boarded the plane and Bryce immediately went to find his gummies. Kurns took a seat next to Dick and pulled up CNN news to get an update on the attack on the Capitol. 

Suddenly breaking news flashed across her phone screen: Taylor Swift set to release her tenth studio album later today. 

“OH MY GOD! BRYCE LOOK!” Kurns exclaimed, jumping up out of her seat to show Bryce. 

“OH MY GOD! TS10! TS10! TS10!” He chanted. 

“Oh wow, that sure is exciting!” Dick chimed in. 

“By the way, D, I think we should call this Operation ‘I Did Something Bad’ in honor of Taylor’s new album.” 

“That’s a spectacular idea, Kurnel Mustard!” Bryce said with a smirk, it had been a new nickname he had given her after the three of them had played Clue one night.

“Shut up, Apple Bottom Jeans, Boots with the Fur,” she retaliated, mocking the Little Pony named Apple Jacks. 

“Stfu,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You must be really mad if you’re talking in text.”

“Dick,” he pouted, “she’s doing it again.” 

“Be nice you two, we have a long flight ahead of us.” 

For the first two hours, they each did their own thing; Dick was reading a hunting magazine, Kurns was watching the news, and Bryce had already finished the entirety of My Little Pony. 

“Do you guys wanna play Among us?” Kurns asked out of the blue. 

“Hell yeah! I just bought the baby crew mate and I’m dying to use it,” Bryce responded. 

“I’ve never played before but sure!” 

“Okay so you’re either a crew mate or impostor and if you’re a crew mate, you have to do these tasks whilst trying not to die and if you’re an impostor, you go around killing other crew mates trying not to get caught in the process. You’ll get the hang of it eventually,” Kurns explained. 

“Thanks love bug,” Dick placed a quick kiss to the side of her head. 

The three of them found an open lobby and talked in the chat box waiting for the game to start and when it did, Dick asked the question of, “why is my name red?” 

“Oh my God, Dick! Don’t say that. It means you’re an impostor,” Bryce explained at the same exact time Kurns called an emergency meeting. 

“It’s purple,” Kurns typed in the text box, referring to Bryce’s color. 

“What the frick! It’s so not me. I’m not playing anymore,” he pouted, turning off his phone and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Now, children, can you two not get along? Think about the bigger picture,” Dick intervened. 

“True, but I’m still not going to play with her.”

His statement didn’t affect Kurns in the slightest and she went back to playing the game. Dick joined her while Bryce was running away from an imaginary dragon and he ended up colliding into one of the seats, face first. 

“Ow,” he rubbed his forehead that was now bright red. 

“That’s what you get for being a baby,” Kurns said, not looking up from her phone while Dick went to go check on his blueberry muffin. 

“You okay, strawberry flavored fig bar? That’s quite a hit you took.” 

“Yeah, a kiss would make it feel better though,” he said, using his puppy dog eyes. Dick smiled softly at him before kissing his forehead all better. 

The three of them spent the next six hours playing games, eating, and watching movies from the age of the dinosaurs that Kurns had saved since she was over 10,000 years old. 

After landing in Washington D.C., the trio headed straight to the Whitehouse, if people could storm the Capitol, how much harder could it be to kidnap the president? That was Kurns logic at least and as it turns out, it wasn’t that much harder. 

Kurns went to the Oval Office while Dick and Bryce went to the bunker since that apparently seemed to be Trump’s favorite place in the Whitehouse. But unexpectedly, Kurns found the Donald Duck under the office in the Oval, tweeting away on his iPhone 4s. 

“Mr. Racist,” she called and he immediately turned to look at her. 

“What? I’m tremendously busy if you can’t tell.” 

“I see that, Mr. Pigman.” 

“That is hugely racist towards me. I happen to be winning very bigly at the moment. I’m trending on Twitter!” He said proudly, he then proceeded to show Kurns his crusty ass phone. 

“Come on, I have some candy for you if you come with me,” Kurns coaxed him out from under the desk and led him to the white van they had brought with them, you know, the kind your parents warn you to stay away from. 

“Fake news!” Trump exclaimed with a huff. “You must be friends with sleepy Joe.” 

“You’re right,” she winked. 

“You know, frankly, this doesn’t make America great.” 

“I disagree, I think this definitely makes America great again,” Kurns retaliated. 

“Does Mikey know about this?” 

“Yeah, we planned it with the fly,” she snickered. 

“Well, it’s fake news, believe me.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing you libtards wouldn’t understand it anyways. Anyways, what's that thing on your face?” 

“My mask?” 

“Yeah, what’s that for?” 

Kurns shook her head, not even being surprised by the question. “We’re in the middle of a pandemic, Donald Dump.” 

“What’s a panoramic?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” She got out her walkie talkie to talk to the boys. “The orange has expired. Over,” she said, their code word for getting Trump out. 

“Okay, bet, we’re on our way out. Over.” 

“Good job, K!” Dick said. 

“See you soon and thanks! Over.” 

Fifteen minutes later, Dick and Bryce arrived with a six foot cutout of Donald. 

“What the fuck is that?” 

“Hey, that’s me!” Trump chimed in. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Kurns said, she was quickly losing brain cells being in his proximity. 

“That is rude, quite frankly.” 

“We found it in his bedroom… along with some other, uh, questionable things,” Bryce explained. 

“Like what?”

“Like a, uh, dildo with Pence on it.” 

“Ew…” they all turned to look at Trump who was looking away and whistling, trying to pretend he wasn’t there. 

“Oh, um, about that. That was a tremendous invasion of privacy.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” they all said in unison and he pulled an imaginary zipper over his lips and threw away the key like a literal child. 

“I can’t be near him anymore,” Kurns said suddenly, getting out her phone to call someone. 

“Who are you calling?” Dick asked. 

“Joe, I was gonna invite him to go get some ice cream.” 

“OMG! I wanna go too!” Bryce exclaimed. 

“And me!” Trump said. 

“No, to both of you. You two have to keep an eye on Don and make sure he stays off of Twitter.” She was explaining when Joe picked up the phone. “Hey, Joe, do you want to go get ice cream somewhere?” 

“Duh! Taylor is actually here right now and you don’t care if she comes do you?” He asked to make sure. 

“Of course not! You can bring Champ and Major too! I know Jill is busy right now.” 

“Okay! On our way!” He said before hanging up. 

“Where are you going to go?” 

“Probably McDonald’s or something, Taylor is also coming with us, he said.”

“YOU MEAN THE TAYLOR?” Bryce asked in shock. 

“Yeah, him and Taylor are like BFF’s.” 

“I still like her music 25% less, okay?” Donald brought up. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Kurns said again. 

“Fine, fine. But could you make sure Barron is fed?” 

“Oop,” Bryce slapped his hand over his mouth. 

“Yes, now shut up.” 

Kurns was getting ready to go meet Joe and Taylor when Melania walked up to the van. “You have Trump?” She asked quietly. 

“Yeah, why? You need him?” 

“Yeah, could you make him sign this?” She placed some papers in Kurns hand. She read them and wasn’t shocked after realizing they were divorce papers. 

“No problem, hold tight real quick. Dick, make him sign these!” 

“Of course, ladybug.” He took a hold of Trump’s hand and wrote his name for him since he wouldn’t do it himself. 

“Here you go,” Kurns handed the papers back to Melania and she left without looking back. “Okay, I’m leaving. Be careful with that moron and for the love of God, don’t let his supporters know you have him.” 

“Roger that!” Bryce responded. 

“Don’t worry, vanilla brown sugar! We’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone. Have fun!” He called after her. 

She met Joe and Taylor at a local McDonald’s and greeted both of them with a hug. “Congratulations on winning the election and congratulations on album number ten!” She reached down to pet both of the German Shepherds who happily wagged their tails. 

“Thanks!” They replied in unison. 

“So how are the boys?” Taylor asked. 

“Good! They sent their regards. They’re actually, uh, holdingtrumphostage,” she said fast enough so hopefully they couldn’t understand but they are actually educated. 

“WHAT?” Joe exclaimed. 

“Miss gurl, how did y’all pull that off?” Taylor asked while hysterically laughing. 

“It was easier than I thought! Either security sucks or they wanted Trump gone and I can’t blame them for that.” 

“Amen sister!” Joe replied. 

“Can we see him?” Taylor asked. 

“I mean, yeah if you want!” 

“Okay let’s go!” She went to get up when Joe gently grabbed her arm. 

“But the ice cream…” He reminded her. 

“Of course, how could I forget?” She playfully rolled her eyes. They all ate their ice cream before heading back to the Whitehouse. 

Once arriving, Taylor and Joe headed straight to the front doors while Kurns stood there like 🧍‍♀️. “Hey guys, he's actually right there,” she said, pointing to the white van. 

Taylor opened the door to find Bryce half asleep on the ground, Dick was listening to ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ and dancing in his seat meanwhile, Donald had his lips glued to the side of the door, making out with it. 

“What the fuck?” All three of them asked at the same time. 

“OMG TAYLOR! HI! HOW ARE YOU?” Bryce shouted, jumping up off of the floor and pulling her into a hug. 

“Hi!” 

“Hello, Ms. Swift,” Dick greeted, gracefully bowing. “Mr. President,” he nodded. 

“How did you all meet?” Don asked. 

“We actually just met, our hate for you is what we bond over!” Joe explained in terms he would understand. Hopefully. 

“Oh,” was all he said and started to play with his fingers. “I don’t know if you knew this, but Washington D.C. is actually the capital of the United Stats. Did you know that?”

“What did you think it was? And it’s the United States, not… Stats.” Kurns asked in a surprisingly concerning tone. 

“I thought it was like a stat… or well state. Whatever it is.” 

“Oh,” Kurns said while Taylor called him an idiot under her breath. 

“That’s embarrassing miss gurl,” Bryce chimed in. 

“ARE YOU TALKING TIKTOK TO ME? I WILL BAN YOU,” Trump threatened. 

“Please, these empty promises you keep making are getting really old just like your term,” Dick said, making the others die of laughter… no literally, some Trump supporter that had been walking by had just collapsed and died. 

“And I oop-” Kurns and Bryce said at the same time. 

“IFHCBXNZNZ, HAHAHAHA,” Bryce barked out. 

“Can we get something to eat? I really want some Dino nuggies 🥺,” Trump pleaded. 

“No,” they all replied. 

“So what are we going to do with him?” Taylor asked. 

“I don’t know, what do y’all want to do with him?” 

“Excellent question, K, I say we feed him to some alligators!” Bryce exclaimed, flapping his two arms together to make an alligator jaw and started running towards Donald who jumped back in fear. 

“That’s not nice,” he pouted, a lone tear trickling down his cheek. 

“Fuck you, but not literally or physically,” Taylor said, making sure to explain what she meant. 

“I want some My Little Pony gummies!” 

“Me too!” Donald said with a smile now on his crusty, orange ass face. 

“No,” they replied again. 

“Fine,” he crossed his arms over his chest and turned his back to them, like the toddler he is. 

“Anyways, y’all want to go get Cookout?” Kurns suggested. 

“Yeah, of course!” Joe responded. 

The five of them headed to the nearest Cookout to get food and milkshakes, leaving Trump behind all alone. After hanging out with Taylor and Joe, it was unfortunately time to head back to North Delanois. With promises to meet up soon, the trio were soon enough taking off at the airport. 

“What ended up happening to Trump?” Bryce asked seriously. 

“He went to prison.” 

“As he should, period,” Kurns said with a smirk. 

“What are we going to do when we land?”

“Sleep!” Kurns and Bryce said. 

“Of course, my love doves. I’m going to try to do that right now, so please try to get along.” 

“Promise!” Kurns said, holding out her pinky finger which he took and kissed. The rest of the flight was surprisingly peaceful, Kurns and Bryce were able to get along while Dick slept. It had been a fun trip, one they hoped they would actually never have to make again. 

Tags: @burnsoslow @ao719 @callmeellabella @rigatonireid because no one else should have to read this :)