#also trying to hold a dog who weights as much as an adult human

[darkwood-sleddog]

Well. Sigurd ripped a dewclaw out bc he snagged it in my sweater, literally while we were both either on work meetings or about to go to work meetings…so to the emergency vet we went. Where we waiting for an hour to be seen bc we were non emergent. Finally, a hero tech came to see us and told us it was either wait four more hours or she can try and rip the nail off now. Me and Me D held Sigurd (muzzled) while he flailed and growled as dramatically as possible but we were somehow able to get the nail off and bandaged. That tech had fingers of STEEL and we were super appreciative of her. Then Sigurd got McDonald’s French fries on the way home. Urg. What a night.

[donutz]

Yandere Dogday x shy female reader

A/N|| Yandere Dogday isn't really a yandere that acts out, he just watches, as I prefer sticking characters to their personalities, and the fact Dogday wouldn't hurt a fly, literally. Also this is quite shorter than my usual uploads, sorry(x_x)

Request from Wattpad—! Here you go Justlila79 ☆

—☆You are a human in this

I mean, Playtime co wouldn’t be a bad place to work at right?

It’s just dealing with a bunch of toys! And kids..

There’ll be times where you freak out a bit on how human they were.

Toys with a digestive system? You weren’t sure about that one…

But what harm could go along with that? After one month you’re already warming up to this place!

Though you sometimes feel uneasy.

Like when you’re by yourself. You can barely even get sleep! Well at your workplace… I guess that motivates you not to sleep on the job.

And because of that certain someone stalking you, you can kind of.. Zone out. Of course, somebody had to notice. Dogday. He’s asked why you’re so tense, but when you explain it he gets nervous.

… Thinking about it, it is kinda strange. You’ll look into the shadows and at times you’ll see a resemblance of a sun.

The same sun that laid as a necklace around Dogday’s neck. There’s no way the cheerful and loving dog would be stalking you right? Yea probably, he’s been giving you hints without trying.

Maybe you’re just thinking too much! Yeah that’s all. You do tend to do that with every situation.

You’d go off and adventure into those particular shadows but that’s how you get killed in a horror movie. But if that stalker was Dogday I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t do anything but walk away, or try to make a noise to distract you.

.

.

.

Maybe you should just stop thinking about it.

“Co-worker! Are you alright?” Dogday’s bright voice snapped you out of your very deep thoughts.

“Uh, yeah. Maybe.”

“... Is it because of that person who ‘stalks’ you..?”

You wouldn’t want a cheerful dog to know that you’re stressed. I mean it’s Dogday so it’s okay… Maybe.

“... Yeah. I don’t feel too uneasy about it but— I think I know who.”

You could visibly see Dogday’s eyes growing more worried.

“Oh! Really…”

You gently hold his sun necklace as you make eye contact with him,(something that you can barely do)“Are you the one who’s been watching me Dogday…?”

“...”

“Could you just answer me please..”

After a good 5 minutes of silence, you had to do something to convince him to talk.

“I won’t be mad—”

“Yes. I am.”

You let out a big sigh, “That’s what it took to convince you? Makes sense. But why?”

“Uhm… Because I like you.”

“In which way…”

“Not like a crush but… Like I wanna hang out with you and be with you.. All the time…”

“You should’ve just told me Dogday… You can hang out with me more often if you’d like, just ask.”

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay.”

After that talk, you went to your work area and had Dogday with you because the kids haven’t woken up yet so it was fine for him to be here.

He was sitting on your lap with his tail wagging, mainly because he can finally get that ton of weight that was on your back, and be with you at the same time.

To the average adult your work would be boring, but to Dogday it was like a whole new world. You looked down and saw how happy Dogday was just to be alone with you.

You found it adorable.

He really is just a puppy.

[bokettochild]

request: sometimes time likes to be alone underwater. with his iron boots and zora helmet, it's easy to just take a stroll at the bottom of a deep enough lake, away from the rest of the world. he did not expect, however, to find legend relaxing inside a small hole in the stone. Mer Legend.

Oh boy! I was vibing with this one for a while, I just wanted to make it perfect!

I'm pretty happy with what I made too, but man is it long!

(I hope this makes you happy, anon!)

When he and Malon have kids, he hopes they don't have this many.

Nayru knows he loves his boys, but they can get a bit much sometimes. They can get loud and overwhelming, and as a man who’s used to traveling primarily alone, with maybe a fairy trailing behind him or his trusted mount, it’s a bit overwhelming. He’s not used to being around people so much, Malon and Talon are his only consistent company and even then, the work they share means that often times it’s only him and his thoughts as he mucks, mends and tends things around the ranch.

Sometimes, when the boys get especially rowdy and playful, it’s just nice to get a moment of quiet to himself. Between Sky and Twilight he knows that nothing overly chaotic will go down, and he trusts the boys to keep each other in check.

So, when they come to the Pup’s Hyrule, their battle in this world over and most of their number restless as they wait for the next portal to arrive and whisk them away, Time allows his boys their space, and with a quick exchange with the only two he can trust to not burn something down (at least while the younger ones can still see them) he heads off into the forest to get a little space to himself.

Of course, he can’t really go far, not if he needs to hurry back, but he doesn’t really need to. His destination is Lake Hylia, which is only a short distance from their camp, maybe ten or fifteen minutes, and, when he gets there, he allows himself to actually breathe for once.

Wild, Warriors and Wind had been locked in a game of cards when last he left, the champion soundly beating the other two both at cribbage while Wars bemoans his poor luck, and Twilight and Sky were discussing wood carving with Hyrule, with the occasional comment from the smithy, who is only too happy to throw in something related every so often as he looks up from his book. That leaves himself and Legend, and he’s long since learned that the vet was one to disappear for his own space when possible.

He’s not overly worried. Legend has items and experience that far outmatch most of their group, and if he runs into trouble Time has little doubt that he’ll be able to get himself out of it to at least gather reinforcements, if not handle the issue by himself.

A deep breath of relief escapes him as the eldest of the heroes pulls a few items from his own bag. The boots are a familiar if not welcome weight as he slips out of his armor and dons the tunic and cap of the Zora, his breath bubbling softly as he steps into the lake before him with a contented sigh.

The cool water floods over the top of him, tugging at his hair and bubbling in his lungs, but it’s doesn’t burn the way that it should. He breathes easily beneath the rippling surface of Lake Hylia, the Zora tunic granting him freedom beneath the waves.

There is little sound beneath, only the muffled noise from above the surface, the flow of the water and-

Time’s ears prick forwards as a single blue eye turns to search the space around him.

Someone is singing.

It’s a haunting sort of melody, one that draws you in and makes you dazed, and Time finds himself stumbling over his own feet as he searches for the source. It is not a Cursed song, nor anything powerful from what he can recall, in fact, it’s almost familiar. It sounds similar to something he hears hummed about their camp at night while the boys take watch. He’d never been able to place which of the young heroes hummed the lilting melody, but he’s let it carry him off to sleep many a time before. Only this song, the one that twines about his head and whispers in his ears and makes his feet trek closer and closer to its source, this song is different, it’s haunted and Broken, and it is sung in a Voice.

Not a voice like most of those above the surface have, but a Voice like a fairy or spirit might have. One that pulls at your very soul and sings in your mind, un-hampered by wind or waves, able to carry across miles to be heard by those that it Sings too.

Heavy feet trod faster.

He’s under no spell, but he is a Link, and by now he has learned that all of their kind are blessed or cursed with courage and curiosity both, and to be without the latter is simply unthinkable for the young-at-heart hero. Something –the forest imp in him maybe- tells him to find the Voice, find the Singer.

He’s only made it part of the way across the lake, hasn’t even left the shoreline properly, when the song stops. Unease creeps over him as he looks around, alert and ready for trouble, only to see nothing but the peaceful stillness of the lake bottom around him.

There! His mind supplies as something pink flits in the corner of his vision, and he’s whipping around to come face to face with-

Long tangled hair drifts in the waves as glistening scales reflect the light pouring down through the waves. Too deep, too dark eyes stare at him in shock for a brief moment, and then-

The creature, the thing, is gone in an instant. Whipping away as it’s glimmer fades into the waves around him, speed no doubt granted by the brilliant tail of the thing sending it rocketing out of his grasp before he even has a chance to speak.

He tried to follow it. He does! But quite soon the adult part of his mind is reminding him how dangerous the thing could be, and that he still has his boys to return to back on the surface. It’s been exactly thirty-two minutes and thirteen seconds since he left them at their camp, and by now they usually would have sent someone to check and make sure that whatever member of their party had strayed off was alright.

Removing his boots is all it takes to float to the surface, despite the fact that he still holds the things in his hands, and it’s with no small amount of relief that he realizes that the bank of the lake is free of other heroes.

Time gathers his things together, wringing out his hair and clothes before returning to his normal gear and heading back to the camp.

Smiles and chuckles greet him as the young heroes tease.

“Go for a swim, Old Man?” Legend quirks a brow, staring up from his place by the fire.

Time doesn’t answer him, but he does shake his head violently enough to spray the younger heroes with water, earning shouts and shrieks from them as they try and shield themselves from the wet. “Seriously, Time?” Warriors moans, wiping lake water from his face. “What are you, a dog?”

Time smirks at the captain and, to everyone's surprise (which produces no small amount of delight for him), he barks.

“What sorts of people have you met in your adventures?” Sky asks a couple of days later, head cocked to the side as he watches his brothers. “You all talk about so many races, but I don’t think I've heard of most of them.”

“Well,” Wild smiles, there’s a glint in his gaze that isn’t quite mischief, but it’s a warning to be wary anyway, because they all know what a crack-pot their cook can be at times. “There’s Hylians, of course, and Sheikah, Yiga, Gerudo, Rito, Gorons, Zora and koroks! You’ve probably already met the Sheikah, since you mentioned knowing an Impa during your journey, and the Yiga are an offshoot of that group.”

Twilight blinks and stares, Warriors furrowing his brow as he two older heroes stare at the younger, but Wild seem entirely unaffected.

“Gerudo are a desert people. They’re really tall, and extremely strong! Most of their race have long red hair and slightly darker skin than the people around Hyrule. They are a society of all woman, with only one man being born to them every hundred years. They worship the goddess Din for the most part, and live out of an opulent city set in the desert where they specialize in the crafting of weapons and jewelry, and the farming of exotic plants.” The champion then proceeds to run down traits and knowledge about the other races, matter-of-factly, as if the details he is sharing are things that everyone from the surface knows.

“Wow.” Sky laughs as Wild finishes. “I had no idea.”

“There’s also the minish.” Four adds. “And the Wind Tribe, who are sky people, of course.”

Sky looks curious, but Four says nothing more, instead gesturing to the other heroes to share their thoughts, which they do.

“Terminans.” Time offers. “Very similar to Hylians.”

“Ordonians.” Twilight adds with a fond smile. No explanation is needed.

The others all nod along, but Legend rolls his eyes. “Humans, like, non-Hylian humans, Shifters,” The vet stares upwards with a light scowl as he ticks the races off of his fingers. “Technically they’re humans too, but Wild counted the Sheikah and Gerudo, so there’s also the Lorulians, Labrynninians, Holodrumese folks, Hytopians, Drablanders, Subrosians, Catalians-” Legend frowns. “I could swear there are more but I can’t really recall.”

Time, for whatever reason, he can’t really say why, cocks his head. “Any water people other than Zora?”

The vet snaps his fingers. “Mer-folk! Thank you, Time. I guess fae and animal folk count on that note.”

There’s a scoff and Warriors is leaning forwards with a smirk. “Fairies and animals, sure, but mer? Seriously, Legend? Have you even met a mer before?”

“Many times.” The veteran drawls, cocking a brow in the captain’s direction. “On multiple adventures. What about you, cap? Jealous you couldn’t snag one for your guild of brides?”

Warriors blusters about indignantly, earning laughter from the others as Legend smirks, but the man recovers quickly enough. “I do not have a guild of brides! That is- that is utterly disgusting!”

“Could have fooled me.” Legend teases, sipping some water from a flask.

“Give him a break.” Twilight snickers, shoving the vet playfully.

The unfortunate thing about Twilight’s shoves though is that the ranch hand doesn’t seem to know his own strength, and Legend is small enough that the light push is enough to send him scrabbling to not hit the ground. More laughter rings about their camp, but this time at the vet's expense, as Legend topples over into the dirt, spilling his drink and failing his arms as he goes.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Legend huffs, pulling himself back up and dusts off his clothes, scowling at the water spilled on him. “Great.”

“Oh, come on, you came back soaked to the skin earlier, what’s a bit of water going to hurt you, huh, vet?” Warriors ribs, smirking.

Legend shoots him a half-hearted glare.

“Legend,” Time starts slowly. “How would you describe the mer?”

The vet pauses, gaze resting maybe a moment too long as his hands as he brushes off the hem of his tunic. He’s already done so and there’s really no reason for him to do it again, but he does anyway. “What you’d expect.” He shrugs haltingly. “Hylian on top, fish beneath. Tail, long hair, that sort of thing.”

The old man hums. Legends ears twitch, nose shivering slightly as violet eyes flit over their group. “Care to expand on your sky people story, Four?”

“I’m good.” The smithy replies lazily.

Time would pass it off as a strange one-time thing, he would, but there are... other factors at play.

They’ve traveled to Four’s time, fighting off monsters and solving puzzles the same as they’ve always done. The boys are taking some downtime, playing hide and seek, and just like the last time, Time takes himself down to the river they’ve made camp ear and dons his Zora gear.

He isn’t expecting to see the creature, the mer, again, much less hear them singing -after all, this is a Hyrule far before his Pup’s- but there the creature is. It- or they- frolic in the water, chasing fish and singing softly. The tune is lighter than the last one he heard, a different song entirely, but there is no denying that it is the same mer.

Gold flecked, petal pink scales shimmer beneath the twisted lights that invade the water, hair of the same colors flowing in the current as long fingers, tipped with pointed claws, reach out to swipe at the fish swimming wildly away. They don’t catch anything, but Time hears it giggle anyways, the tune of its voice bubbling in merriment as it rolls like and otter and turns to explore some other part of the river bed.

The cursed curiosity of a hero niggles in Time’s mind. How is the same mer from before in this timeline, ages before Twilight would even be born? And why do they play and explore as if they’ve never seen this river bed before in their life?

Long claws pull through sand, and although their hair blocks their face from his view, he can still hear the warble of delight as the creature removes something sparkling and bright from the river bed. The mer floats in place, turning the item over in their hands curiously before whisking it out of sight and returning to their search.

A mer that likes treasure, huh? Why is he unsurprised?

His own soft laugh startles them, and for a half of a moment, golden ringed, violet eyes, wide and bright and full of shock, meet his own.

The mer is gone before he can make a move.

He asks Legend about it the next day. As they travel along the path towards the nearest town, Time falls back to ask the vet more about mer.

“Do mer like treasure?”

Legend starts, eyes wide as they meet his own, and something in the back of his mind is nagging him that the look in the vet’s eyes is somehow familiar. “What?”

“Do mer like treasure?” He repeats himself.

Legend stares at him, blinking slowly as they continue along the path, but eventually the vet shakes his head and answers. “Depends on the mer. They’re people too, Time, they can have varying interests and hobbies. There is no standard for mer. None.”

“Don’t they all swim at least?”

Legend’s gaze is flat. “There are disabled Hylians aren’t there? Not all Hylians can walk, and not Mer can swim. Some just choose not to because they don’t like it!”

Time frowns. How does the vet know so much about mer culture? “How do you know this?”

The vet shrugs, eyes darting away. “I’ve been a lot of places and met a lot of people. Mer are no exception.”

“I thought you hated swimming and the water?” Wind breaks in, falling back to join the two of them with an odd look on his face. He looks like a puppy and it’s killing Time not to ruffle the kid’s hair.

“Didn’t always.” Legend returns, smiling wryly down at the sailor. “But enough of that. The real question here is if you’ve ever met one, sailor.”

“A mer?” Wind furrows his brow, looking away with a soft sigh. “The water in my world isn’t safe for the people who lived in it. There’s hardly even any fish in most places. The Zora in my time had to adapt to the air instead in order to survive.”

Awkward silence falls over them, the vet looking guilty for a half a moment before he settles a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “The goddesses aren’t always fair, Maliit, it’s not your fault.

Time hums his agreement, heart aching for yet another young hero and a world that suffered for Time’s failure to have properly saved it.

He sees the mer again. Not just when he’s in the water himself, but when he’s keeping watch during the night or on occasion when he goes fishing with Twilight. The Pup says nothing about seeing gold and pink beneath the water, but Time finds himself watching it all the same.

It darts beneath the dock they’re fishing on one time, and when Twilight’s line gets a tug, the rancher pulls it up only to find the one of his boots dangling from the other end.

Time can’t help it, he laughs.

So, this mer is a prankster, huh?

He takes to seeking them out, trying to catch their attention or try to talk to them, but nothing works. The minute that gold and violet eyes meet his own, petal pink scales flick deftly in the waves and the mer is swimming away.

But Time isn’t dumb.

He knows that the same mer cannot reasonably exist across all of time, not with all the changes that come to the world with each hero. He knows that this being is somehow following them, and h’s got a rather good idea exactly how it’s happening.

It’s a long shot, but he knows for a fact that Legend is always gone from camp before he sees the creature, and enough times startling the vet when asking about mer has taught him that the expressions between the two are the same. All he knows on the mer’s face is shock, but the vet’s eyes glimmer the same shade of violet, even if they are different in size and shape, and the petal pink hair that the vet comes out of the forest with one evening after their group was separated is uncannily similar to the shade of the mer.

They’ve made camp again, and rather than climbing into the water when he catches a moment alone, Time settles on the shore, not in the mood to be in the water but in need of its calming song. The air has been tense the past few days, and Time welcomes a brief moment to relax, forcing himself not to think of the gaping wound in his Pup’s side or the ragged breath that wheezes between the rancher’s lips.

Twilight will be fine, he reminds himself. Hyrule and Warriors had worked together to tend the wound and while it would definitely leave a scar, the danger of losing their beloved friend and brother (and maybe son?) is not so high anymore.

He welcomes a free breath, away from the hurt gazes of his boys as they try and process that their beloved canine friend and the rancher are one and the same. A chance to think without having to stop those who were out of the know from bombarding those who were in it with questions.

He’s glad to be free of the questions himself.

Legend seems to be too, if the glint of pink beneath the waves is to be believed.

He doesn’t approach this time, doesn’t try entering the water to speak. He’s tired and he wants his spae, and he imagines Legend would like his own too. So, instead, he sits on the bank, feet trailing in the water and ocarina on his lips as he plays softly.

The tune is a sweet one, one he’d written himself that lilts and dips softly, very nearly perfect for a dance, but far more suited to a night by a fire or watching the sunset. And sunset it is, fading light stretching out across the water, glinting of the surface and reflecting off of gold and pink-

He stops, eye wide as he turns towards the flash in his vision.

Gold and violet stare back at him, framed in curling pink as Legend freeze half-way through pulling on his tunic again.

Gold fades just as the scales dissapear and leave the vet siting on the shore, tunic still bunched around his shoudlers and violet eyes wide with fear as he regards his leader.

“I won’t tell.” Time forces, turning away his gaze and returning his focus to the instrument in his hand. He doesn’t play, but he doesn’t look up either.

“It’s an item.” Legend forces, strained. His voice is still tainted with whatever power had shifted him between forms, and it’s sweeter and more melodious than normal. “I found it on my third adventure. Got cursed.”

“Like the rancher?” Time hums softly, not having to look up to know that Legend is shifting nervously, foot tapping madly at the ground beneath him.

“Yeah.” Legend huffs.

“Okay.” And he does look up them, calm and as open as he can make himself seem as he meets the vet’s gaze.

“Just okay?” One brow cocks as Legend crosses his arms.

“Just okay. It’s your secret, Legend. I can’t change what I’ve seen, but I won’t tell the others either.”

Legend nods, wary bit willing to accept the words, if only for now. “If you say so.”

They’re on their way back to camp, Legend carrying an armload of fish and Time carrying both of their bags when the vet stops and glares at him. “I don’t want to hear any jokes, alright? I get enough of those from Twilight and Sky.”

“They know?” The old man tilts his head in question.

Legend flushes, ducking his head and setting off again at a speed some might label a scurry. “No. Hurry up, these fish are gonna rot!”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Waves lap around his head and it’s all Time can do to break the surface, coughing and hacking as he struggles to remain above the water.

The portal had come at the worst time ever, and no one had been ready to be dropped into the center of the ocean.

Lightning crackles overhead as waves swirl and crash about him. The ocean rages and Time is again reminded how small Hylian’s are in the face of Mother Earth herself.

“Boys!” The shout rasps from his throat as he spins to look about, praying to every deity he knows that he’ll find the rest of them safe and sound, or at the very least together. Never mind that Twilight still can’t walk, much less swim. Never mind the smithy’s shattered arm and Wild’s fear of the water. He can’t panic about those right now, he has to find them!

“Over here!” Sky’s voice answers him. The Chosen Hero clings to the shivering form of the smithy, both are soaked and trembling, but they’re managing to stay above the waves.

“My Hyrule!” Wind calls out as Time strikes out towards them, and the sailor continues once he’s close enough to see that at least five of his boys are safe. “We’re near land,” Wind nods in a random direction and Time wonders briefly how the sailor even knows that. “It could be a challenge in these waves, but we can make it. Have you seen the others?”

Hyrule looks up at him hopefully, the water-logged traveler fighting madly to stay above the water but succeeding despite the waves. Time reminds himself to help the boy learn to swim more effectively later, and more importantly how to properly tread water, but for now he focuses on answering Wind. “You're the firsts. We’ll have to hope the others are alright, getting y’all to safety is my first concern.

“But Wild!” Hyrule splutters, choking on some water as Time swims over to give the traveler someone to cling to. Freezing fingers latch ahold of his armor as teeth chatter, the waves are neither kind nor warm and with their health as it is he’s certain someone is going to end up with a cold when this is all over. “And Twilight! A-and Legend and Wars! They’re out there somewhere!”

“We have to hope Legend and Warriors can elp the other two. We can’t do them any good if we’re fighting to stay above ourselves.” He tries to same calm, but his own mind and heart scream with the same message that Hyrule’s voice does, and its all he can do to push it down.

Thunder rolls overhead and waves beneath as they push off towards the shore, each of the older heroes aiding a younger one as Wind guides them all towrads the supposed island.

Time hs never been so relieved to see sand in his life, and as Hyrule pulls himself up the bach and Wind helps Sky to settle Four, Time can only pray that he’ll find his way back again. “I’m going to look for the otehrs. Wind, stay and help Sky.” The sailor looks as if he wants to hesitate, but he knows better than anyone how a small body can be lost to the waves much easier than an adult. “Make a fire, warm up as best you can. Keep an eyes out. I’ll come back if- when I find the others.”

He stops only to shed his armor and don his Zora gear, but a single dive beneath the water is enough to tell him that it’s for naught. Wind wasn’t joking about his water being toxic, and a single breath of the stuff leaves Time heaving as soon as he breaks the surface.

His chances of finding the boys have lowered considerably.

Nayru above, don’t let anyone have sunk beneath!

Time swims for all he is worth, pushing past weariness as he battles each and every wave. And he’s just beginning to lose hope when he catches sight of something silver reflecting in the water as lighting flashes above.

“Time!”

Blue whips around to meet its twins as Warriors comes to swim beside him. “Have you found any of the others?”

“Wind, Sky, Hyrule and Four.” he breathes back. “You?”

The captian looks rueful but nods to his side. “Legend.”

Time can’t help but start as Legend’s eyes peek above the surface. Golden and violet are glassy in the pale ace of the vet, but they’re there and that means that Legend is alive.

“I’ve officially met my first mer.” Warriors sighs, but there’s worry in the captains voice and face both.

“Split up.” Legend’s voice rasps, and there none of the melodic song that Time is used to hearing from this form of the vet.

Legend is pale, far too pale.

“What’s-”

“Wind’s world.” Warriors tells him. “Water here is toxic.”

The water is toxic. The water, which mer have to breath to stay alive, is toxic.

Time’s gaze shoots to the vet but there’s only a flick of gold and pink as he disappears beneath the waves. Warriors groans.  “He keeps doing that! I swear, I have no way of knowing if he’s even still there, but he still insists on disappearing like the little shit he is.”

Usually, Time would scold his brother for such a tone, but he knows that Warriors is just sacred. He’s terrified, and it leaks into his voice and his actions, and the only way that the soldier knows how to hide the fear is by biting back with venom, not dissimilar to the vet’s own actions.

They swim together, searching and calling out for the two missing heroes. Hope is beginning to fade and Time can feel a gnawing fear eating away at his heart as he thinks of the gaping wound in his Pup’s side and the likelihood that Twilight would even be able to swim with it.

His pup’s chances aren’t high.

“Look!” Warriors shouts over the storm, jerking him from his thoughts as his eyes follow the captain’s pointing hand.

Pink bobs on the surface, backed by bedraggled and soaked black fur as Legend hauls Twilight’s limp form through the water.

“Pup!”

He’s taking the lad from Legend as soon as they’re in reach, and Legend seems to sag in relief as the weight is removed from his shoulder. “Was with Wild. Bring him to-” The vet wheezes and ducks beneath the water for a moment, coming up with a pained expression on his face. “Bring to shore. I’ll get Wild.” He gives them no time to respond, tail flicking as he disappears beneath the waves again.

Time and Warriors exchange a glance and head back to shore, supporting the weight of the rancher between them.

Wind and Sky have managed to get a virtual bonfire going on the shore, and the sailor has laid what blankets and bed-rolls he’s found of their equipment in front of it, allowing their dampened things to ry as he and the other three heroes bundle together for warmth.

It’s with a cheer that they al; greet Time and Warriors as the two emerge from the ocean, and Time can’t help but smile a bit in relief at seeing them all safe again. Only a little longer and Legend will be back with Wild, and then he can rest easy knowing they’re all out of the storm.

Rain still patters against already soaked skin and cloth, but with the fire flickering before them Time can’t bring himself to care over much.

Hyrule’s fingers shiver as they slide over the wound in Twilight’s side, cleansing it from the poisonous water that has soaked into the bandages, and while Twilight grits his teeth and winces, he’s at least conscious enough to do so, and that alone brings some peace to the others.

Warriors informs the others of the whereabouts of their two missing brothers, and Time helps to settle Twilight on one of the warming bedrolls. It made still be wet, but it’s better than getting sand in the pup’s wound.

They wait in tense silence, bundled together to share heat as nervous gazes watch the shore. Wind hasn’t stopped muttering under his breath and Four isn’t doing much better with his half formed sentences and steady murmurs.

It’s only when Wild’s golden hair can be seen on the shore that they all release a breath of air.

Cornflower blue is wide and glazed, likely from shock, but it doesn’t stop the champion from reaching back into the waves to pull out his companion.

Legend is a mess.

The veteran gasps and splutters for breath once he’s free, skin a sickly shade of white and eyes just as glazes as Wild's own as the two clings to each other, and when the two stand together Legend is leaning heavily against the shaking champion, and it’s only through sheer luck that Time and Sky get there in time to catch them before the duo collapses back into the waves.

Wild curls against Time’s chest, fingers shaking and eyes blank as the man carries him back to the fire. Legend doesn’t even stir, lying limp in Sky’s hold as the Skyloftian bustles back to join the other heroes.

Nothing is said about the glistening tail that fades into legs once Legend is warmed and dried, and even if anyone had dared the stern gaze of the first of their number would have been enough to silence them.

Violet blinks hazy and distant beneath the warmed fabric of Sky’s sailcloth, but they are all safe. They are all safe and they are alive.

“Thanks to Legend.” Wild whispers when he comes back, head resting against Times collar bone. “Without him I would have never got Twi back to shore.”

“Three cheers for the vet.” Wars forces a smile, and while the cheers are heartfelt and thankful, they do nothing to lighten the mood.

Legend doesn’t even seem to hear them.

[narrators-journal]

Hello, I really like your work! and i would like to know if you can make yandere killua and yandere illumi fighting each other for the reader. The reader is a friend of Killua and is the same age as him, 18 years old.

Alright! This might be a bit iffy in parts because I never write actual confrontations, but I hope it's enjoyable! I couldn't really slip in some real yandere behavior, so I kinda implied it to keep things short lol.

Killua'd known you for a while now, about two years, from the age of 16 to now, his eighteenth birthday, and he liked you quite a bit. Because of this, the silver-haired man had begun to keep an even stricter eye on you than he had in the past. That's why you were tagging along to Killua's family home with him and Gon to let his family celebrate so that he could keep you safe and close. Besides, he'd rather you met Illumi under his watch than on the roads and by complete chance. So, Alluka was safely in a secure hotel room and you were walking up to the gates to Hades with him and Gon. "You sure you can't just do this over the phone?" You asked, your (e/c) eyes swimming with concern for him, it made his stomach flutter with butterflies. "Nah, my mom would have a fit if I didn't come home for my eighteenth birthday. But, if they try to introduce me to a 'nice girl', we run." That made you and Gon both giggle, but nod. Despite it being silly, the three of you knew it was highly likely. It would be too much to ask that Illumi and Milluki be the favored ones. Killua thought bitterly as he spotted the gates to Hades up ahead, but no. He and Illumi were something akin to the favorites out of his five siblings, the most 'loved' was Killua, he was the heir, so of course he was expected to breed and carry on the line, but Illumi was the eldest, so he too was expected to find a wife and have children. It was an awful fate that some part of Killua, deep down, felt sorry for his brother over, but it was a small portion.

With a firm shake of his head, Killua shooed the thoughts away and huffed at the doors that he now stood in front of, "We'll do our best to get out quickly," Gon chirped, giving the white-haired assassin a confident smile, which he returned, "Yeah! Real quick," he confirmed, before leading them to the testing gates and easily opening them all. "Y'know (y/n), each of those doors is supposed to be 2 tons each? and each bigger one is twice the weight of the corresponding one!" Gon boasted, bringing an astounded look to your face, "Holy shit, really?! Isn't that...128 tons though?" Gon nodded "Yep! Killua can open them all," he boasted, beaming with pride in his friend, ignoring the pink-cheeked glare Killua threw his way as they walked onto the mountain.

As to be expected, the Zoldycks had sent Gotoh, their head butler, with a car, so the trio was spared the miles of walking it took to get to the actual main house. So, instead, they spent the ride talking and joking, which helped to combat the knot of dread in Killua's stomach. Something just told him that this visit wasn't going to end well, but he couldn't say why he felt that way. When he got inside the manor, he got his answer.

It wasn't that he and Illumi were still on bad terms, he'd tentatively begun to mend fences with his eldest brother at sixteen after years of blubbering and pestering from his mother, but the way Illumi's soulless eyes locked onto you when he spotted you did not sit well with the silver-haired Zoldyck. However, his mother tackled him before he could stop his brother from approaching you and striking up a conversation. The only comfort he got was in knowing you were talking to him almost solely out of the need to be polite, you'd been warned enough about the manipulative snake to know to be wary. "you've grown so much! I barely recognize you anymore," Kikyo half squealed and half chided as if Killua could help himself growing to be Illumi's height, maybe a bit more, but the man just rolled his icy blue eyes, staying quiet to avoid his mother shrieking at him about how she was a good mother who loved him or something.

After his mother was done fussing at him, Killua returned to you, sticking close to you and Gon so he didn't lose his cool, doing so would only lengthen how long they'd have to stay. However, he also came over to interrupt Illumi's conversation with you, "Hey, (y/n), ya doing okay?" he asked, not bothering to hide his concern about his brother, which got him a pointed look from said brother, "Oh, yeah, just been chatting with your brother." you hummed, and while he could tell you were still wary, it was far less rigid as it was before. Of fucking course he'd do this bullcrap he thought, scanning over you to ensure his older sibling hadn't stuck you with a needle. Thankfully he hadn't, so that meant Illumi'd just charmed you. Disgusting.

Nonetheless, he bit back the urge to grab you and run and instead just talked to you and slowly led you away from Illumi. After that, things mellowed out for Killua and the day wasn't as much of a nightmare as he'd thought it would be, though that was mostly because he hung out with Gon and you more than his family. That wasn't to say he wasn't polite to his siblings, especially Kalluto, and nice to his parents, but he kept a distance from them. He especially kept a distance from Illumi, and he made sure you did the same so that the assassin couldn't put a needle in you or charm you anymore. However, Illumi approached him around evening, when you'd been drug off by Kikyo to 'have a chat' aka be interrogated for knowing her son so well. "I know why you avoid me nowadays," Illumi hummed in his usual bored, almost-sleepy voice as he watched the tv and acted as if he didn't notice his younger brother's evil look. "but what bugs me right now, is you keeping (y/n) away from me. You know that I need a partner, your friend is a viable option, you're just being rude to stop me from at least trying to date her." He continued, and Killua could almost taste the annoyance in his deadpan brother's aura, but all it did was put a spark of malicious joy in his soul. "First, my friends shouldn't be options for you, second, quit fucking talking about them like they're a piece of meat. (y/n) is a fucking human, not a damned broodmare for you." he pointed out in as cool of a tone as he could manage, both so no malice slips into his aura and affects Gon, who was next to him, and to further annoy Illumi. "Is it because you have a crush on her? No offense, Kill, but that won't stop me from making a move if she's available. they're very cute, and I wouldn't mind having her for myself." the dead-eyed man said coldly, staring down at the younger man.

For a moment or two after that, Killua and Illumi gave each other lethal looks, having a silent argument that was so palpable that Gon finally got up and moved, knowing better than to try and intervene or help his friend with family spats. It turned out the dark haired boy had the right idea, because almost as soon as he'd gotten up, the two went at each other like a pair of hostile dogs.

Killua was swiftly thrown to the ground by his older brother, but since he was no longer twelve, Killua's punch in response did actual damage instead of being ignored. Though he still stood no chance against him, Killua did his best to punch, kick, and bite his brother, managing to roll him over and slam his head into the floor before he retaliated with a punch to the throat. Meanwhile, Gon, Milluki, and the other siblings watched and cheered, either for Illumi or killua, encouraging them or throwing out advice for how to win the fight until Silva and Zeno finally came in and pried the two brothers apart. They ended up having to hold the two apart, because as soon as they were on their feet, Killua kicked his brother in the stomach and was nearly yanked off his feet as a result. "That is enough." Silva snapped, his voice not loud, but still firm enough to clear the wrathful red from Killua's eyes a bit and stop him from initiating another fist fight. "You two are now adults, having squabbles like this is unacceptable." he scolded, the brothers deflating in shame as they were finally released and further chewed out.

Finally, they were returned back to the social setting, and Killua was forced to put on a happy face for the rest of the night. He would've stayed pissed, maybe even attack Illumi a fifth time, but you were there, and he didn't want to worry you with the story. However, through dinner and the onslaught of gifts you and Gon helped him carry out, whenever you weren't looking or he was alone, Zeno and Silva once again would have to stop them from coming to blows before Killua finally left to go to a hotel for the night despite his mother offering his old room.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

But What If, Instead

Decided to give a go to posting my horribly named but hopefully very fun Beetlejuice fic to tumblr as well. This is an au where BJ is adopted by the Deetz family at a young age.

He’s twelve when he’s left on his own in the upperworld.

He doesn’t know he’s twelve, because he’s never celebrated a birthday, but that timeline seems to fit, later, when he thinks back on it. So he’s twelve. His mother has promised him a special treat that day, and though he’s skeptical to trust her, he follows her quietly through the door she’s drawn, the bone white stick of chalk a blaring contrast to the dark hallways of the netherworld reception office. She’d knocked, and the drawing was more than a drawing, suddenly, with white light and noise spilling through into his little corner of hell as it opened, and when he steps through, Betelgeuse sees blue skies and green grass for the first time in his unlife. He’d turned back to look at Juno, confused, curious, his big orange snake eyes watching her, waiting for the catch, for her to yank him back and punish him for being naive, and trusting her, but all the demoness had done was billow smoke from her slit throat, and nod encouragingly to him. He takes another step, and another and another, and suddenly he’s running and laughing and jumping and the air up here is different, but good, and he takes breaths he doesn't need because it feels nice, and he turns to her again to try and entice her to play with him- And the door is gone. He stands there, staring at the nothingness where she and it had been, and realization hits him hard, because he’s twelve, and he’s been left on his own.

He doesn't cry, both because he can’t, and because he knows it won’t change anything. It doesn’t take him long to find them. Pre ghosts. Breathers. Humans. The place is lousy with them, and the smell of them irritates his sensitive nose. He’s a dumb kid, sure, but he’s got some survival instincts, so he hides from them as they go about their lives, strolling around this place, completely oblivious to the little demon now crashing their dimension. Breathers look so weird, all flushed with blood and bright eyed and hearts beating, no signs of death or rot or decay on them. It’s a lot to ask a kid to get used to. The ghosts back home, the ones workin in Ma’s office, tell him stories about the world up here, sometimes, usually in exchange for him going away, and leaving them the hell alone. (Their words) If there was one thing he learned from them, it was that humans, living or dead, didn’t like things that were strange or unusual. He wanders the wilds of wherever he is for an hour before he finds a body of water, and stooping to peer into it, takes a look at himself.

His skin is pale, but not pink. The undercolor is purple, maybe, which he would have thought would be close enough, but compared to the living, breathing people walking around this place, he knows is too different. There’s not much he can do about that. His hair is a bushy mess, sticking up all over the place, but at least the color is currently green. It’s the eyes, teeth, and ears that really stand out. Yellow snake-like slits stare back at him, long pointed ears flick in the direction of distant sounds, and when he tries to smile down at his reflection, those too many too sharp teeth are all he can see. He’s not the best at magic, yet, mostly using it to play pranks around the office (and hey, maybe that’s why Ma left him here in the first place?) but he does what he can. He throws a glamour over himself, and it’s far from perfect, but the three big problems are taken care of. He looks more human than he did a minute ago, at least, and that’s something.

He’s less afraid to take the main paths, after that, and with that worry out of the way, he finds himself enjoying the afternoon again. So, ma left him here. So what? She’s done him a favor, probably the first she’s ever done anybody, because now he doesn't have to be around her just as much as she doesn’t have to be around him. It’s a win-win, Betelgeuse thinks stubbornly, trotting along the winding pathways lined with benches and garbage cans and other silly human things. He’s starting to get a bit tired of all the green when he reaches, quite unexpectedly, the end of it. There’s a big arched sign, and he can’t understand the language written over head, even though he’s squinting and tilting his head. Someone at some point had sat him down and tried to teach him letters, and he’d gotten far enough to read through the first page of the Handbook, but then that person had been reassigned, and was gone, and no one had cared to keep teaching him.

He’s holding his hands up at his sides, rubbing his red tipped claws against the palms of his hands, top teeth biting over his bottom lip, head tilted to one side in an extreme, when he hears a snort and then a soft giggle.

There’s a woman standing in front of him. Her hair is a sunny yellow color, but her clothing is dark and dramatic, and there are roosting bats dangling from her ears. She’s laughing at him. They stare at each other for a long moment, her hand raised in front of her mouth, her eyes crinkled pleasantly at the corners, and he finally breaks the silence by pointing at the sign, and speaking. “Wazzat say?” She blinks in surprise at his grating little voice, and then glances back at the sign. “Krap Lartnec,” she tells him. “Which is flipped around and backwards for “Central Park.” He’s been staring at the sign the wrong way. Of course. He feels his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “Oh. Got it. Park. Right, yeah.” She lets out another laugh, and it’s so different from the sounds his mother makes when she’s guffawing at him, shaming him, that it almost doesn’t register as a laugh at first. There’s no cruelty to it, just amusement, and maybe curiosity. “Are you here alone?” she asks him, and he shrugs easily. “I guess.” She moves closer to him, cautiously, like he’s going to bite her, or bolt, but he doesn’t really feel the need to be worried over one breather. He knows he could rip out her throat if he needs to. The glamour only hides his demonic features, not takes them away. He’s still plenty capable of taking care of himself. “Where are your parents?” She's crouched down next to him now, one knee on the pavement, big brown eyes all sweet and worried, and he shrugs again. “Don’t have a dad. Mom’s downstairs.” She squints at that, and he gestures down with a pointed red claw tip. “Ya know. Downstairs.” The way he emphasizes it is meaningful, and when her eyes show understanding, he assumes she gets it. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be. I’m havin’ a good time.”

That doesn’t seem to be what she expects, but she just nods thoughtfully. “Are you staying someplace?” He can’t, for the undeath of him, figure out why she’s asking, and why she cares. He shrugs again, because things feel better in threes, and says vaguely, “I guess I’m stayin’ here.” That also doesn’t seem to be a good answer. “You can’t stay in the park overnight. There’s creeps around here.” He bites back the urge to explain that he’s the creepiest thing here, because suddenly she’s taking his hand, and she feels cool to the touch. “Good god, kiddo, you’re burning up!” she puts her other hand on his forehead, all the play gone from her voice, clearly concerned. “You might have a fever. Listen…” she worries her bottom lip with her teeth, smudging the dark color there, before she makes a decision. “Why don’t you come home with me? I’ll give you something to eat, make sure you’re alright, and we’ll figure out what to do from there, okay?” He isn’t sick, and he’s pretty sure he can’t get sick. It’s the hellfire in his veins that makes him hot, because he’s not like her, not even close, but the idea of following her seems like a fine one to him, so he just nods. “Kay. You got bugs where you live?” She snorts again, and stands, brushing off her dark, rose patterned tights. “Sure, what New York apartment doesn’t have a few roaches lurking around. You like bugs?” “Yeah, I like em. They’re crunchy an’ they skitter around an’ stuff.” “Yeah,” she agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “Bugs kick ass.” It’s his turn to snort, and then laugh, because she’d sounded so serious that it strikes him as funny. His hand is still in her’s, and she gives it a squeeze. “What’s your name, little buddy?” “Betelguese.” He expects a pause, or a comment, because no newly dead has ever heard his name without wrinkling their nose and looking vaguely sick, but her smile just grows wider. “Far out. I’m Emily.” And hand in hand, they leave the park.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Beetlejuice decides quickly Emily might be the nicest breather who ever breathed. It’s a decision he makes only moments after they’ve left the park. Normally he’d be talking, and talking a lot, and his ma might throw something at him, a curse or a bottle, to try and shut him up. So he’s giving silence a try, here, even though it feels like it hangs like a weight around his neck. But Emily is the one instead filling the silence with sound, and he’s never had such unfiltered attention from an adult before. She’s talking about the park, then his hair, then his name, and everything she says is just… sunshine. She likes his hair. She likes his name. She even likes the loose fitting and filthy black and white striped shirt he’s got on, she says it’s deadlyvoo, whatever the hell that means, but it must be good, because Emily said it.

They’re walking down the street, his little hand still in her’s, when a smell hits his sensitive nose. It’s unlike anything he’s ever smelled before and if he wasn't tethered to her, he would have floated after it. As it is, he does feel his feet lift off the ground briefly, and he has to remind his body to obey gravity, before someone notices. Luckily, Emily only sees part of his reaction, namely the way he’s sniffing the air like a dog and drooling. “Hotdogs!” she grins, and she leads him over towards the smell before he can even ask what that word means.

There’s a little cart set up, and a short, fat woman is fussing over a fire. He quickly finds the source of the smell, those little weird shapes of meat she’s turning over, and he goes to reach for one, only stopped by Emily’s other hand over his. “Not so fast, little bug. To unlock lunch, you need the power of capitalism.” She nods gravely. He nods back, clueless, but after a moment he has the source of the smell in his hands, and he wastes no time in scarfing it down. It’s good. He wants more, instantly, and tugs at her sleeve. Emily has hardly put her wallet away before it’s back out again, and she’s bought two more hotdogs. He eats them just as quickly, but before he can ask for more he realizes she’s led him away from the woman and her meats and her fire. Clever breather.

The walk to her home isn’t so bad, and it gives him time to take in his surroundings. The park had been jarring enough- what little plants grow in the netherworld are perpetually gray and withered, sad little scraggly weeds that struggle and choke each other out for the privilege of what miniscule sunshine permeates through the perpetual overcast. But there’s enough sunlight and water and everything to go around here, and it all grows green and vibrant. The city feels the same way, sort of. Like there’s plenty of space to stretch out and grow, and so they did. In the netherworld, everything is short and cramped, but bigger on the inside, with long, winding hallways meant to confuse and trap the dead. The buildings here are so tall looking up at them makes him dizzy, but he hardly has time to admire them before Emily is guiding him this way and that, and finally, to another door. She presses a button and they’re let inside, and he experiences another first as they ride the elevator up a few floors.

They ride the first few floors up in relative silence, until - “Get ready to jump!” Emily says suddenly, crouching, and he follows her lead, and jumps when she does. There’s a brief moment of weightlessness before gravity catches up with them, and their feet hit the elevator floor again, in time for the doors to open. “Good job, Beetlejuice!” she praises, pushing that long sun colored hair out of her face, and he beams up at her. “Feels like flyin, kinda!” “Right?” she enthuses loudly, and he’s about to ask her how a breather knows what flying feels like, but a door down the hall opens, and the biggest man Betelguese has ever seen steps out. “Thought I heard you rattling the elevator,” he’s chiding Emily, who only gives her snort and smile in return. “Lydia isn’t even with you, do you really play that game when you’re-” his eyes fall on Betelgeuse. “Alone?”

“Charles, I made a new friend!” Emily tells him simply, leading the little demon into their apartment. The interior is dim, but he can see fine. He knows his amber eyes are glowing a little in the gloom, and he closes them, just for a moment, as Emily leads him down the hall and into a sunny, well lit kitchen. The big man, Charles, is tailing behind, looking mystified. “Where on earth did you find him?” a hint of nerves creeps into the breather’s voice. “You didn’t… steal him.. Right?” “Charles!” Emily laughs, like it’s an absurd question. Betelgeuse can’t tell if it is or not. Emily doesn’t seem like a child snatching witch, but he doesn’t know enough about such things to be sure. “I didn’t steal him,” she clarifies, busying herself with getting the boy a cup of ice water, and stopping by for a moment to touch the back of her hand to his forehead again. “I found him wandering around Central Park. He said he doesn’t have any folks, and he was all alone, and he feels feverish. I’m being responsible! I’m a responsible adult!” “A responsible adult who still plays the elevator game, despite being told by maintenance you might throw the whole elevator out of whack?” Charles askes, but he doesn’t look angry, more amused.

“I was teaching Beetlejuice how to play.” The pause he was expecting with Emily finds its home with Charles. Charles glances at the boy. Betelguese stares back with big amber eyes, sipping quietly at his ice water. Charles looks to Emily, who seems to be waiting expectantly. The silence stretches for another beat before Charles asks, baffled, “Is that… his name?”

Emily throws her hands up like he’s asked if the sky is really blue. “Of course it’s his name! Or at least, that’s the name he gave me. I’m respecting it. Respectful and responsible, that’s me.” She turns and winks at Betelgeuse. He returns the strange breather gesture because he likes Emily more than he’s ever liked anyone before.

The water cup is empty, and he simply lets it go, no longer interested in holding it. It bounces and rolls across the floor, and Charles wrinkles his brow at the boy. “Wh-” Before he can say much more, Betelgeuse is sniffing at the air, and he crouches on all fours, nose to the ground, like a dog in a cartoon. He’s caught the scent of some kind of upperworld bug, and despite all the hotted dogs, he’s still hungry. He’s on the prowl around the kitchen, weaving under the little dining table and three chairs, and then back down the hall, into the living room. Charles and Emily poke their heads out of the kitchen to watch him.

“I think you brought a feral child into the house, Em.”

She makes a psshaw sound and rolls her eyes, smacking gently at his lapels. “He’s a kid. Kids are weird. I was doing weird kid stuff when I was his age, too.” “And you never stopped,” comes the dry response. “Charles, I know you worry, but he’s a little kid, lost in New York. I mean, my god, it’s like a movie! I couldn’t just leave him, and I wasn’t just going to give him to some cop, he’s probably an undocumented runaway or something-” and the rest of her rambling is drown out by Charles gasping and grabbing her, and her own muffled gasps of shock, because Betelgeuse has caught the bug. And also, he’s on the ceiling. He may have been trying to blend in, but the second he caught the scent of that delicious crunchy upperworld bug meat, everything else was out of mind. He’d spotted it on the ceiling, and had followed it up there, ignoring gravity to get what he wanted, and right as he pounced on it, nearly catlike, Charles and Emily had gasped. Their breather noises distract him long enough for the bug to skitter away, and he loses his concentration, and drops to the living room floor with a sickening crunch. Emily shrieks, and Charles panics, sprinting for the boy, certain he’ll find a dead child with a broken neck. Instead Betelguise sits up, his glamour disturbed from the fall, and the breathers get an eyeful of what he really looks like. There’s a beat. They’re all staring at each other for a long moment. “I… I might have brought a feral child into the house,” Emily admits sheepishly. You can read the entire thing, right now, over here

[anderwhohn]

@smokedanced || semiplotted starter.

She should have known better. The last time she spent any significant time on the Citadel, she was much younger, only a child at the time, one of the many 'duct rats' as they have come to be called. Or, as she knows of them herself now, the drala'fa - 'the ignored'.

Now, however, she's an adult, and at this exact moment, one her handlers would no doubt be frowning in disapproval at had they been around to see her at any point in the last several hours as she has waited by the public terminals, growing increasingly more antsy the longer time passes without a message received.

She's awaiting orders, and not from who most would assume based on her species and the Systems Alliance dog tags tucked away under her shirt. She's not in uniform, instead having opted to spend what time she has left on this shore leave in standard civilian clothing, only neither does she hold herself as most human soldiers do, even those who had undergone the rigorous training of the N7 program.

Just as she also manages not to hold herself as one would expect of an untrained human civilian, her training under the Compact giving her a harder edge than most humans on the Citadel, more of what you'd expect to see from one of the few drell that occasionally board the station.

So to say that Isabela is annoyed at herself when she's approached by a turian in C-Sec armour is an understatement, her emerald green eyes narrowing even as she quickly scans the area for any other officers.

Just the one…

She knows it's far too late to try to look like a perfectly innocent civilian tourist, so she doesn't even try to change her demeanour, simply shifting her weight to better position herself in case she needs to bolt. But for now, she'll at least try to see if she can talk her way out of this - it wouldn't be the first time.

"Is there a problem, Officer?" she asks, crossing her arms as she subtly disconnects her omnitool from the network, not wanting to risk the message from the Primacy coming in with C-Sec actively watching her.

[blackenedwhite97]

Pregnant Panic- Poly! Erasermic x Reader

Hello! this was a requested fic from quite some time ago. I'll be catching up at some point, i'm in my final year of university so update will be more spaced out for the next few months.

Content Warning: Discussions of paternity, some medically accurate potentially a little gross conversations and mentions and depictions of anxiety and panic.

This story includes and Polyamorous relationship

Polyamory: the practice of engaging in multiple sexual relationships with the consent of all the people involved.

It was killing them. You’d think with how tired and unwell Shouta looked and how uncomfortable Hizashi seemed that they were the pregnant ones. Shouta was the most stressed you’d ever seen him, not because he didn’t want a child but because he was scared he’d be a bad father. You’d stayed up many late nights with him, looking out at the dark city skyline through the living room window, him drumming up ways he’d fail as a father and you countering them with rationale and reassurance. He wanted to be there, he wanted to be present. You all knew he was around the least; he was a teacher during the day and a full-time hero at night. Hizashi was usually home at night, at least.

Hizashi wanted two things. The first, to be as good of a dad as he knew Shouta was going to be. The second, to know which one of them had knocked you up. Hizashi, unlike Shouta had full confidence in Shouta’s ability as a father. Hizashi also had confidence in his own ability to be a father. Yet, and you assumed it was natural, the two of them compared themselves to each other constantly. They both felt like they had to fill a role that was usually filled by only one parent, a father. In regard to his second wish: It was driving him insane. Hizashi didn’t want to know for the reason of ascertaining who the “real” dad was, it was more of a who’s quirk we might have to deal with.

While it’s not a given that a child’s quirk is going to be the same as your parents, it’s still a possibility. A possibility some families count on so greatly that they arrange marriages based on quirk compatibility to keep their bloodline strong and on the top tiers of society. Your little mismatched family never worried about that sort of thing, whether this child was a telekinetic like you, made your ears bleed when they threw a tantrum like Hizashi or could shut his dad up like Shouta, or even if they were quirkless you’d all love them with every fiber of your beings.

This was going to be one lucky kid.

Hizashi was squirming around in his chair, his legs going from being slung over the arm rest to being tucked underneath him. Shouta was as still as a statue save the tip of his boot where his toes were wiggling with nervous energy. Hizashi shifted his position for the umpteenth time, his legs swinging around towards Shouta, their knees bumping. Shouta shot out his hand and gripped Hizashi’s knee, holding him in place.

“Stop squirming.” He grumbled.

Hizashi stilled and slumped back, splaying his limbs out dramatically. “Babe, come here.”

Hizashi looked slide long at you through his lashes and a grinned, waving you over.

“Sure, yeah. Hold on, lemme just-” you placed a hand under your swollen stomach as if that would help carry any of the weight and hopped off the examination table. You landed in a wide stance, almost losing your balance from the nearly one-foot drop. It was pitiful, since you’d started to really show it was almost like all of your hero training went straight out the door. Mind you, your hips were wider than they’d ever been, and you were twenty-seven pounds heavier than you’d ever been. You also constantly had a little critter kicking you in your bladder, which was very new.

You waddled towards Hizashi, the smallest of grins pulling at Shouta’s mouth as he watched you. He found your knew range of mobility highly entertaining. You stopped just short of Hizashi’s wildly splayed out feet, nudging one with the toe of your shoe.

“Can you stand behind me for a sec?’ Hizashi sat up straight. “I wanna try something.”

“Okay?” you raised an eyebrow but waddled around him anyways.

As soon as you were behind him he leaned back in his chair and propped his head back on your belly. He closed his eyes and sighed in contentment. “Now, I’m comfy.”

You stared down at him as he fought a stupid grin, trying to keep his face serene. Goof. “I’m glad our kid is already good for something.” You sighed, stroking the top if Hizashi’s head and smoothing his hair back.

Shouta blinked, his brows knitting together. “You are such a dad already.”

“Been practicing!” Hizashi quipped, shooting up and snapping one of his fingers into a gun.

Shouta rolled his eyes but couldn’t help himself and chuckled.

The door to the examination room opened and in walked a kind looking older woman with deep smile lines and dark shining eyes. She looked like she worked with babies for a living, there was a pure unadulterated kindness about her. “Mrs. Y/L/N?”

“Hi, yeah that’s me.” You turned towards her and stretched out a hand.

She took it with a smile and eyed the two men in the chairs. “Which one of you is the father?”

The three of you had agreed when this all started happening for the sake of appointments that weren’t with doctors you’d be seeing regularly Shouta was going to be the father. It was hard enough explaining that the three of you were together romantically anyways, add a baby in and the fact that you don’t know which one of them was the biological father and you have a proper scandal. Out of the three of you Hizashi was the most recognizable and had the closest thing you could equivalate to a fan base so Shouta felt that in order to keep a sense of privacy around all of this he’d be the place holder father. You’re doctor and OB GYN both understood the whole situation, of course they needed to. Both had been in favor of a paternity during the pregnancy, which you had wanted to fore go until after the birth. At this point in the pregnancy it would have to be an invasive test and with this being your first child the three of you were so nervous you didn’t want to even consider taking that chance.

Shouta cleared his throat and stood up, reaching out for a hand shake as well. “That would be me.”

Hizashi shrunk down in his chair, he had agreed to this prearrangement, but it still stung a bit. You placed a brief set of comforting pats on his shoulder and he straightened up a bit.

“Right,” the kind eyed woman took his hand. “everything seems to be going well and on track. If you wanted to go over specific we could step into another room?”

She eyed Hizashi, and curious look about her. It was probably rare to see a friend sitting in on any sort of appointment. You shook your head and spoke up.

“Oh, he’s here to help us keep track of everything. I have total baby brain and Sho gets… overwhelmed.” You smiled at her reassuringly, trying to normalize the situation.

“O-okay.” She looked down at the clip board in her hand and skimmed the page. “The only thing I would say is out of the ordinary is that all signs are pointing to a later birth than expected. This is completely normal, of course. There are a few options if we feel as though the little one if take their sweet time a little too seriously such as inducing birth.”

You looked down at your swollen belly, your little one didn’t even stir. Why would they want to leave anyways, the little shit was swaddled in warmth and had a direct line to all the caving food you were constantly supplied with. Aside from the waddling, miniscule range of motion, tiny bladder and hip and back pain you didn’t mind being pregnant too much. The boys were totally whipped, which you tried not to take too much advantage of. But you were human and Hizashi was getting really good at baking.

“Inducing how?” Hizashi questioned from his seat.

“W-well,” she looked at you and Shouta for approval before speaking, Shouta nodded. “there are ways to induce labour through hormonal injection as well as more slightingly invasive physical ways, however it all depends on the circumstances. We prefer the less invasive ways for new parents generally speaking.”

Hizashi nodded and there was an awkward silence for a few seconds. The woman looked between the three of you then looked back down at the sheet and began tearing slips off along the perforated lines. “Here are your prescription cards, signed off by Dr. Onishi.”

“Thanks.” You took the slips from her outstretched hands and she slipped out of the room, you could have sworn her polite smile slipped from her face as she closed the door behind her. She sniffed you three out.

“Invasive?” Shouta mumbled. “How invasive?”

Hizashi shrugged as he stood up, grabbing your jacket off the end of the exam table to help you into it. You turned around and let him help you into it, even putting on a jacket was harder when you were this pregnant.

“They’ll stick a plastic hook up my vagina a pop the amniotic sack thing.” You explained, expecting full well the boy’s reactions.

Hizashi shivered violently and let go your jacket, shaking himself out like a dog trying to rid itself of water after a swim. Shouta’s nose flared and his eyes rolled to the side as he frowned.

“Is that painful?” Hizashi asked, his voice still shaky.

“No one on google really said anything about that but it’s safe to assume is they won’t talk about it, it’s not good.” You shrugged.

“Ew.” Hizashi stuck out his tongue like a kid tasting adult food for the first time.

“Yeah, can we uh, stop talking about this?” Shouta, if it had been possible, had paled out. Throughout the pregnancy Shouta had gone from the toughest out of the three of you to the one that was the most squeamish about everything. Sure, Hizashi was over dramatic and very vocal about his thoughts and feelings but he always had been. For Shouta, the idea of your body literally contorting to stabilize itself only for it all the end in hours of screaming, crying and otherworldly pain was too much. Normal injuries? Doable. Anyone could get hurt. Giving birth? That was something only you could do out of the three of you and he didn’t like that.

“Sure.” You smiled at him and he hooked his arm under yours as you all made your way out of the building to the busy street outside.

“What’s up for dinner?” Hizashi asked, pulling up his collar against the wind. The winter was blowing in and Japan was in the early stages of grey skies windows and cool winds, not yet covering in heavy snow and frozen streets.

“Um, I kinda forgot it was my night.” You muttered. If you hadn’t been the pregnant you’d have been subject to a somewhat sarcastic lecture at the hands of Hizashi, but you were practically untouchable now-a-days.

“Let’s just pick up something on the way home.” Shouta grumbled.

“I gotta fill my prescriptions, though. We can just go to the grocery store, there’s a pharmacy in the back.” You said.

“I don’t want to make you cook.” Shouta sniffed, the cold air making his nose run. “Plus, it’s cold as hell and the grocery store is refrigerated, I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Sho I can-” you started to protest.

“Dad has spoken.” Hizashi chimed in, wrapping and arm around your shoulder. “We can split, Y/n and I can head home a grab food on the way, and you can go fill her prescriptions?”

“Nice try, Mr. “I-wear- a jacket- all- the-time-for-fashion”. You go get the pills; we’ll get the food. I’m fucking freezing.” Shouta poked Hizashi in the forehead.

“I can’t help that I like the layered look, Sho.” Hizashi huffed. You turned to his and gave him a peck on the tip of his nose, a dopey grin spreading across his lips. God he was easy to butter up, he was such a glutton for physical affection.

You took off you scarf and wrapped it around his neck and handed him your prescription slips. “Your assignment Present Mic.”

“Aye-Aye, Ma’am.” He saluted dramatically.

“You own me a warm drink when I get home!” he added over his shoulder at Shouta who was already wrapping his arms around you as you waited for the walk signal.

Shouta was a furnace as the best of time and a miniature sum at the worst of times. You’d taken his temperature before, worried that he had fevers or worked himself sick in the early days of your relationship. He was always around the normal base line, he just radiated heat like crazy. You sank back into him and let his thick wavy hair curtain around your face. You looked up and make eye contact with his smoldering dark eyes, a soft smile on his lips.

“Hey.” You said.

“Hey.” He hummed into your hair.

“What do you want to eat?” you asked.

“Hmm,” she closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “something warm.”

The cars came to a halt and the walk chime sounded as the pedestrian light lit up. “Ramen it is.” you chirped and skipped awkwardly froward, your splayed hips not exactly made for such enthusiastic movement. He trailed behind you; your hand clasped in his.

The Ramen shop on the way was the kind of shop you couldn’t eat in; it was a thin rectangular shop with just enough room for a line and the counter. You had never minded before but lately the lack of seating options as you waited was less than ideal. You and Shouta had to make do with leaning into each other, him trying to support you but making a makeshift seat with his thighs while she leaned against the wall. The cashier rang a small bell and called your order number with a polite thank-you. You scuttled to the counter and retrieved the expertly packed bags of lidded ramen bowls.

When you made it back to Shouta he was staring down at his phone, his normal peaceful tiredness replaced by an annoyed alertness. He was frowning and pulling away from the wall.

“What’s wrong?” you asked just in time for him to look up at you.

“Uh, there’s an emergency call for heroes. Like, three blocks from here.” He looked as though if he hadn’t been waiting for you to return he’d have already dashed out of the door. It was in his blood, Shouta was a hero and until one the assholes had knocked you up so were you. The splayed hips somewhat dulled that itch to jump into action, but you could remember how it drove you crazy.

“Go.” You nodded. “I can get home.”

“Y-you’re- really?” he turned towards the door and you could see him winding up like a spring action toy.

“Yes, go!” you waved him off. Without another work he was off, the door swinging in the wake of his exit. Although you hated to admit it, this kid had changed more than just your body. You never worried like you did now. You were never so afraid od the average mission or call turning into something catastrophic, you were paranoid about patrols in good neighborhood and rescuing cats from trees. Shouta literally rescued a cat the other night and when he was telling you about it all you could see was him toppling out of the tree and getting hurt. Whenever one of them left for work they would be setting up times to check in, and Hizashi being the chronically late guy that he is had to suddenly start keeping track of time. You didn’t want to raise this kid without either of them and while you all knew full well that it was a possibility with the life you all lived, it still terrified you to no end.

You tried to calm yourself as you stepped out onto the street, people were still milling about, and there was no thirty-foot inferno to speak of so things couldn’t have been that bad. You waddled the rest of the way home, bags of soup sloshing around in your hands, trying to stay calm. You weren’t doing very well. Usually you had at least one of the boys with you or they were together but no doubt Hizashi also had gotten the message. You groaned to yourself, knowing full well he’d also responded.

Your hands were shaking, hoping it was just the cold you rooted around in your pockets for your keys. Getting them in the door was an experience, both frustrating and upsetting in the only the way a pregnant person can attest to. Were the tears running down your face because you couldn’t get the key in the door or because you were a walking rage pile or hormones and anxiety? You whipped angrily at your tears and shoved open the building door, warm air washing over you. At least it was warm.

The building got more and more blurry as you made your way to your apartment, tears fulling your eyes until the lights were just wavering streaks. You were huffing breaths into what felt like air starved lungs, sobs pounding against your cheat trying to break free. You choked them down and rushed through our door, leaving the ramen in the hallway as you slammed the door shut behind you.

You really didn’t feel like being very very pregnant and having a panic attack. You started to pace around, running your hand through the soft blanket across the back of the couch and pressing your palms to the cool counter top as you went back and forth between eh kitchen and living room. Some tears fell but your eyes dried and soon enough your lungs stopped convulsing for air. You were still shaking and a knot was still tight in your gut but you had for the time being subdued the panic. With this new clarity you went you your room and pulled out you professional phone, the battery low having not been used in weeks.

You had also received the distress signal:

10 Ave and 4 St. Grand villain activity: League of Villain members sited at scene of disturbance. Requesting all back up in immediate area. Priority: Containment.

League of Villains. You’re stomach dropped, almost painfully. You gripped onto the sheets of the bed as you slid to your knees, panic rising in your chest again. You knew they were among other heroes, that Hizashi wasn’t a frontline fighter and Shouta would have a horde of heroes trying the keep him in play. You knew this. You also knew them, and that they could be stupid. Shouta had climbed a Goddamned tree the other night FOR A CAT. He could have fallen and died for a CAT. You choked down another sob. Hizashi was always the centre of attention and he did it on purpose. What if he tried to distract the villains and got hurt doing it? He’d done that once before on a mission and came home with a nasty concussion.

What if it was worse this time? What if the League was more organized?

You choked on another sob.

Warm arms wrapped around you and you jumped, trying to pull away.

“Hey, whoa, babe it’s me.” Hizashi hummed calmly. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s Zashi.”

He brought a hand to your head and held you against his chest, scooting closer to you in his crouching position. He kissed the top of your head and rubbed circles into your hair with his thumb and held you like that until you were able to calm yourself. “What happened?”

“I got scared.” You sniffed. “And I’m pregnant.”

“Oh.” Hizashi chuckled, pulling back to look at you. His nose was still rosy from the cold and his hair was swept back in messy waves. “Sorry.”

“You should be.” You punched him the shoulder, once for every word.

“Ow!” he whined, holding his arms up in defense.

“You did this to me!” you wailed. Irrational, yes. Cathartic? Also, yes.

“I refuse to take ownership until we get that paternity test!” he laughed somersaulting away from you.

You were just about to give him a piece of your pregnant mind when you heard Sho enter the apartment and trip over a set of paper bags.

“Y/N?” he called. “Hun? Are you, okay?’

Hizashi jumped to his feet and darted out of the room, shouting wildly. “She’s angry!”

You tried to push yourself up to your feel but couldn’t, slumping back down onto the carpeted floor next to the bed. The threw your hands up in the air frustrated, all that panic from earlier having left your body. Being pregnant was a wild ride, whatever you felt was so strong and so consuming at the time, but it could fade just a quickly as it came.

“I’m stuck!” you pouted.

Shouta crept into the door frame, Hizashi hiding behind him. The two of them melting at the sight of you slumped, cross legged on the floor, belly swollen, unable to move. Shouta grinned, that same entertained grin from earlier. He made his way to you and grabbed your hands hauling you to your feet. You slumped into him, reaching out a hand to motion for Hizashi to join in. Not one to pass up a good group hug Hizashi happily wrapped his long gangling arms around you and Shout, ignoring your grunts and he squeezed.

“That didn’t take long.” You mumbled into Shouta’s chest.

“Illusion base quirk, I erased it and it turned out to be a bunch of low levels trying to make a scene to get away with some cash.” Shouta explained. “You okay?”

You nodded and hummed into his chest.

“You sure? There’s soup in the hallway.” His whiskers rubbed against your forehead.

“The baby got scared.” You muttered.

“Oh?” he hummed, as if in thought. He pulled away from you and knelt down, so he was level with you belly. “Listen up little one, there’s nothing in this world that your parents can’t handle so don’t so around worrying us like that okay?”

Hizashi stooped down and eyed your belly very seriously. “Especially, your mom. She’s already doing all the heavy lifting, dude!”

You dropped your face into your hands a laughed. Yeah, this was one lucky kid.

[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.

.

.

.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Family Matters

Summary: Belle and Gold spring into action after Neal calls them in an emergency, and Belle reflects on the meaning of family. 

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling January non-smut prompt: Dealing with a family crisis. 

Rated: T

CW: Medical themes, pregnancy loss.

Family Matters

It was a perfectly normal Friday night when they got the call. The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Belle was curled up on the chaise longue with a book, and Gold was sitting in his armchair browsing the catalogue for the auction he was going to in Boston the next week. 

His phone ringing wasn’t normally a cause for alarm, but it was rare enough for someone to call him at eleven o’clock at night that it sent a current of worry through his veins, and the current of worry increased when he looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Neal. 

Belle looked up, her brow furrowing in concern. “Who is it?”

“It’s Neal.”

“Strange for him to be calling so late.”

“Very.” He answered, and almost immediately, the current of worry turned into a full torrent. 

“Dad, Emma’s in the hospital and I don’t know what to do.”

Neal's voice was choked, on the verge of tears, and Gold took a deep breath, trying to calm the torrent. Neal was an adult now and a father himself, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t also still need his own father to rescue him every now and then. 

“Ok, what happened?” He beckoned Belle over so that she could hear as well. 

“She’s had really bad stomach pains all day, she thought it was just something she ate. It just kept getting worse and worse until she passed out… I saw her drop, I barely caught her in time…  I called 911 and they took her into the hospital, they think she’s got some internal bleeding somewhere…”

“OK. We’re coming. How’s Henry doing?”

“He’s ok, just a bit shaken, he doesn’t really understand what’s going on.”

“Just hold on for a little while. Belle and I are coming.”

“Thanks Dad. I’ll see you soon.”

Belle was already in the hallway pulling on her coat and boots, and Gold took a few moments to check that the house was secure and grab the insurance paperwork from his office - Emma should have been covered by the Sheriff’s office but it paid to be prepared. The drive across town to Neal and Emma’s apartment did not take long, but every moment of it was spent in tense silence. Neal was standing on the doorstep waiting for them, an anxious-looking Henry balanced on his hip, aware that something bad was happening but that it was too much for his one-year-old brain to try and comprehend. 

“Hey Henry,” Belle cooed, taking him out of Neal’s arms and giving her stepson a little peck on the cheek, whispering it’ll be ok, I promise in his ear. “Why don’t you come with Nana Belle and we’ll let Daddy and Grandpa get everything sorted out, eh? You should be in bed, it’s very late. I guess all the commotion woke you up.”

Belle took Henry back into the apartment and Neal, no longer having to worry about staying calm and focussed on his son, crumpled against Gold’s shoulder. Neal had never been the most physically affectionate of people, not really a hugger, and the fact he was crying on his father’s shoulder stood as testament to just how scared he was for Emma. 

“Let’s go to the hospital,” Gold said. “I think you need to be there. I can always come back and get anything that Emma might need.”

“I’ll be ok, I just needed someone to come watch Henry, I can go…”

“Neal, I don’t want you ending up in the hospital as well.” He held up Neal’s hand, which was still shaking. “I’ll drive. Belle’s got Henry. We’re all here.”

Neal nodded, going back inside to grab his things before following Gold out to the Cadillac.

“Thanks for dropping everything,” he murmured as they set off towards the hospital. 

“It’s what families do. You’d have done the same if it was Belle.”

Neal nodded. “Yeah, I would.”

The rest of the drive to the hospital was made in silence. As worried as he was about Emma, Neal gave Gold something to focus on, knowing that he had to be strong so that Neal could be afraid. He thought back over all the family crises that they had lived through so far; mercifully, there were few of them. This was certainly the first time any of them had been in the hospital since Henry was born, and whilst Neal had done his fair share of panicking at the time, that had ultimately been a joyous occasion rather than a crisis. 

Gold could only hope that the outcome here would be a good one in the long run. 

X

Belle settled herself in the armchair in the corner of Henry’s room, cradling the tired toddler on her lap. She opened the picture book that she had selected to try and get him back to sleep, but she didn’t start reading it for a few minutes, wondering what could have happened and hoping against hope that Emma would be ok. She was certainly in the best hands, but that didn’t stop Belle from worrying.

Still, there was nothing she could do to help Neal and Gold and Emma, and the most useful thing she could do was to stay here with Henry. The poor boy could obviously tell that something dreadful was going on, and if she could reassure him and get him off to sleep so that his parents didn’t have to worry about him as well as everything else that was happening, then that was what she would do. 

She knew that children were far more intuitive than everyone gave them credit for, so Henry would probably be picking up on her unease even if he couldn’t actually give voice to that, so she took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice nice and even and sing-song. 

“Ok Henry. Let’s see what Spot the Dog is up to tonight.”

By the time they finished with Spot, Henry was asleep again, curled up against Belle’s chest, and she sighed, deciding to sit with him for a while instead of putting him back to bed. His warm weight was a comfort to her, keeping her grounded and reminding her that there was a little human relying on her to keep him safe whilst his parents were dealing with other horrors. As long as she was holding Henry, Belle knew that she wouldn’t go to pieces. 

She didn’t know how long she sat there in the dim light, listening to Henry’s soft breathing as she wondered what was happening in the hospital, looking at her phone every couple of seconds. It was on silent to avoid disturbing Henry, and she was nervous of somehow missing a call from Gold or Neal. The hours kept ticking by until she finally heard a key in the lock and someone tiptoe into the apartment.

“Belle?”

It was Gold’s whispered voice, and a moment later, he stepped into Henry’s room. He looked dead on his feet, but he smiled when he saw her sitting with Henry, and Belle took that to be a good sign.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “How’s Emma? Do they know what’s wrong?”

Gold nodded, coming over and leaning against the chair.

“It was an ectopic pregnancy.” He sighed. “Emma didn’t even know she was pregnant.”

“Is she going to be ok?”

“Yeah. She’s stable and on painkillers and they’ll operate in the morning. The doctors are quite confident.”

“How’s Neal holding up?”

“Well, he’s just about holding it together. He calmed down a lot after we could get in to see her. We both did. I forgot how much I hate hospital waiting rooms. He’s still there; I just came back to get a few things for Emma, I’ll bring him back later.” He was unable to stifle a yawn. “Sorry. The adrenaline’s wearing off now and I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling. Still, at least it looks like the worst is over.”

They stayed there in silence for a while until Henry shifted in Belle’s arms and she decided that it would probably be a good idea to put him back in his bed so that he could get some better sleep. Hearing the news had lifted a great weight of uncertainty off her mind. Of course, they weren’t out of the woods just yet, there was still the operation in the morning, and it would take time for Emma to recover, but for now the crisis was, if not over completely, then at least manageable now. 

She followed Gold out of Henry’s room, helping him pack bits and bobs for Emma’s stay in the hospital. It was one of the marks of what made a family a family, she thought, the way that they all acted in a situation like this. Belle would be the first to admit that theirs was not exactly the most conventional of families, since she was less than ten years older than her stepson and already happy to be an honorary grandmother, but she and Gold had swept in to help without a second thought. It was just what families did for each other. 

In the hallway, as Gold was getting ready to make the trip back to the hospital, Belle slipped her arms around his middle, going up on her toes to kiss him. 

“Thank you for making me part of this family,” she said. 

Gold gave a soft laugh. “Even when you end up staying up half the night watching your step-grandson in the middle of a medical emergency?”

“Even then. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“Me neither.” Gold kissed her again, and Belle closed the door after him with a little wave. 

As long as they had each other, they’d weather any storm that life threw at them.

[omgkalyppso]

I'm going to ramble about my ot4 and their kids.

For the purpose of my post-canon:

Hilda was a wyvern lord. She was on her third mount by the time they defeated Nemesis. She had a hard time attaching herself to the creatures after her first one fell in battle, and her style of fighting steadily changed. Where once she could thrust herself and her mount as one into battle, she had to start recognizing herself and the creature as a pair and not a unit. She still has the heart of a tank, and the axe-arms to match, but her protection needed to be extended to creature beneath her as much as possible, and not only her human friends.

Claude was a barbarossa. He and his wyvern went through their own trials to be as ready as they ever could be to balance each other. He misses her, when business keeps him long occupied after the war, after having treated her like family for years. When they meet for casual rides, it is obvious that she remembers both their camaraderie, and when they used to drift above the clouds, counting their enemies and allies below.

Lorenz was a dark knight. He took the horses in his family's stables for granted until the Academy, where between Leonie and Marianne, he recognized more deeply, or felt more comfortable publicly recognizing, the intelligence of the animal, and it wasn't until the war that he accepted the value of keeping one close that could remain calm in the presence of magic and blood. Thyrsus was always heavier in his hands than any lance, though he kept them close; his versatility being marking him as a weary soldier, and a tactician struggling to make sense of his leaders' decisions.

Fae was the enlightened one. Could they be anything else? A fighting style that balanced on the magic of their lost friend and the sword of their father. Risks that seem too big, but have been tried a thousand times with the use of Divine Pulse.

My ot4 kids are all able to ride a wyvern, but their passion and coordination vary wildly.

Halvard (major Crest of Goneril: Sometimes allows combat arts to prevent enemy counterattacks.) is a wyvern lord, like his mother. He treats his wyvern more like a big dog than either Claude or his mother's approach. Long, thick throwing arms; prefers axes. Crest nonsense: In my fic Gentle Moments, in chapter 9: In Derdriu, Halvard's crest activates while he's taking part in a snowball fight. I assume the result may have been an inexplicable mountain of snow or else a painful chill that would have resulted in another child being unable to retaliate.

Lorencia (minor Crest of Gloucester: Occasionally raises Mt during magic attacks.) is a dark knight, like her father. Lances and magic. I think it's funny that you don't select when a Crest activates, related to this a friend suggested: Lorenz steps away from her magic practice for TWO MINUTES and he comes back to her whimpering and dousing her burning desk. Her horse is her friend, a sign of home and familiarity even in strange places. Can ride a wyvern but prefers her feet on the ground.

Baldovin (minor Crest of Goneril: Sometimes allows combat arts to prevent enemy counterattacks.) is a fortress knight. A slow, sturdy wall of armor. Lives to defend, and tries to incapacitate. Sympathy for his enemies. Feels like attacking marching units while mounted on either wyvern or horseback is unfair to man and animal, and thus only uses mounts to get from point A to point B. Crest nonsense: WILL wrestle your wyvern for fun, and enjoys the shock in how their neck's rear back when his Crest allows him to pin their chin down while their wings struggle (squish that cat).

Nader (no Crest) is a wyvern lord who uses swords; if pegasus knights can use them, then I'm taking this. Trained in swords with his twin brother, Geralt. Is the bigger two-faced brat of the two of them. Strives to be honorable despite this, knowing he's the heir. Recognizes wyverns as culturally significant, and friends.

Geralt (Crest of Flames: Occasionally restores HP equal to 30% of damage dealt. Rarely raises Mt and stops counterattacks.) is a mortal savant if I'm restricted to fe3h classes, otherwise give him grandmaster or dread fighter from fe:a. Swords and magic, and a promise to wield the sword of the creator. Likes teasing wyverns like they're big kittens, and could fight from a mounted position if pressed. The best of all his siblings (bio and otherwise) at faith magic. Another Crest observation from my friend: Geralt realizes his Crest allows for Prime Prankage (TM) meaning that he can lift twice his weight and also escape seemingly impossible situations unharmed.

Sadaf (minor Crest of Riegan: Sometimes restores HP equal to 30% of damage dealt when using combat arts.) is a barbarossa. She enjoys the full body flexibility of lances more than bows, but inheriting Failnaught directed her instruction. In the same way that she doesn't like having to be open about her thoughts and emotions with strangers, she expects her wyvern to be disciplined - like a service dog, and to have a trigger, like removing a harness or touching the neck, which signals when it is safe to behave like a comfortable, silly and needy animal once again. Another Crest observation from my friend: Teenage Sadaf experimenting in the kitchen by herself, like a fool: "Hm today I will try to grab a cast iron pan while it's on the stove--OW DAMN YOU JERK!!!" bangs pan on countertop, burn heals immediately

Simon (no Crest) is a dark knight who uses magic only. His spinal problems made it too difficult to properly practice holding an axe, balancing a bow, or steadying a lance. Lorenz tried to convince him that there other ways to contribute to a battlefield, and did convince him to lean towards more bookkeeping and tactics, but for the sake of security, did still help guide him through reason magic. A Crest observation from me: Responsible Adult Lorenz trying to demonstrate a dark magic spell for Simon -> Half the training grounds scorched black with corruption, never to be the same again -> Lorenz, "Ah."

[wandsandrings]

KACE PETERSON (really outdated)

 [template made by @hogwartsmysterystory​]

IDENTITY

Name: Kace “Kay” Peterson 

Gender: Male

Age: 17 (current) / 28 (MA)

Birth Date: 6th September 1972

Species: Human

Blood Status: Half-Blood

Sexuality: Homosexual / Homoromantic 

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (HM) / Neutral Good (MA)

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: Scottish

Residence: East Linton, Scotland (HM) / Hogsmeade, Scotland (MA)

THE MAGE  

1st Wand: Kind and encouraging. A reliable partner. Naiive but loyal.

> Acacia 

> 12″

> Swishy 

> Unicorn Hair Core

2nd Wand: Unyielding to all but it’s caster. Aged with each threat it overcame. A wise wand. 

> Blackthorn

> 11″

> Rigid 

> Unicorn Hair Core 

Animagus: Pomeranian 

Misc Magical Abilities: Seer

Boggart Form: Jacob (Years 1-5) / Rakepick (Years 5-7), “The Monster” (Years 7+)

Riddikulus Form: Jacob in mom’s dress / Dancing Rakepick / Dolphin 

Amortentia (scent): Heather and fresh-fallen rain

Amortentia (smells): Ink, Fresh Sawn Lumber, Parchment (Rowan Khanna), Mince Pie and Haggis

Patronus: Dog (previously), Aardvark (current)

Patronus Memory: Himself and Rowan stargazing at the farm / His first kiss 

Mirror of Erised: Himself, his brother and his friends happy together (HM) / An older, carefree, happy Maple (MA)

Specialized/Favourite Spells:

Lumos: It holds a special place in his heart by lighting up what he could not see.

Diffindo: His go-to attacking spell.

Accio: Useful for fetching things out of his reach. It’s pretty useful when you’re this short.

APPEARANCE 

> Left: HPHM ; Right: HPMA

Faceclaim: N/A

Voiceclaim: TBA

Game Appearance: 

Height: 5′2

Weight: 140lbs

Physique: Stocky

Eye Colour: Blue

Hair Colour: Ruby

Skin Tone: Tan

Body Modifications: N/A

Scarring: 

> Left forearm; a gash from fighting with the ice knight

> Torso; a large gash after being whipped by “the monster”’s tail.

> Right arm; burnt by the vault dragon

> Abdomen; hit with a spell while fighting Rakepick

> Chest; hit with a spell while fighting the assassin

> Left shoulder; hit with a spell while fighting Rakepick (again)

> Right thigh; splotches of a potion turning into an acidic disaster

Inventory:

> Kace’s Wand

> Horned Serpent Tooth Necklace

> Friendship Ring (Wedding Ring in MA)

ALLEGIANCES

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff 

Affiliations/Organizations: 

> Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

> Order Of The Pheonix 

Professions:

> Curse Breaker (1984 - 1991)

> Three Broomsticks Server + Cook (1991 - 2000)

> D.A.D.A Teacher (2000 - )

HOGWARTS INFORMATION

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: A Charms: O DADA: O Flying: E Herbology: A History of Magic: A Potions: A Transfiguration: E

Electives:

COMC: E

Muggle Studies: O

Quidditch: N/A

Extra Curricular: N/A

RELATIONSHIPS

Brother: Jacob Peterson

> 5 years older than Kace

> Hufflepuff

> Legilimen

> Roderic Ivory’s most recent (and last) re-incarnation

> Jacob is impulsive but strong-willed, never one to give up even at the toughest of times. He is also very protective of his younger brother, Kace. 

> After the Cursed Vaults are locked away, he briefly leaves to work as a curse-breaker overseas. Jacob returns for the second wizarding war to fight alongside his brother, and after he briefly becomes D.A.D.A teacher before he goes back overseas and the position is given to his brother. 

Father: Hunter Peterson

> Muggleborn

> Scottish

> 49 years old by 1991

> Ravenclaw

> A cunning, intelligent but serious man. When his eldest son went missing, Hunter tried to make sure his youngest would not go down the same path. This meant sometimes closely monitoring Kace to make sure he wouldn’t run away or try to hide anything from him like Jacob. When Hunter learns that Kace was also involved in the vaults, he was both outraged and afraid for his youngest son. However, he ends up supporting Kace when he sees how much of a capable wizard his son is.

Mother: Margot Peterson

> Half-blood

> American

> 48

> Used to be in Horned Serpent before becoming an exchange student at Hogwarts, where she was placed in Ravenclaw.

> A witty but devoted and careful mother. Once she found out Jacob had ran away, Margot was crushed, and doted on Kace to be careful, but also uncover the secrets and his brother’s whereabouts once and for all.

Love Interest: Rowan Khanna

> Kay started crushing on Rowan in year 2. Rowan started crushing on Kace at sometime in year 5.

> They confess to one another in year 6 when Rowan wakes up from his coma. However, both of them acknowledged they shouldn’t start a relationship at that moment. 

> They actually get together after Kace slays the vault monster, and have stayed together since.

> Kay proposed to Rowan in 1996, but they never got to have an official wedding.

> They adopt Maple at the end of the second wizarding war in 1998. They both try their best to give him guidance and make him happy. They become a very content and close family.

Adoptive Son: Maple Peterson Khanna

> Kay and Rowan adopted Maple in 1998 after the war.

> They are pretty close and Kay has bought gifts for him from the Muggle world in the past, such as his treasured game boy and Walkman, and even let Maple keep Crumpet as the family pet.

> Kay is somewhat obsessed with making sure Maple doesn’t go down the same road of obsession, self-sacrifice and trauma that he went through as a Hogwarts student. Because of this, he imposes some pretty standard rules, but also some weirder, very specific rules that Maple would purposely have to go out of his way to break (which he wouldn’t). He’s also more hesitant to tell Maple off when he gets into trouble because he believes Maple should have fun, which he barely got to do as a student. It’s up to Rowan to make sure that Maple actually follows the rules. Thankfully, Maple is an easy kid.

Best Friends:

> Talbott Winger

> Chiara Lobosca

> Tulip Karasu 

Rival:

>Merula Snyde

Enemy:

> Patricia Rakepick

> R

Dormmates: 

> Rowan Khanna

> Diego Caplan 

Pets:

> Bumpsy is an orange tabby cat Kay adopted in 1984 when he was just a kitten. 

> Crumpet is a spotted cream and brown crup. Maple found her in 1995 as a stray wandering around Hogsmeade, and the family decided to adopt her.

Closest Canon Friends:

> Rowan Khanna

> Talbott Winger

> Chiara Lobosca

> Tulip Karasu

> Bill Weasley

Closest MC Friends:

> Candy Vigiere ( @immagrosscandy​ )

> Paula Vigiere ( @immagrosscandy​ )

> Robert Flores ( @gayandvibin​ )

> Ryan Altman ( @young-avenger )

> Sarahi Silvers ( @dat-silvers-girl​ )

> Cato Reese ( @catohphm​ )

> Flavio Ceccere ( @sirfluffig​ )

> Luna ( @aaaaaagayghost​ )

Scarlet Bianchi ( @immagrosscandy )

BACKGROUND/HISTORY

PERSONALITY

> Devoted

Kay is very loyal and committed to what he does or those who have gained his trust and respect. He is not one to abandon others without great reason, and he is not known to give up on his goals and his journey, no matter who or what tries to stop him.

> Perceptive 

Kay has a skill to be able to read someone or a situation. For his own safety, he’s memorised the social cues of those he’s around with, and he can usually tell if something is wrong with someone. He is also able to tell if his surroundings are safe or not.

> Questioning

Kay is both curious and cautious. He’s grown rather doubtful over the years, and asks questions and spies on others. This is because he’s trying to make up for all the times he’s been lied to and used by making sure nobody is able to do this again to him. Whilst this can be good in ensuring his safety, it sometimes comes across as outright suspicious and, at worst, paranoid.

> Serious

Kay, over the years, has become a more serious person through his experiences. He doesn’t leave a lot of time for fun, which is the total opposite of how he was just two years ago. He thinks being serious is good; that nothing will be able to escape past his radar. However, this can have consequences on his social life, as he barely laughs or lets himself have some real fun with his friends... even if he wants to.

> Volatile 

Kay can be emotionally charged and get riled up over some small things. He might be completely calm one moment, and then act defensive and hostile the next. Over the time, his patience has worn into almost nothing, and he finds it hard to control his emotions. After he gets engaged to Rowan, he tries to curb his emotional outbursts, and has success in doing so.

> Obsessive

Kay is stubborn to the point of outright obsession at times. His obsession with the vaults, his brother and R was so controlling over his life he didn’t give himself time to be a real Hogwarts student until it was far too late. He never got to join any clubs, never took any extracurricular activities, and, even though he probably had skill for it, never even got to try Quidditch once. It was only when he was an adult did he realise just how damaging this was for him, and he wants to make absolutely sure that Maple does not go down the same path of obsession.

MISC

> He recognises words and sentences from very old or dead languages, or important places where his past lives have been before. However, remembering these places or words causes a ‘De ja vu’ effect and leaves him feeling very disoriented and confused afterwards. 

> Kay has a very Scottish accent, more specifically an Edinburgh accent. 

> He’s got really bad penmanship. Because of this, he often writes in capital letters to help both himself and others understand his writing.

> He is surprisingly knowledgeable in Muggle items. For example, his family own a television, and in Magic Awakened, he is shown to have knowledge in video game consoles and CDs enough to buy them for Maple and be able to enchant them so they always work around magic. This is most likely because he grew up in a very Muggle town and had Muggle friends, and his father is also a Muggleborn wizard.

[itwill-comeback]

Buckle up y'all, this one gets wild

● Having been doing it for two hundred years longer than Otis, Enrico is the more skilled swordsman of the two, as he's been honing the skill since childhood & can't recall a time before knowing the weight of a sword in hand.

○ Otis went his entire human life having never held a sword, being a poor man he'd never had any need for one & didn't see the value of having a weapon unless you had wealth to protect, until of course he'd been thrown in the Bastille & Ignatius started using him as a practice target. Even after Ignatius gave him a sword as a means to trick him into thinking he could defend himself, it became clear quickly that a sword is only ever useful with skill.

● The two of them crossed paths after Otis & Tomas were taken in by Vikas. [who was meeting with the rest of the Elder Council in Antwerp, Belgium to deal with an unraveling scheme to destroy the Athens Council & liberate a woman leading what we would consider a cult which threatened the secrecy of Elysia (but to keep things short: Vikas was busy, too busy to look after fledglings)] Tomas & Otis were, like all fledglings, heedless, incorrigible gluttons who had no interest in waiting for permission to go around Antwerp & instead went out without Vikas knowing because they were both bored. Looking for humans to kill & instead running right into Enrico & Dorian [who were on their way to go speak with Em, since their bloodline's patriarch, Enrico's grandfather, had a whole slew of things to report about the Athens Council's misuse of the law & disregard for Elysian rights during this crisis, arguing that all of their behavior was warranted due to the threat they were facing, but the way things were going Enrico wasn't trying to leave Dorian alone as they were still both young by Elysian standards] Naturally, Otis introduced himself in his usual polite fashion, whilst Tomas almost instantly wanted information about what was going on with the Elder Council & the Dionysian cult that threatened the Athens Council. Both Ciottis were under strict instructions not to speak a word about the situation to anyone other than Em & were immediately put off from Tomas. This interaction actually helped shape Tomas' desire for power, being out of the loop terrified him. Otis persuaded Tomas to return to their hunt & ask Vikas about it later.

○ Following this [Vikas gets back from his meeting to find no fledglings & the two return shortly before dawn but believe that Vikas grilled them for disappearing] it became clear that Vikas couldn't leave the two to their own devices & opted to take them with him to meet with the other Elders. One of the issues holding the Elder Council back was that they were focusing primarily on protecting the Athens Council rather than catching the cult radicals. Tomas actually shines here [despite the fact that the two brothers were supposed to remain dead silent for the duration of this meeting], in that he points out that using the Athenians as bait raises their likelihood of catching the majority of the cult all at once, laying a trap rather than pursuing them. This coincides with the rather damning report from Enrico's grandfather leading Em to the conclusion that maybe one of these problems could solve the other, as replacing the Athens Council's president would be a hassle, but reminding him that his Council would always need the resources & protection of the Elder Council would put him in his place without having to put him on trial for misusing his position.

● Otis actually questions Em after the meeting on why she agrees with Tomas' idea, in his mind if it were a simple issue that a fledgling could solve it wouldn't require the Elders' wisdom in the first place. Em explains that the rigidity & political pressure of the Elders denies them the more brutal solutions, & that it wouldn't have been the correct solution if the Athens Council were upright in their pursuit of justice. She reveals the important role Enrico & Dorian played in the decision, in other words, it wasn't just Tomas who shined on this issue, he'd have seemed petulant & cruel without the reasoning of the Ciottis that the Athens Council wasn't handling the situation properly.

○ Otis took a shine to the Ciottis after that, having been stuck in a guest room with them & Tomas [because Hey! The Adults Are Talking Right Now! was all it took for the four of them to be removed from the meeting hall, even if Tomas had made a valid point.] This began the way in which the four interacted, still despite the appreciation Otis had for the duo, the sword on Enrico's hip made him nervous, too fresh were the wounds Ignatius had left him for him to ignore the nervous twinge that settled in his stomach at the sight of a sword.

● Once Enrico finds out that that's why Otis is so skittish he offers to teach him to use a sword, "If you ever run into that dog again, you'll know how to cut him down." Of course the first lesson was to hold a sword without letting his hands shake. In the two months it took the Elder Council to sort out the Dionysian cult Otis had picked up half-decent swordsmanship, but more importantly he'd made friends where Tomas had failed to. The Elders praised Tomas for being clever, Otis seemed comparatively quiet, trusting the Elders to handle the problem themselves.

○ Otis continued his trend of making friends throughout Europe & eventually to the Americas where Tomas was helping D'Ablo to establish the North American Council as a valid Council rather than a rogue government. D'Ablo was disregarded by much of Elysia initially, being one of the oldest sons of a patriarch who upholds the law free autonomy of Marseille, but many had to acknowledge his ability once the Council began enforcing the law within North America. He took a liking to Tomas due to his tenacity & willingness to do whatever needed to be done, it certainly didn't hurt that Tomas had also picked up allies over the years that made establishing the Council easier. This was actually the turning point for many powerful Elysians to take note of the fact that Em's bloodline was rooting itself in powerful positions throughout Elysia unimpeded.

● Enrico's grandfather also noticed it, but rather than yielding to the influence her bloodline had, he insisted on waiting for the prophecy to come to fruition, which put a strain on his relationship with Enrico after Dorian became prophecy keeper.

○ Enrico had already started what would eventually be the V Bar, the idea of safe havens for vampires to share drinks & conversation wasn't new, but became increasingly popular with the creation of the Slayer Society, which had a propensity for targeting nests to "stop the spread" of vampires throughout cities. So no matter how anyone in Elysia felt about Dorian, no one would be able to sense slayers coming before he would, making the safest place for Elysians in New York near him. This is part of the reason why the Elder Council convenes in New York & why the city was able to attain exemption from the law.

[yokelish]

Pall.

Sure, @sweet-cynical-writer​ I accepted the gauntlet. You ask who got the character better? Neither. And just because you call me Odasaku doesn’t mean i can write him nor do I think my style of writing suits his character. Nonetheless. Since there were no rules, you get this sort of response. 

✏ Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs ✏ Characters: Dazai Osamu, Oda Sakunosuke ✏ Word count: 1,317 ✏ Warnings: Self-Harm, Light Gore, Heavily mentions Suicide, Depression triggers, Dead body mentioned.   ✏ Zai.

Pall.

Oda Sakunosuke, the lowest ranking member of Port Mafia, was not having the best of days. Neither was it the worst. Of all the possibilities, it was just a long day without anything good happening. The job was easy and dirty in the best sense of the word. Perhaps he had to wonder around the landfill for a time, however, there was no timer to hurry him. In the end, he found what had to be found. A dead body. The sight was…exhausting. Nothing gruesome, nothing even as violent as Port Mafia. However, the constant reminder that he was, in fact, looking for a dead body was weighting on his mind. Nothing that could be done. There’s no dichotomy to death. And now he also couldn’t tell if the smell was weaved into his clothes. Not extremely repulsive, but he couldn’t tell if it was truly there or merely etched into his perception. Like a nagging memory. Like an exhausting yet persistent thought. Today would end eventually, and the reminders of today’s tasks would cease bothering him. The sky would remain high and blue, unbothered by sorrow or guilt or care, perfectly unreachable and indifferent. The smell would leave his senses, too.

Oda bowed to the man in mute respect. The report he had given about the job done would now climb the ladder — up and up it goes — till it reached the Boss. Nothing he could do there but leave. And perhaps have some curry on the way home. Port Mafia’s quarters was a place of little interest and even less of anything good. And Oda felt the need for something insignificant but good before the day was over. Have some curry, check on the kids, head home. Simple. That was the plan quickly constructed in his head. An acceptable and familiar way to end a day in a life.

Until he saw a boy sneak around in the shadows, past everyone, trying to hide. No, the kid was hidden already. Children in Port Mafia usually were born into this life or orphaned into the life of darkness and corruption. Either way, they were robbed of choice. But if a child was sneaking around headquarters, they must have been gifted and terribly so. He went after the child before a thought formed in his head to justify such actions. Adults hide from others for different reasons and not without malice. Children hide from adults for reasons often more distressing than that. That must have been it. That was how he explained it to no one but himself. Oda Sakunosuke maybe have been the lowest rank in the Mafia, but this was between a child and an adult.

It wasn’t hard, truthfully, too easy even. To follow the boy no one else took interest in. The small dark figure passed by ignored and unbothered. Perhaps it was overconfidence children often possessed regarding their ability to be unnoticeable, or belief that the following party would lose interest very soon. Perhaps this one didn’t care about being followed. But Oda continued to follow. Outside, past the guards, in the shadows or the dying light, all the way to the dumpster the boy settled beside.

It was just a kid sitting on a cold and mucky concrete beside a dumpster. Even from a distance Oda believed to be able to smell it. The thoughts of today’s job was following just as persistently as he was following the kid.

Something glistened in the dying light. An assassin would recognize a bright and steely gleam of a blade. And judging by the height, a child with a blade in his hand couldn’t be older than fifteen. Oda flinched. Hesitation stalled him from acting immediately. It wasn’t a question of stopping the boy or not, but a question of how to do it. The blade-wielding hand stalled for a moment as if the boy, too, was infected by a similar doubt. But it only lasted a moment. Oda stalked towards the child’s figure.

The blade was stained in blood. And ex-assassin shuddered watching the child draw blood, having to fight off the shudder running through his body. The blood wasn’t his, the blade wasn’t aimed at him. And yet, the sight was more gruesome than today’s dead body.

One of the rare instances Oda could thank his background for being able to catch the blade going down to cut the skin. It was a flawless act done in flash. Before a struggle could arise and without any surprising noises. Their eyes met for a moment. The boy’s were wide in surprise but quickly filling with irritation.

A reflex perfected with years kicked in first. Any assassin living this long could smell a knife fight just by the way a man holds one. Oda grabbed the blade knowing that could be used against him in more than just one way. “Shi—” Sakunosuke caught himself being just as startled as the kid as the warm blood touched his fingers. He saw it, he was aware, but the feel of it was staggering. He couldn’t even smell the blood. The bleeding had to be stopped. Seeking an option lasted only a moment as he decided on what could be used to stop the blood from staining the concrete further. The hand he was grabbing was covered in white bandages. There was white cotton on the kid’s head too. Unwrapping them was just a matter of physically overpowering a teen. But the child’s resistance was shallow as if stupefied. It probably was.

“Why are you doing this?” the boy asked. With surprising patience and acceptance, he endured when Oda pulled the white cloth off his head. There was no anger or shock behind the question either, posed with careful and controlled curiosity.

“Because,” the man replied through clenched teeth. He didn’t notice how anger crept all over him. The disregard for human life — one’s own life — was aggravating him. To add to that frustration, he wasn’t very expert in bandaging; it wasn’t often he got injured so seriously. With awkwardness and clumsiness untrained hands could offer, a tight knot was done to keep the bandages in place. Then, Oda properly met the gaze that was watching him all this time. It wasn’t a glace that lasted a second, but a sustained eye-contact. That was why it continued to frustrate him. When the strange fascination vanished from those dark eyes, there was nothing. The absence of remorse or regret. Even pain seemed to be unfelt or ignored. Dark eyes unbothered by regret or care or penitence, absolutely indifferent. The smell of the dumpster was getting worse, it seemed.

The boy tilted his head, boldly meeting the unspoken accusations. “I can do the same tomorrow.”

The man placed his hands on the child’s shoulders to give the young one a good shaking. As if the act itself could steer up some emotions. Unreachable yet that was what Sakunosuke wanted to get out of this lost young man. What childish talk. And this was, after all, just a boy abandoned in the darkness. Unclouded dark eyes were perceiving a world much emptier than the one Oda was seeing. He was given something not many are ever lucky enough to encounter in this corrupt world.

“Tomorrow you can do whatever you want,” Sakunosuke sighed, releasing the kid. When it came to further words, however, Oda himself was lost. Question were useless and meaningless, alienating and repulsive, unkind and even hostile. The words he could have said rang empty and hollow in his head. They would only be more laughable spoken out loud. He wiped the blood off his fingers on his trousers. Raising his head to the darkening sky up above, unreachable and with no cloud in sight.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Oda said. There was no accepting a refusal. “Something sweet, I think. Like ice-cream?”

[thistangledbrain]

I think I’m going to add Day 28 a day early, because I just finished it. This one took me 3 days to write...I had to keep putting it down. I think because meltdowns are our strongest reminders that we are NOT like other people, and that can be hard to accept sometimes, especially when we’re trying so hard to blend in or go along. Also, meltdowns are when we are in a raw, illogical space - which is highly unsavory, to put it mildly. We are vulnerable. Naked. Stuck. Entirely in fight or flight mode - or both. For as baffling and upsetting as you find it to be - trust me, we aren’t having a good time, either.

*takes a deep breath*

Ok, here goes.

Day 28

“Dealing with meltdowns”

Well, this one’s fun. (sarcasm)

I’m glad I got a few days ahead, because this one is hard to think about, so I keep putting it down and then coming back to it. I asked my youngest some questions, but he didn’t want to talk about it, either.

We hate meltdowns. It feels like the whole world is ending/everything is crashing down at once. I don’t CARE if what triggered it was “small” - all the repressed stuff we’ve been trying to squash comes crashing in like the fuckin Kool-Aid Man through a half open door.

But, I’ll start with how you can help.

First and foremost: DO NOT TOUCH!!! NO! BAD NEUROTYPICAL!! NO TOUCH!! (One exception: if we’re trying to blindly bolt from our environment. STOP US.)

I know this is completely counterintuitive to typical human nature, especially with young children. You want to scoop them up and cuddle them and make them feel safe. Sorry, but you just did the opposite of that - you freaked us out even more, and your need to touch and comfort is entirely yours, in that moment. Let us come to you if we want physical comfort - when we do need that, we can be like clingy little monkeys (and if an Autie child clings to you during a meltdown, you *honor* that shit & throw all the loving calm energy you can out there for them - do not say anything or try and talk them out of it - just let them cling to you and cry. Literally - JUST be there). I will say, AFTER the meltdown, we will possibly need some reassurance and kindness, if you can manage it. We will sometimes allow holding when we don’t feel good, with our absolute closest humans, but generally we really want you to just be there but not touch, until we’re ready. Lots of us don’t really want you to leave altogether, at least not for long - even if it seems like we do.

If you want to help, start with keeping your energy (your “vibe”) as calm, gentle, and peaceful as possible. Try not to get frantic or frustrated. If we’re at home or in a familiar space, do things that make our space feel better - drop the blinds/make it dark, place our weighted blanket over us/find our stuffy if we have one, light a candle or burn sage/waft a favorite calming scent, like lavender. If you say anything, use a soft, gentle voice - try not to talk too much...but if you sing, that can be very soothing. Sing very softly - I don’t know why, but soft singing and rocking (if you can stay on key...sorry but it’s grating when the tune is off!) can go a long way towards calming. Things like this can head a total meltdown off or stop it in its tracks, sometimes. Or get us out into an environment that makes us happy (like a nature trail)...but if we’re past a 4 (I’ll explain in a moment), we might not be willing to.

If we’re in a school setting, get us out from under those GOD DAMNED FLUORESCENT LIGHTS...YOU might not pick up on their eye-and-head hurting flicker, but we can. They suck even when we’re in a GOOD mood. See if you can get us into a darker room, or at least one without those &$@!;!! lights. Small things like bright lights, or sounds that usually only cause mild annoyance can become HUGE - for example, my dogs. In my best moments, the sound of them licking themselves will set my teeth on edge - if I’m trying to come out of a meltdown, those sounds - or almost any sounds, really, except white noise stuff - are infuriating. I hate to say that, but 🤷🏻‍♀️ it’s just true. All your sensory shit is dialed to 11 and someone broke the knob off - there is NO “just deal with” whatever, at that point. We aren’t dealing with SHIT right then, so removal to a quiet spot is pretty damn important.

Try to distract or divert us before we’re over a 4 on a 1-10 scale, though, and absolutely before we start looping (the suggestions so far are for when the meltdown is in/almost in full swing - and I’m only speaking for older auties and into adulthood, here, though most of this stuff helps littles, too).

Let me explain “escalation scale” and “looping” - with the help of my husband, who recognizes patterns of escalation as well (in us, and in dogs ☺️). “Looping” is his word. It means no matter what you say, we keep looping back to what’s got us upset/how much we hate ourselves right then/all the bad feelings/past hurts that are piling on to the current problem. You’ll pull us out of it for a second, but then we loop right back to it. Ideally, you want to intervene before we get to the looping, which is about a 7+ on the escalation scale. Once we’re at a 7 and above....we’re consumed by it, and it gets much harder to diffuse. Think of the 1-10 scale like this: 1 is calm, 10 is completely nuclear - above a 7, almost nothing will distract us, almost nothing will divert us except bodily removal from the situation/environment & then leaving us the fuck alone (maybe figuratively but not literally - it depends on your Autie) for a while until we exhaust ourselves one way or another. If you can intervene and remove/distract right around a level 4 - which is right when you start to notice someone is getting quite agitated, you’ve got a good chance of heading the meltdown off at the pass. But if we’re already looping - repeating phrases over and over, looping back to our most upsetting feelings no matter what you say or do, sometimes while rocking or banging, you’re way too late. Now we have to ride it out together...as safely as we can manage. Now you need to make things dark, private, and as calming as you can, if possible. Or just get us the fuck out of the situation that set us off. That helps, too...obviously. I’ll tee up a possible scenario: you’re at an amusement park with your Autie. WHOA stimulation, right? You’re all having a fab time, but suddenly your Autie starts to cry or get angry or otherwise exhibit “I am SUPER OVERWHELMED” energy. 🤷🏻‍♀️ It’s just a lot to process, even when all the things are pretty fun. So, find a quiet place in a park like area to chill. Grab food from a stand - or go back out to your car and sit and eat a packed lunch or have some snacks. Don’t make a big fucking deal about it, either. Just “oh okay, I think now’s a good time for a quiet break”. Keep in mind all autistics are living in a sensory rich environment, and it can get mega overwhelming sometimes. It’s not always bad shit that sets us off.

I’ve mentioned in prior posts how it can feel like someone else is driving the car (controlling the emotions), while we sit in the back seat and scream and hit and try to get them to stop the fucking car and let us out...it’s in these moments that I TOTALLY understand how doctors got autism and schizophrenia mixed up, in years past. At least, that ripping in half is what my youngest son and I feel. YOU’RE frustrated with us right then? BRUH. WE are so fucking pissed and frustrated and upset that we can’t stop the car, too. You’re not helping if we know you are frustrated, either - that’s why I mention keeping your “vibe” as level and gentle and “no biggie” as possible.

I have some tips for head bangers and stuff, that I won’t include in this post but I’m happy to tell you what I’ve done/what can work.

Basically? “Dealing with” meltdowns is just....TRY SHIT. If you’re an Autie trying to manage your own, play around with what helps you calm down. It could be a brisk walk away from anything human, time under your weighted blanket, time in a dark warm shower or tub (idk about you, but in this house - water soothes nearly anything, most of the time), holding your pet, screaming all the cuss words you know into the void lol ....and the same methods might not work all the time (I was “feeling unsubstantiated feelings” the other day, and got into the shower before they overwhelmed me - a usual go to - but this time, the water felt disgusting, being wet just made it all worse. It surprised even me, but you gotta roll with it & try something else). But try as hard as you can to do something that will soothe you. Or find a safe place to let it all out, without hurting yourself. Pro tip, though: do not add alcohol. It not only takes away all the barriers you’ve probably put up to keep from going completely off the deep end, but it also magnifies all the bad feelings. I am, however, a big fan now of smoking a little green. I started trying that about 3 years ago and oh my god where has this been my whole adult life. I can’t take antidepressants or even most anxiety meds...but I can smoke. I use carefully chosen calming and pain relieving indica strains - sativa can sometimes make me feel more anxious. (YMMV)

If you’re the Emotional Support Human™️ of a melting down Autie, the same applies. Just try stuff. Trust me you will know if said Autie finds your efforts upsetting. It’s ok to want to talk to us about it afterwards, in a constructive way. Once we’ve calmed down, we know you’re trying to help. We’re raw and exhausted immediately after a meltdown though (meltdowns usually lead to shutdowns), so give us a little time, maybe. Or maybe not - maybe your Autie will be in a more communicative frame of mind, since it’s fresh. You won’t know unless you ask, maybe like “could we talk about this, or would you like some time to be quiet?” (Again - gentle tone and energy is important.)

Meltdowns are hard for me to write about because these days, they’re super rare, but when they happen, they’re ...well, brutal. Like really, really bad. I had one a few years ago that I think terrified my husband. We were in the car. I was getting so upset (screaming, beating my fists and probably thrashing a little) that he had to stop the car. Luckily we were in the boonies, but...not long after he stopped the car, I attempted to bolt. I felt trapped in between his efforts to soothe and the small confines of the car, and just wanted to bolt. Run. Far away. There was ZERO thought of personal safety at that point. His efforts to contain me were met with violence. I will be ashamed of that for the rest of my life - I don’t even have words for what an amazing human my husband is, and the LAST thing my non-melting-down brain wants, is to hurt him. But all I could think about was doing whatever needed to be done to escape this hell I was in. God. Just writing about it hurts, and I feel fresh shame. I’m telling you all this, so that you understand that *in that moment*, we are a cornered and overwhelmed animal, who wants to just bite bite bite or run away (fight/flight). The things we usually cling to - logic and reason - don’t exist right then. Nothing is logical - which actually adds to our upset.

There may be a time when your Autie feels like this too - and that’s one time where you DO need to intervene even if we don’t like it/hate it/get furious with you for it. If we are trying to hurt ourselves or run, do what you need to to not allow that. I truly believe this is how many young Autie kids get lost - we were upset and we just bolted blindly. We don’t react well to you stopping us....but it’s necessary.

There’s a moment in the Disney movie “Soul”, where 22 becomes a lost soul. Her little bright blue body is engulfed by swirling blackness, and inside that blackness is every bad or negative thing that’s ever been said to her. She starts looping - “I’m not good enough”, “I have no purpose”, over and over and over. This is what a meltdown feels like. In the movie, her mentor quietly hands her a small token reminder that starts to make the blackness melt away - it’s not the token that “society” thinks she should have, it’s a personal one. Shouting at her, blah blahblah talking, trying to reason with her makes her hiss and run away - but *quietly* handing her a tactile object that means something to her, brings her back to the present, and is what breaks the looping.

Here’s the clip of when he breaks through her meltdown. I hope it explains things in a way I’m struggling to. I’ll end with that...if the subtitles distract you, I apologize, I can’t find a “clean clip”.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=nmapZFDUkBk&t=41s

[a-solitary-marshmallow]

Please Don’t See Me - Chapter 5

This chapter is a bit longer than the others, but I didn't want to split it up! It was written in a hurry because I was excited to get it out to y'all, so let me know if I've made any typos or mistakes. As always I adore your comments so feel free to tell me what you think.

______________________________________________________________________

“You should come down to Gravity Falls!”

Ford didn’t quite think about the words before he blurted them. His close (and only) friend from college had mentioned in their weekly phone call that he and his family were thinking about taking a holiday from his would-be small computer business, and Ford had reacted without thought.

He laughed nervously, leaning back against the kitchen counter. Rebus padded through the kitchen with the click-click-click of claws that Ford had become accustomed to over the last month.

Ford cleared his throat. “If you want to, of course. I would love to show you some of the research on anomalies I’ve been doing, and I think Tate and Emma-May would like it here. I have plenty of space in my house.”

“Well sure Stanford, if you don’t mind.” Fiddleford said cheerfully. “I’ve been meanin’ to visit for a while now. Course, I don’t wanna get in the way o’ yer research if you’re busy.”

“Not at all.” From the other room Rebus let out a bark, and Fiddleford squeaked.

“What was that?”

“Oh, just my dog. There are probably some Manotaurs passing by.”

“Ya have a dog? When did that happen?”

“A month or so ago. His name is Rebus.”

Fiddleford huffed out a laugh. “Well, at least ya got yerself some company. That dog sounded mighty fearsome; ya sure he’s safe? I don’t wanna bring Tate around if e’s gonna bite.”

“Oh, Rebus is a sweetheart.” A savage growl issued from the other room. “He’s great with kids. When he accompanies me into town he will often play with the children in the playground.”

Rebus growled again, a growl Ford was reasonably certain was aimed at him for daring to imply that the wolf had a heart. Not that Ford had been lying – the kids in town loved Rebus and he delighted in running around with them while Ford ran errands. He was a veritable gentle giant.

“Tate would love him.” Ford continued, unconcerned with the wannabe threat display. The stubborn wolf reminded him of his brother sometimes, all bark and no bite.

…except when he did bite.

“If yer sure.” There was rustling on the other end of the line. “That sounds like a mighty fine idea, Stanford. I’ll have to check with Emma-May, of course, but I’d love ta see some of these anomalies you’ve told me about. Check that yer not crazy, at least!”

“I assure you, these things are one hundred percent real. You’ll be able to see for yourself.” Ford assured him.

“Does Friday afternoon work fer ya? We figured we’d go on the weekend so Tate doesn’t miss much school.”

“Yes, that’s fine. I’ll prepare the spare room.” Ford said excitedly. “It’s been quite some time since I had company.”

“Ah – Stanford?”

“Yes?”

“Exactly how long has it been since you talked to someone?”

“A few hours.”

“Other than yer dog I mean.”

“Oh, only a week or so.”

There was a pause. “Was that ‘someone’ me?”

“Er…”

“When was the last time you talked to a human being aside from myself?”

Ford laughed nervously. “Ah, it seems the connection is breaking up I’ll call back another time-”

“Stanford-”

“Say hello to Emma-May for me bye!”

He hung up.

 Stan heard the car approach first, the approaching rumble of its engine dragging him from a light doze in that ever-illusive pool of light in the hallway. His ears picked up and he let out the beginnings of a warning growl at the intruders.

That was, until he remembered that they were supposed to have visitors. He yawned and stretched, slightly annoyed at having his nap interrupted but more curious to see who it was that Ford had been expecting. Being the local canine, people didn’t usually run names and stuff by him.

All Stan had been able to tell was that whoever was coming Ford was pretty excited to see them, judging by the way he had hustled and bustled to prepare the spare room. It had been pretty nice, these past few days, to just chill and watch Ford buzz around the place. In those years apart he’d missed Ford’s relentless energy; the way he bounced on his heels when excited, and the little flapping, and the excited gleam in his eyes, the way he could never quite hold still. It was pretty hilarious to watch the nerd get all wound up.

God, Stan hoped it wasn’t a family member. If Pa walked through that door…

Maybe it was that guy Ford was always calling, Fiddlesticks or something? Seemed likely. From what Stan could tell, his brother had a maximum of two friends. And one of them was a wolf.

He padded out to watch Ford open the door for… a small family? The man shook Ford’s hand while the woman chatted and held a small child on her hip.

“It’s great to see you again, Stanford. Thank you for letting us stay in your home.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, I have plenty of space.” Ford assured her.

“And Fiddleford said you had a – oh sweet Mother Mary-”

Stan was used to the usual ‘Oh my god is that a wolf?’ song and dance. He stepped forward and wagged his tail helpfully. Scaring kids and dames was only funny when you were trying to scare them. When you weren’t, it got old pretty quick.

The strange man leaned down and hesitantly offered one hand, and Stan allowed himself to be petted. Show of goodwill, and all that. The guy was short and twiggy and he smelled of engine grease and metal and root beer and straw. Stan decided that he liked the guy. The lady, too. Her suspicious gaze had mellowed out and now Stan could see the smile lines around her eyes. The kid, however, seemed… sticky.

Aaaand the kid had fussed to be placed down and was now trying to touch Stan’s tail. He whisked it out of reach but the sticky brat was laughing and already chasing after it.

Oh, hell no. Kid wanted to get its grubby mitts all over his coat? Think again. Stan darted out of its way and weaved past the adults to try and throw it off. Ford didn’t even try to help, the smug bastard.

Alright kid. You think you got stamina? Let’s see about that.

 The kid.

Would not.

Stop.

Tate, as it turned out his name was, seemed to have boundless energy. The two kept up their game of cat-and-mouse all afternoon until Stan flopped on the porch, panting for breath. Tate squealed and rushed forward to bury his hands in Stan’s thick fur.

You win this round, pipsqueak.

A part of him wanted to place the kid on a high shelf where he couldn’t get in the way, and leave him there. Another part of him… wanted to lick his face and wag his tail. C’mon, mighty hunter and all that! Stan was supposed to have more dignity than like… a Labrador or whatever.

His traitor tail wagged anyway.

Ford and the dame, Emma-May or something, stepped outside to join them, Ford glancing over his shoulder and biting his lip as he went. Stan wondered idly where his nerd friend was.

“Oh, don’t worry, Fiddles hardly ever electrocutes himself!” Emma-May said cheerfully. “He’ll be done with his tinkering in no time.”

“…I was worried for my toaster.”

Emma-May flapped her hand. “Oh, it’ll be fine. I think he said something about making it like ours.”

“How has Fiddleford improved your toaster?”

“I dunno, but it has a lot of blinky lights and sometimes it smells like burning sugar!”

“…I feel like you’re trying to be reassuring?”

Stan should probably be on the lookout for smoke. He scented the air and got a whiff of something like burning plastic from inside…

…and curdled wrongness.

He wrinkled his nose. The air smelled weird and it was vaguely familiar, like he’d smelled it before, but never this strongly. There was something oily and metallic and… squirrelly?

Stan shook Tate’s clingy hands from his coat and stood to scan the house yard. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. But it just didn’t smell right.

The faintest scrape of claws on wood made him snap around. There – clinging to a house support and evidently trying to climb up to the roof was what might have once been a squirrel. Emphasis on once. Its front limbs were bulkier than the back ones with claws like tiny steak knives buried into the wood grain. Its fur hung off in patches and it was big – more raccoon-sized than squirrel-sized. The extra weight seemed to be giving it grief because it was struggling to make headway.

Fat bastard, Stan thought petulantly.

“Err – Stanford?” Emma-May piped up. “What on god’s good earth is that?”

Stan glanced across to follow her pointing finger. Apparently he wasn’t the only one to notice the thing.

Ford squinted and stepped closer to the rodent, which started hissing around overgrown teeth like a stepped-on snake with a lisp. “It… it appears to be another mutated creature. I’ve been finding them around the place since I got here. My hypothesis is that they’ve been somehow affected by the size-changing crystals in the forest.”

“The what-nows?”

Ford’s eyes brightened. “Oh, in the forest there are natural crystal formations that, when light is shined through them, have the ability to change an object or organism’s shape. The majority of the mutant sightings have been around that area. I’ve been meaning to investigate but a freak blizzard recently ruined my plans. Now, if I can just capture this specimen here…”

“Throw a blanket over it?” Emma-May suggested.

“Perhaps. I have a number of size-appropriate cages in my shed, would you mind keeping watch over the creature while I retrieve one?”

“Sure thing.”

Ford went to walk past but the movement seemed to startle the squirrel, which launched itself wildly into the air and latched onto Ford’s sleeve, scurrying up his arm. He yelped and flailed. Fortunately Emma-May smacked it and sent it flying. Unfortunately it skidded across the ground and took off towards where Tate was playing in the grass.

Fortunately, that was also where Stan was.

He lunged forward and snapped up the rodent in one bite before it could get close to the kid. Its tiny body gave out with a single, pathetic crunch. Weird-tasting blood exploded in his mouth.

Ford coughed. “Well.”

Stan spat out the creature, wrinkling his nose. The thing tasted – wrong. Like its blood was tainted with seawater and oil slick with an added hint of burning rubber. He spluttered and swiped at his tongue to try and get rid of the rancid flavour.

Ugh, were squirrels so corrupted by the weight of their sins that it seeped into their blood?

“Is it dead?” Ford asked curiously. Emma-May walked over to scoop up her child and prod the body with her shoe.

“Depends. Can these mutant things live with a snapped spine?”

“Dead, then. Still! It’s a specimen to study. I’ll get – oh, I suppose I won’t be needing that cage anymore.”

 Nothing blew up that weekend. Stan took that as a win.

The McGuckets were… a different sort of folk than he was used to. They smiled so easily. Those two dopes of parents looked at their kid like he was the moon and the sun and everything in between, like they wouldn’t kick him out onto the streets no matter what dumb mistakes he made. Damn. Imagine that.

The Sunday night before they were set to leave Emma-May retired to bed early and Fiddleford and Ford settled onto the couch to talk, with cans of beer in hand and Tate playing happily with his Legos. Stan dropped onto the carpet to keep a watchful eye on the little brat. The fire crackled softly and cast a warm light across the room, its heat pressing against his fur.

A month or so ago he would never have let himself relax like this. He would be watching the window, ears pricked for any sign of…

Huh. He couldn’t remember the name of the man chasing him. When he thought hard there was a flash of scarred hands and packets of white powder and the taste of blood in his mouth. That’s right, the guy Stan had used to run drugs for a few years back, the guy who was now after him. Why couldn’t Stan remember his name?

Ford and Fiddleford’s murmuring rose slightly above the crackle of the fire and the clinking of Legos.

“-ya mean Shermie?”

“No, my… other brother. My twin, Stanley.” Ford said quietly.

It took Stan a moment to remember that that was his name. He rested his chin on his paws and tuned into the conversation.

“Ford, ya never told me ya had a twin.”

“No, I probably didn’t. You see, Stanley and I parted on… unpleasant terms. I haven’t seen him in almost a decade.”

“A decade?” Fiddleford squawked. “Why in the blazes not?”

“It’s complicated. Fiddleford, do you remember when I told you how I was rejected from West Coast Tech?”

“When you were drunk outta yer mind and I had to drag ya back to our dorm? Yes, I do recall.” Fiddleford said dryly.

“Yes, well. It was Stanley who sabotaged my project. He insisted it was an accident, but…” Ford sighed.

“Why do you bring him up?” Fiddleford tipped his head. Ford sighed and pulled off his glasses to polish them on his sleeve.

“I was hoping to get your advice, actually. Recently he’s been coming to mind more and more. I thought that, perhaps, he might have grown up over the last decade, and it might be worth getting in contact and seeing how he’s doing. Do… do you think people can change that much?”

Change. Had Stan changed much? Except for the whole werewolf thing…

It was like trying to think through sludge. Stan hardly remembered what it was like to be human. Or… human-shaped. Jeez, how long had he been Shifted for? Time was slipping away from him in this little bubble of happiness. Stan had never been in wolf form for this long before.

A chill shivered through him. The nerds’ talking continued but it was background noise to the humming of his thoughts. He stood and padded into the hallway, ignoring Tate’s whine. Stan shouldered through the (thankfully unlocked) front door and trotted outside.

He glanced around warily before slipping into the trees. Once a quick scan showed that he was alone, he Shifted.

Or… tried to.

The change that had once been liquid and effortless now felt like trying to shove a square peg through a circular hole. His skin prickled. Stan shook himself and tried again with a small growl.

The Shift swept across him with the popping of joints and the crackle of cartilage; creaky, like a neglected machine that had acquired rust from years of disuse. Stan gritted his newly-flat teeth and waited for the agonizingly slow Shift to pass.

He ended up crouched on the damp earth, breathing hard and squinting through suddenly blurry vision at the dark, hazy world around him. His skin felt itchy and it pinched in all the wrong places, like a suit that didn’t quite fit.

Well, shit. Note to self: don’t stay in wolf form for weeks at a time.

Stan flexed his hands, trying to reacquaint himself with having fingers and opposable thumbs. Being human. Or human-shaped, at least.

Because he was still a person. No matter what he looked like he wasn’t just some – some pet. He had a life to get back to.

Except… he didn’t. Not really.

Stan chewed over that piece of information for moment. Before he could really think about it a voice called his name. With a final stretch he slipped back into an awkward Shift, easier than before, and trotted after his brother’s voice.

[laserdog10]

Loneliness

”It’s not so bad not being in a league that suits me.”

It was a personal mantra that she told herself every day, even if it did kind of hurt. Citrus was born as both a Rose and an Arc, two powerful family bloodlines that were well renowned on Remnant by now, thanks to the defeat of Salem. However, Citrus’ elder siblings Garnet and Blossom, have been shown to be marginally stronger and almost gifted...or actually gifted. Garnet had inherited a portion of Ruby’s Spring Maiden magic on top of Jaune’s hefty Aura with the addition of a strong Semblance, while Blossom was a Silver Eyed Warrior, the greatest of all destined to slay Grimm and be the heroes of humanity. While Citrus was...just normal.

Yep, no insane powers, no off-the-wall weapon that has multiple transformations, no fancy Semblance (other than the ability to talk to animals), she was a normal girl who wanted to be a Huntress, like everyone her generation. However she felt an odd lonesome feeling inside her, when her brother and sister went off to Signal for the first time, Citrus was alone at home with her aunt Yang, grandpa Qrow, uncle Tai, and aunt Raven. If that wasn’t enough her Semblance let her speak to the family dog Zwei and the five wolves Ruby adopted, Drei, Vier, Funf, Sechs, and Null. And yet...she still had this emptiness in her heart. Well unlucky for her it was about to intensify that feeling tenfold as she was about to head to Signal tomorrow, the day after her siblings and cousin graduate. Right now it was well into the evening, the sun setting on the horizon, rays of light beaming down on the Rose-Arc & Xiao Long-Branwen residence, Citrus leaning against the railing, teetering her weighted collapsible scythe, Soulful Reave, back and forth, her emerald green eyes staring off into space, tangerine curled hair catching the wind.

Jaune: Someone’s a little broody.

Citrus: Hmm?! Oh, hi dad!

Jaune: Is Qrow’s mysterious edginess rubbing off on you or am I just reading too much into this?

Citrus: Pffft, nooo dad, I’m fine, thank you. Just...thinking, deep contemplation about the future.....

Jaune: Excited you’re going to Signal tomorrow?

Citrus: Heheheee, not really...?

Jaune: Why not?

Citrus: *stops teetering her scythe* Dad, do you think I’m...special?

Jaune: The “daddy loves his special girl” kind of special or...

Citrus: The special that’s meant for amazing things, I don’t feel like I am.

Jaune: Woah woah woah, what brought this on?!

Citrus: Nothing, I’m...*sigh* Dad, compared to Garnet and Blossom, I’m so bland! I have nothing truly remarkable about m-* her shoulders are held as she faces her father*

Jaune: Citrus, tell me what’s going on, is everything okay?

Citrus: I don’t think so...have you ever had the feeling of overwhelming loneliness and that you’re far behind people close to you?

Jaune: More than you could fathom, sweetheart. But that was a long time ago, and with a little bit of time, and the love from those people around me, it eventually went away. Why, is it the fact that your brother and sister are way ahead of you getting to you?

Citrus: *tears form in her eyes* Y-yeah, a lot...

Jaune: Oh, sweety. *he brings his small daughter into a huge hug* Believe me when I say that feeling is completely normal, your mother and I had this lonely, by-our-selves spell when we first went to Beacon.

Citrus: I just feel so out of place. I hear about all these kids who were raised by amazing Huntsmen, their amazing transforming weapons, and their powerful Semblances, then there’s me. Swinging around a simple scythe and talking to animals, no Maiden or S.E.W. powers...

Jaune: Citrus, look at me. *his gaze is met by the distraught, teary-eyed face of his daughter* All these feelings, all these issues you’re feeling right now are completely normal for a thirteen year old to experience! Think it like, you’re still going through your “character arc,” which always starts just as you turn thirteen. You’ll get to that important “climax” of your story some day.

Citrus: *sniff* R-really...?

Jaune: I know so. Now let’s go inside, dinner’s almost ready!

Citrus: I’ll head in a second, gotta go put Soulful Reave back in in the shed.

Such an action to her weapon would make her brother, proverbially, lose his mind, but she took good care of her scythe, occasionally but primarily leaving it in the room she shared with her siblings, like they do with their weapons. Tomorrow would be the first step into this “character arc” of hers, and she would tackle it however she could!

-The next day-

Strolling down the halls of Signal wasn’t so bad, she was old enough to be by herself while her parents weren’t too far off. Ruby had gone with the many other parents of new students to a little meeting, confirming their classes and whatnot, meanwhile Citrus wandered around Signal, her orange cloak flowing as she strolled along, seeing big metal lockers to hold plenty of supplies, classrooms, a library, and the cafeteria. What she didn’t expect to come across was a large crowd of kids clamoring around a board with a myriad of papers on it. Among this crowd the youngest Rose-Arc saw the red-patched blonde hair of her sister.

Citrus: Blossom? *she called over the talkative graduates*

Blossom: Hey baby sis! You here on your intro tour? *the blonde side-stepped through the moderate sea of teens, a few of which turned heads to the younger teen*

Citrus: Yep, mom just went with the other parents to that meeting! What are you doing over here with everyone?

Blossom: Seeing who got their academic success title.

Citrus: You’re what?

“An awesome title for how well you did in your classes!” chimed a female student.

Citrus: Oh, cool!

Blossom: Wanna guess what I got?

Citrus: I...don’t know what they are.

Blossom: Oh, well come look.

Taking a closer look at the board, Citrus saw this hefty list of names that made her head spin. So many names, numbers, scores, classes.

Citrus: This makes my brain hurt...

Blossom: Same here, and could you help me find my name, I’ve been helping everyone here find their’s for a while n-

Citrus: You got Salutatorian, Garnet got Valedictorian, and Lea’s below both of you!

Blossom: I’M WHAT?!

The students: THEY’RE WHAT!?

“I’m what now???” came a familiar voice behind the girls and the crowd. They turned to find Garnet himself, in the midst of eating a roll of cookie dough from the cafeteria. Without thinking the students swarmed him, barging questions left and right; “How are you so smart,” or “Please teach me your ways,” and “You’re amazing Garnet!”

Garnet: Woah, slow down guys, I’m not that great honest! I just studied and practiced like anyone else would.

“But you got Valedictorian, dude!!!” exclaimed a male student with very punk-rock hair.

“That’s an achievement in and off itself!” cheered a preppy looking girl.

“You’re a freaking prodigy, bro!!!!” cried a sporty, muscular lad.

Garnet: Alright, listen up everyone, I’m gonna give you some life advice you all need to hear. Trying to be like me is impossible, and I wouldn’t go as far as to say I’m a prodigy. Yes I have powers of a Maiden inherited from my mother, yes I have a massive amount of Aura and strong Semblance to boot, yes I also have multiple weapons and am highly skilled in using all of them. However that doesn’t place me above the rest of you, nor should it make you all downplay yourselves! You all have your strengths and weaknesses, but you shouldn’t strive to become like me, because I’m not perfect. Imitation is the cheapest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay in greatness. Don’t strive to be me, strive be a better you, because their can only be one of us in the world! And if you do find someone like you later in life...*claps hands* Then I got nothing. *awkwardly smiles*

His audience applauded, but mostly laughed at the perplexing finish to his speech. His sisters had their own reactions, Blossom shaking her head and smiling in a way that conveyed a “The fact I’m related to you is astonishing” feel, Citrus on the other hand was captivated. “Strive to be a better you,” this phrase alone struck many chords in her, to the point that the lonely feeling of hers dissipated somewhat...

“Ohhh yawn-a-fuckin’-rama! That was the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard, One Armed Arc!”

The students instinctively winced at the sound of the boastful and snarky voice. Collectively looking to the source, a tall girl with long burnt-orange hair and indigo eyes, clad in gray armor with a gold trim, a jet black waist cloth on the tool belt around her. Strapped to her back in a sheath was a morning star mace, the signature and feared weapon wielded by Signal Academy’s tyrant.

Blossom: Carly Winchester...

Citrus: ...

Garnet: And why are you here?

Carly: No reason, except I just heard a one-armed loser spouting some bullshit and being humble. Face it, you could be running this school! And yet you choose to be weak, lumping yourselves with these peons who could get their asses reamed by you.

Blossom: Garnet isn’t weak!

Carly: Aww look, little Ms. Self-loathing wants to act all big and tough! Why don’t you can it and go cry on the roof like you always do.

Citrus: *grits teeth and clenches her fists*

Garnet: What I do doesn’t make me weak Carly, I-

Carly: OH FUCKING SPARE ME! Hearing your high and mighty “holier-than-thou” bullshit makes me sick, you have the powers of a damn GOD and look where you are!

Citrus: ...hat’s it to y... *mumbles*

Carly: Hmm what’s that Shorty, got some shit to say? If you don’t then butt the fuck out, the adults are tal-

Citrus: WHAT’S IT TO YOU!? All you ever do is hurt and scare people, that’s not power, that’s being a jerk!

Carly: You-!

Citrus, standing in front of Carly now: My big brother is more of a Hunter and leader than you could ever hope to be! All you are is a bully, a coward, and an absolute BITCH!!!

Everyone present gasped, Garnet and Blossom were shocked into silence. Calling Carly a bitch was something else entirely, but hearing it from Citrus, someone who had never sworn in her life?! Surely they must’ve been dreaming, right??? Obviously they weren’t, for Carly had looked around incredulous, thinking she had heard the orangenette right.

Carly: The fuck did you just say to me you little shit...?!

Citrus: You heard me, you’re nothing but a BI-!

Carly: SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!

The warrior girl screamed in tandem with swinging her mace directly down onto the smaller girl. The motion happened at such a speed, all that was seen was a shiny, gray blur kicking up dust and debris when it landed.

Garnet/Blossom: CITRUS!!!

The youngest Rose-Arc braced for the impact beforehand...but it never came. Instead when she opened her eyes, she was in a dust cloud, embraced by her cousin, Lea Xiao Long-Schnee, her giant gauntlets blocking the crushing blow.

Lea: Might I ask why the hell you are attacking my cousin, Carly? *she said in a low tone, pushing the warrior girl back a good few feet*

Carly: Mind telling me why your brat isn’t on her child leash?!

Lea: *eyes turning lilac, blue fire adorning her hair* I think Citrus is going to be the least of your worries right now...

Citrus stepped back, knowing full well what was coming next. Garnet walked past her but not before looking at his baby sister.

Garnet: Might wanna go get mom and the principal, this courtyards about to become a war zone. *he winked*

Carly targeted him first, her mace colliding with the boy’s head and sending him staggering. He regained his footing, readying his own gauntlets as Lea pounced on Carly, throwing her into one of the support columns in the courtyard, Garnet running up and landing jab after jab upon Carly. Blossom held Citrus’ hand as they ran off to find their mother before the situation got worse, as they ran they heard the unmistakable sound of the Maiden powers flaring from their brother and cousin.

Blossom: We’ll leave it to them to kick Carly’s butt.

Citrus: ...

Blossom: You okay?

Citrus: Yeah yeah, just thinking.

Blossom: You narrowly avoiding getting brained by an amazon brute???

Citrus: Well...besides that, but what Garnet said earlier.

Blossom: Oh that.

Citrus: It stuck with me, and...and I think it should solve all my problems.

Blossom: ...if you say so!

Seems her father was right, today was when her character arc would begin, and now she would walk through it with her head held high!