#as an adult bc you’ve never been allowed to speak up for your needs so at some point you just become so disconnected from your needs

[glittertimes]

The metaphor of hospitality and anticipating people’s needs in the bear season 2 while Carmy is also not anticipating Syd’s needs, or the restaurant’s needs, or Claire’s needs is such a interesting juxtaposition!

[virgincels]

tw - sa mention, noncon mention, dark content discussed briefly but not explicitly

hi okay sorry for the unfathomable amount of bullshit clogging the tags the past few days. i keep seeing it labelled as gilfhub drama which is pissing me off as i haven’t said anything at all, i’ve stayed quiet throughout unless you follow me and read my posts. while i haven’t outwardly inserted myself into the situation im the one being witch hunted ig, i’m making one last statement which sounds way too serious for this corny and unserious situation.

anyway, i'm mostly making this for my own benefit, because i would feel more at peace after posting this lmfao. first of all, I’m being called a pedophile which is a fucking insanely serious claim to make with no concrete evidence! i’ve never written underage characters. if you’ve mistaken my ddlg content as pedophillia i beg you to get your brain checked! your skull must be so thick it couldn’t be caved in with a baseball bat. other than that i mainly write about LEGAL age gaps bc I am 19 and leon is fucking 47 as of now he is the creep actually.

i’m being called a rapist and a paedophile and all sorts of shit. im a victim of sa, it’s happened both at the hands of someone i trusted and at the hands of those i didn’t know well. some of my writing is to cope with this, none of my fics have ever romanticised rape and made it seem like something flowery and cute and fun? i don’t know who pulled that out of their ass but my fics that involve this sort of content are usually about toxic codependent relationships, it’s quite literally about trauma bonding.

this moves me onto my next point - people say this content belongs on ao3 and ao3 only. i don’t know if you’re 11 and new to the internet, to re fandom in fact, as dead dove has been a consistent theme within re fics since forever. since i was a kid i saw fics like that and even as a fucking 10 year old i managed to scroll and mind my business. tumblr has always had dead dove, when it rebranded and the guidelines changed they messed up their tagging system. this means that even if you tag tw incest it’ll remove your fic from the TAGS not from tumblr itself but from the tags as a whole. however, if you tag tw noncon your fic will stay up, it’s glitchy and dumb and shouldn’t be seen as a reliable source on why dead dove isn’t allowed on tumblr. that’s never been the case ever.

people who write dead dove don’t have to be victims and they don’t have to be mentally ill, they are also normal people with jobs who pay taxes and have normal fucking lives. because it’s simply fiction. people who read/watch american psycho are not murderers or rapists. people who watch any form slasher horror are not murderers. people who enjoy resident fucking evil and like wesker don’t fucking believe in eugenics. i could go on and on and on and on about so many different examples in extremely popular franchises.

as aforementioned, tumblr’s tagging system fucking sucks, so to combat this i give a warning even AFTER i explicitly tag my fics correctly that says ‘tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.’ for some reason I didn’t specify remove from the TAGS not from TUMBLR because tumblr doesn’t care 😭 that was totally my mistake for not checking if that disclaimer made sense but i guess i hoped the following sentence (‘as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags’) made it clear that i was simply speaking about tags. not tumblr removing my content.

if you are genuinely adults on this app, you should know that on the internet sometimes you will see things you don’t like! because it’s the internet and everyone is on here with their own opinions and their own tastes. it is YOUR responsibility to cater to your own needs by blocking content you don’t enjoy. so what another dark content blog pops up? as soon as you see a content warning you don’t like, BLOCK THE AUTHOR? or ignore it! scrolling is very simple. it’s insanely easy to mind your fucking business.

i'm kind of tired of the endless harassment both in the tags and in my inbox! if you are genuinely doing this in the name of victims and in their best interest just know you’re harming other victims in the process 😭 i am not easily triggered but the shit in my inbox is really gross and i got called a racial slur like… is fictional content that’s easy to block so deep to the point where you have to stoop that low? everyone copes how they cope, it’s not wrong and it never will be, psychologists recommend dark content as an outlet, you can literally google this. therapy is not a fix, it can’t fix mental illness. sometimes it doesn’t help. in my case counselling made everything worse. the ‘get help, get therapy’ comment comes from a place of privilege, not all of us have the money, the support system it takes to get therapy. some of us have had experiences where therapists discriminate against us. in my case that has happened, im a woc in britain they don’t care about us not about our psychical or mental health LMFAO.

im sure im missing a lot of what i originally wanted to say here, but overall i honestly wanted to clear my name of the pedo allegations lmfao because i’ve never written anything like that about underage characters or readers. anyway if any of you have a brain you can block dark content creators in a few easy steps! sorry again for yapping in such a formless, inarticulate way but i'm kind of exhausted by all the stupidity 😭

overall, dark content creators shouldn’t be allocated a little hovel in the corner of the internet in which they should privately discuss matters. we’re allowed to post it freely because CONTENT WARNINGS EXIST. dead dove will always be a thing and always has been. just because i post my content doesn’t mean it’s open for harassment and death threats and rape threats or anything? you can be an adult and get on with your day! and if you really need an outlet go talk to friends with the same opinions as you! i see ooc leon fluff all the time everyday and i don’t give a shit, i move on because leon isn’t real.

i pride myself on characterisation and if you have so obsessively read my fics to point out and circle random words in red that don’t correlate like we’re in a fucking crime show, then you would know that half the time i actually flesh out his character, i hate posting smut alone. i simply like exploring topics that are dark both to cope with my own problems and because i think they’re interesting to write about. however, as soon as something is mildly dark and sexual you guys cry mischaracterisation. leon also isn’t lighting candles and throwing rose petals but I don’t fucking judge what people write because if I don’t like I don’t read!

i promise, posting screenshots of my fics untagged with no warning is more harmful as you’re showing it to people who didn’t ask to fucking see it. i promise that harassing me will do nothing for you, you’re literally just sending vile shit to a real person who has struggled with the things she writes about LMFAO sorry again for yapping. i genuinely want to move on and post my regular shit but this has consumed the entire leon tag and i feel like im partly responsible. if you did get through this thank you! it’s mainly just ramblings and not read over so excuse me once again

[xiaq]

Hi, I have a question re:sex and Christianity. Small background: I still go to church, and I still live with my parents even though I'm not much younger than you, because housing is very very expensive where I live (pretty common here, I would say about 2/3 of my friends live with their parents and we are decently privileged kids)

Anyway. How does one get over purity culture? To be clear, I've never been told in church not to have sex, I've never gotten the gendered lessons that you got. But I am terrified of having sex. My first real, multi-year relationship just ended and while there was hand stuff etc, there was never any p in v sex (lol I feel 12). But I still had insane anxiety about being pregnant despite being on bc. And I think its because I know my parents would be so disappointed if I had sex. And if I was pregnant I could imagine all the gossip. And honestly I think im from a pretty open church, b/c one of our previous ministers kids recently got married at 8 months pregnant and lots of church people were at the wedding and supportive and her parents were there and everything.

I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???

(Asking because it seems like you've been pretty open about purity culture/removing yourself from it)

CW for sex talk (again)

How does one get over purity culture?

Oh man. That really is the million-dollar question, huh? Obviously, I can only answer re my personal experiences, and this is something you should talk to a therapist about, but I can tell you how I’ve tackled it with my therapist at least.

Purity culture is, at its core, an ideology that is perpetuated by shame. If you’re indoctrinated into purity culture when you’re a kid, the concepts become baked into the way you construct your identity, your perception of self, and your perception of your sexuality. It’s practically intrinsic, by the time you’re an adult, to feel shame any time you’re reminded you have a body, much less a sexuality.

According to the chapels I sat through every week as a kid, a girl's body could be 3 things: an intentional stumbling block for men, an accidental stumbling block for men, or unnoticeable. Women were to strive for the third option so as to keep their (and their male friends/authority figures) purity intact. After all, if a boy, or even your male teacher, had impure thoughts about you, it was your fault for tempting them (which, holy shit. I still can’t believe that was a thing I bought into for so long. If my 45 yr old grown-ass teacher had impure thoughts because he could see my 12 yr old collarbone, that sure as hell wasn’t my fault. But I digress.) The Only time a woman’s body can be something else, is when she gives it to her husband, at which point she must suddenly flip the switch in her brain that she is now allowed to be a Sexual Being and she must perform Sexual Duties despite living in outright fear of her own body and sexuality for years (decades?) up until this point. Jesus take the wheel.

Purity culture isn’t a thing you can just decide to walk away from if you’ve grown up in it. Because its ideology is insidious and internalized. So first you need to submit to the fact that you’re going to be fucked up about sex. It sounds like you’re there. Second, you need to interrogate what you believe. If you’re leaving religion behind entirely, you’ll approach removing yourself from purity culture differently than if you still identify as a Christian. It sounds like you might be the latter, which meant, for me, separating what’s actually biblical and what’s shitty, contrived, doctrine that I was told is biblical but is actually more political than spiritual. This helps you address the shame issue.

You need to throw away I Kissed Dating Goodbye and Lady in Waiting and all those ridiculous books you read and reread in the hopes of somehow obtaining impossible marriage perfection and look into actual scripture interpreted within its historical context. I could write a book on this, but the TL;DR is that the text of the Bible was written, translated, curated, and changed multiple times over thousands of years by human beings with human biases and, often, personal and/or political agendas. It contradicts itself! Reading it as it is—a flawed historical document—rather than some sort of God-breathed perfect document—is incredibly freeing. When you do, you’ll probably realize that purity culture is bullshit on a spiritual level. Which is a good start, if that matters to you. Because any time you start to feel shame or guilt you can ask yourself: does God actually care if I wear a bikini or touch a dick I’m not married to? Probably not. Wear the bikini. Touch the dick.

The most important therapy session for me was when my therapist asked what I would do if I got to heaven and God was actually the God I’d been raised to fear. What would I do if he condemned me for being bisexual and having premarital sex and becoming educated, for arguing with men, and failing to isolate while menstruating, and wearing mixed fabrics? If Montero had come out at the point, I probably would have said I’d pole dance down to hell. Instead, I said I would spit on heaven’s gates. If a god that cruel and that pointlessly demeaning really exists—a god who would create in me condemned desire—I won't worship him. The good news is, I’m 99% sure he doesn’t exist. At the very least, he isn’t supported by scripture.

Okay. The final thing you need to do is figure out what you actually want, sexually speaking. This bit is probably the hardest. I’m still in the early stages of this myself. You say: “I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???” Bro, I wish I had an easy answer for you. For me, whenever I’m feeling anxious about Sex Things, I tell myself: 1. My God does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 2. My partner does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 3. I do not equate my worth to my sexual habits. It seems silly, but reminding myself of those three things is massively helpful. If, after I’ve sorted through those, I’m still anxious or uncomfortable, I stop doing the thing. I evaluate. Am I overwhelmed and I need to try again some other time? Do I just not like the thing? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Sometimes you change your mind. Sometimes you just don’t know. That’s why having a partner who you trust and who’s willing to patiently explore your interests (and respect your disinterests) is so important. Half the battle, for me, was having a partner who told me they’d be ok with no sex at all. Because that took the pressure off me. If the bare minimum they need is nothing, then anything more than that is a bonus! Hooray! This is maybe TMI, but let me tell you. I thought I was asexual* right up until I was able to have moderately non-anxious sex. Never in my life did I think I would initiate a sexual situation but… I do now. It’s a fun thing to do with a person I love and, holy shit. I am furious that I nearly missed out on it.

Finally, re birth control: I don’t know how you can approach that fear in a way that works for you. If you don’t want to ever have penetrative sex, that’s fine! If that’s a point of anxiety you can’t get rid of, then don't push yourself to do it. If you find out you like other sex things, do the other sex things! If you don't like doing any sex things, don't do any sex things! Also, have you considered sleeping with people who can’t get you pregnant? Always an option if it’s an option you want to consider. ;)

Okay. I hope this was even a little bit helpful. Sorry if it’s a little convoluted, I typed it up in bursts during my work breaks.

*This is not at all to say that asexuality can be “fixed." Rather, it’s to say that things like purity culture can drastically confuse your sexuality in general. If you’re asexual, then this process is still important to discover what you like/dislike. Then you can be explicit about those necesities and find a partner who’s a good fit (if you want a partner at all, that is).

[crispyjenkins]

I dare you to write an Ani5 fix-it fic. I will not be taking criticism and will die on the hill that this is the most powerful ship and could’ve saved the entire clone wars. Bonus points if it features the ship Mace Windu/headaches (bc anakin is a walking mess of shatterpoints and lives to annoy Mace). Codywan to help knock some sense into anakin would also be top tier. I LOVE YOU ZEPH’BUIR

(of course i can’t do a whole fix-it in a quick prompt answer, but i think i’ve set it up for a far happier ending than in canon! support communication and education in relationships (ღ˘⌣˘ღ) and also adhd clones.

fives might be the most i’ve ever struggled with a character (‘cept maybe ahsoka....) so it took a little while to figure out how to write this scene in a way i liked. also, had to go and watch fives clips to try and get my autism brain working, and BOY HOWDY do i actually hate dbb’s take on the clones, especially the accent but everything else too. their character designs make me want to cry. so i’m begging, for me, to imagine this fives like this especially because then we get Tol Anakin and a Smol Clone BF and i think that is a seriously underutilised dynamic.

thank you for the prompt, ad, and for cursing me with this ship in the first place. someday i’ll get around to actually writing them as the battle husbands they are 🧡)

Alt+R to quick reblog on desktop, Hold the reblog symbol to quick reblog on mobile

  Echo's always been good with programming, but Fives is better with the actual building. He's not any good with inventing, maybe, but putting things together? Opening them up and knowing immediately what's wrong? Fives would even say he enjoys it — and being able to talk shop with Skywalker like they're nobody mechanics from the Outer Rim instead of General and Soldier makes the long hyperjumps between missions actually bearable. 

  How that led to him sitting in a rarely used hallway on the Resolute with Skywalker ("Anakin," he keeps insisting with a smile), both leant over a mouse droid in pieces on a drop cloth, Fives isn't really sure. It probably had something to do with Skywalker's excited bounce when he'd come to ask if Fives wanted to help him, the sparkle in his eye reminding Fives just how young the both of them are. How, technically, he's older than Anakin.

  Because, yeah, he is Anakin, not Skywalker, when they're like this. With his growing knight cut a curly untamed cloud around his ears, grease smeared on the underside of his jaw, with Fives stripped down to his blacks from the waist up, with even his blasters set on the floor next to them. 

  With it quickly becoming clear that Anakin doesn't actually need help to rewire the mouse droid, but had asked for Fives to join him anyways.

  They've been at it for a few hours now, their jokes winding down to companionable quiet as they both work on separate parts of the droid. It honestly might have been easier to start from a scrap droid than try to rewire this one correctly, but it's easy work Fives could do blindfolded, and sharing the mutually-focused silence is actually quite nice.

  Anakin is elbow-deep in the outer casing when he finally asks, "Do the clones feel love?"

  And Fives almost gets up and walks away. He knows not every battalion ended up with a good Jedi, that the 212th and the 501st had been so kriffing lucky to end up with "The Team", but sometimes he forgets. Maybe that's the worst part of it: slow, personal moments like this, Fives forgets he's not natborn and bearer of a face shared with millions. Being around his general makes him forget, and maybe he had taken that for granted until now.

  Or maybe it's for that reason that he hesitates from storming off, because Anakin had been the one to name Alpha, to insist on giving them proper leave, to defend them from anyone who talks down at them even if they're a planetary leader. And Rex had said something, once, about Anakin’s brain working in either/ors, being hardwired in some way to only see in black and white and believing that if you're one thing, you can't be another. That what Anakin says isn't always what he means.

  So instead, he asks, "What kind of love are we talkin'?"

  Anakin refuses to raise his head, and Fives can almost see him stressing about how to phrase this.  "Y'know, grand romance and stuff. One-and-onlys and holodrama romcom propaganda and imagining growing old together."

  "'Not quite sure what you're asking, sir." He takes a deep breath. "The short answer is yes, we can and do feel that, but the long answer is I can't speak for every brother, and I would not want to. Some of us don't feel that." Shrugging, he passes Anakin a socket wrench before he can ask for it. "But it's not because we can't, not because of the longnecks. We're bred to be obedient, sir, not emotionless."

  Quiet settles over them again while Anakin processes this, his mouth twisted rather horribly. Fives starts to think he would do a whole awful lot to turn that frown back into a haughty smile. 

  "What do you really want to ask, General?"

  "I'm married to Senator Amidala."

  Now, everyone with eyes knows that. Maybe Torrent knows even better, when they've been covering for their general for over a year now, and clearly the Jedi just aren't doing anything about it — but Fives also knows Anakin has never actually told anyone about this, not even General Kenobi. Rex says Anakin still thinks they've been discreet.

  "If I may be blunt, sir, this is not news."

  And Anakin actually laughs at that, shaking his head as he tosses down his tools to stare at the opposite wall instead. Fives watches his gaze go distant, somewhere far away from the Resolute lost in the middle of space. “I’ve loved her since I was nine years old, Fives. I loved her through not seeing her for a decade, through her assassination attempts and the First Battle of Geonosis and becoming a knight, and I...”

  Fives sighs once. “No one said you had to stay in love, sir.”

  “But that’s just it,” he groans. “I’ve never known how to do anything else, how to be anything else. I don’t... know who I am without it.”

  He has to look away from Anakin, then, because he’s seen brothers go stupid for people they meet on campaigns, or for their Jedi, and Fives isn’t nearly as young as some of the shinies out there, but he knows what it looks like, when they leap in without thinking. He lets out a long, slow breath, his eyes falling on the ‘saber at Anakin’s hip. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  Anakin blinks at him, and nods.

  “That’s too young to decide what you want to do for the rest of your life.” Fives raises a brow at his general’s startled expression, which is maybe more amusing (endearing) than it has any business being. “General, you’re barely an adult, just the same as the vode. If my mental timeline is right, you weren’t even twenty standard when you married Amidala, which, frankly, was reckless and unfair on her part.”

  “Padmé would never–”

  “I don’t mean intentionally, sir. The fact of the matter is, no wonder you don’t know who you are without her, because you’ve always had her.” That decade of no contact notwithstanding, considering Anakin didn’t not have her, either. “Senator Amidala knew who and what she was before you, and she’ll know who and what she is without you.”

  “That’s not quite fair,” Anakin grumbles, but his throat is flushed in what Fives hopes is entirely appropriate guilt, or at the very least embarrassment. “It was my idea to get married after Geonosis.”

  Fives snorts. “The idea of a child thrown into war, afraid to lose anything.”

  “You’re being uncharacteristically candid, Fives.”

  “Respectfully, sir, the last thing you need is to be coddled.” His general laughs again, this time good and bright in a way he hasn’t heard before; and then Fives can’t help what he admits next. “We weren’t allowed toys, or anything.”

  Laughter cutting off abruptly, Anakin’s eyes grow haunted instead. There might not be anyone else in the galaxy with quite the same experience as the clones, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t those that understand.

  “Hevy made me and Echo– Well, he said they were mythosaurs like Kal taught us about, but they looked more like sad loth cats. He cut up his own bedsheet to make ‘em, and couldn’t tell the longnecks what he’d done with it, so he just slept on the bare mattress.”

  “Fives...”

  But it’s clear Anakin doesn’t actually know what to say, so Fives pushes on. “Some of Fett’s instructors tried to teach us Mando’a, you know? I think Spar is the only brother that ever got fluent, the rest of us have been making up words and combining them with Basic and Kaminoan and whatever else the Cuy’val Dar spoke that sometimes we don’t even remember what language they are anymore.”

  “I didn’t learn Basic until I was five.” Anakin thunks his head onto the wall behind him with a sigh, the mouse droid forgotten at his feet. “Other padawans always told me I was lucky Master Obi-Wan knew Huttese.” Ahh, kark, his general had been a Hutt salve; at least the spice runners made sure their slaves could communicate with their customers. “I couldn’t read a word of Aurebesh when I first came to the Temple, though to be fair, I couldn’t read anything else, either.”

  “You grow up around other kids?”

  “Yeah, my mom and I lived in the biggest slave slum on Tatooine.”

  Fives doesn’t need to tell him how lucky he was just to have had their own quarters. “I think, sir, that the vode know better than you think, what it’s like always standing on the edge of losing everything.”

  Squeezing his eyes closed, Anakin inhales sharply and clenches his fists over his knees. “What happened? To your mythosaur toys?”

  “One of the longnecks found them while we were in training, ‘threw them out before we got back. I think Hevy was even more upset than we were.”

  The leather glove over his prosthesis creaks as he tightens his grip on his own palms. “Was it easy? To just... forget about them?”

  “Of course not,” Fives snorts and crosses his arms, “we were the equivalent of eight standard at the time, but we honestly didn’t have a choice. As we got a little older, we stopped trying to put meaning in things, because we weren’t allowed things. Our names are our only real possession, even our armor can be taken from us, but we will not, cannot, let anyone take our names.”

  Groaning, Anakin scrubs his hands over his face before pushing himself up to finally look at Fives properly. He still doesn’t speak for a moment, just watching him, then teases flatly, “You’ve been spending too much time with Cody and Obi-Wan, you’re starting to speak in riddles.”

  “They are riddles only to you, sir.” He offers a small smile, and is only slightly disappointed when Anakin doesn’t return it.

  Instead, he lets out a winded breath. “So. You’re saying that it’s not easy to let go of even small things, but we must. And then there are things that we shouldn’t let go of?”

  “Some things aren’t ours to keep.”

  Anakin swallows. “Like Padmé,”

  “Like any person, no matter what sort of love we have for them.”

  Groaning, Anakin pulls his knees back up close and drops his face into his arms. “But I still love her.”

  Knowing that this is not a new problem, that General Kenobi has been trying to teach his general this for as long as they’ve known each other, Fives takes a moment to consider. “You don’t really have to stop loving her.”

  “But you said–”

  “You think I stop loving my brothers when they die?”

  Whether or not it’s healthy to hold onto affections for someone after a romantic relationship is a conversation for another time, Fives decides, and leans over to pick up where Anakin had left off with the droid.

  “General, it sounds to me like you already know all this,” he says, twisting a wire into the grip of his glove to yank it from the motor. “And  that you’re digging your feet in — which is the crux of the problem, isn’t it?”

  “You sound like Obi-Wan,” he groans, but doesn’t deny it.

  “Hmm, well, at least we’re still just kids.”

  Anakin very slowly looks up from his arms, just enough for Fives to see his wide eyes. “What do you...?”

  “Well, we’ve still got time to learn, don’t we?” Fives raises his eyebrow as he fits the new wire into the motor and starts to close all the panels back up. “I still think about Hevy and Droidbait and Cutup, and honestly, I still think about Echo’s and my mythosaurs. That’s not a bad thing, I don’t think, not even the Jedi would think that’s bad. I’m still angry when my vode don’t get funerals and I honestly hold that against the Chancellor and the Jedi both. But I don’t get to go back to Kamino and take my anger out on the longneck that took our toys, and I’m... working on it, not being so angry with the generals. I’m still angry. But I know the Jedi have about as much say in all of this as we do, and I know burying my brothers won’t bring them back. So I’m working on it.”

  “I... don’t have to be good at it all at once.”

  “Great Maker, General, just because you’re the Chosen One doesn’t mean you have to actually be good at absolutely everything from the start. You just have to try, and you still have time to.”

  He looks up and finds Anakin already smiling back. “Fives, I could kiss you.”

  “Considering it sounds like Senator Amidala just divorced you, I think that’s a very bad idea, sir.”

  “Bah, you’re no fun.”

  Fives feigns offense, “This mouse droid we’ve rigged to follow Captain Rex around and scream says differently.”

-

  The night the 501st returns to the Resolute after finally (kriffing finally) leaving Umbara, Fives finds a hand-sewn stuffed mythosaur on his bunk, with a string collar and a dogtag etched with CT-782.

-

Mando’a: Cuy’val Dar — “Those who no longer exist”, group of 75 Mando’ade and 25 others put together by Jango to train the clones vod/e —  “brother/s, comrade/s, sibling/s”, technically gender neutral but used most often in fandom as “brother/s” (*in this context, fives is using brothers as gender neutral as well, because you won’t take trans and nb clones even from my cold dead hands*)

[so-langdon]

Never Enough - Michael Langdon x Fem! Reader

Summary: Michael relaxes Y/N in the shower after a long week.

Warnings: Fluff, sensual situations, teasing, fingering, oral (female receiving), soft! dom! Michael

A/N: This takes place in the same AHS: Apocalypse universe, just before the bombs, but with Michael having the Outpost! Michael physical appearance.

*ALSO hi wow it’s been like a decade since I’ve posted any writings... I don’t know how popular Michael Langdon fan fics are now and if anyone will even read this??? But posting it anyway bc I’m still obsessed and in love with Michael fucking Langdon 🙃

Hope you’re all doing well and staying safe and healthy! 💙💕

Tagged!: @hecohansen31​ @greenmanalishi​ @michaelsapostle​  @blakewaterxx​ @saltyshaggymeme​ @rocketgirl2410​ @xavierplympton​

(Also not sure if any of you wanted to still be tagged in my writings, but just in case.. Let me know otherwise if you want to be removed!)

The warmth of water cascades over Y/N, soothing her body, relaxing her muscles and releasing any tension and stress the busy day has given her. She slides her hands over and through her hair, leaning her head back, allowing the warmth of the steam and water to unwind her mind along with her body. 

It’d been a long and tiring week, causing Y/N to feel overwhelmed and overworked with all the tasks and deadlines that had to be met at her job. Alongside that, Michael Langdon, her partner, had been busy with his own work, seeming to be living at the Kineros Robotics company where he had been planning a number of things. 

The two were so busy with their own jobs, their schedules never lining up, they hadn’t been able to spend any real time together recently as it’d been at least a week since they were able to sit down and actually be with one another.

They’d each be at work all day, then come home and go to bed, hardly having any time to de-stress and talk. Especially since Y/N was always going to bed by the time Michael was getting home, him following to sleep then too. But being adults, with their work needing to get done, each understood and knew they’d get time together one way or another eventually.

However, Michael could sense and feel the stress and tension in Y/N, whether he was with her or not. The two had this connection, a strong bond formed over the love they have for one another, and with Michael’s abilities, Michael could always tell when Y/N was feeling too stressed out, even when she tried to keep a smile on her face and not burden Michael. 

Knowing that Y/N had been particularly overly tired and stressed this week, Michael made sure to leave Kineros early that day so he could spend time with her and give her a relaxing evening. He had been missing her a little too much anyway.

Michael walks into their home, carrying a few bags that contain Y/N’s and his favorite take out, wanting to give them a good dinner that evening and so Y/N didn’t have to worry about cooking, along with a few other items to make the rest of the night fun and relaxing too.

Y/N doesn’t hear Michael coming home early of course as she’s in the shower washing away the day down the drain. She doesn’t hear the bathroom door open and close either, much less take notice of Michael’s appearance on the other side of the shower glass door. 

Michael smiles to himself, finding her as alluring as ever and proceeds to undress, discarding his clothes to the floor and opening the shower door. Y/N hears and notices him by that point, but doesn’t react, only wiping her face clear of water.

She feels Michael’s arms wrap around her waist from behind, causing her to smile. She places her hands over his wrists on her, turning her head back to him.

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” she says as she looks at him, her tone sweet and happy, the warmth of Michael around her causing her a tranquility already more than the warm shower was. 

Michael grins, resting his chin on her shoulder. He presses his lips to her neck, mumbling against her, “Hi baby.”

“Hi,” she smiles more. “What are you doing home already,” she asks curiously.

“Decided to take off early,” Michael starts. “We’ve hardly had any time together this week and I’ve missed you too much, so I decided to come home and spend time with you.”

“Really,” Y/N raises her eyes as she turns around to face Michael fully, staying in his hold as his arms stay around her waist. “I’m sure Jeff and Mutt had a field day with that -- you leaving early just to come home to a girl,” she teases.

“They know better than to make any idiotic remarks,” Michael states, knowing how immature and annoying the two morons at his work could be. “But doesn’t matter. I’m the boss, what are they going to do? They worship me anyway.”

“Maybe they won’t do anything,” she begins, “but your girlfriend may make fun of you for being so whipped,” Y/N jokes, smiling as if she’ll laugh.

Michael lets out a soft chuckle, leaning in and pressing his lips against her inner neck, humming against her as he kisses against her. “So I’m whipped because I wanted to come home and spoil my favorite person?”

“Spoil,” Y/N repeats, looking at him questioningly as Michael lifts his head and looks at her with an amused expression.

“Yes, of course,” he speaks fluidly. “I left early and picked up our favorite food, along with some other things, and figured we could have a relaxing evening together.” He raises a hand from around her waist to her face, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin gently. “We’ve both been so busy this week, and I know you’ve been more so overworked and stressed. I want to help you unwind,” he leans in, “help you relax,” he kisses her sweetly, making her heart flutter. “And take care of you,” he mumbles against her lips before pulling back with the same amused look, mixed in with an adoring expression.

Y/N wraps her arms around his neck as she smiles shyly at him, flushing a bit from his words. “And what about you?” She asks.

Michael grins, dropping his hand from her cheek to stepping her back to press against the side of the shower wall, the water hitting the both of their sides. A slight shiver runs through Y/N from the coldness of the wall behind her. He wraps his arms around her waist after, “I want this evening to be about you. I’ll be fine.”

“I think we can make this evening about both of us just as easily,” Y/N states.

“You don’t understand that me taking care of you takes care of me.” He leans his lips into the crook of her neck once more, kissing against her. “So let me start this evening out right and take care of you properly,” he whispers gently along her skin.

“What do you mean,” Y/N asks, oblivious to Michael’s ulterior motives.

Michael smirks a bit and drops one hand from around her as he brushes the back of his fingers down along the side of her body. “What do you think,” he asks, almost taunting her as his hand slows down, trailing his fingers from the side of her hip, to the front of her and lower.

Y/N bites her lip as Michael’s hand movements gets slower, teasing her by hovering his hand over just where she would like him. At an aching pace, Michael reaches down to her heat, the anticipation building quickly due to the built up tension from all week, and he cups her, his palm pressing against her, causing her breath to hitch.

He begins with his fingers rubbing down her slit, allowing the excitement to grow inside of Y/N. The wavering of Y/N’s breathing already causes him to grin almost cockily, feeling a pride from always being able to turn Y/N on so easily.

Michael’s other arm that’s wrapped around Y/N brings her closer to him, making Y/N press her lips together as she looks at him, not bothering to hide his obvious smirk now. Y/N’s hands grasp his shoulders, her eyes fluttering closed as she feels the pads of Michael’s fingers smoothly brush through her folds and to her clit, rubbing circles against her.

Y/N’s heart begins to beat faster bit by bit as her breathing gradually becomes more shallow. Michael’s fingers rub from her clit and down her slit, towards her entrance, feeling the wetness of her beginning to grow.

“You’re already so wet, baby,” Michael speaks softly, a huskiness showcasing in his tone too as he presses his lips against her forehead.

“Maybe it’s the water,” Y/N breathes out, trying to cover up the fact of how aroused she’s getting so quickly.

“Sure, darling,” Michael smiles. “Whatever you say.”

He gathers her wetness against his fingers as he teases against her heat, spreading it up to her clit and rubbing again, earning a quiet moan from her. He focuses on his consistent pace as he rubs her, knowing just how to work her up.

Michael’s movements are slow and almost too soft, knowing Y/N is desperate for more, but wants Y/N to savor each touch and sensation he gives her so she can enjoy the full pleasure and gradual build.

“Michael, please,” Y/N breathes out as if on cue, becoming needier, biting her lip again. She was used to Michael teasing her, but it accompanied a more rough setting. This was more focused and controlled, almost worse due to the ache of the slow and gentle build, making her want more more quickly.

“What? You don’t want it over too fast, do you?” He speaks, his hands movements matching the pace with his slow and hushed but teasing tone. “You want to take it all and feel the complete pleasure, right,” Michael speaks enticingly, leaning his head into the crook of her neck, kissing against her.

“Don’t tease me,” Y/N sighs out, feeling as the pads of Michael’s fingers continue at the same pace as he rubs against her clit.

“Trust me, darling, I’m only loving you,” Michael mumbles, lips brushing against her ear and kissing her, causing a shiver to run through Y/N.

Another smirk grows across Michael’s face, lips kissing against her ear and along her neck consistently as his fingers continue working along her.

Michael circles against her clit a few more times before bringing his fingers to her entrance, feeling how she’s pulsing lightly against him. He teases her more, rubbing against her softly, causing Y/N to whine and rest her forehead against Michael’s shoulder.

He pushes a finger inside of her, his own cock twitching but doing his best to control himself as he wants to only focus on her. He pumps his finger a few times, curling, a soft whimper leaving Y/N’s mouth.

Michael’s lips press against Y/N’s neck again, giving a soft suck and small nip following, kissing against her tender skin after. Y/N’s hands tighten on his shoulders, feeling how her body is getting more hot, from Michael’s touches, the steam of the shower, the pleasure spreading through her.

Y/N moans lightly when feeling Michael’s finger curl again inside her as his thumb rubs over her clit too, adding to the pleasured sensation. Still greedy for more, unable to help it when she breathes out a heavy, “More Michael, please.”

Since Michael understands Y/N’s tension and had planned for a relaxing evening for her, he listens to her instead of continuing to tease and drawing out her yearning like he normally would when they fool around and would punish her for her needy behavior. He did, after all, start it anyway.

Michael lifts his head from her neck and removes his hands from her. Y/N looks up at him with a small pout, Michael grinning as he leans in and kisses her slowly, then lowering his head as he kisses against her collarbones, down to her cleavage.

Looking up at her as he lowers himself to the floor and onto a knee, still kneeling tall enough that the water from the shower isn’t drenching his face, he grabs Y/N and pulls her forward, wrapping an arm around her lower body, his other hand grabbing her knee and lifting her leg over his shoulder. One of Y/N’s hands rests on the top of Michael’s shoulder, the other placing back against the wall of the shower.

Michael’s eyes stay focused on Y/N’s as he leans his head forward and licks a slow stripe through her folds and to her clit, closing his eyes and letting out a low groan from her taste. Y/N lets out a shallow breath, her stomach contracting already, merely from the sight of Michael alone.

He circles his tongue around her clit, enclosing his lips after and sucking slowly. Y/N’s eyes close again, her hand on Michael’s shoulder grasping tighter. Michael pulls Y/N closer, holding her to him as his plump lips and tongue work at her bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” Y/N moans out, her mouth dropping open, her chest rising and falling at a faster level.

Michael unwraps his arm from around Y/N and brings his hand up to between him and her. He lets his finger rub against her entrance again as he sucks on her clit still. He pushes his finger inside her like before, adding a second right after and pumping his fingers inside of her at a slow pace.

He gradually pumps his fingers faster, his other hand coming to her clit and pulling back her hood to lick his tongue fervently against her more without anything in between for her to feel the full sensitivity. 

Y/N jerks feeling all the sensations together, her lower body moving forward as she grinds against Michael’s tongue. He pumps his fingers, curling them as Michael opens his eyes and looks up at Y/N, his thumb that holds her hood back, moving lower to rub over the sensitive nub, and adding his tongue as he licks around and over it too at the same time for more pleasure.

Y/N begins to thrust her lower body forward more, practically riding Michael’s face as she feels the contract of pleasure inside her body beginning to grow, deeper and deeper. Her body starts to tremble, her toes curling as the build gets bigger.

Michael sucks on her clit harshly as he thrusts his fingers inside of her faster, curling every other second, knowing how close she is and feeling desperate to taste more of her.

Y/N’s hand moves to the upper back of Michael’s head, grasping at the roots of his long locks as the pressure inside her tightens more, feeling how close to the edge she is.

Michael keeps at a consistent pace with his lips and tongue on her clit, his fingers pumping inside her, humming against her from enjoying the taste of her, the way her body grinds against his face, her body jerking lightly.

The coil snaps finally, the release of undeniable complete pleasure flooding through Y/N’s body, the tension from the week disappearing in waves as a relaxation and gratification overcomes her.

Michael is sure to suck and lick up every bit of her before standing up, including sucking on his fingers to taste as much of her as he can. Y/N’s chest is rising up and down heavily as she catches her breath and comes down from her orgasm, looking at Michael with a lazily content expression.

“Feel better,” Michel asks rhetorically, smirking and grabbing her waist as he holds her to him. “I know this week has been overwhelming, but hopefully you’re feeling more relaxed now.”

“Getting to spend time with you helps me relax,” Y/N smiles, wrapping her arms around his neck as Michael’s arms around her waist hold tighter. “But, that was quite the treat, too,” she bites on her lip, smiling again after.

“Was quite the treat for me, as well,” Michael leans in, grinning, his nose lightly brushing against Y/N’s, making her smile more, and he kisses her. “Now, let’s get out so we can enjoy the rest of our evening together.”

“But what about you? You haven’t given me the chance to relax you yet,” Y/N says, unwrapping her arms from around Michael’s neck to resting on the front of his collarbones, slowly dropping her hands down his fit chest.

“I told you, taking care of you takes care of me. Besides, I’m not done with you yet,” Michael informs, his words holding a husky and sensual tone.

“Oh? What else do you have planned?” Y/N asks curiously, her eyes filling with a curious excitement.

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Michael leans in slowly, letting his lips brush over Y/N/s teasingly, making her lean up to close the space between them, wanting to kiss him. But Michael leans back more, smirking as he senses the growing want in her again for him.

He kisses her a second later, knowing he can’t hold his own self back from kissing her for too long. He grasps her cheek, knowing no matter the amount of time they have together, it will never be enough with her.

~

Hope you enjoyed!! All feedback is appreciated <3

[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.

.

.

.

[wcamino-confessions]

Okay wow I usually don’t say this kinda thing especially after I swore off ever touching amino but I feel like this needs to be said.

Have you guys tried to educate her? Yes. Did she refuse to listen? Yes. does she have every right to be criticized for her actions? Yes. We’re her actions bad and unruly? Yes. And does she deserve backlash for them? Yes.

You guys have every right to be mad at Tae for what she said and done, her callout post was immature, her statements were not researched and she refuses to be educated, she’s clearly confused and says blatantly wrong things. Her actions so far have been shown to be rude, sarcastic, or childish at best and again you have every right to be mad and vent about it.

To be clear I absolutely hate alm and blue lives matter, everyone and anyone who defends them are racist and people who refuse to be educated r especially racist and you have every right to call em out on it. But like... be a lil nicer to the minors???? You can still criticize they’re actions bc Tae’s actions are well bad and immature and you can still vent and rant about them on here if you want. That’s not harassment. I’ve been on here for awhile trust me it’s not harassment if you just vent about her actions or post screenshots about it. But I’ve seen people admit they’ve been borderline harassing her and like just, don’t do that? Again your welcome to be mad and your welcome to criticize or rant or vent about her. But don’t cross the line, she’s a minor and while that doesn’t excuse what she said or her actions , harassment has more of a negative impact on her then adults. You don’t have to sympathize with her because what she’s been saying is racist, you don’t have to like her, you don’t have to stop posting about her, you don’t have to stop being mad about it, but like, just be a tiny bit nicer to her? I get it I get it she’s being annoying and harmful and immature, but the situation would be a lot easier on to handle if you could calm down just a tiny bit. Besides you guys can pretty much ban her at this point, isn’t that the worse punishment you can give to her without harassing her? She deserves a ban and it won’t be crossing the line.

As for Tae, listen I know your a minor and you say stupid shit all the time. I used to be a transcum until I had a trans friend slap me over the head and tell me that’s a shitty take and to change it /hj. Which I did btw. I get it, but Tae you need to sit back and educate yourself. I know it’s hard to believe these people, probably because these thoughts are being aided by friends or family or just you don’t want to because of the amount of backlash your getting. So let me explain to you, as one minor to another, why ALM is bad and racist. ALM is a movement made to directly combat against Black Lives Matter, thus why its racist. And I know your about to think “oh but what if you separate the words from the movement” and to that I say, your still doing what the movement is trying to aim for, saying “all lives matter” even if your apart of the movement or not is still overshadowing and ignoring the fact that many POC lives are still in a state or position where many people don’t think they matter. Think of it like there’s a house on fire, saying “all lives matter” is the same as going up to the fire fighters and saying “oh all houses matter, why aren’t you taking care of the other houses” you might think your helping but in context your just making everything worse. No matter how you say that phrase now, whether it’s in connection to the movement or not, your still harming the cause of BLM. And yes, it is a big deal people are dying, I know you think “it’s a part of life” but people are losing they’re fathers, mothers, and children, all because some cop didn’t like someone’s skin color and decided that they should die for it. It’s never a okay thing to do, to take someone’s life over their skin color, something they were born with, something they can’t really control. That’s like ((as an example)) someone killing your mom because she has red hair or something. You just lost your mom because she had red hair. These deaths aren’t just “deaths” they’re impacting other people’s lives, these people who died were important to others. And they didn’t deserve having they’re lives taken away. And as for “they didn’t have it as bad in the 60’s” of course they didn’t, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have it bad here aswell, that’s like saying “oh atleast I didn’t blow up the building” after tearing down a wall, it doesn’t change the fact that you still tore down that wall. Sure it could have been worse but literally everything can be worse. It doesn’t change the face things are bad now, and need to be fixed. From the context on how you speak about the movements and how you use “they” when referring to POC im going to assume your white or atleast not POC ((correct me if I’m wrong)) which means you don’t fully understand why this is so important because you maybe ((again correct me if I’m wrong)) have never experienced what it’s like to be a POC, if that is the case then you need to step down from your high horse and realize that you can’t say something is “not as bad as _____” if you’ve never even experienced first hand. Comparing pain and suffering is only going to lead to more problems. Tae they’re is always room to change, your not a lost cause. But you need to educate yourself and realize what your saying is bad if you do want to change and be a better person. You can’t excuse your actions, you can’t undermine them, you have to own up to them in full volume and realize what you said was harmful.

I already expect backlash for this post, which is fair, again I’ve been on wac for awhile, I don’t think any of these posts here are harassing Tae ((although it would be epic if you guys can refrain from using the c word, just a personal request u don’t have to follow through )) these posts hold valid critique that I think Tae needs to listen to, even if some of them are a bit harsh. And I know the mods wouldn’t allow harassing messages to get onto this blog. But if your in like the comments or something saying “I’d rather harass her then not” like... calm down my guy, you have a right to be mad but you can also just ban her ass and get the same effect and message with it being deserved lmao.

[lexicals]

EPISODE NOTES COMING AT YOU RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW

THIS EPISODE CLEARED MY SKIN WATERED MY CROPS CURED ALL MY MENTAL ILLNESSES YOU KNOW. ALL THAT GOOD STUFF

LESBIANNSSSSSS

This first part is as usual gonna be completely out of order. Anyway

VESPA WAS SO SOFT THIS EP ;; I lover her sm I love her and buddy I love them communicating I love vespa comforting buddy who is allowing herself to be vulnerable for once

Speaking OF, aside from just the fantastic character development for buddy and the point abt her being a narcissist needing to listen to Her Own Goddamn Advice

The parallels between her and nureyev were more prominent than EVER this episode!! Jet suggesting that she leave him in command!! Her bit about her persona only ever having been a mask!! Saying that she's one of the best equipped people to spot an act in progress because she's done it herself for so long!! The obsession with being Good Enough and keeping up that flawless persona!! LIKE MOTHER LIKE SON GIVE ME THIS CONTENT

NUREYEV HATERS GET WRECKED

He had so much good shit this episode. First of all he actually sounded like capital N Nureyev, not ransom or anyone else. Second of all he was so willing to put himself in harm's way for this heist!! He's acting so much like he was when he was younger, desperate to get the job done, insisting he can do it even when it's obvious he's overreaching because he wants it so badly

SPEAKING OF JUNO GETTING HIS SHOOTING ABILITY BACK AAAAAAAAA

I'M SO PROUD OF HIM. HE SOUNDED SO HAPPY. HE SOUNDED SO EXCITED

Also vespa calling nureyev selfish and saying that she bets he's never sacrificed anything in his life?? When I say I shouted OUCH out loud jesus christ

Like okay do I think the debt subplot is gonna come to a head next episode (juno's episode)?? Absolutely. Do I think that nureyev is gonna try to make a break for it with the four items now that they've finished the heist? YUP. Do I also think he's doing it because he's scared and is trying to do as little harm as possible while trying to protect himself? YEAH.

His speech about symbols being all anyone has and just,, ooooof god. God. Someone give this poor man a hug

Also he deffo stole the knife right at the end there huh. "Lost" my ass

Juno being a fucking first rate detective once again mr steel I love you I love you you dumb whiny baby

I love buddy and vespa being so jokingly disparaging of them all T~T They're family and they give each other shit and they love each other!!

Vespa called juno by his name!! Not by steel!! Admittedly I'm p sure it was only to buddy but Still

"You're not the only one on this ship with medical secrets" vespa???? Hello????? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

Nureyev quoting buddy's line from the end of man in glass a YEAR after she said it to him and after he spent all of MiG quoting mag?? One hit KO to my heart. She's as much a parent and mentor to him as mag ever was and I need SO much more content of the two of them bonding & being mother & son

I definitely need to listen to this ep again at LEAST once. Jesus. Spent the whole thing bouncing up and down and screaming. In fact I think I have given myself a headache by overheating my brain so I will add more to this Later

Thoughts after the fact:

What vespa was saying about nureyev acting differently..... could be read as him being nervous but I can't help but think with him having been talking in his own voice all episode, what if he just wasn't putting up a persona? I don't think it would be much of a leap to think that nureyev in actuality is much quieter than the personalities he wears, but idk, just a thought

This is further to discussions that were had on the tpp adults server but uhh juno is So smart and should have been listened to earlier not just in this episode, but like going back to part one he's been pointing out buddy's questionable decisions she's made to put off this heist for almost the whole year!! Listen to juno challenge cb crew smh

I know..... that jet has been lined up as buddy's successor...... but like idk I feel like that's not a role that suits jet rly?? Yes, he's calm and steady and logical but he doesn't have buddy's strategic mind or charisma, and yes I am saying this because nureyev does and I want this to be plot relevant besides making for interesting parallels

LET NUREYEV TAKE UP THE MANTLE 2020

Second listen notes:

I just. Love buddy sm the way she speaks is so fun to listen to

“How are your children? Which is to say your car”

Nureyev is like, legit so loyal to buddy? He defends her a lot and clearly respects her immensely. Pls kabert can we have mother and son bonding

Buddy and jet’s relationship....... I cry I cry I cry

Like I literally cannot pick out my fav lines from this ep bc there’s SO many of them I’d just be quoting the whole thing

I love. Hearing buddy and vespa just talking though. Ragging juno and nureyev, being sweet with each other, laughing together..... vespa being like “one thing first - I love you :>” healed me

“If our places were switched, what would you say to me?” [CRYING CAT EMOJI]

Juno’s little “Yes, yes! Yes” just, T~T

The fact that buddy gets her advice referenced from every crew member...... jet, vespa, nureyev, and then rita..... not juno though? Idk if that’s because we just haven’t heard from juno yet or ??? idk. Weird though

Listen not to go back to this but jet does NOT sound like he wants the captain role...... and like, even on a meta level I’m not so sure he suits it but like buddy says he hates it when she says it and LET NUREYEV SUCCEED BUDDY 2020

Vespa is so excited abt the prime ;; Like SO excited, which is so sweet, but also I’m very very interested in that writing on the bottom

She’s so SOFT with buddy as well, and so calm...... I’m cry I’m cry she’s just like “okay, so you’ve got a problem, let’s fix it then”

“We’ve all had to put up with juno and ransom [acting like newlyweds] long enough” YELL. The fond family ragging of it all but also jupeter confirmed for completely insufferable

Couple of additional things:

I find.... nureyev’s little speech abt symbols and stuff rly interesting. Idk my running theory abt his debts is that his name is being used as leverage against him with the stipulation being “if you don’t pay, we’ll release your name and face to the public” meaning not only will he be in danger, but brahma as well, if we assume that the GAS has been deactivated since he left. The symbol he left behind is the only thing keeping the citizens of brahma safe - and not even that tbh, it’s only providing the illusion of safety, if this is actually the case. Idk I really wanna get my hands on the script now I think that speech says a lot abt his mental state rn

WHO ELSE ON THE CREW HAS MEDICAL SECRETS VESPA?

I don’t like the sick nureyev theory tbh but ):

[inevitably-johnlocked]

I've been feeling really detached from reality lately and the only thing I'm doing consistently everyday is going through fics and tumblr. I'm 17 and have to start uni applications soon but I'm too demotivated :( Do you think I'm wasting my life? Bcs my parents surely think so, and I want nothing more than to hide in my blankets and never come out again. I feel very unproductive and I need to get my life together and actually do something other than sleep, read and write. (1)

I just got into Sherlock recently and I'm totally obsessed with it, almost a year ago I was as obsessed with BTS (kpop band) to the point Mom had me talking to the counsellor to find a solution for my obsession. When I left the BTS fandom Mom was happy that I'm finally getting my life back on track and focusing on school, but here I am doing it all over again with Sherlock. I don't want to do this, but I feel like Sherlock is the only escape I have from reality now.I have to be an adult soon (2)

Hey Nonny *HUGS*

The short answer to your question: No, you’re not wasting your life.

Here’s my anecdotal long answer: 

It’s easy to feel disillusioned at 17, especially if you’re expected to do one thing or another. Now, I can’t speak to your situation because my parents were supportive of my decisions and fandom life, so I never really had that problem. Which is where I’m going to start: Your mum has issues of her own, it seems, and may be projecting a bit onto you... Some obsessions absolutely need counselling, but I doubt you were at the level of stalking and creeping and gatekeeping the fandom. I imagine you were collecting photos and sharing music and videos with your friends. Jesus your mum would have an aneurysm if she met me then – I’m nearing 40, and my apt is full of Funkos, movies, photos, magazines, collectable figurines, and in my off hours I draw fanart, play video games, and maintain a fairly-popular fandom blog. BUT I can see her side of things – she just wants you to get a career and be able to fend for yourself – but, in my opinion, stifling the things you enjoy REALLY makes for a shitty adult life. It’s no wonder you’re unmotivated – you’ve nothing to look forward to except studying and nothing else.

Here’s my anecdotal story: I didn’t start college until I was 22. I got rejected from all the colleges and universities I applied to at 18, and naturally that blew the wind out of my sails. I wanted to be an animator. I worked my ass off to get into courses, and I didn’t. My self esteem was in the shitter after that, the guidance counsellor assigned to me at school basically said “oh well, LOL” and I was lost. It SUCKS. My parents were still supportive of me, and told me to at least get a job, because they didn’t want me to sit around doing nothing. So I did. I worked for two years in retail, and I hated it. But it kept me busy and I was allowed to enjoy my life at that time. And, in my own time, mostly motivated by my family moving, I decided I was ready to apply to school again, because those two years I worked at IFuckingHateWalMart, gave me some money for school and a desire to never work retail again. And guess what? It’s a LOT fucking easier to get into school as a “Mature Student” (in Ontario, if you’re over 19, they consider you a mature student), because they know you’re serious about school and they just want your money. 

I applied to 5 different arts-related programs, 3 of them Graphic Design, one Fine Arts, and I think the other was Art History. I got accepted to all 5 programs. I chose the different career path because I actually took time to research, and decided that since I wasn’t up to snuff as an animator (and the program I wanted to try again for wasn’t there anymore), I’m REALLY GOOD with computers, so let’s try this design thing. I love it.

Anyway, the point to this story, Lovely, is that perhaps you also are someone, like me, who just needs a break to figure out what you want to do with your life. I don’t regret taking a couple years before going back to school. And that may be what you and your mum need to discuss. 

So, to summarize in said discussion:

You need to be firm with your mum that stifling things that make you happy makes you feel unmotivated to move forward in your life. You don’t intend on not furthering your education, you just need a mental break and Sherlock and BTS makes you WHO you are, and makes you happy.

You need some time to decide what you want to do with your future. I really REALLY hate this culture of schools forcing you to decide what you want to do with the rest of your life even before you’re legally allowed to drink in most places. It’s so terribly horrible. The pressure I had to apply during high school was so terrible, that teachers made you feel like a failure when you graduated and had no college path set. It’s awful. I’m telling you, taking the couple years (it was only going to be a year but I wasn’t ready after a year) to reflect on my future and to decide what I wanted to do next was the best decision I made. Do you know how GOOD it felt to have all 5 colleges accept me after being rejected two years prior? It felt GOOD to send rejection letters to people wanting to have my money, LOL. AND I feel like I succeeded, because I was able to see the job market and figure out what career path would be sustainable for me in the arts field. GC is still a cut-throat field and I’m still not respected despite nearly 20 years later, but that’s my own fault for being stagnant in never leaving the newspaper (also, never work at a newspaper).

Fandom and Real Life can co-exist, provided you don’t let fandom rule everything. Your mum is lying to you if she tells you that she wasn’t / isn’t a fan of things, so ask her what music or movies make her happy. It’s the simplest form of fandom, but there you go.

That all said, Nonny, don’t give up, and it’s okay to feel unmotivated during All This™. I can’t even imagine what the point would be to apply for school in September if no one is even going to be in a classroom environment, erf. And if you need an excuse to hold off, there you go, tell your mum that you want to have a think about what career you want to pursue, AND you would rather it be in a classroom environment anyway, because you need that “study environment” to stay focussed on your studies, and not at home where the “distracting terrible fandom stuff” is, hah.

And finally: Being an adult isn’t all that bad. I can buy whatever fandom-related fuck I want and no one can stop me. I do what I want, when I want. I watch youtube, blog, play video games, travel, draw, and buy toys all because it makes me happy. And yeah, I have the boring adult stuff like taxes and groceries and rent and a job and debt, but if you can get all that stuff organized and sorted early in your life like I did (I have a set amount of money set aside a month for all the above from the job), then you can figure out what you can do that’s fun based on what’s left from the boring stuff.

TL;DR of all this: Talk to Mum, take some time, and enjoy life.

I hope this has helped you somewhat, Nonny. I know I tend to ramble a lot, but I do genuinely think that you just need time, and some understanding from your mum. You’ll feel a lot better about moving forward if you have those things, I think. 

Love you Nonny, and I hope you’re alright <3

[sendmyresignation]

alright. writing this “little” piece to exorcise the demon inside of me that wants to expand my teenagers meta further than it needs to go (if you weren't aware I'm writing a post, well an essay, wellll a short paper, about why teenagers fits on the black parade- stay tuned) BUT i cannot stop thinking about the multiple little "rockstar to kill" moments within the song/music video/live performances so... I'm self-indulgently going to write about it :)

anyway, at its most simplified, teenagers is a song about the violence within adolescents and being an adult whose afraid of that capability. that is the basic, surface-level understanding of the song. inherently, with mcr specifically, that sets up a conflict between the narrator of the song and the song’s audience. that means conflict is generational- it duplicates itself over and and over which allows for several different understandings of the narrator’s perspective. the cyclical nature means they could be speaking to a representation of what they view as the fundamental corruption of the youth, both by outside focuses and their very human nature, as the narrator become more cynical in their old age. it could be representative of them talking to their past self, reminiscing on the revenge fantasies they had in high school or the ways they were made to feel like an outcast when they were young. and they also could be speaking directly to the very literal future about their concerns as a mentoring figure (teenagers, to me, functions in layers, its interpretation can shift and change depending on the context) right now we’re preoccupied with that last perspective both within the song and the video’s contextualization, and into this wider idea of what the band’s purpose was (or how they saw their purpose).

putting the rest under a read more out of respect <333

moving into the actual text with that in mind, what becomes significant is the tonal contrast between being the seemly scathing, sarcastic indictment of Dangerous Teenagers on the surface to the actual understanding (if we’re talking about the single on its own) which is moreso criticizing the Authority figures who create and mold this violence either purposely (cog in the murder machine) or with indifference (you’ll never fit in much/they’ll leave you alone/as well as the implication of having to take matters into your own hands because the adults are absent). As a result, the song, on its own, isn’t actually blaming teenagers for the violence they perpetuate, but the narrator attempts to extend their understanding and offer advice. here is a figure looking to bring catharsis without patronizing. like this is most clearly expressed in the use of “maybe they’ll leave you alone, but not me” at the end of the chorus, which in this reading means the other adults may leave you alone, the but I am stepping in to tell you that both self-directed and outward expressions of violence are bullshit and useless and that’s what everyone else is expecting of you so fucking stop it! (this can obviously be re-figured within the context of the album- because, interestingly, the pronouns are purposely confusing with the multiple uses of they in this section) the violence is never explicitly vilified by the speaker,- its exaggerated- what you have under your shirt won’t solve anything isn’t that obvious how ridiculous it sounds, how ridiculous I sound saying it out loud? but also, the violence is implicit. the conflict is still there. the teenagers still scare the shit out of the narrator. so what gives?

well. the song is still about the gulf between generations. the speaker is still afraid and out of touch, regardless of the leadership role they’ve assumed or the perspective of the past they can offer. there is ultimately a limit to how much they can give.

which leads us right into the music video.

So first things first, Black Parade as a whole is heavily inspired by Pink Floyd’s The Wall musically, but the actual aesthetics of the wall are kind of divorced from the ww1 cabaret weimar thing that parade is drenched in (bc britian circa the 1950s is boring and the wall is purposely very ugly and grey and removed from emotion which isn’t dramatic enough for what mcr had in mind). However, teenagers exists as a sort of connecting point between the two-  the music video of Another Brick in the Wall Part 2 (which you can watch here if you’ve never seen it) is clearly an influence on the subject matter and the setting and the “plot” of teenagers video- it serves as a sort of a parallel to it. more specifically, there are the “running shots” of kids making their way through unlit hallways into the auditorium that evoke the children in the pink floyd video marching through the school. there’s also the line “cog in the murder machine”, which seem particularly inspired from the depiction of children as going through machines and coming out the other side stiff, wooden, and obedient. then the backdrop of the large bomb centered in my chem’s stage show mimics the shot of the headmaster standing behind the large, lit up clock- especially since that where the teenagers in the crowd of mcr’s video all begin acting in unison, similar to the children in the wall all falling into line (but, like, just the use of ww2 era bomb imagery and gas masks in general is very reminiscent of the early wartime parts of the wall anyway). so in a vague sense, there is a huge connection between teenagers and that emulation and replication of the wall.

however, the most striking similarity is that, in the same way the students destroy their school in a moment of violent inspiration after sequences of disconcerting compliance, the group of high schoolers in teenagers do the same against the band. the difference is that in the case of the teenagers, the explosion is directed at the source of their outburst (they switch from the on-beat fist-punching to wild moshing as the song devolves and ray’s solo starts) instead of in opposition to a more institutional suppressive force. they are not motivated to action because of something done to them, instead it is the actual music itself that serves as both the impetus of conformity and the fuse that destroys that same unison action and then the band. and what’s significant is the particularity of the actions the crowd takes: they steal the band’s instruments from them and they bodily remove gerard from the microphone. like contrast this violence against the band vs the desolation row video where the whole band is physically incapacitated- there, its about knocking them around and getting them to stop (ray is beat down by police, bobs drums are destroyed, etc etc). but here, its about taking their places- the act of destruction is calculated but not purposely cruel. so, in teenagers being a parallel to Another Brick, that moment of turning on the band is the moment of violence but is also the moment of freedom. the difference in the two becomes the ways in which the band is responsible for reawakening the fire within the audience and giving them a purpose. which here is “killing the rockstar” by taking over, taking their places. and that is the nature of music and the nature of the conflict implicit to becoming the “rockstars”

it brings us right back around to that generational conflict: except when your talking about mcr’s realationship with their audience, that becomes the fostering of a group of outcasts and weirdos and freaks and giving them the tools to save themselves, yes. but also giving them the opportunity to do exactly what they did. to pick instruments and take their places. its the cyclical nature of creation and destruction “because when we get old and lazy some of you guys are gonna have to eat us alive by starting your own fucking band (x), that idea of needing a “rockstar to kill” has been refigured to mean something newer, positive. we are the ones killing them, but not in the way of typical martyring where a crowd of detractors and nonbelievers burns you at the stake- but instead by continuing the natural cycle of art, true genuine art. just as mcr is built off of so many influences- creating an entirely new project out of that existing landscape of sound that reaches people and gives them an outlet, we are doing the same things. by besmirching metal and punk by mixing them together, by “selling out” so they could put together a rock opera, by adding theater into a hyper masculine culture of nu-metal and post-hardcore, by making deeply emotional music that was still violent or angry, by writing the way they did they killed the bands they loved and made something better. its the the way in which the creative cycle is a rebirth, of scavenging the good things from the people who came before you and moving forward and taking the world by storm. here, in the video, the audience redirects their violence at the band, yes. but that is the point. teenagers still scare the shit out of the narrator, but that’s not going to stop them from reaching out, from speaking to them directly, from performing until their very last moments

until they take over. until they kill the rockstar. until we eat them alive.

in the end, that is the mission of my chemical romance, isn’t it- to inspire that level of passion, to turn the music into a life-raft and then gasoline and fire in your gut and then a sense of purpose and then into freedom and endless joy? and isn’t it the greatest act of love, the truest expression of admiration to tear them apart, build ourselves creations out of the wreckage to fill the space they leave behind, and then lay them to rest when the time has come?

[onthepageoftears]

Nights Like This (Geralt x Reader) // Witcher

A/N: I was hesitant to write this, but because it was a request I decided to try out some Geralt x reader. I hope it came out okay but lemme know what you think!

Request: @haade-s​ The last fic was amazing! I was wondering if I could request a Geralt x reader this time. When they're around other people (including Jaskier) she's very much like Geralt where she only replies to people with grunts or "hm" like him but when they're completely alone she just talks & talks & talks & Geralt loves hearing about all the thoughts she's had to hold in bc she hates people just as much as he does. Jaskier sneaks up on their camp & just knows they are perfect for each other 💖💖 thanks!!

Warnings: Jaskier being an idiot brother, mentions of fighting

Words: 1,091

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

Being a bard’s sister was one of the hardest parts of your life.

Yes, you loved Jaskier. Yes, you would do anything for him. But sometimes, he was the biggest idiot you’ve ever met — and you had come across a lot of people while you two traveled together.

When you two were younger, your differences were astounding. You were only a year apart, but as Jaskier reached for anything that could be donned an instrument (sticks to rocks, the bell in your mother’s kitchen, sometimes even your own hair), you reached for something that could be used as a weapon. Which, to be fair, was much easier to find and use against Jaskier than any musical instrument. Jaskier was the younger sibling, and you used your older sibling advantages as much as you could. Of course, that meant beating him up whenever your parents turned around.

Soon, though, you both grew up to the adults you were. Jaskier continued his love of music, and you continued your love of fighting — sort of. You were never truly allowed to become a hunter as you wished, but you settled on becoming Jaskier’s ‘bodyguard’. You and Jaskier traveled together; he relied on you for some protection, and you relied on him for coin and his idiotic company. You were a pretty good team, though Jaskier’s rise to fame was taking a little longer than planned.

At least, until you met the Witcher. The first time you laid your eyes on him, you thought he would be trouble. You nodded your head over to the brooding man that sat alone in the corner, seeing his silence as a threat. Of course, Jaskier didn’t catch your warning at all. Instead, he ran right over to the man, introduced himself, and asked for a review.

So, yeah. Being a dimwit’s sister was one of the toughest jobs you would ever take.

By the time you got over to Jaskier, he was introducing you to the Witcher.

“This is my sister—“

“Bodyguard.” You corrected, flicking your cynical eyes to the white-haired man.

He looked back at you. “You’re siblings.”

You both nodded.

“You look nothing alike.”

“Meaning I am incredibly handsome, and Y/N here is the spitting image of a goat’s arse—“

Your whack to the back of your brother’s head made him squeal in pain.

The bold move to speak the witcher, who you learned was named Geralt, proved to be a good one. Both you and Jaskier had been trying to find some more adventure — him for the inspiration, and you for the thirst of the fight. Moving from place to place wasn’t good enough for either of you, especially without some thrills in between. But you two learned that traveling with Geralt wasn’t as fun as you thought it would be.

“Wait here.” He grunted, gesturing towards his horse. Yet again, Geralt expected you to wait around while your brother tried to compose his next song. You both decided to tag along with Geralt to get new experiences, and here you were having to watch the fights from a way too sparse of a distance.

This time, you needed to do something. “I can help.” You stepped forward, expecting another cold shoulder.

Instead, Geralt turned back around and nodded. “I know you can. Which is why I need you here.”

It was the first time Geralt trusted you with his plan. He was to lure the creature from its cave, and you were to make sure it didn’t escape. The two of you ended up fighting it together, finishing it off with two final blows of your swords.

That night, you and Geralt were sitting against the same tree near the fire. 

Geralt shifted in his spot to look at your dimly lit face. “You're a good fighter.”

“I know.” You barely looked at him as he let out a predictable ‘hm’. You didn’t expect him to speak further. 

“You don’t talk much,” he noted.

“Neither do you.” Geralt continued to look at you, waiting for a real answer. You shrugged and placed your hands over the fire. “Julian speaks enough for both of us.”

“He speaks enough for the city of Novigrad.”

You laughed lightly, then looked over to your brother, who lay asleep. It was true; he was the talent, and you were the muscle. It just worked that way and had for a long time. You never felt the need to share anything more about yourself, unless it was absolutely necessary. Which, to be honest, was quite rare.

But the more you spent time with Geralt, the more you felt yourself open up. It was like someone finally understood your need to fight. It was a thirst that could never be quenched, an itch that could never be scratched. 

You and Geralt would talk lowly into the night, exchanging stories and experiences — though, Geralt had millions more than you did. You shared your favorite techniques, which armors worked best for which jobs, how many blades you went through in a month’s time. You felt like you hadn’t spoken this much in your whole life — as you went to sleep each night, it left a small smile on your face knowing Geralt would be there to talk to when you woke up.

You would never admit this to Jaskier, of course. He’d tease you so much you’d probably have to shove his face in a Drowner’s guts before he shut up. And even then, he might still run his mouth. But little did you know that Jaskier already knew about your long nightly talks with Geralt, and the way your face brightened hotter than the fire at your feet. Besides, you and Geralt never spoke that quietly. The first night it happened, Jaskier almost yelled at you two to shut up. But the smile on your face was enough to keep him quiet, for that night and the rest to come.

Jaskier wasn’t blind to Geralt’s affection either — when the Witcher typically spoke one to two words at a time, with you he was speaking actual, fully thought out sentences. Your brother didn't think that was possible, nor did he think you would be the one to rip those sentences out of the man. 

Anyway, Jaskier dealt with your oddly satisfying affection towards one another because even though he teased you endlessly, he too wanted to see you happy. And if that meant having to watch you snuggle up with the Witcher himself by the fire, then so be it.

[lesbianlenas]

Your post got me thinking. I used to get beat up by my parent daily (as well as verbal abuse) and I knew this friend in high school and he said to me once that he would never forget the time his mom told him that no women would ever love or marry him if he stayed being lazy. And that was legit the only “mean” thing she had ever said and he would not let it go, he still brings it up to this day. And I remember thinking, that’s it? I personally understand how daily verbal abuse or physical abuse is bad and that the parent needs therapy. But for people who’s parents were otherwise nice and normal, those few instances of them saying something harsh, idk if this is the right words, but it just seems picky to make such a big deal of it, like talking about how you’ll internalize that forever. Here’s where I feel the issue is, parents are still people, like imagine having to be totally nice and not harsh to someone for over 18 years, 24/7, when you are sleep deprived or stressed from work, especially when your child probably annoys you sometimes, or their age appropriate immaturity aggravates you, or the teen years where they get to be rude to you but you can never be rude back. I guess this is a ramble, but I guess what I am saying is adult children went from calling out abuse to now being nit picky about normal human interactions over decades. This idea that parents are never allowed to be mean ever seems to be a standard no human could ever meet. idk maybe I’m just viewing it that way due to how I was raised.

in the post i was actually referring to parents inflicting trauma on their kids or verbally abusing them and how they’ll either forget that they ever did it or claim not to have. like how abusive parents will make themselves out to have not been abusive at all by telling their kids that they’re wrong abt the things that they did to them when they aren’t. i remember reading an excerpt from a book abt mothers gaslighting their daughters bc they believe themselves to be “the perfect mother” so whenever their daughter brings up smth bad that they did to them their mother will tell them that there’s no way they could have done it bc in their heads they have been perfect so their daughter must be wrong. but given that kids will very much internalize their abuse and remember it vividly (unless they repress it) they are the ones that are going to remember it rather than the parent that did not see their abuse as a significant event. a lot of parents are not intentionally abusive (does not make it right) and dont even see that what they’re doing in the moment is wrong so they are not going to find it worth dwelling on and will forget. but that just sounds like your friend can’t take criticism lmfao. parents are obviously flawed and they need to be firm w their kids sometimes and will sometimes snap at them and that’s fine as long as it isn’t abusive or traumatizing. at the same time parents DO need to be more aware of the way they speak to their kids in that they can’t just see them as someone to freely criticize all the time bc again kids do internalize. but consistency and/or harshness is important and your friend’s mother saying that once and like that is literally not an issue lol. if she said it every day even when he didn’t do anything wrong & was often even more harsh abt it (like calling him useless etc) it would. a single comment like that may hurt in the moment but in the long run he is just harping on it. and i’m sorry that you’ve had that experience w your parents i hope you’re doing well now.

[winchester-fantasies]

The Stunt

Summary: You’re an actress on Supernatural. After celebrating your eighteenth birthday, you decide to take part in a stunt for the episode you’re in. Jensen and Jared are upset after you wind up in the infirmary, furious because you went against their warnings not to do the stunt yourself. Will they ever forgive you?

Word Count: 1758

Warnings: blood, injury to reader, danger to reader, swearing, angry Jensen, angry Jared, fluff

Pairing: J2 x Reader (platonic)

A/N: This was written for an anonymous request: Hi! Can you do one shot where reader is teenage actress on spn set. She gets injured while doing a stunt and Jensen and Jared get angry bc they had told her before not to do it. She needs few shots and lots of stitches, but she is allergic to most of the sedatives, so doc has to do that while she is conscious. She is verrrrrrry afraid of doctors and everything, so Jared and Jensen stay with her through entire procedure even if angry, and fluff at the end? Thank you so much for your request! This is my first time writing for J2 so I hope you like it! ❤❤ And thank you to @samswhitesuit​ for beta-ing and making the perfect GIF for this fic! I so appreciate your help.

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

     You took a step up to the stunt coordinator’s trailer. You stopped on the last step and took a deep breath before knocking. You heard a muffled, “Come in,” from the other side. You pulled the handle before stepping inside the trailer.

     The man in the rolling chair sat hunched over a table, going over the stunts that were going to be performed in the episode that was being filmed that day. You waited for a few minutes before he swiveled around, his face breaking into a grin when he saw you. “Hey, (Y/N),” he said. “What’s up?”

     You smiled. “Hi,” you said, nervously licking your lips. “Listen, I...uh, I wanted to talk to you about the stunts for today.”

     “Okay,” he said with another smile and nod. “What about them?”

     “I, uh, I wanna do them,” you said. “Myself.” You looked him straight in the eye, hoping your direct eye contact would show him just how dead set you were on performing them yourself.

     His face hardened at your words. “(Y/N),” he sighed. “Jensen and Jared told me you might ask that. They mentioned how much you’ve been talking about wanting to do them.” You nodded enthusiastically and sent him a wide grin. 

     But it was short-lived and your face fell when he spoke again. “And how they both told you no,” he said, a reprimand in his tone.

     Instead of disappointment, anger surged through your veins. “They can’t tell me what to do!” you spat. 

     He looked at you, his eyes pleading with you to drop it. “(Y/N), please…” he started by you cut him off.

     “I just turned eighteen!” you raised your voice. “I’m not a kid anymore!”

     He sighed heavily, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as he warred over whether he should respect Jensen and Jared’s request or allow you to do what you wanted. He finally opened his eyes, and hope enveloped you as you realized you’d won the argument. 

     “Fine,” he said gruffly. “But if this comes back to bite you in the ass, don’t you be pointing a finger at me.”

     You held back the grin that threatened to spread over your face as you nodded solemnly. He paused for a moment before turning around and opening the file cabinet beside him. He pulled out a thin stack of papers before grabbing a pen and facing you once again. “Here,” he said, placing the papers in front of you and handing you the pen. “Sign these. They’re the liability forms, stating that you take full responsibility for your actions and any and all injuries you might encounter while performing the stunts.”

     You nodded before leaning over and quickly signing them. You straightened up, handing the pen back to him with a wide grin. His face was grim as he shuffled the papers in order. “Be ready at 3:00,” he clipped, not looking at you.

     You knew he was upset with you for even requesting to perform the stunts, but you couldn’t help but smile and do a little skip as you headed to the makeup and costume trailers to get ready for the upcoming scene. There really wasn’t anything he could do about it. You were technically an adult now and could make your own decisions. 

     After getting ready, you headed to the set, a mixture of excitement and nervousness roiling in your stomach. The place was bustling with last minute preparations and getting everything into place. 

     “Hey.” You turned to find your stunt double standing behind you. 

     “Hey,” you said with a grin.

     “Heard you’re going to perform the stunts yourself today,” she said, her voice giving away her uneasiness.

     “Yep!” you said.

     “You sure you want to go through with it?” she asked. “The stunts are pretty intensive for the next couple of scenes.”

     “Yes, I’m sure,” you said a bit harsher than you’d meant. You smiled, trying to ease the tension. “I’ll be fine.”

     She gave you a skeptical look before shaking her head and walking away. You rolled your eyes before making your way over to the stunt coordinator who had a list of the stunts on the schedule in his hands. 

     “So what’re we doing first?” you asked, coming to stand beside him and looking over his shoulder at the list.

     He glanced at you before turning back to the paper. “First one is the vampire fight scene. Your character will be tossed around and thrown through the wall,” he said, motioning towards the wall to your right. There was a padded mat leaning against the wall where you’d land.

     “Okay, awesome!” you exclaimed in excitement.

     It wasn’t long before you were being called to take your places. You felt a prick of hesitation as you thought about how upset Jensen and Jared would be if they knew what you were doing. But they weren’t needed on set until 5:00 and by then your stunt scenes would be over with and they’d never be the wiser. So you mentally shrugged off your nervousness and took your place.

     “And...action!” the director called. You immediately took on the role of your character as the vampire charged at you with a growl. You dodged his punches, whirling behind him before grabbing him from behind and hoisting him over your back onto the mat below. These moves you knew by heart. They were the only part of the stunt you’d been allowed to learn. The next part was the one Jensen and Jared had been adamant you not take part in.

     The vampire jumped up before grabbing your shirt and tossing you at the mat against the wall. You suddenly felt everything shift around you as you lost your footing and stumbled forward, missing your mark and crashing through the heavy wood of the wall.

     There was an audible gasp from those around you as you fell onto the boards and lay still. The director screamed, “Cut!” and before you knew what was happening, a group of people were surrounding you, concerned and panicked eyes looking down at you.

     You groaned as you brought your hand to your aching temple, your fingers coming away with blood. The stunt coordinator and your double pushed through the crowd before helping you up. You gasped as a sharp pain shot from your ankle and up your leg, and you had no choice but to hop the rest of the way to the infirmary.

     You sat still as the doctor examined the gash over your left eyebrow. “Yeah, that’s going to need some stitches,” he said before turning away and taking a copy of your medical records from your file. He read over it silently before frowning. “It says here that you’re allergic to most sedatives,” he said, glancing up at you.

     You nodded nervously as he turned his focus back on the file. He was about to say something when the door burst open.

     “What the hell?” Jensen’s voice boomed through the tiny room. He and Jared stomped into the room, frowns plastered to their faces.

     You cowered and scooted further up the exam table as they continued to speak. “Yeah, (Y/N),” Jared barked, anger blazing in his usually calm and kind eyes. “You could have really been hurt!”

     “We fucking told you not to do those stunts!” Jensen yelled. His eyes shifted up to your brow and his eyes darkened as real anger rose up. “Goddammit, (Y/N)!”

     “I...I,” you stuttered, your eyes darting between them. They were angrier than you’d ever seen them before and tears welled in your eyes as guilt, pain, and fear mixed together and prevented you from finding the words to speak.

     The doctor cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him. He stood in the middle of the room, awkwardly looking on at the scene before him. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to give you stitches without the use of sedatives,” he said, turning his attention to you.

     You swallowed hard and nodded. You never liked going to the doctor when you were a child, especially given the fact you were so allergic to nearly all sedatives. You’d never outgrown it; it had simply continued to fester, finally growing into an outright fear.

     You knew you needed the stitches, but the thought of having to undergo them without anything to help, nearly paralyzed you with fear. You were so caught up in your own thoughts you didn’t notice the softening of Jared’s eyes and the small nudge he gave Jensen, motioning to your expression and reaction to the doctor’s words.

     You jumped when you felt fingers close around your hand. You looked up to find Jared standing beside you, your small hand in his giant one. Jensen stood beside him, his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder. You could tell they were still angry, but you felt your uneasiness begin to wane with their support.

     They both stayed with you through the entire procedure, Jared allowing you to squeeze his hand when the needle would go through your skin, and Jensen would gently massage your shoulder when you tensed up from the pain.

     Before you knew it, it was over. You released Jared’s hand before climbing down gingerly from the table. You clasped your hands in front of you as you looked up at them with remorse-filled eyes. “Listen,” you said quietly. “I’m really sorry about not listening to you.”

     There was a pause as Jensen and Jared eyed you carefully, their faces still serious. Finally Jared sighed. “C’mere,” he said, opening his arms to you. You cautiously stepped into his embrace, but you immediately relaxed as his arms wrapped around you. “It’s okay,” he said, resting his chin on the top of your head. “We just want you to be careful is all.”

     “Yeah,” Jensen said, coming to stand beside Jared. The giant of a man released you with a chaste kiss to the top of your head before you stepped into Jensen’s embrace next. “We’ve been at this a lot longer than you,” Jensen said, patting your back gently before pulling away. “We know what we’re talking about, kid.” He sent you a quick wink and you smiled.

     “I’ll be more careful and listen to you guys from now on,” you promised. Jensen and Jared both grinned before Jared wrapped his arm around your shoulder and led you back to your trailer to rest while he and Jensen finished their scenes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤❤

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[ddaenggtan]

from eden | myg + jhs

you've been in the dark a long time, overworked and exhausted. the only bright point is your gatekeeper, hoseok, your closest friend and the man you love but can't have. you've accepted that loneliness is inevitable for you. when a voice calls to you, though, and moves you so deeply that you rip open the earth to help them, you meet a mint-haired boy that changes everything you thought you knew about your prison. | monsters and gods pt 1 (masterlist)

pairing | yoongi x reader x hoseok

genre/warnings | greek god au, hades!reader, thanatos!hoseok, persephone!yoongi, fluff, angst, smut, mild depictions of violence, mentions of blood (well, blood equivalent, bc gods), pining, depictions of abusive parenting, v v brief panic attack (seriously, I don’t go into a ton of detail, but it’s enough, pls don’t read this if that triggers you at all), love triangle (kind of), polyamory, , mutual masturbation, oral (female receiving), face-sitting, fingering, dick-riding, double penetration, unprotected sex (gods can't get sti's but u can! Wrap it b4 u tap it!), creampie, everyone hates Zeus but what's new, demeter sucks and is the literal worst

word count | 15.6k | cross posted to ao3  monsters and gods masterlis

a/n | hello! i’ve renamed this fic at least ten times, but it’s here!! the first part of monsters and gods!!! i keep seeing hades!yoongi (who i LOVE, don’t get me wrong, seriously you should check out @/seokoloqy’s hades yoongi fics because they’re PHENOM) and while I love hades yoongs, I also keep seeing him in flower crowns and being soft and sweet and, as we know by now, I am ultimately a slut for soft bangtan. so this happened. and then i thought ‘wow this mc is dark af i need some contrast here’ and that’s how thanatos hobi happened, also i couldn’t stop thinking of his Judgement Face, which is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and how fast he switches between that and his smile, plus.....sope, I mean. c’mon. sope. and then it all kinda spiraled into a whole series of fics, only one other of which is even started tho its close to being finished whoops lmao so yeah!!!! pls tell me what u think, i’m not used to writing angst at all, so it may not be suuuuuuper prevalent in this, but i tried!!! also i really recommend listening to hozier while you read it bc i had his first album on repeat while writing it and from eden fits this pretty well imo!!!

It's dark when you open your eyes. You've spent so long down here, you're used to it, but the shadows always seem to make the air colder than it should be. Though you suppose the land of the dead isn't supposed to be warm.

You stretch and wince at the crick in your spine. Another night sitting at your desk, greek fire burning through the hours so that you can scratch away at the papers in front of you. Your siblings always enjoy doing whatever they want, using mortals and throwing them away however they please, cleaning up after each other whenever they can spare the time.

No one ever seems to think about you, nor do they remember the chaos up top only worsens your constant migraines.

No, instead they start their wars and slaughter their enemies and are absolutely oblivious about the fact that the Meadow is at 80% capacity as it is, with more souls arriving each day. Thanatos did well at his job, as did Charon, and you were always sure to be thankful to them, but you wish, not for the first time, that there was someone - anyone - to help with your work.

Your brothers have the naiads, the winds, and the lesser gods to help them with their oceans and skies. Gods of vengeance and retribution help with war, while the fertility goddesses and the muses aid the lovelorn.

And yet here you are, still alone after all these years. Millenia, you've been stuck down here, forced to live out your days in the cold darkness and manage the dead mortals. You've always been introverted, even before you drew lots with your siblings, but never like this. You've tried to leave, of course; at first making short visits to Olympus or the mortal realm, just to speak to another living soul again, someone else who understands what it's like to be trapped in your own life. It seems like every time you came back, though, the underworld had gotten smaller and smaller, nearly suffocating you in an attempt to keep its claws in your skin. And then, of course, came the curse.

You haven't felt the sun on your skin in nearly a thousand years, and while you've always been one for the shade, you miss it. You miss the smell of the flowers in the temples, you miss the sound of the river as it babbles past, you want to feel the warm summer breeze ruffle your hair as you stand in the middle of a marketplace. You're tired of the Fields, you're bored of walking the streets of Elysium with the weight of their stares at your back, sick of standing at the steps to the Isles and wondering if it is, truly, euphoric and if any mortal would ever find out. You don't wear your sandals around the palace anymore; you don't want to hear the footsteps echo. It's just a reminder that you are, truly, alone.

Even the other deities in the Underworld have stopped calling on you. The aura that surrounds you is enough to wilt most any plant, unnerve most every animal, and the gods are no exception. The only exceptions are Hecate, who makes it her personal mission to bribe you into visiting the Meadow if only for a moment, and Thanatos when he can slip away for longer than a moment to distract you from your work. They rarely succeed, but it's the thought that counts, you suppose.

You muse on this as you walk, bare feet skimming lightly over the soil of the Meadow as you make your way to the Gates. You could probably just shadow-walk, if you wanted, you do enjoy giving your Thanatos a fright, but you figure the walk would do you good. There’s no one to bother you as go, thankfully. The dead wander aimlessly around you. There's no acknowledgment as you pass; there's never any recognition of anything in the Meadow, the price mortals pay for being so utterly inconsequential and mundane.

You smile when you see that your friend is busy, and you give a silent command to Cerberus not to alert the man to your presence. The dog whines a little, but sits back on his haunches, shaking the ground as he does so. You're silent as you move up behind the judge.

"You wanted me to tell you my judgment and I have," Hoseok says firmly. "You could have gone straight to the Asphodel Meadow and existed in relative peace for eternity, and instead you request a hearing, and then have the gall to question my decision?" You grimace slightly; perhaps putting Hoseok in charge of judging the souls was not the best idea, but he has yet to be wrong about someone.

"Please, sir," The mortal whimpers. He's on his knees, suit crumpled and dirty where he sits. "I was only doing what I thought was best, please, surely that matters."

"You used children!" Hoseok says in shock. "As slaves! It's 2019 and you had nearly a hundred seven-year-olds sewing clothes together in a cramped warehouse with one bathroom. You seriously expect me to give you leniency because you thought that was best?"

"Their families would have starved without that money," The mortal says. He's on the verge of tears, which has always made you uncomfortable, so you stay hidden for now. "I kept them all fed and safe, didn't I? What would they have done without me? Gone to work in some factory, with dangerous machines and cruel managers, whipped every time they needed to eat?"

"You used children as nearly free labor, barely allowed them time to piss, fed them once every twelve hours, and you expect that to be okay because they could’ve had it worse," Hoseok says. Disgust drips from his voice and you’re inclined to agree with the sentiment. "I respect your opinion, but you are to be punished for your deeds fittingly." Hoseok snaps and two of the Bones come over. These two are in desert camo, one barely tall enough to be an adult judging by the skeletal build, but their grip is unforgiving as they cart the mortal off to the Fields. You don’t even need to mold together a punishment for him; the warehouse you sent others who’d done the same wasn’t quite crowded enough yet.

"Well, that was fun," You call, and delight at the way Hoseok jumps nearly a foot in the air. He glares at you as he turns and you don't bother to hide the smirk on your face. "Child slavery, huh? In this day and age?"

Hoseok tsks. "I know we used to allow some crazy shit back in the old days, but you'd think that people would know better by now. Using children like that, kids…” He trails off, still fuming, and you nod.

“I know.” You pull a piece of lint off his suit with a wrinkle of your nose. “You made the right decision if it helps.”

“I know I did,” He says with a smirk. “I always do.” You roll your eyes and turn away from him, watching the lines of souls head through the gates to their eternal blandness. It's the best way to hide the flush he brings to your cheeks. “What brings you out here, though? Aren’t you supposed to be doing something important?”

“Don’t I wish,” You mutter. “All I’ve got to do is figure out how to expand the realm again without Zeus’ approval.”

“Wait, he didn’t approve the expansion?” You shake your head and step closer to where Cerberus is laying, all three heads focused entirely on you as you rub his middle nose. “Where does he think we’re going to put all of the souls, up your ass?”

“Clearly,” You spit.

“I know it’s not exactly great down here and that they would all rather be thrown into the Pit than visit, but they need to sometimes. If only to see what it’s like. I mean, honestly, what do they expect us to do, just toss everyone in the Meadow and call it a day until there are so many that they’re tripping into Elysium? What the f-”

“Thanatos,” You say quietly, and Hoseok stops. It’s not often that you call him by his title rather than his name, preferring the familiarity of his friendship over the detachment of your positions. “Even here, the gods have ears. You know better than to criticize them like that.”

He huffs but nods his head. You press a kiss to Cerb’s middle nose and coo at him until he starts wagging his tail. When you turn back around, Hoseok is stumbling to keep his balance on the shaking ground. You laugh, which he does not appreciate, but before he can say anything in his defense, another soul is escorted to him by a Bones. The guy is already pleading with Hoseok, who’s returned to the stony mask he usually wears. The silver aura that surrounds him always brings you comfort, reminding you of the moonlight that bathes the surface world, but it has turned colder and is as deadly as mercury. You envy the way he can switch back and forth between his professional mask and the bright, loving man you know; if only it were that easy for you. Without so much as a wave, you weave the shadows around you once more, ignoring the soul's cries to you for mercy, and let yourself disappear into the darkness.

When you emerge from the shadows, you settle at the base of your garden tree. The only living thing that would grow down here, the sole reminder of the world above. Its branches show that it should be close to the harvest soon, maybe a month away at the most. You reach up, weaving through the darkness to pluck a pomegranate from the tree. You don't even like pomegranates anymore, you think as you inspect it. Ripe, juicy, and utterly disgusting; the gods' idea of a joke. The thing that brought about your isolation, your solitude, yet it continues to be the only thing that grows in this wasteland.

You laugh bitterly before tossing the fruit up in the air, letting it fly through the shadows to land beside Hoseok, whatever he's doing. He always appreciates your little gifts, the only real thing you can do to show that you aren't cross with him and are glad for the work he does. He's long been stuck here with you, but the fruit doesn't turn to bile on his tongue the way it does yours. Perhaps the willingness he had that first time made a difference.

Please.

You glance around, looking for the voice that suddenly echoes around you. It's soft, a memory of a whisper. It's not rare for you to hear the voices of the dead in your realm, but this is different. This one strikes you to your core, for this…

This one sounds hopeful.

The prayers that make their way to you are never hopeful. They are sad or angry or scared, always filled with tears and regret and more than a little hesitancy, but never do they have any shred of hope in them.

You stand, eyes narrowed as you look through the darkness for whatever soul may be calling to you.

Please. I don't want to go back. Don't let her take me.

Without thinking, you reach into the shadows. The blackness swirls around your fingers, unsure where you're trying to go. You don't know yourself, and you wish you did. You aren't sure why you're doing this; you rarely answer prayers, least of all the ones that don't mention you specifically, but something in this voice calls to you. It resonates in your chest, shakes your very being because you remember that feeling. You remember the way it felt to be free, standing in the sun and clawing at the earth as Gaia dragged you back down to your post, tears mixing with the dirt as you pleaded, begged her not to take you back down there.

With a jerk, you pull the shadows apart, and the ground quakes above you. You watch, anxiety pooling in your gut, and it's only the intensity of your focus that lets you see it: a figure, falling limply through the earth that you've opened. The string of curses you let out would make even Ares blush, and it's with a rush you haven't felt in millennia that you weave the shadows together into a net and toss it upwards. The figure falls into it with ease, shadows wrapping around the body to glide gently downwards until they can deposit the person with ease at the roots of your tree.

Your breath catches in your throat as the darkness recedes, revealing soft mint hair with flowers woven into it, pale green robes that are sliced nearly in half at the back and caked with mud. The man is beautiful and soft and bright, every inch the antithesis to your own black and grey clothes. You hesitate to even look at him, too afraid of dulling that sun-kissed skin with the death you carry on your fingertips.

His brow furrows and he winces, though his eyes remain closed. You blink owlishly before guiding the shadows around him once more; when you're sure he's secure, you pull him along behind you until you reach the only spare room you have in the palace. You situate him on the bed there, fluffing pillows and smoothing blankets until you can almost pretend he fell asleep there of his own accord. With pursed lips, you assign three of your Bones to watch him; one just inside the door and two outside of it, just in case whatever he was running from attempts to come for him.

You don't want to leave him, but you have work to do, and the land of the dead cannot rule itself.

It's dark when he opens his eyes. There is Greek fire in the corner, and shadows dancing on the walls around it, but he cannot make out much else. When he sits up and slides his feet off what feels like a bed, he hisses. The marble is cold and unforgiving against the bare skin of his feet and he doesn't know of any feeling like it. He's too accustomed to the dirt and grass from his mother's domain, and even the white marble of Olympus was warm to the touch. This is different. Alarming. New.

He eventually works up the nerve to stand fully. Looking around, he doesn't see any kind of light sources other than the brazier in the corner, so he grips one of the coals in his palm and uses that bit of light to find the door. The fire tingles against his skin, but he's long since grown used to holding fire in his palms for his mother. The warmth is comforting for a brief moment before the image of his mother flashes through his mind. He flinches at the memory of her face, twisted with wrath, and the stone drops out of his grip before he can catch it.

The marble of the wall is cool against his back as he slides to the ground, knees brought up to his chest and his eyes screwed shut against the darkness. There's a vice around his chest and he can't breathe and he can't see and he doesn't have any idea where he is or if he's even alive or if she's stuffed him somewhere he'll never be able to escape and the thought makes his head spin as the air catches in his throat and gods don't even truly need to breathe and yet he can feel the cold claws of death tighten around his throat and all he can see in his final moments is the horrifying face of his mother's anger and he can feel the vines and roots around his ankles once more and-

"Who the hell are you?"

He looks up, pushing the sweat-covered hair out of his eyes. There's a man, in the darkness, who exudes a faint silver light around him that illuminates the walls and black marble floor. The man doesn't seem angry that he's there, or even all that surprised; just curiously resigned. There are so many questions on the tip of his tongue, so much he wants - needs - to know but only one makes it past the rock lodged in his windpipe.

"Am I dead?"

The man frowns and shakes his head. "I seriously doubt it, since you didn't cross the river." The man looks him over, taking in the flushed skin and sweat beads and the purple robes he donned the moment he decided to run and seems to decide something. He crouches down so he's eye level, poised on the balls of his feet with his elbows on his knees, and even in a full suit, he looks impeccably put-together. "I'm Thanatos. You can call me Hoseok. If you'll let me, I'd like to take you to someone who probably has a better idea of what you're doing here." All he can do is nod, and Hoseok extends a hand, which he uses to bring himself to a shaky stand.

"I'm Yoongi," He says, hesitant and quiet. "Um, I'm Kore. Or, Persephone. Either one."

"I think I'll stick with Yoongi," Hoseok says. His smile lights the hallway that Yoongi stands in, and it eases something inside him, though he isn't sure what. Hoseok doesn't let go of his hand as he guides Yoongi through the corridors, and talks to him the entire time. He speaks of his duties there, souls he's judged that day, ones he wished he could do more for, comforts Yoongi when a walking skeleton in Roman armor passes him and explains that those are the security force of the palace. By the time they make it to a large room, lit on each side with braziers of Greek fire that give the room an eerie glow, Yoongi has a fairly good idea of where he is, and who Hoseok is taking him to see.

The large ebony throne at the end of the room and the black-robed figure sitting atop it only confirms his fears.

When Hoseok enters the throne room, you're only slightly surprised. It wasn't entirely uncommon for him to take a break from his judicial duties, and so long as there were plenty of Bones to watch the gates, you had no issues. Years would sometimes pass before Hoseok needed to return, relieving the judgment council once more and returning them to their own afterlives.

To see him shadowed by the mint-haired boy you pulled through the earth, however, is a shock.

You set the papers you'd been writing at to the side. Your robes, woven from shadows and dipped in the Styx, swirl around your bare feet as you move to sit correctly with your back straight instead of lounging as you'd been doing before. The darkness you’d brought forth to cushion your chair, plump and fat and soft underneath you, shifts as well, keeping the hard edge of the marble from digging into your skin. Hoseok stifles a smile at the sight and you narrow your eyes at him. You wish he'd say something about it, the punk.

"What can I do for you, Hoseok?" You eventually ask as he and his companion reach the steps just below your throne. Even now, you can barely bring your eyes away from the boy behind him; he's radiant, the light in the room seemingly drawn to him despite the way he's slouched into himself.

"I was just wondering if you knew how this young man came to be in the underworld, my lady," Hoseok says. Your eyes dart back to him and you can't help the way your heart softens at the soft silver shine around him. You look to the mint-haired god again; his eyes dart around nervously as if he expects something to jump out at him, and he's close enough to Hoseok that if the other were to step back, they'd both likely fall to the floor.

You lean forward in your throne, doing your best to project a calm and friendly air to the shorter of the two gods. "Do you not remember?" You ask quietly. Your eyes don't leave his big brown ones, and you can see the moment the panic sets in. "It's fine, you don't need to answer me. Just know that you're safe here."

"Yoongi?" Hoseok says quietly, drawing the boy's attention. "Hey, it's alright. We're not gonna let anything happen." It takes several minutes but eventually the boy - Yoongi, apparently - nods. He hasn't relaxed at all, but he doesn't seem like he's about to bolt out of your throne room, so you consider it a success.

"You were praying," You tell him softly. "You asked for my help, so I gave it, as best I could. I don't think you meant for your words to reach me, but they did." Yoongi frowns ever so slightly as he takes in the knowledge. There's a hint of anxiety in his face, his brow furrowed adorably, but he doesn't startle when Hoseok rests a hand on his shoulder. He looks up, though, and the two of them seem to have a silent conversation. Something settles in your stomach, seeing the ease with which Hoseok interacts with him, and you swallow down the lump in your throat. It's ridiculous to feel anything like this; Hoseok is your subordinate and friend, and you've hardly known Yoongi for five minutes.

"He can stay here, right?" Hoseok asks. You look to Yoongi, wondering if he even wants to stay, if he even wants to be here at all or if he wished someone else had answered his prayers. Hoseok calls your name softly and your gaze flicks to him. "Can he stay?"

You find that you're debating with yourself. Yoongi clearly doesn't belong here; he is soft and sweet and gentle and completely at odds with the harsh, depressive atmosphere that lingers in your palace. He looks terrified even now as he takes in the room, eyes lingering on the bones that were fused together to make your throne. And yet...you cannot escape the fear and hope that had echoed in his prayer, the sheer desperation that someone would help him. He had been running and terrified, which could only mean that he was being chased by something or someone, and you couldn't force him out if he was in danger.

"If you would like to stay," You say after a moment too long, "Then you are, of course, more than welcome to do so." You rise from your throne, shadows dissipating as you do, and take a couple of tentative steps toward the pair. He doesn't shrink back in fear, which you take as a good sign. "The guest quarters will be yours to do with as you please. Hoseok can show you around the palace and grounds, so you don't get lost, and the Bones can bring you anything you require." You move to press a hand to Hoseok's arm, and you level him with a careful look.

"Of course, my lady," Hoseok says. He turns to Yoongi with a radiant smile. "And you can leave whenever you'd like."

"Of course," You agree quickly. "Hoseok can take you back and forth across the river as you wish. Charon can be quite fussy about it." Several times, your guests have been stuck on the wrong side of the river until someone brought your ferryman his payment. Yoongi looks slightly less terrified, and in the emerald glow of the fires, you notice how wide his eyes are. "Oh! You're from the surface, of course, I forgot."

With a snap of your fingers, the sconces along the walls light themselves, and the candles ringing the large chandelier in the center of your throne room surge to life as well. Yoongi startles a little, stepping closer to Hoseok.

"Ah, I forget you surfacers can't see as well down here," Hoseok mutters. "We'll get you a candlestick as well, just in case." He nods to you, Yoongi copying him in a most adorable way. They're halfway out of the room when a thought occurs to you.

"Yoongi?" You call after him. He turns, and the green halo around him makes your heart falter. "Don't eat the pomegranates. Not even the seeds." His brow furrows in confusion but he gives a hesitant nod before he turns and hurries after Hoseok.

As much as your chest aches for him, you won't subject him to this life. You watch him go and wonder how long he'll last in this hellscape.

When their shadows have long disappeared from the walls, you turn and retake your seat on the throne. With a wave, a small team of Bones appears in front of you - the same uniforms, with the same unit numbers, stamped on their dog tags, and the same haunted look where their eyes once were - and you do a quick count. Ten should do fine for what you need.

"Scour the earth. Do not speak to anyone. Find out what he was running from, and if it still searches for him. Don't let anyone see you, and don't let anyone know why you're looking. Return if you're in danger. Report to me immediately." They salute, and you watch their forms slowly disappear, becoming more and more transparent until they glide upwards and through the cracks in the ceiling.

You sit back and wonder how long it will take for you to get answers, and if it will be before or after Yoongi realizes he's too good for this place.

Yoongi is quiet. That's the first thing Hoseok notices about him. He doesn't initiate conversation, really, instead content to listen to Hoseok talk about the various souls he's judged and the occasional escape attempts someone has made. At first, when Yoongi speaks, he's quiet, like he doesn't really want - or expect - to be heard, and he always looks pleasantly surprised when Hoseok answers his question or responds to his comments.

It makes his heart ache, and he wonders what exactly Yoongi has gone through to make him so shocked that anyone would actually listen to what he has to say. It takes weeks for him to warm enough to Hoseok to start speaking more often, to ask questions about his day, to actually request specific things. The day Yoongi asked Hoseok, soft and hesitant, if he could show him the Meadow and the tree, Hoseok almost cried. Yoongi was so obviously ready to be told no, fully expectant for Hoseok to decline such a simple request, and it only reinforced Hoseok's need to give the god everything he could ever want.

"What are you doing, Yoongi?" Hoseok asks when he looks up. They're at the gates, Hoseok in the usual position, eyes roving over the lines of souls slowly shuffling forward, and Yoongi sitting nearby. Cerberus is curled up behind him, dwarfing the god with his massive body, all three heads snoring and slobbering as they sleep haphazardly on top of each other. Yoongi glances up at Hoseok as he grabs another flower from the basket beside him.

"I'm making Cerb some flower crowns," Yoongi answers as if it was obvious. Hoseok frowns.

"Flower crowns?" He echoes. "What's a flower crown?"

Yoongi gives him a disbelieving stare. "It's a bath salt. What the fuck do you think it is, Hobi? It's a crown made of flowers." Hoseok is caught off guard by the sarcasm, as he has been every time Yoongi has spouted off some kind of sass to him. He strides over and crouches beside the mint god to watch him.

Yoongi's fingers are sure and steady as he weaves the stems of the flowers together. It's already half-dozen, Hoseok thinks, the crocus blossoms blending together prettily and not straying in the slightest from where he places them. Hoseok hasn't ever seen anything like it, and he's entranced by the way Yoongi's fingers move and the way the flowers seem to just do whatever he wants without much coaxing on his part.

"I had the Bones bring me back a basket from their last excursion," Yoongi says. "Since none grow here." He stops with one last crocus and eyes it critically before apparently deciding it was good enough. Hoseok can't take his eyes off the thing, enraptured even as Yoongi sets it gently on his head. Hoseok can feel his eyes widen and his cheeks flush red.

"Thanks," He says after a second, one hand darting up to steady the crown as he shifts his weight. He smiles, unable to help himself and poses. "What do you think? Does it suit me?"

"Ugh, you wish," Yoongi says. Hoseok can see the smile in his eyes and is satisfied with the mirth threatening to bubble past Yoongi's lips.

"Y'know," Hoseok says after a while, hands in his pockets as he watches Yoongi make the second crown for Cerb. "I bet if you planted some seeds near the pomegranate tree, they'd grow." Yoongi's hands stop moving, his eyes drifting up to look past Hoseok. Something similar to excitement hides behind his eyes, and Hoseok wants nothing more than to bring it out to shine. Yoongi cocks a brow as if to say 'really' and Hoseok nods.

The gummy smile he gets in return, full of hope and light that the underworld hasn't ever seen before, is well worth the potential scolding you may give him for suggesting Yoongi fiddle with the tree's courtyard. And the way he keeps the flower crown nearby, hanging off a hook on the gates long after the blossoms have wilted and died, is worth the shy smile Yoongi gets every time he sees it.

You don't see Yoongi for the first few weeks he's there. Not really. You catch glimpses when he passes through the palace halls with Hoseok, and he sits with Cerberus while you visit Hoseok at the gates, but he makes no effort to seek you out, and you respect that distance. You can't bring yourself to force your company on him. You're an acquired taste; Hoseok has been in this realm for so long that he's accustomed to the darkness that follows you, the aura of death and despair that usually surrounds you. He's been surrounded by the dead almost as long as you have, so you know he can't be affected by it. Yoongi, though…

Yoongi is life. He's the springtime blossoms in a summer breeze, he's the sound of birds chirping in the treetops, he's vibrant and fresh and lovely and you cannot ruin that. You can't watch him wither away like a winter garden, you can't watch the color drain from his skin until he's just as much a ghost as the souls that wander the Meadow, you can't let him become just as dead as everything else in this cursed place.

So you leave him be. You offer curt nods when you see him with Hoseok and polite waves because giving any more of yourself to him without letting yourself get closer would be too dangerous. Even with the distance you keep, your chest tightens with every smile that graces his lips, you ache to hear his voice even just once, and it's too much. It's too much for someone you haven't even had a real conversation with. Someone who looks at you with apprehension and anxiety, yet brings undeniable joy to the man you've always held in your heart.

It's too much for you to feel like this for someone who makes Hoseok smile as if he's seeing sunlight for the first time in thousands of years. You love Hoseok too much to stand anywhere near them.

You've been avoiding both of them for days. You can't bear to see Yoongi's gummy smile and Hoseok's adorable dimples as they gaze at each other, and you're busy enough to make a decent excuse for it. Expansion isn't difficult, but keeping it quiet is. Plus you've been on the hunt to figure out what had been after Yoongi with such ferocity that it sliced right through his robes and had him praying to anyone who would listen.

You had a few helpful leads, but nothing concrete, and it was more than a little frustrating. Which is why you find yourself stepping out of the shadows of the pomegranate tree, hopeful that it could help to ease even just part of the emotions rolling in your gut.

The sight of Yoongi surprises you, even more so when you see that he's on his knees beside the tree with dirt covering his hands and a smidge of something on his cheek. He looks absolutely wondrous, like everything you've been missing from the world above, and it would bring tears to your eyes if you let it because he's so far out of your reach.

"Hi," You say after a long debate with yourself. Yoongi's head shoots up and he fixes wide eyes on you. He reminds you of the ones who come to you with no memory of what's happened to them, scared and alone and about to get the worst news of their lives. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," He says immediately. "I didn't mean to, not really. You just said not to eat them, and I'm not, so I thought it would be okay. Hobi suggested it and you two are so close that I figured he'd know if you'd be upset."

"I'm not upset." Your voice is as gentle as you can make it. "I'm just curious. Hoseok didn't mention anything to me, and no one really comes here."

"Oh." The relief is palpable as it courses through him, and he looks back down at the ground in front of him. "I'm just planting some flowers so I can make more crowns for Hobi and Cerb. The others died so fast, and I don't want to keep sending the Bones out to get more if I don't have to."

"Oh, you made the flower crown for Hoseok?" You'd figured as much. No one else in the underworld knew how to make them, and Yoongi was the only consistently around him. "He showed me that, it was gorgeous."

"Obviously, it was made by me, after all," Yoongi spouts. You gape at him, and he gives you a contrite grimace. "I'm sorry, my lady Hades, I forgot who I was with for a moment. It won't happen again."

"It should," You say before you can stop yourself. He glances at you curiously. "I don't mind if you're relaxed and casual around me. I've never been one to enforce the rules that Olympus has. Hoseok is proof enough of that. And you can use my name, I don't mind."

The way he whispers your name, almost as if he's practicing it to himself, makes your heart flutter in your chest. It's so dangerous to be around him like this, relaxed and casual; it's so easy to forget that it's Hoseok that gets this, that deserves this small piece of sunshine.

"Well," Yoongi eventually says. "In that case, you can get to work. I've got an entire basket of seeds left to plant around this thing, and I can only work so fast. Plus I'm getting hungry."

"Oh. Okay, show me what to do." You don't hesitate to mirror his position, robes bunching under your knees in the dirt as he points at the small holes he's carved out of the dirt with the trowel and rake the Bones nabbed for him.

Yoongi is patient, you learn. Not extremely so, but he walks you through what you need to do with clear directions. The seeds are small in your hands, which amuses you to no end, and there's an odd delight in packing the soil around them and dripping water down onto them after. You're smiling for the first time in...you don't know how long, and the feeling of Yoongi's hands around yours as he shows you how to use the trowel is something akin to paradise.

His hands are rough; calloused and weathered and wonderful against the softness of your own. You start to talk freely to him, asking him about each seed you plant and what they are and how they look. He tells you about each one, the deep timbre of his voice like music to your ears. He rolls his eyes at every joke you make, despite the way he smiles, and hits back with several quips of his own. He listens as you tell him, voice shaking, about the pomegranate tree, and how it curses anyone who eats its fruit to stay trapped in the underworld forevermore. He talks and listens and jokes and laughs and it's only after you've made a particularly ridiculous joke that you realize your mistake.

"You've spent too much time around Hobi," Yoongi says. "He made the same joke yesterday." He's looking down at the last few seeds, plotting where in the courtyard to put them, and doesn't see the way the smile dies on your face. You'd forgotten. For a brief time, you'd forgotten that this is just pretending.

You don't get to keep this. You don't get to stay here, in this courtyard, with Yoongi and his rough hands and the mint hair that falls in his eyes and his gummy smile. This isn't yours. You don't get flower crowns and jokes and soft kisses, no matter how much you want them, just like you don't get Hoseok's bright grin or his dimples or his long fingers intertwined with yours. Your heart aches for these two beautiful boys, both of them everything you could ever want in so many different ways. And yet you have neither of them, you don't get either of them. They are each other's, and there is no room there for the death you bring in your wake. You kill everything you touch; the mortals whisper about the cold grip of your hands on their neck as they pass over.

You look back over the seeds you've helped Yoongi plant and wonder how many you've killed before they even lived.

You stand and brush the dirt off your robes. "Well," You say, careful to keep your voice level. "I've got some things to do. I trust you'll be alright on your own." You can't bring yourself to look at Yoongi, can't bear to see the dirt that smudged along his cheek, can't stand to see the way the orange robes drape along him and remind you of the way the autumn leaves looked coating the grass in the meadows.

He doesn't even get a response out before you flee, but you feel his eyes on your back long after you've hidden in the shadows and sunk down onto your bed.

It's astounding, you think as you rinse the dirt off your hands later, how a single afternoon planting seeds with someone can be so detrimental to the walls you'd put around your heart. Tears blur your vision and your fingers are trembling, but you keep scrubbing until the phantom slide of his hands against yours is gone and there is no more evidence of the planting you'd done. When you finally stop, your skin is raw and throbbing, and there are tears running down your face.

You had long accepted that Hoseok could never be yours. You were in two different positions, and he was much too bright to want to be with someone like you. Your shadows would have suffocated him, so you resigned yourself to being his friend. Friend is safe. Friend is good.  

You’d known the same when you met Yoongi. Bright and colorful amidst the darkness of the underworld, you wouldn’t dare to get any closer to him, too familiar with the fluttering of your chest and the jumping in your stomach every time you saw him. Just being friendly was enough, ensuring he is safe and happy is fine with you.

But this? Watching the two of them grow closer and closer, able to love each other so wholly while you stand alone in your darkness, watching their bright smiles and soft looks, all directed only at each other, for eternity? This was too much for you to bear. Being hopelessly in love with one man you can’t have is bad enough, but two of them…

You wish for the first time that you were not immortal, but a meager human upon the surface, unaware and blissful in your ignorance.

He never expected this. Not from the moment he woke up, not when he was sprinting through a forest to escape his mother, not for a single heartbeat could he ever imagined everything that has happened to him since he arrived in this cold land.

He’s been alone for so long, hidden away in his mother’s garden with only the rare visit from Artemis or Hestia as he learned how to do anything and everything his mother wished. He’s never had friends before, he’s never had the subtle inside jokes that he shares with Hoseok, familiar enough that even just a quick glance can have them both bursting with laughter. He’s never known a goddess like you, able to weave together the darkness into something tangible, something useful, something real. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen, and Hoseok’s uncanny ability to bend the environment around him and use his silvery aura to turn almost invisible to the naked eye never ceases to amaze him. The two of you are so powerful, so utterly awe-inspiring, and every single thing his mother had told him is so far from the truth that it almost hurts.

Neither you nor Hoseok is standoffish, really; he can see the hesitant friendship in every smile you send his way, and Hoseok’s primary concern at any moment is making sure he’s happy and safe. It warms Yoongi in a way he could never explain, not even in a million years, simply because he’s never felt this way. In all the books he’s read, the plays he’s seen, every mortal he’s watched, he’s seen this.

He’s seen how they turn red with just a look, how their hearts stutter when hands brush, how they smile, soft and private when they think no one is looking at them. He’s seen this feeling, the bubbling in his chest that he gets every time Hoseok laces their fingers together while walking and the moment you step into the courtyard and see the kaleidoscope of colors that you helped plant. He never would have guessed that he would feel it, though, too isolated from the rest of the world until he came here. Until you pulled apart the earth itself to help him escape, without even knowing why or who he was.

The feeling grows inside of him, thorns pricking into his every breath because he knows it can’t last. He’s seen how you and Hoseok look at each other when you think no one is watching, can feel the pull between you and the years upon years of familiarity that lie between you. The two of you are closer than he could ever get, two sides of the same coin, and more suited to each other than he would ever be.

And he can’t stay.

That’s the worst part. He knows it, knows that she will find him before long and wrap her claws around his throat and drag him back into that gilded cage she calls a greenhouse just to leave him. It’s for the best, my dear, she’ll say, it’s to keep you safe.

Yoongi doesn’t want to be safe, though. He wants to be happy and free, and he’s found that place here, surrounded by death even as he carves out his own little area of life. With Hoseok’s warm grin across from him and your own cool fondness beside him. With flower crowns atop his head and Hoseok’s, and the small buds are woven into your own crown of bones and grief as a small reminder that even in death, there is life.

But she will find him. She always does. And though he cannot bear the thought of leaving you, he will, if only to keep you safe.

Yoongi's been there almost a year when you summon Hoseok to dine with you. By the time he gets to your office - a very understated term for the sprawling library - you're already sitting at your usual desk, food pushed aside and forgotten in lieu of the papers stacked in front of you.  Even with your head bent low and bags under your eyes, you're the most beautiful person Hoseok has ever seen.

He remembers the first time he met you when Zeus had assigned him to be the gatekeeper for the underworld. You were so young, so skittish and worried that you were going to be a terrible ruler as if the dead could be disappointed in you. You'd been beautiful then, too, but not in the same way. You've grown into yourself since then; you're no longer afraid of being a bad queen. You know that you're competent and capable, you know you can do this, and you frequently prove wrong any Olympian who says otherwise. You're mature now; strong and confident and brilliant, and even with the bags under your eyes and the shadows that lick lovingly against your skin, you are absolutely radiant.

Hoseok is so in love with you that it physically hurts him, and every time he looks at you, he is reminded of how you are just out of his reach.

He clears his throat and you look up. The tired smile that graces your face warms him, and he settles into a chair on your left with practiced ease. This isn't the first time you've asked him to dine with you, and it won't be the last.

"What's the occasion?" He teases, delighting in the way you roll your eyes and gesture to the food and nectar that sits in front of him.

"How is Yoongi?" You ask. It doesn't escape him that you don't answer, but you always have your reasons, so he doesn't call you on it.

"Well. He wanders around on his own and doesn't seem to jump at the slightest sound anymore. He came with me the other day when I judged and managed to pick fifteen people for Elysium in a row." An expression passes over your face that he can't decipher. He continues anyway. "He still won't talk much about what happened, but he also doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry to leave. I imagine he'll get bored eventually, and we'll need to give Cerb extra treats when he does, but I'm not concerned just yet."

You nod and Hoseok starts to eat as you rifle through a few more papers. "You know he's Persephone?" You ask, and Hoseok nods. He'd forgotten to share that knowledge with you, but clearly, you had your own way of finding things out. "So then you're aware that his mother is Demeter."

Hoseok pauses for a minute. He swallows the food in his mouth and really looks at you for the first time since he sat down. The bags under your eyes are more prominent, and you're wearing your Hades expression. The one that stays professional and controlled and tells people nothing of your true thoughts. Well, people that haven't known you for more than a thousand years.

"Hoseok, he can't stay here forever," You eventually say. "She's been looking for him everywhere. The humans' crops are ruined, ice and snow have covered the earth, more people are dying than we can hold right now. She won't stop."

"And that means we kick him out?" Hoseok hisses. You close your eyes and he can feel the sigh you're holding back. "You said yourself that he could stay as long as he wants. You can't just rescind that because some wheat goddess is going on a rampage. We still don't know what he was running from, or if it's still out there, and I won't watch him-" He stops, frozen by the way you're pressing your tongue into the side of your cheek. It's the only tell you have and he rarely sees it, because you rarely keep things from him. "What do you know?"

You don't answer, and he repeats the question, louder this time, as he surges out of his chair.

"I was running from her," Yoongi's voice echoes through the library. You and Hoseok both turn to see him standing in the door, and Hoseok's heart swells at the sight. He's in soft, muted pink robes that Hoseok knows he made himself. His cheeks are rounder, and he's no longer curled in on himself. He looks stronger. Confident. Unafraid. "I was running from my mother. That's what you found out, right?" Hoseok looks to you, and the regret in your eyes just confirms it.

"I'm sorry, Yoongi, I was only trying to make sure you were safe, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright," Yoongi says as he moves to run his hand along your cheek. "I know." He smiles at you. Hoseok looks between the two of you - Yoongi's hand resting lightly on your cheek and a soft smile on his lips while his eyes crinkle with rare happiness, your own eyes wide and full of what can only be described as pure, unadulterated love - and his stomach rolls violently. Even after all the time Hoseok has spent with you, and with Yoongi, and the times he's entered a room to find the two of you in comfortable silence, he never expected this. He should've, he realizes; the two of you are a perfect match, complementing each other to near perfection, each fault being smoothed over by the other's strengths.

How could he have thought you wouldn't fall in love with Yoongi? Soft, kind Yoongi, who had just enough snark inside of him to make every word out of his mouth an unexpected joy. Yoongi who braids flower crowns with the flowers he's started to grow in the courtyard, surrounding the pomegranate tree with the beautiful blooms. Yoongi, who encourages Hoseok to judge more and more souls, ones that don't request it, who can somehow pick the good people from the bad just by looking.

And how could he have ever expected Yoongi not to fall for you? Strong and intelligent, determined and kind. You who opened your home to him in his most vulnerable moment and never expected anything in return. You who did everything in your power to find what was chasing him, and find a way to stop it. You, with your lonely smile and your bare feet. You, who Hoseok himself has been in love with for tens of thousands of years.

How could he have expected either of you not to fall in love in the months that you have known each other when Hoseok couldn't even stop himself?

“I’ll go back to her,” Yoongi says softly, finally dropping his hand from your cheek and turning the radiant smile on Hoseok. “She’ll have no reason to continue this if I return.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Yoongi,” You say immediately. ““You were desperate to get away from her, and...what she almost did to you, that’s unacceptable.”

“Let her rage,” Hoseok agrees. “You’re safe here, no one can get to you without getting through the two of us first, not to mention Cerberus and the Bones. No nature goddess will last in this place, not with our full force around you.”

“Thank you, Hobi, but no. I can’t ask you both to do that, not when it could end so badly for you. You don’t know what she can do, it’s not-”

“You aren’t asking us,” You say. Your voice is as quiet as always, but there’s a firmness there that Hoseok recognizes. It’s usually saved for the throne room when some mortal has been particularly annoying or stubborn, and it’s a shock to see it directed at Yoongi. “We are offering. Let us protect you, Yoongi. At least let me speak with Zeus about this. I may be able to convince him to intervene.”

Yoongi hesitates, the indecision is written all over his face, and Hoseok leans to lace their fingers together. It’s a familiar gesture, done so often to prevent Yoongi from getting lost that it’s second nature at this point.

“Please,” Hoseok pleads when Yoongi looks at him. “Please, Yoongi.”

The reluctant nod is all the confirmation needed. You’re already scribbling out a summons for Hermes to carry to the lord of the gods, and Hoseok is halfway through the halls to reinforce the gates and ensure Cerberus knows his task. He tries not to think about the way Yoongi lingered behind, one hand on your shoulder as he watched you write and the other caressing the flower-riddled braids he’d made earlier that day.

He doesn’t think about it, because in the end, it doesn’t matter. Hoseok is so deeply in love with the two of you, so grossly enamored, that he would go to the end of time itself if it meant keeping the two of you safe and happy. Even if that meant watching you love each other and not him.

“What do you mean, he won’t help?”

You massage your temples without looking up from the letter Zeus had sent back with Hermes. He was, unsurprisingly, not helpful. Hoseok had appeared not long after the messenger had left, and is, also unsurprisingly, irate.

“According to him, he has no dog in this fight, because Yoongi isn’t his son, he’s Demeter’s, and if he were to get involved, he’d side with her since the humans are dying so quickly, which isn’t exactly good for worship numbers.”

“Are you kidding me? He seriously said he’d take her side in this?”

“Not in so many words, but yes. And I get it, Hobi. His job is to keep the peace between everyone in Olympus, and without actually coming here to give me an audience, all he has is Demeter’s side of the story.”

“Which is?”

“That I kidnapped her son and am currently holding him captive in a dungeon down here.”

“That’s absurd. He’s not captive at all, he’s happier here than he ever was up there, and you didn’t kidnap him!” You give a slight nod to show that yes, Hoseok, you’re aware of the truth. “Does he know what she does to him? How she treats him?”

“Hoseok, please,” You mutter. The weight of Zeus’ words is like a blade against your throat and you want nothing more than to help Yoongi. Clearly, the Fates have decided against that. “You know how he is. Do you honestly think he’d care? She has a claim to him, despite what he wants, and unless we find a way to get Zeus down here or go there ourselves, our lord won’t be able to hear any other side of this story.”

“Then we’ll...we’ll go there! We’ll make them listen! You could talk sense into him, make him see that he needs to help.”

“You know I can’t do that, Hobi.” Hoseok flinches, as if just remembering that you are as captive here as the souls you keep. You’re glad, not for the first time, that Death Itself cannot be contained, so that Hoseok, at least, is free to come and go as he pleases. “And before you say it, no, we can’t ask him to go. It isn’t safe. The second he sets foot outside this realm, she’ll pull him back. We’re lucky that he hasn’t already told her where Yoongi is.”

Your statement is punctuated with a muffled thud, and the anxiety that runs through you is mirrored in the look Hoseok gives you. Another thud echoes through the palace, the ground rumbling under your feet, and you stand.

“Where is he?” You ask, already pulling the shadows around you.

“Just past the gate, walking through the Meadow. If we hurry-”

“Go.” You disappear into the blackness, never more glad that Hoseok can sense the living in your land. When you step away from the shadows, Yoongi is there, confusion written across his face and fear in his eyes. “You have to run.”

“No,” He says. “I’m not going to keep running from her. I’m staying here, she can’t take me back.”

“Yoongi, please,” You beg. He’s too vulnerable here, too open, too easily seen with his spring green robes billowing around his feet and flowers woven into a crown atop his head. He takes your hands in his and pulls you close, and you’ve never seen a fire like this in him. It burns hot and strong and it makes your chest ache for what could have been.

“I won’t let her hurt you while I hide away like a coward,” He whispers. His thumb wipes away tears you didn’t know were there, and determination floods through you.

"Please, Yoongi. Let us help you. Let me help you. I-" The words choke in your throat, but Yoongi nods as if they made it out.

"I love you, too." His voice is soft, barely audible over the shaking ground and the deafening sound of hooves slamming into your gates. You feel more than see Hoseok land beside you, and his hand rests on the small of your back without hesitation.

"Take him," You tell Hoseok. "Go to the palace. You'll be safe there. Don't let him leave."

Hoseok's eyes are fire-bright as he wraps an arm around Yoongi's waist. The god's protests fall on dead ears, even as you let your hands brush over the softness of Hoseok's ink black wings. Just one moment, that is all you want, just one single second to pretend.

"I'll see you after, my lady," Hoseok says firmly. You don't have the heart to correct him, nor the time, so you just nod. Yoongi's screams echo in your ears even as you turn, the blackness that lingers at every corner of your realm swirling around your feet and ready to be whatever you need. You let one last year fall from your eyes as the gates crumple, and the furious eyes of Demeter fixate on you and the black-winged figure carrying her son away.

Hoseok flies faster than he ever has, determined to get Yoongi into the palace and relative safety. The god sobs in his arms, still struggling to get back to where you stand in the Meadow, the massive form of Demeter towering above you, but Hoseok doesn't relax his grip. You gave him an order; he hadn't disappointed you yet, and he isn't about to start now. Not with Yoongi caught in the middle.

He doesn't hesitate when he touches down in the palace, wings retracted and brushing ever so slightly against the black marble floor. He turns to the nearby Bones and orders them to the doors, summoning as many others as he can spare from the gates and Fields to help barricade the palace from the goddess.

"Hobi, you have to go, you have to help her," Yoongi sobs. "She's gonna...I can't, Hobi, please, you have to keep her safe."

"I have to keep you safe," Hoseok replies. He's got a vice grip around Yoongi's arm as he pulls him deeper into the palace, doing his level best to avoid any window or door to the outside. "That was the order she gave and that's the order I shall obey."

"How can you say that?! Don't you care that she could-"

"Of course I care!" Hoseok spits, rounding on the shorter god the second the words leave his lips. "Do you think this is easy for me, Yoongi? Do you think I enjoy choosing between the two of you like this? Because I don't. I want nothing more than to be helping her right now, but I can't...I can't leave you alone here. It's too dangerous."

Hoseok isn't stupid; he knows exactly how he feels about you, and Yoongi, and he's not oblivious to the way the both of you look at him. Still, the two of you are powerful deities, worshipped and loved, feared and prayed to. He's just a guardian, content to sit in the background and watch for threats. Yes, he loves you, with every fiber of his immortal soul, but he also loves Yoongi, and he knows you love Yoongi, and you gave him an order.

"Hobi," Yoongi whispers, eyes wet and red and beautiful. "Hobi, please, you have to help her. She needs you. I can manage, I can hide, but she needs you. No one else can help her."

The fact that he's even considering this shows just how easy it is for Yoongi to manipulate him. Hoseok understands now, what you meant all that time ago. Yoongi's voice is rough and lingering and fearful but it carries so much hope that it digs into Hoseok's skin like a hook. He curses and bundles Yoongi into the corner.

"Stay hidden. Don't make a noise. You can't let her find you." Hoseok hesitates for a split second before pressing a quick kiss to Yoongi's forehead. "I will see you after this."

"I know."

It's never been harder for him to turn his back on someone, but Hoseok manages, with only one last look back before he takes to the air and surges forwards to where you stand, keeping Demeter back with every piece of your power.

Yoongi runs. He runs and runs and runs, the bare skin of his feet silent on the cool marble. The braziers have long since gone out, but he stopped needing them months ago. He knows where he is, even as he tucks himself into a small, nearly invisible niche in a corner. He hardly dares to breathe, too scared that the sound will alert his mother of his location. The palace is silent, not a single sound in the entire thing, and it's deafening in the aftermath of the rumbling screams that signaled your battle with her.

He isn't sure how he managed to convince Hoseok to leave him, whether it was the obvious love the god felt for you or the sheer desperation in his own eyes, but he could only pray the two of you made it out. As gods, you're all difficult to kill, but it's not impossible. Not for other deities.

Come out, little flower.

Yoongi stifles a whimper, panic coloring his vision white for a long while before he can breathe again. Memories flash behind his eyelids and he pried them open just to stare into the darkness.

You can't hide forever, little flower. You know that.

Her voice echoes against the marble. It makes her sound like she's everywhere and nowhere at once, able to find him even as he hides. He clenches his teeth and reminds himself that you and Hoseok are the only ones that know this palace better than him.

You're making me very angry, little flower. Why do you run? I only want the best for you, and you insist on causing such a fuss.

The sound of her sandals reaches him, reverberating off the walls and telling him that she's far too close. He slips silently out of the niche and pads across the floor on the balls of his feet. He doesn't make a sound, something he perfected in his time with her, and just as she slips around the corner, he's darting down another hallway.

Look at what you've done, little flower. All this mess, and for what? Do you like it when I'm angry? Do you enjoy this game of ours?

He slips into another hall just in time. Exhaustion has made him slow. The marble of the wall is cool against his heated skin, and he wonders where you are. Where Hoseok is. If you're alright or if you're laying in the Meadow, golden ocher pooling around you. The thought enrages him, and for the first time, he can feel power at his fingertips; real power, not the simple gardening magic she taught him as a child. He's ready to use it, he thinks. He's so tired of running, so tired of being afraid, and he's so fucking angry that the people he loves have had to fight his battles for him.

Found you, little flower.

Warmth circles his ankle and pulls before he can jerk away. Her nails are sharp than before, like sickles at the end of each long finger, and he scrabbles uselessly at the smooth stone floor. She's speaking but the sound of her voice - wind whispering through a field of wheat, a brook babbling in the summer - is drowned out by the blood pumping in his ears.

"No, I won't go back, you can't make me," He hisses, kicking at her hand with his free leg. He doesn't feel the cuts on his soles, doesn't register them at all until he sees the gold dropping onto the floor; the adrenaline masks the pain. She says something else and he stops kicking, though he doesn't know what she's said. He isn't listening, too busy thinking of a way out of this.

It comes to him, all at once, and he relaxes in her grip. His chest heaves in a sob, because he knows exactly what he has to do, and you will never forgive him for it.

"Alright," He says flatly. Demeter stops in her monologue. "I'll go with you. Just leave them alone." The smile that splits her face is more grotesque than any corpse he's seen in the Styx, but the way she releases his ankle is a blessing. He keeps himself hunched and downtrodden as he pushes himself up, into her waiting arms. The hug is bruising and brings vile to his throat, but it is necessary.

It's with a flash of green as he pulls away from her that he makes his move. The flower crown previously atop his head has morphed, grown into thick, thorny vines around her arms and keeping her in place.

Yoongi is gone before she can so much as screech, sprinting as fast he can through the halls to the one thing that can help him. He feels it when she rips through his flowers, his very soul shaking at the pain that rips through him, but he's determined. He's made good ground, he only had a little further to go.

The vibrant colors of the courtyard have never felt so welcome. He's halfway through, blossoms crushed under his feet as he tears through the carefully tended flowers, when she catches up. The blade of her scythe rips through his back, but the adrenaline masks the pain. He's bleeding, he knows, but he can't bring himself to focus on anything but the way the bark feels under his grip, branches reaching down to help him reach his goal.

She tears him out of the tree violently, no longer wearing the carefully sculpted mask of love. The scream that she unleashes when she sees him shakes the entire realm, soft pebbles falling from the ceiling of the cavern miles above his head, but he doesn't care.

The pomegranate is ripe against his tongue, juice tinting his lips pink, and the weight of it against his chest has never been more welcome. Demeter screams for what could be centuries, but Yoongi does not care, because he has won, and he has never tasted anything so sweet in his entire life.

"Come to bed," Hoseok pleads, not for the first time. You look at him with a sigh. His wings are gone, hidden away until he needs them again, and his arm is free of the bandages he's been wearing. It has taken so long for him to heal, and you still aren't sure he should be up and about. There's a small, barely perceptible scar along his forearm, the faintest reminder of what the two of you survived.

"I have to finish this before he returns, Hobi," You tell him, also not for the first time. Hoseok scoffs and comes around the desk to stand behind you, eyes roving over the documents in front of you.

"It's been over six months," He whispers in your ear. "Zeus has approved your expansion requests. I'm fine. You're fine. Yoongi will be back from Olympus soon."

"Hoseok," Your tone is warning despite the way he whispers your name. You deflate, falling back in your chair and letting him rub your shoulders. "I just miss him."

"I know. I do too." You're both quiet for a while. It has been six months since Demeter crashed into your world and rampaged through the Meadow to find Yoongi. You remember it so vividly, the way you struggled against the unbridled fury she had, the way Hoseok screamed as she broke his wing, the pain in your chest as you'd crawled to him and just held him in your arms until the Bones had made it to the two of you and carried him to the palace.

You had been, and still are, vastly proud of him and Yoongi for fighting back, but that didn't change the fact that they had both put themselves in immense danger by doing so. Even with the - admittedly brilliant, if stupid - plan that Yoongi had come up with, things never really worked out for you. Hoseok had been bedridden for weeks, unable to even more because of the pain in his wing. Hermes has helped with the healing process, which you were unendingly thankful for, but Yoongi had been carted off to Olympus almost immediately for negotiations.

Zeus, benevolent leader and incompetent moron that he is, had decided on a compromise: Yoongi would stay with you in the underworld after the harvest was finished, free to do whatever he liked, but until then he had to stay in Olympus. The letter had mentioned something about reparations to the mortals for the utterly obscene amount of crops they had lost - which was ridiculous really, they were doing their level best to kill the planet and you are gods, since when do gods pay reparations to mortals? - that Yoongi was required to use his abilities to help with.

You'd sent Hermes back with several colorful threats of what exactly would happen to the billions of dead you kept here should Yoongi return in any way other than utter perfection, and you've been anxious for days to find out whether you get to follow through on them. It only worsens when you remember that you have a decision to make when Yoongi returns. You remember the way he looked when he said he loved you, returning words you couldn't bring yourself to say, and you remember the elation and subsequent depression that came after the battle at the realization that you could have had him, were he not gone for half the year.

And yet you also distinctly remember the way Hoseok looked, wings splayed over several tables to hold them in place as they healed, vulnerable and shy as he told you that he was sorry for disobeying you. You won't ever forget his face as he explained, the way his lips formed around your name when he told you he couldn't beat to see you hurt, not after so many years spent loving you. The feel of his lips against your skin is like a phantom even now; Hoseok had waited until he was healed to do anything more than press chaste kisses against your knuckles, and even still you've not felt him the way you want, but it hasn't stopped him from trying.

"Come on, my lady," Hoseok says, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Just for a while." You grumble under your breath - you really do have work to finish before Yoongi arrives - but you allow Hoseok to pull you from your chair and lead you down the hall to your bedroom.

So lost in your own musings, you don't notice the figure lounging on your bed until he speaks.

"Six months and I don't get even so much as a hello?"

Your eyes shoot up and your breath hitches in your throat. Pale green robes lined in the most beautiful black and silver embroidery pool around him, matching the braided crown that rests atop his head. You didn't know flowers like that existed, let alone that they could look so wonderful on someone.

"I didn't know you were back," You breathe.

"That's the point of a surprise, my love," Hoseok says from behind you, hand tightening around yours. Guilt begins to grow in your chest and Yoongi tsks at you. He rises and comes to stand in front of you, brow furrowed.

"That's no way for a queen to look, is it? What has you thinking so hard?" His thumb smooths the space between your brows and you can't help the glance to Hoseok.

"I can't...I don't want to hurt you." Your voice is barely a whisper, and the familiar sting encircles your heart once more. You couldn't choose between the two of them, not if you tried, not even if it meant getting out of this place.

"You won't," Hoseok tells you with a familiar grin. "Yoongi and I have already talked about what we feel for each other, and for you. The only question now is if you'll have us. Both of us."

Months ago, you would have called them crazy and had them exiled for fear they'd gone mad. You never imagined you could have one of them, let alone both; you had been ready to tell them both that you had been mistaken because having one by your side while your heart still yearned for the other was far more cruel than anything you could put in the Fields of Punishment.

Now? Now you know what the Isles must feel like. It is Yoongi in front of you, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek while Hoseok's warmth is steady behind you, one arm encircling your waist and keeping you steady.

"Both of you?" You echo. Yoongi nods.

"You don't have to," Hoseok says from behind you. "But we know how you feel about us, and we're sure in how we feel for each other. There are stranger pairings in the world, aren't there?"

"Only one of you could be king." You aren't sure why you say that, can't remember why it even matters when Hoseok trails his lips over the shell of your ear.

"I never have looked good on a throne," He says. Yoongi's chest rumbles in a laugh, and you could cry at the sight of that familiar gummy smile.

"Please," Yoongi eventually says. "Please say yes." You search his eyes for any hint of indecision or regret, and when you find none, you turn to Hoseok. He has a soft, encouraging smile on his face, and he holds your crown in his free hand. The cool black metal is harsh against his tanned skin, but what draws your eye isn't the way the bones are fused together or the etchings of historical scenes across each. No, it's the soft pale green blossoms woven in among the metal, a stark contrast to the harshness of the bones, and the silver thread twined around all of it, dipping in and out in various places but clearly noticeable in the light. It's a perfect representation of the three of you and it makes your chest swell.

"Yes," You breathe. They don't move, and your eyes dart between them. "Yes, absolutely. I can think of nothing I have ever wanted more."

Yoongi surges forward, capturing you in a long-awaited kiss. His lips are soft as blossoms against yours, warm and gentle as the hands that cup your jaw and draw you closer. You're aware, distantly, of the soft clink of metal on stone as Hoseok sets your crown to the side, though his arm never leaves your waist.

Hours could have passed with Yoongi kissing you. You aren't sure. Time runs together and blends, a dizzying whirlwind of slow drags of his lips across yours followed by quick, messy bursts of his tongue. You can barely focus on what is happening, mind split between the absolute euphoria of kissing him and the heat that comes from Hoseok's fingers dancing along your waist and shoulders, his breath ghosting over your neck as he watches. When Yoongi finally detaches from your lips, he ducks down to suck at the exposed skin of your collarbone, and Hoseok turns your chin so you face him.

"May I, my lady?" He asks. His voice is rough and deeper than you're used to, affected by the sight of you and Yoongi. His fingers twine with the strings holding your robes together and you give him a nod. It doesn't even take a full breath before the black material is pooling at your feet. Hoseok stifles something that sounds suspiciously like a moan behind you, and you think Yoongi actually purrs. They both run their hands along your skin, basking in the goosebumps that they raise and the shivers that crawl up your spine.

"Absolutely ethereal," Yoongi mutters. You pull him into another kiss, one hand coming up to rest against his shoulder while your other tangles in Hoseok's hair where he's doing his level-best to leave his mark on your neck.

"Please," You murmur. "I want to make you happy."

"You've already done that, my queen," He says. His smile is soft and the glint in his eye is sharp. You huff a little and tap twice at Hoseok's neck; when he pulls away, pouting but compliant, you push Yoongi until he's falling back onto your bed. He goes with no objections, one hand twining his fingers with yours and you crawl up to straddle his hips. "Let me please you, my queen. I've been waiting six months to taste you, and I don't want to waste another moment if I don't have to."

Your breath hitches as Hoseok steps up behind you. The bare skin of his chest is a shock as it presses against your back, and he slides his hands along your sides before beginning to tease your nipples. You stifle the moan, emitting more of a whine than anything, and you think you nod. All you know is the heat between your legs and the knee-deep ache to make them happy.

Yoongi's between your legs in a flash. You can't be sure how exactly he moved so quickly without jostling you, but the thought is all but shoved out of your mind as he swipes his tongue against you for the first time. You're glad Hoseok is behind you because your legs are already trembling where they're curled under you and your head drops back to rest against his shoulder. As merciless as Hoseok is in his torment of your chest, Yoongi is doubly so.

You imagine a man starving and dehydrated in a desert wouldn't be this invested in a sudden banquet laid in front of him; Yoongi worships you, circling your clit several times before dipping down to dart teasingly in and out of your hole. He laps up every single drop of your arousal, dutiful in his mission even as Hoseok begins to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. The heat of his breath has you closer to the edge than you want to admit, but the sheer love that radiates from his words at the same time Yoongi rumbles out a heavenly moan straight into your folds, tongue buried inside of you, is what drives you over the edge.

You aren't surprised when neither of them stop; you get the sense Yoongi is thoroughly enjoying himself between your thighs, based on the growing tent in his robes. Hoseok grinds against your ass, and his own hardness presses against you with every painless thrust of his hips. A pang of guilt shoots through you and your hands drop. It's a bit of an awkward angle, but you make it work as you glide your hands over him. He's thick, that's for sure, and nearly as long as your forearm. How you're supposed to take that inside of you is anyone's guess, but as Yoongi brings you to yet another orgasm with his mouth, you realize that's exactly what they're preparing you for.

The whimper comes unbidden, walls clenching around nothing at the thought of them filling you, and they both shudder. "Please," You gasp, "Please, I need you. Both of you."

Yoongi graciously lets you rise off of him, and when you settle on your back, he sits up to smile at you. His lips and chin are absolutely coating in your slick, the sight erotic and exciting. The feeling is doubled as Hoseok grips Yoongi's chin, turning the mint-haired god to face him.

"How does she taste, my flower?" He purrs. You don't hear Yoongi's response, just the deep thrum of his voice, but you see the way Hoseok runs his thumb across Yoongi's lips, collecting your juices, before sliding it into his own mouth. You moan at the sight, Hoseok's eyes falling closed as he relishes in the taste of you. Yoongi strips out of his robes while he can, and he doesn't seem to miss the way your and Hoseok's eyes watch hungrily.

"Tell me what you want," Hoseok says, pulling you closer as Yoongi settles behind you. "We're here for you, my queen."

"I…" You falter. You aren't even sure what you want now; you've spent six months trying to figure out how to tell both of the men you love that you can't be with either of them and now you have both of them naked in your bed, waiting to please you. You can hardly think, can't focus beyond the feel of their skin against yours and the heat of their gaze, but you know one thing.

You need them to know how desperately you love them, and with the fire burning between your thighs, there is exactly one way you can do that.

"I need you inside me, Hobi," You tell him. "I need to feel you inside of me. Yoongi, too. Both of you." Hoseok's cock twitches and something in his jaw clicks. You don't wait for more of a response, choosing instead to slide across the sheets to straddle Hoseok's hips. His hands rest lightly on your hips, tentative now, and you smile at him. His hands are gentle now, soft as the smile he gives you in return. His cock is dripping and red, a warm heat in your palm as you guide him to your entrance.

The look in his eyes, the small moan he releases, the hitch in Yoongi's breath behind you as you slowly sink down onto Hoseok will forever be etched into your memory. You're so full that you could cry; he feels absolutely perfect inside of you, and it only gets better as he guides you carefully up and then back down onto him. Your moan is felt more than heard and it only gets louder as he speeds up. His fingers are marble against your his, unmoving and firm as he slides in and out. He doesn't look away for a second and neither do you; all the years you've spent thinking about him, the millennia you've ached to love and be loved by him, it has all led to this. Your hips moving against his, connected in a way you've never been before; if it were possible to read his thoughts, you think you could at this moment, because they must be a mirror of your own.

"I love you," You whisper. Yoongi's warmth presses against your spine as he slides a finger between the two of you to rub slow circles into your clit, and you gasp. "I love you, Hobi, so much." The words are a mantra on your lips, and you think there may be tears in his eyes but you can't be sure because you're coming again, shuddering on top of him, and Yoongi is gently pulling you off.

Hands turn you, and now it's Yoongi between your legs, cock red and throbbing where it sits against his stomach. He isn't as long as Hoseok, but he's wider, and you clench again at the sight.

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something, but you stop him with a soft kiss pressed against the corner of his mouth. You slide down onto him, welcoming the slight burn that comes with the stretch. It takes two breaths for you to become impatient and begin to move, grinding your hips down against his. Yoongi isn't as loud as Hoseok, soft pants and whines where Hobi is echoing moans and groans, but it's just as attractive. He moves his hips in tandem with yours, and the muses themselves couldn't have created a better rhythm. The words fall from your lips again; it's easier, now that you've said them to someone, to let them go. They don't ball in your throat, aren't a lump to swallow down anymore, and you revel in the feeling.

"I love you," Yoongi returns, thumbs ghosting over the skin of your thighs. "So much, both of you. Saved me, can't fucking...fuck, can't tell you enough." You nod and loose another moan when Hoseok slides a finger in alongside Yoongi's cock.

"Do you think she can take us both, my flower?" Hoseok asks. His voice is raspy in your ear and you shudder as you orgasm again. There's a moment when you wonder just how many times you can come from the two of them, but it's gone the second Yoongi speaks.

"I think she could," Yoongi responds. "She's certainly wet enough. Absolutely soaked, aren't you, my queen? Do you want that? Both of us in here, filling you up?" He punctuates every word with another thrust of his hips and you nod. You don't think you've ever wanted anything more.

Hoseok is careful as he fingers you, working you open with one, then two, then three fingers as Yoongi slides in and out. You'd commend them both on their stamina if you could spare a single thought to anything but the feeling of them. Yoongi looks wrecked, covered in sweat with swollen lips, panting and desperate as he writhes beneath you.

When Hoseok finally decides you're ready, he slides his fingers out and asks you again if you're sure. You barely have the presence of mind to nod, too close to coming again, but it's enough for him. He slides in, and all three of you are moaning. You can't be sure what it feels like for them, but you're in absolute bliss. Hoseok peppers your shoulder with chaste kisses, murmuring encouragement as he sinks deeper inside. His cock drags against your walls and Yoongi's dick, and the thought makes you clench around them both. You're so full, you may explode, but it's perfection. When Hoseok bottoms out inside of you, you're all still for a while, just getting used to it.

"You're perfect," Hoseok whispers into your skin. "Both of you, you're both fucking perfect. Fuck, can I-?"

"Yes," You interrupt. You're already grinding down onto them, desperate for any kind of friction. "Please, Hobi." He grunts as he starts to move, and Yoongi does the same. They get a steady rhythm after a while, one sinking in as deep as he could get as the other drags outward, only to slam back in at the last second.

A sob builds in your throat, the sheer pleasure rolling through your body too much to handle as orgasm after orgasm slammed into you. There are hands everywhere, two on your hips keeping you steady, two roaming your body and teasing your nipples, on one Hoseok's neck to keep him close as another rests lightly against Yoongi's throat. You aren't sure which are yours, can't tell where you end and they begin, too fucked out to be able to think beyond the drag of their cocks against your walls and the growing ache inside you.

"Please," You gasp. "Please, need it. Fill me, please, need you both to fill me, make me yours, forever. Mark me. I'm yours, always, please, fill me with you." They both groan at that, and their pace speeds up. They're hitting harder and deeper and brushing against the spot inside of you that makes your vision turn white. Something gushes down your thighs as you spasm around them wildly, hips jerking of their own accord, and you feel it as they come together, hot seed spilling inside of you as you ride out your highs together.

You're panting and sweaty and hot and still, you don't think you'd trade this for even a moment of sunlight. They slide out of you and their cum seeps down your legs before you can stop it. You fall to the bed beside Yoongi, chest heaving even as he wraps you in his arms. A wave of your hand creates a small fan near the bed, shadows churning out cool air that feels like ambrosia on your skin.

Hoseok reappears with water for you both, and you thank him. Your voice is nearly gone, but it's worth it, you think. You pat the space beside you and Hoseok climbs in. His skin is hot against yours; the three of you are essentially a furnace at the moment, but you can't bring yourself to care. You can't count how many orgasms you had or how long you spent with them; it could have been minutes or hours or even days. It doesn't matter to you, really. Sprawled between an already-sleeping Yoongi and a Hoseok that's tracing invisible designs onto your skin, you have everything you could ever want.

Later you sit atop the shadows near your bed, chin in your hand as you admire the card between your fingers. Yoongi and Hoseok are wrapped around each other in your bed, lightly snoring as the sheets rise and fall against their naked chests. As you watch them, Hoseok’s brow furrows and he lazily stretches his arm to pat against the bed in search of you. He snuffles a little, and Yoongi nuzzles deeper into the crook of his neck until they’re both quiet again.

Silver foil glints in the light and you look back at the card in your hand. There’s a stack a hundred high beside you, all of them identical to the next save for the curling letters that make up the recipients, but this one is special. This one is your favorite. If you didn’t absolutely have to send it off, you would frame it and hang it above your throne; ultimately, though, you’d rather bask in the aftermath that’s sure to come.

With a small smile, you set it atop the others and wrap the bit of twine around them all. It’s gone with a wave of your hand, no doubt appearing wherever Hermes is. You wish you could see the look on his face when he realizes what they are, but he’s not the one that you really wish you could watch.

The raspy call of your name brings you back to the present, and you look up to find Yoongi watching you, lids heavy with sleep and eyes dark. “What are you doing?” He asks.

“Nothing.” You grin and stand, letting the shadows underneath you fall away. “Just sending out a quick notice.” You slide in beside him and Hobi, the latter still asleep but turning to wrap his arms around you nonetheless. Yoongi presses kisses to your knuckles and you pull a stray flower petal from his hair.

“You’re gloating, aren’t you?” He mutters. There’s a smile behind his eyes, and it warms you.

“Maybe a bit.” You lean over and kiss him, gentle and tender and you hope that it conveys everything you can’t put into words. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

“No,” Yoongi answers after a long pause in which he moves to straddle Hoseok’s hips in order to get close enough to suck marks into your neck. His lips are slow against your skin, tired and lazy from sleep. “I think I enjoy this side of you, actually.” “I, for one, am very much enjoying this side of you.” You grin at Hoseok’s words, smiling down at him. He’s half-hard again, hands resting lightly on Yoongi’s hips and eyes fixed on the bruises that bloom on your neck. “I thought we were sleeping.”

“We were,” You tell him. “You can always go back to sleep if you want.”

“You wish,” He mutters. Yoongi groans against your neck and you look down to see Hoseok palming him, working him up to fullness as Yoongi fucks into his hand. You wrap one of your own around Hoseok and return the favor; the way his moan echoes through the room is better than anything the nine muses could have created.

It’s slow and tired, each of you already spent from your earlier activities, but when you eventually drop between them, chests heaving from your orgasms and already half-asleep again, you think it’s worth it.

When you wake later and find a card sitting on the flower-woven throne - a new addition to the hall, one most welcome - crumpled and half-torn with a thorn sticking out of it, you know it’s worth it.

[marshmallowprotection]

I reallyyy wish I could come back with good news for once but life just said: ‘No’

I had a panic attack this afternoon during the obligatory mass of my school bc of certain words & the fact that they were clapping there hands a little too violently which basically triggered me

I had the guts to tell my mother but she just made me feel more terrible saying stuff like ‘You have to move on eventually’ or ‘Just bear it’

And I don’t know if I’m just getting too pressed over it if I’m being overly dramatic and I feel like I’m losing my damn mind over it

And I talked about a suicide recently well she brought it up saying M was suffering more than me bc she lost her mother and she idolized her and it hurts so much because it feels like she doesn’t know just how much I loved my a//ser and just how much it made me suffer to realize he was who he was

It just felt like she was telling me ‘you’re complaning about nothing look at her she lost her mother and you still whine!’

I just have this unpleasant feeling that I’m always a bother and a deception to her, that no matter what I’ll do it’ll never been enough and that I’m just wasting her time and money while she could do something better than to spend it on me

On top of that I wanted to stay in my room for a while to calm down and take a nap because I’m just fucking tired and they made a mess in it without even mentioning it to me when they know I feel uncomfortable with people being in my safe space without my authorization, and even if they aren’t the kind to go snooping around I’m stressed at the idea that they went in my room and found out stuff that I have even if that ‘stuff’ is just banal shit like notebooks

I can’t even access it now and it frustrates me, I’m just so mad and tired and afraid and I don’t know what to do anymore

TW: Emotional abuse, Gaslighting

Hi. I’m really sorry to hear that it’s still been really rough lately. It’s not always easy right away nor is it simple for everyone to get back on track and get their feet on the ground but I assure you that things are going to find a way to work out and it’s not going to hurt so much very soon. You just have to keep your head up and believe in yourself. Sometimes, nobody believes in you and you have to do it on your own, but you’re not alone. 

I believe in you and there’s plenty of other people around here that want you to succeed and be happy with yourself and your life. So many people know what you’ve been through because they’ve gone through similar things, and as one speaking from experience after years of feeling dread and unsure of if I would ever be happy, I can tell you that it does get better, and you can be happier, it just takes the work. You have to put in the work. 

That being said, she’s in the wrong for saying that to you. It’s not a contest. Pain is pain, grief is grief, trauma is trauma. We’re all dealing with something and just because someone is dealing with something does mean that you can’t feel any pain at all. You’ve got the right to hurt. You’ve got the right to exist. It’s as simple as that, so don’t you dare think that you have no right to hurt. You do, you have a right to be upset. You have a right to hurt. Just as you have to right to feel happy, you have the right. 

You have a right to exist, and a right to respect. People definitely shouldn’t go into your space without asking. Teens and children have that right. I get really tired when adults don’t mind that. You have a right to privacy. Everyone does, and that goes for kids. If you ignore that, you’re ignoring one of the many needs that are to people. Adults can do that all the time, and children are bound with a lot of emotional and trouble, thusly, they deserve that chance to be alone and deal with what they can alone if need be. If the kid wants help, they’ll come and talk to you if you learned how to teach them that you’re a safe person to talk to but so many people don’t... ugh. 

It’s not fair to you, and not fair to all the other kids that deal with this. 

I just feel like I need to tell you that your pain is real. You have a right to your pain, and just because someone else is hurting, does not mean that you aren’t allowed to hurt. Okay? You aren’t a bother. You are a person and you inherently are valid and right. 

[writerman]

Prompt: Bard is a Tired™ man and with Sigrid in college he only has to worry about 2 children (he worries a lot tho) and when winter break happens she gets a ride back with this other kid and his boyfriend(Legolas&Gimli). Thranduil wants to meet Sigrid bc Legolas doesn't have many friends and then invites her whole family over, he has a big enough house (too big, he's lonely) to host all of them for get togethers. Bard is reluctant but goes "less for me to clean up" and agrees.

Thank you for this one! It was a nice wholesome prompt and I had fun with Bard and Thran’s interactions.

Please enjoy!

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

“Da, I’m home!”

Bard had heard the door open and assumed Bain and Tilda were home from school and immediately worried as to why they had come back so early, but when he heard the familiar voice of his eldest ring out through the house he set aside his work and moved to greet her.

They met in the hallway and Sigrid threw her arms around Bard her cold nose shocking him slightly. How long had she been outside to be so cold?

“Welcome home, sweetheart, how was the trip home?” They left her luggage in the hallway for the time being as Bard led his eldest to the kitchen to make something hot to drink. Sigrid probably needed something to perk her up after being on the road all day.

“It was fine. It’s much better when you have company, leaving my car back at school was a good call.” Sigrid shrugged off her coat as she chattered about her friends and school work, meanwhile, Bard busied himself with making hot tea for both of them.

“You’ve mentioned Legolas and Gimli a few times if they drove with you here do they live nearby?”

“Yeah, uh, Legolas lives in the nicest part of town and Gimli is related to your friend Thorin. His family moved to town just after he started university so hasn’t been here until now.” Their conversation was cut short when Bain and Tilda stormed the kitchen dusted with snow and sporting red cheeks just like Sigrid had.

Once everyone had settled in and warmed up, dinner was had and everyone went their separate ways, Bard returned to his laptop to continue writing while he had the time off from work.

Being a novelist with kids was hard, and between working at the mechanics, raising kids and writing he hadn’t really found the time to relax or socialise so when he had time off to do those things, well, he didn’t do them.

It was late when Sigrid came to him, she was on the phone to someone but clearly needed his attention regarding whatever was being said on the phone. There was a moment of silence while she listened to the person on the other end of the line before she laughed aloud and shook her head in disbelief.

“Alright, alright, I’ll ask him. Hold on.”

Bard looked up expectantly, hands together rested on his desk as he awaited whatever question his daughter on the tip of her tongue, though he did have a sense of foreboding and was wary of what was coming.

“Da, Legolas said his dad wants to invite us all over for dinner tomorrow, can we go?” She genuinely sounded excited and the pleading tone she used hadn’t surfaced since she was very little so it was difficult to say no.

But, Bard hadn’t heard of Legolas until that day and he was positive he’d never met his dad. Or, had he done the unthinkable and forgotten Sigrid’s friends? She had always had her friends from school come over but he didn’t recall a Legolas…

“Uh… I mean, that is a nice offer, Sig, but I don’t think I’ve ever met your friend or his dad. Wouldn’t that be awkward?” He had to be honest, but that didn’t seem to deter her because his words were responded to with the roll of her eyes.

“That is the point of going over for dinner. You don’t get out much socially, neither does Legs’ dad and apparently, he has been wanting to have people over for dinner for ages. This is perfect timing.” Again, she gave him a hopeful look and Bard relented because why not?

At least he wouldn’t have to do the dishes.

Who was he kidding, he would offer to do them as thanks.

“Fiiine, we’ll go tomorrow. Just give me a time and an address and we’ll be there with bells on or something.” He was half-joking as he got to his feet, the closet needed to be raided for smart yet casual- he didn’t want to look like he was only going to appease his child.

After all, the adult company would be nice. And as fun, as his workmates were at the auto shop he did often wince at their choice of humour. Meeting new people was a top priority while he had the time, he supposed.

There was no further response from Sigrid as he passed her, she had only mouthed a ‘thank you’ before returning to her call.

The next morning at the breakfast table Bard revealed their dinner plans to Tilda and Bain. Neither of them seemed overly enthused about the idea but agreed that dinner anywhere but their own home was going to be interesting at least.

Both of them were in high school and had hoped to use the winter break as a chance to indulge in their favourite pastime of nothing. Bain had mentioned maybe visiting friends but the snowfall dissuaded him for the time being and Tilda just hated being cold so leaving the house wasn’t even an option for her.

Plus, modern technology would allow her to keep up with her friends without ever having to leave the bed.

“Everyone be on your best behaviour tonight, I honestly have no idea what to expect so just- maybe pretend you’re sick if things go belly up, ok?” A moment later Bard had to explain he was joking, well, half-joking but they didn’t need to know that.

A small part of him was excited to meet someone new and just talk about something other than sports and cars. After working at the auto place Bard did have to, eventually, admit to himself that he did not care for sports and it did make some conversation tedious.

When dinner time rolled around everyone piled into the family car and headed out to the fanciest part of town Bard had ever seen. It was the kind of place that had gated communities with gardeners and security. Sigrid had to call her friend to let them in because the security guard really did not like the idea that they were there on an invite.

Legolas was at the door already when they pulled up outside and Sigrid was the first to get out of the car to greet him. They hugged like they hadn’t just seen one another the day before.

The other two took some coaxing to get out but when they did Legolas greeted them cheerfully before turning to Bard, his demeanour didn’t change but he was extremely polite to him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr Bowman.”

As nice as it was, he didn’t need to be treated so carefully, even if Legolas was brought up to be so polite it wasn’t necessary with him.

“You too, Legolas. Eh, if your father around?” The blonde boy nodded and led everyone inside after realising he had left them stood out on the steps instead of inviting them in. He blushed but no one mentioned it because really it didn’t matter to them.

“He’s in the kitchen down the hall.” Bard was directed to a door at the bottom of the hall but Legolas didn’t stick around long. The kids left him standing alone in the hallway heading to something that sounded vaguely like a games room.

It’s just another adult you can deal with a stranger, Bard tried to bolster himself as he stepped lightly down towards the kitchen, he’s probably really nice.

When he pushed the door open he was greeted with the smell of something decidedly mouthwatering and a sight that almost definitely rivalled it. The blond man was stood before a cutting board of freshly washed vegetables, his hands on his hips as he moved his attention from them to the door.

“Ah, it’s already 6?!” Oh good lord above, that voice was as deep as a roll of thunder and Bard definitely felt the heat of a blush crawl up his neck before he put himself in check and entered the kitchen properly shutting the door behind him as he did so.

“Just a little after actually. Do you- do you need help with anything?” Bard ventured as he moved toward the kitchen island the other man was stood at. He tried to ignore how beautiful he was by not looking directly at him for a few moments.

“It would be so impolite to ask a guest for help but… I must concede and accept defeat. Your help would be wonderful, thank you.” He passed over the vegetables and a knife and Bard go to work on slicing up carrots. “My name is Thranduil, by the way.” It came as more of an afterthought as though it hadn’t mattered what his name was.

“Nice to meet you, I am Bard, father of Sigrid. But I assume you already knew that unless you have more guests on the way?” When Thranduil shook his head Bard felt as though he could relax a little, one parent was fine, unless he had a wife and then two parents were also ok.

“I apologise for inviting you over with such short notice. It seemed the best time to before Christmas and whatnot.” Bard concentrated on slicing up the carrots but he nodded hoping Thranduil would see because for the life of him he could meet his eye.

This man had to be an ex-supermodel or something!

But really he knew he had to answer.

“Aha, it’s no problem. Sigrid seemed really excited that you had invited us all over and she seems quite close with Legolas I don’t think I could have said no even if I’d wanted to.” when he dares to look up Thranduil is smiling at him.

“I admit, it is nice to speak to another adult, I am often here alone so the most conversation I get is over the phone for work or the delivery man.” What a relief it was to hear that Thranduil had the same issues as he did.

When he let out a laugh Thranduil seemed more pleased than shocked.

“I’m sorry, I am in the same boat. I stay at home mostly too, unless the auto shop needs an extra pair of hands. Sometimes the only conversation I get it a one-way argument with our cat.” If there had been tension between them at first it had completely dissipated as they chatted as they prepared dinner.

For anyone looking from the outside in, they appeared as life long friends.

When dinner was nearly ready Thranduil seemed to relax and he offered Bard a drink, Bard readily accepted the beer from the fridge and followed his host to a drawing-room, he took a seat opposite Thranduil by the window.

“I’ll be honest with you, Bard. I invited you all over because I have never really heard Legolas talk about friends before and I wanted to see who this person was and who her family were. Legolas has tremendous issues with opening up enough to make friends, but he is like his father in that respect.

He lost his mother at a young age and while I gave him as much as I could throughout that period in his life, we both knew I was not capable of being both parents.

Sigrid has brought him out of his shell enough that he now has a boyfriend. I can scarcely believe it but I am so very happy and thankful for her friendship to my son.” Realising that he had, perhaps, said too much he gave Bard an apologetic smile before looking away from him and allowing himself to be distracted by the view outside.

“I realise now that it may have been put across to you as though Sigrid was a substitute for his mother, that is not the case. I believe I have said quite enough already.” The pink flush that slowly spread over Thranduil’s face was genuinely delightful but Bard had to put him out of his misery before it got too much.

“Sigrid is a great kid, she lost her mother at a young age too, Legolas probably feels at ease around her because she can relate to his pain. It hurt us all when my wife died, and I admit, Sigrid did end up taking more on than she should have at her age but when I was back on my feet I made sure she got to be a kid.

Also, don’t worry about what you’re saying so much, honestly, I am happy talking about anything as long as it isn’t sports.” They share a laugh at this and the conversation turns to their jobs, Thranduil revealed that he restored antiques and was very enthusiastic when Bard asked him of his methods.

Just seeing him light up when he spoke of his work was a gift and Bard had to remind himself that 1) this man was probably straight 2) he likely believed Bard was too and 3) He was so out of his league AND not interested in him.

It wasn’t long before dinner was served and Thranduil met Bain and Tilda who were very polite in thanking him for their invite to dinner. The kids made him proud that night with the table conversation managing to get a laugh out of both himself and Thranduil.

All in all, Bard found the night a success and even said so to Thranduil when he helped with the washing up while the kids put on a movie in the front room.

“I do not regret my decision to invite you all over. Tonight has been a lot of fun and seeing Legolas so animated was truly amazing. He’s on such a high I may have to scrape him off the ceiling later after you’ve all gone.”

They ended up talking in the kitchen far longer than they had intended but as soon as Bard mentioned he was a writer Thranduil grilled him to within an inch of his life on his books, he was extremely interested and it gave Bard a little thrill.

In the end, though, their conversation had to end and they had to part ways for the night but not before Thranduil made Bard promise to drop by again and soon with the kids.

Sigrid seemed pleased with that evening, even Bain and Tilda had no complaints other than that they had to leave early. This was forgiven when Bard explained that they would probably visit again throughout the winter break as Thranduil was keen to have them over more.

He missed the sly smile Sigrid gave him while he concentrated on driving.

The next time he saw Thranduil he was out running errands and they noticed each other on the busy high street almost immediately. Then again, everyone was noticing Thranduil he really did stand out from the crowd.

“Bard, it’s good to see you. How are you?” Thranduil had easily navigated through the crowds and was now stood before Bard dressed in a long black winter coat and deep purple scarf that was pulled up over his nose and mouth. “Would you like to get coffee?”

There was nothing he wanted more than to escape the crazed throng of Christmas shoppers and so with a quick nod they darted down an alley and to a cosey little bookshop slash cafe with very few customers.

“You’re brave to take on the masses today,” Bard said as they took their seats by the window, the heat radiator by his legs was blessedly hot and he inched himself a little closer to it much to Thranduil’s amusement. “Doing the last bit of Christmas shopping?”

Thranduil was looking at the drinks menu when he responded.

“Hm, no, I was out finding antiques to take home, we’re not exactly big on celebrating Christmas in our home being that there is only the two of us.” It sounded like Thranduil wanted to drop the subject but was too polite to say.

He didn’t know if it was the cosy atmosphere or the sheer giddiness of seeing Thranduil again, because yes he admitted to himself he had a crush on the man, but he went out on a limb when he offered Thranduil and Legolas his home for Christmas.

“You’re welcome to spend the day with us. It would be really nice to have you and Legolas over.”

At first, he didn’t receive a response, just a slow blink of confusion but then a smile spread over Thranduil’s face that could have lit up an entire banquet hall.

“That would be lovely, but would the invitation extend to just myself?” Thranduil began, “I am sure Legolas would have loved to spend Christmas with Sigrid but he is spending the day with Gimli and his family.” The man was embarrassed to admit he would be alone on Christmas that much Bard could tell but he had no reason to feel ashamed.

“Hmm, well, Legolas is the cool one…” Bard feigned a thoughtful expression and only stopped when Thranduil laughed. “If you’re cooler than your kid you can come.”

“I am afraid not but I can bring dessert if that sweetens the deal?”

“Oh, you know how to play me, with your pretty face and your sweet talk.” It had just slipped out and while he was mortified he knew he had to play it off as a joke. Can’t let this man know he was a bisexual disaster and he really didn’t want Thranduil to think he only wanted to hang out with him because he was hot.

“You think I have a pretty face?” The response was smooth and Thranduil’s voice dropped an octave as he near purred with pleasure at the accidental compliment. “Were trying to flirt with me just now?”

Oh no, what am I supposed to say to that? Bard panicked internally, he had absolutely not meant to tell Thranduil that he thought his face was pretty but now they were going into territory Bard was very unfamiliar with.

When was the last time he had actually purposely flirted with anyone?

There was nothing for it, he had to be honest or at least some kind of honest. It was only fair.

“It just slipped out, I didn’t mean to say that but- I mean, well, I do think you’re pretty. Maybe not pretty that seems tame. I uh is it too much to ask you on a date after Christmas even though this is only the second time we’ve met?” He had been reduced to a stuttering mess and it was his own fault but from what he could tell Thranduil found it endearing.

“I would like that very much.”

They spent a long time in silence until their drinks were brought to them.

“You’re still bringing dessert for Christmas, right?”

“I am, along with my pretty face.” Thranduil teased.

It seemed winter break would be just a little more interesting this year.

And Bard had the sneaking suspicion that this had something to do with his very clever daughter and her equally as clever friend.

If they believed that he and Thranduil would be good together, who was he to argue?

Only time would tell.