#do we talk about my almost uncanny ability to say exactly the wrong thing in every situation

[fingertipsmp3]

Like I genuinely don’t know what to say when people ask me why I’m single because there are so many reasons, and honestly if you’ve met me in person and spent more than 5 minutes in my presence and are still confused, I just don’t know what to tell you

[l33bang24]

OMG It’s You…(Part 11)

YouTube!Fem reader x Stray Kids

Summary: Y/N’s YouTube channel is taking off after her reactions to Stray Kids MV God’s Menu. Now she’s making videos nonstop along with working a full time job. What would happen if she got offered a job of a lifetime and met the boys of her succession?

⚠️Warnings⚠️: cursing, pet names, Chan and Minho being not smart, Chan and Minho having past history?? (lmk if I missed anything)

🏷️ : @laylasbunbunny @weirdowithaphone @silverstarburst @jusanontstuff @anxiousskylar @drewsandsebastianswife @amararosesblog @niaalove @blackbluerose666 (Taglist open)

Series Masterlist

(Authors note at the bottom)

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

Felix’s POV

I've never been angrier than I am right now. “Fucking pussies” I mumbled to myself. Why am I always the go-to person for fixing problems and uncovering information? I'm the golden child they can't be mad at. Maybe it's because I know how to avoid getting on their wrong side.

I stood outside Chan’s hotel door, nervously wringing my hands. Somehow, I felt like he was the safer choice between the two. Ever since his mysterious phone call, he seemed in a much better mood than Minho, who was just plain cranky. I knocked on the door and waited eagerly for Chan to open it.

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

Third Person POV

Y/N had realized she had an uncanny ability to read Minho's moods. Lately, she could tell he was feeling grumpy, likely due to her lack of communication. After a nearly disastrous call with Chan, she hesitated to reach out to Minho, even though she knew he deserved to be in the know. She finally called him as she edited a new video in her recording room.

“Hey! I was waiting for your call, Jagiya. I thought you would leave me hanging!" he answered excitedly. She chuckled and glanced to the side. "No way, Min! I'd never do that to you. I've been swamped with the channel lately. I've meant to share something with you, but there have been so many changes in my life. I'm actually about to post a video that will explain everything. I hope you know I wouldn't keep you in the dark intentionally. You mean a lot to me. I've been keeping things under wraps to surprise you and the boys. That's why I've been distant, trying not to spill the beans before the video is out.”

Minho tells her he understands; he'd just wished she had told him sooner. She tells him she'll make it up to him, which puts a big smile on his face. He feels his mood grow increasingly better than before. They continue to discuss various things in his life and what she can share about hers. Minho finally finds himself able to relax with the soothing sound of her voice.

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

Chan’s POV

As I turned the doorknob and pulled the door open, I was surprised to see Felix standing on the other side. I greeted him and inquired if he required any assistance. He expressed a desire to have a conversation with me. As I ushered him inside, we settled onto my bed, and I placed my phone nearby. Felix glanced at it before sharing his thoughts with me.

“You must be talking to a girl. Judging by your reaction when you came back into the room.” I felt the tips of my ears burning. I didn't exactly notice until I sat down and felt uncomfortable. I had to get back up and take care of myself before returning. It was embarrassing, to say the least.

“I guess it's something like that. We’re just talking, nothing serious. She just said something that made me feel a different way. I knew she wasn't doing it on purpose, but I wasn't expecting it, you know?” Felix nodded his head, understanding.

“The guys have been worried about you and Minho. It is almost as if you're both talking to the same girl. Your expressions are the same when you get a text. Minho almost massacred Han over taking his phone. Nobody wants to ask because they're afraid they'll get their heads chewed off.”

Felix huffs out a breath. “Chan Hyung, we don't want to be noisy, but we just don't want anything else to come between us again. When you and Minho fight, it's like we’re at war, and the rest of us are hiding because we don't want to get pulled into it.” He comes closer and gives me an unexpected hug. As the most affectionate member of the group, I accept it and hold it tight. We bid our goodbyes, and I crashed back on my bed.

Felix’s words brought me back to my conversation with Minho earlier today.

Flashback

As I emerged from the bathroom, I bumped into Minho, who was heading in. "Did you fix yourself in there, or do you need some assistance?" he teased as I rolled my eyes. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

"That's not what you said last time." I was taken aback. What was wrong with him? Without a second thought, I pulled him into the bathroom and shut the door. “Okay, you have my attention. What do you want?” I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to respond. He snickers. “What? Don't tell me you didn't like it when I helped you last time.”

“YAH! Just get to the point already!” I yell at him, clearly upset. He raises his hands, knowing he went too far on that one. “Sorry, Chan Hyung. I have to tease you occasionally, but I didn't mean to go that far.” Minho takes a moment to collect his thoughts. “I just wanted to tell you that however you've been talking to, I hope they treat you right. You deserve to be loved and cherished. I don’t normally tell you something like that, but I thought you should know that.” I smile back at him and bring him into a short hug. “Thank you, and you deserve the same. I know that none of us is making you that happy. Plus, the whole chasing after Han making death threats was a big giveaway.” Minho smiles softly, “Yeah, she's great. I hope I get to meet her someday.”

End of Flashback

We ended up chatting some more after we left the bathroom. We talked about how much we liked talking about our girls but never mentioning their names. Everything was forgotten after I received a notification that Y/N had posted a new video.

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

Third Person POV

‘The room she's in is NOT her bedroom.’ Chan thought to himself. It was decorated with neon colors that painted her face. He didn't have long to look around as she started talking.

“Hello Lovelies! I'm sure you've been wondering why I've been absent for some time and why you haven't seen many videos. Well, I'm going to address all of that. First things first, y'all look at this room setup. I love it, plus the neon sign behind me. It's my channel name, and I can change the color of it, too.” She shows the different colors and then turns, clapping her hands excitedly. “Let me try to break this down for you. I got offered a dream job to work as a full-time creator, and with some encouragement from some extraordinary people, I leaped. I no longer work for my former job nor reside in the United States.”

At that comment alone, all eight boys shouted, “WHAT?!”

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

Y/N’s POV

My latest video has caused my phone to explode with notifications. I intentionally kept quiet about my location and employer, leaving the fans to figure it out independently. Meanwhile, the guys are losing it. I'm grateful that I negotiated the contract to allow me to work on my terms.

If I didn't want to come in until after 1 pm, I could do that. I also got to make my days as long as I wanted or as short as I wanted or even do the work from the apartment instead of going in. The possibilities were endless.

Every time I step into the recording room, I am captivated by its ambiance. Although it resembles a gamer's room, it is so much more. After sharing some pictures of my vision for the room, MNet brought those ideas to life. The room is painted in a serene off-white color, and the overall atmosphere is genuinely breathtaking.

As you enter the room, you are immediately drawn to the vibrant glow of the neon lights. The room's centerpiece is a sleek white table with ample storage options. A sophisticated four-monitor display with space for a laptop and peripherals is positioned on the table. The chair, crafted from luxurious leather and suede, beckons you to sit. Triangular lights adorn the wall behind the monitors, casting a soft, ambient glow. Adjacent to the chair, a stylish loveseat couch is decorated with a neon sign that reads Y/C/N.

I could already picture myself taking some great naps on that comfy couch. I wasn't confident they'd include everything, but they went above and beyond, to my surprise. They even added a fridge, microwave, coffee maker, and a small cabinet for snacks and other goodies. With all these amenities, I could almost turn this room into a cozy, tiny home.

A couple of hours later, I received a call to attend a meeting. I made my way to the designated floor and headed toward the conference room where the meeting was scheduled. As I entered, I noticed everyone was already seated, and on the table were flyers adorned with a cupid and heart-shaped arrows. I took the only available seat and prepared for the meeting to begin.

“Sorry to call you on such short notice, but we have an idea for your channel.” I tilt my head to the side. “What would that be?” A lady in the middle replies next.

“A live reaction video.”

(A/N: We’re getting closer to the good part! I'm so happy that others are enjoying this series. I didn't think it would work well, but everyone proved me wrong. If you don't know where I'm going with this idea, you're in for a treat 😉 Love y'all, and have a great day!)

[thearcticfoxz]

Undead Coràzon Theory

(Or more apptly Something is Wrong with Coràzon)

Here I have complied my variety of reasons as to why I think Coràzon could be an undead of some variety and is just straight up hiding it from the rest of the party...

1.) Suzette: During Dob's reunion with Suzette, she says some worrying things about Coràzon:

"Just, be wary of the pirate. Just between you and me I think he's taken a bit more than a few knocks and bruises, if you catch my meaning." and finishing up the conversation with "I think he's... yeah..."

Implying that Suzette thinks Coràzon is... something? And Suzette is a biologist of some description, so if there is something wrong with Coràzon she would pick up on it...

2.) Coràzon Cursed Status: Coràzon is very vague with why the curse came about and his role in it. In Spot of Bother, he says that he isn't cursed (not explaining how he avoided this fate when the rest of his crew couldn't). Though he will occasionally make a light refrence or two to the possibility. Such as jokingly saying "Yeah we're all cursed mate, get on with it," in Mind Your Manors.

So Coràzon is obviously hiding something from the rest of the Oxventurers about his relationship to the curse. What that is, we can't be exactly sure.

Misc. Theory Fodder: (aka circumstantial evidence that could relate to Undead Coràzon)

- Coràzon seems to know more about Egbert's Paladin abilities then he does, specifically in Elf Hazard in which he is basically begging Egbert to use Divine Smite on Banshee (an undead, which is weak to radiant damage)

- Additionally, Egbert is always the one Coràzon is pushing into dangerous situations (or talking about eating his flesh). Almost like he sees Egbert as a bit of a threat (considering he's a paladin, one of the parties main suppliers of radiant damage along with the possibility of him having the spell detect evil and good, a spell that can detect undead within 30ft, it would make sense Coràzon would think that way if he way hiding the fact he is not quite alive).

- Coràzon getting into the Necropolis on Sea Manor through the weird cat-flap in a way that is described to be upsetting, ("To be honest, all of you except for Prudence feel a bit sick. You didn't really think that this dashing young pirate could do anything quite so horrifying. You didn't think any human do anything quite so horrifying and still live..." - Johnny, Mind Your Manors)

- We are yet to see (to my knowledge) Coràzon take any life threatening damage (unlike the rest of the group who have been burned, disembowelled, poisoned, have their arm almost taken off, etc.)

- Coràzon taking 3 necrotic damage for bee puns, which he is not allowed to uncanny dodge (Bone 2 Pick)

-Also Coràzon seems to be constantly surrounded by undead (his old crew and his ghost pirate grandfather plus the skeleton army) and is generally a bit too chill about it

Anyway I think it would be a fun reveal!

[ddarker-dreams]

Yan Diluc, Childe, Kaeya & Zhongli / Darling Saying “I hate you.”

Warnings: Suggestive themes and typical unhealthy yandere behavior. Note: sometimes in life we just gotta suffer,

Diluc had told himself that this was for your own good.

That’s what gave him the ability to rest at night -- while holding the knowledge of all the freedoms he’s taken from you -- that you are safe. There’s air in your lungs, healthy color to your cheeks, and life shining brightly in your eyes. It’d be selfish to ask for anything more, he would reason. This is good enough, is what he’d think, not fully sure if he believed the creed himself. 

Now he knows those words were but a lie to cover a gaping wound in his heart.

He gazes at you now, his hand reaching out, only to stop when you flinch away. The reality that he tried so desperately to push down has risen to the surface, your turmoil not easily ignored. Diluc needs to remain steadfast as he considers hesitation an insult. Certainly, he is low for holding you here against your will, but it’d be that much worse if he started questioning himself. 

“I know,” is the strained answer he arrives at. You hear the pain in his voice, how the words were all but pried from him. “I’ve always known.” 

“Then why?” You plead, exasperation pushing you past the limit. His head is hung low for once, unable to meet your scrutinizing gaze, instead taking an acute interest in the wooden floorboard beneath his feet. 

It brings him back to his childhood, like a kid being scolded for an illogical grievance against their sibling. Your question strikes deep and close to the heart. His answer comes fast, almost robotic, as if he’s practiced it in the mirror countless times.

“For your safety.”

And so you won’t leave like everyone else has.

Exchanging thinly veiled antagonism behind the guise of banter has always thrilled Childe. This game the two of you play, he wouldn’t change it for the world, deriving too much satisfaction in your flustered reactions. Every day is spent thinking about when he’ll get to see you next, what words might bring out the cutest expressions. 

The manner you deliver the line is frigid and he can’t help but be reminded of  Snezhnaya’s climate. For a fleeting moment, it stings, like snowflakes against bare skin. If there’s anything Childe excels at, it’s warding off the cold. He laughs, once, twice, face illuminated with uncanny elation. 

You watch in disbelief as he treats your honest admission as nothing but a joke. There’s nothing you can think to say to describe the frustration that grows in the depths of your soul, Childe’s response encapsulating exactly why you said it in the first place. Half of you considers leaving him where he stands, but you know better, he’d follow after you relentlessly. A Fatui Harbinger’s ability to spot and track their prey cannot be understated.

When his laughter starts to settle down, he speaks. “So the truth comes out, hm?” 

Childe stalks towards you, sporting a wolf-like grin that sends shivers down your spine, every step you take back not enough to increase the space between you two. Eventually, your back hits the wall. Childe takes advantage of your lack of escape, taking your chin in his hand and placing his arm by your head. At that moment, it’s impossible to ignore the looming height difference, though he leans down to look at you closer.

“Hate me all you want,” he hums, his voice dipping lower with each syllable. “But I’m not going anywhere, ever, so keep that in mind. And who knows?”

Childe winks at you.

“Maybe I have a thing for being degraded.”

To be looked at with suspicion is nothing new to Kaeya. Everyone has their own reasons for doing so, whether it be to his cunning nature creating suspicion, or his country of origin. Though, he admits, your reasoning is far more personal than that. After all, his schemes have sent you into a whirlwind of misfortune. 

Kaeya moves back, observing how your chest rises and falls with each labored breath, the way you refuse to look him in the eye. He’s quietly grateful that your former entangled position didn’t grant you the ability to see his face, as shock undoubtedly must’ve crossed over it. Moment’s later, he’s collected, in control of every twitch and crease of his expression. 

“Hm, while I never excelled in my linguistics tutoring, I think I’m familiar enough with the word hate to draw a different conclusion,” Kaeya nods to your discarded clothes on the floor, to which you flush even brighter than before. “Is that what you’d call this? You were throwing yourself at me just a few seconds ago, y’know.” 

He’s getting under your skin on purpose. You know this, seeing the trap he’s laid out without even trying to hide it, yet still fall for it to defend yourself.

“Where else am I supposed to go, when no one even looks me in the eye anymore?” You challenge, wiping the saliva from your lips with the back of your hand. Kaeya hums, considering your inquiry, fingers rubbing circles into your skin as he does so. The contact makes your mind hazy, being deprived of physical contact having done a toll on you. To come to him for comfort is a blow to your pride.

“Your hand could’ve always helped with that, but you still chose mine.” Kaeya smiles, ducking down to press open-mouthed kisses against your neck. You decide not to honor him with any further response. It feeds into his ego and that’s the last thing you want, so you close your eyes and sigh. 

He pauses for a brief moment, not willing to let it go. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. I’ll always find a way to make time for you.” 

Zhongli places his cup of tea down onto the table, outward reaction schooled and giving nothing away. It’s a pathetic, last-ditch attempt to earn an emotional response, even you know this. From how he whispers archaic prose into your ear about his love and adoration for you, you were expecting at least... something. A frown, furrowed eyebrows, pain in his amber eyes. Anything. 

His visage remains unchanging. You drum your fingers against the table, narrowing your eyes and jutting your bottom lip out. It took you weeks to work up the courage to tell him this! Indignation and embarrassment blossom inside your chest, threatening to suffocate you. Any other time he’s talkative, but for some reason, he’s decided to take some vow of silence now. 

You perk up expectantly when he clears his throat. 

“It was never in the terms of our contract for you to have positive feelings towards me,” Zhongli decides, raising the cup to his lips and blowing. “Though, if I might add, I would personally like it if you did.” 

Maybe it would’ve been better if he stayed silent after all. There’s no validation to be found in his taciturn response, no substance to appease your burning frustration. The word contract sticks out like a sore thumb. Petty as it might be to continue this exchange, you feel vindicated enough to do just that.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the correct term would be marriage, not contract.”

“Are the two not one and the same? You’ve pledged yourself eternally to be my significant other, in the same way a contract binds two parties together.” Zhongli watches how you slide down into your seat dejectedly. Attempting to start an argument with Zhongli was akin to yelling at a brick wall, you decide.

“Don’t act so proud of yourself for swindling my parents into believing you’re an upstanding person.” 

His lips quirk up for the briefest of moments.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe the term would be negotiating, not swindling.” 

You leave him to eat his breakfast alone. 

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 294: A Half-Assed Escape

Previously on BnHA: Mirio was all “SURPRISE I’M BACK THANKS TO OUR RESIDENT SEVEN-YEAR-OLD WHO RECENTLY EARNED HER BACHELOR’S OF BEING A TOTAL BADASS.” Kacchan was all, “you know what, Dabi’s been trending long enough, time to remind the fandom what a real G looks like,” and he blasted his little bleeding body back into the fray and was all “FROM HERE ON OUT CALL ME DYNAMIGHT!!” Mirio was all, “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA... oh, you’re serious,” and Kacchan was all “!!”, and so that’s the story of how my son got murdered twice in one day. Meanwhile in the Todoroki Drama Zone, Deku was all “STOP MURDERING MY FRIEND” and Dabi was all “THAT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS” and fandom had a whole big debate about Whether Or Not Dabi Trying To Murder Deku’s Friends And Mentors Is Any Of Deku’s Business, which went exactly how you think it went. Anyway, so then Deku yelled at Dabi, and Endeavor was all moved by his manly words and randomly went to go uppercut Machia in the chin. And, seeing as how the Momoserum finally chose that exact moment to kick in, Machia is now down for the count.

Today on BnHA: The Miriosquad handles the Nearly High End Noumus, freeing up Jeanist to jasphyxiate (okay that one doesn’t really work so well) the rest of the League. Compress is all “TIME FOR THIS MILD-MANNERED SIDE CHARACTER VILLAIN TO SHINE”, except that by “shine” what he actually means is “use his quirk to punch a literal hole right through his own ass to free himself.” The rest of the chapter is basically just a back and forth between him and Jeanist, with Jeanist trying to recapture him, and Compress repeatedly thwarting him by chopping more holes out of himself because HE’S FRESH OUT OF FUCKS, AND THE ONES AT THE STORE ARE ALL SOLD OUT, MOTHERFUCKERS. Anyway, so with Compress basically dying and all, Horikoshi is all “you know what that means”, and delivers a freshly-baked villain flashback revealing that Compress is a descendant of Harima Ouji, a.k.a. the Peerless Thief, a.k.a. some famous guy whom Gentle mentioned this one time for like two seconds back in the day. The chapter ends with Compress finally demasking himself and dumping Tomura back onto the ground, a.k.a. The Worst Possible Place For Tomura To Be. ( •﹏•)

WHY IS CRUST HERE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD

-- OH WAIT, SHIT. OH

AIZAWAAAA you’re alive and receiving medical help thank GOD. HOW MANY EYES DO YOU HAVE. AND MIRKO!! HOW MANY LIMBS DO YOU HAVE, OMG

so is this Aizawa dreaming about Crust’s final moments, then?? jesus. with All Due Respect to Crust’s memory, does Aizawa not already have enough misplaced guilt on his conscience as it is?? “nope, we’re gonna keep piling it on. that’s all he is now. three limbs, an indeterminate number of eyes, sexy hair, and Guilt” well shit

motherfucker y’all really out here placing an oxygen mask on Gran Torino’s corpse. fucking shounen characters. each one comes with a lifetime warranty

DAMN YOU HORIKOSHI WHY DO YOU KEEP SHOWING THESE CLOSE-UPS OF HAWKS’S UNCONSCIOUS FACE ALL WHUMPED OUT AND EXHAUSTED. HOW MUCH MORE OF THIS ARE WE GOING TO GET. ARE YOU PLANNING ON KILLING ME WITH THE UPCOMING CONVALESCENCE ARC, BECAUSE IF SO, AT LEAST HAVE THE DECENCY TO TELL ME AHEAD OF TIME SO I CAN MAKE A WILL

for a moment I considered going back and checking my previous recaps to count how many times I’ve already made a joke about Dabi’s fire incinerating Hawks’s wings but not touching so much as a hair on his five o’clock shadow, so that I could calculate whether or not I could possibly get away with making that same joke one more time. but then I realized I could just do it in this kind of roundabout way I’m doing right now instead. so there you have it

FFFFFFFMT LADY AND MIDNIGHT NOOOOO

PLEASE BE ALIVE. PLEASE RESPECT THE SIGN ON THE FRONT OF THE BUILDING. THE ONE THAT SAYS “NO LADY CHARACTERS ALLOWED TO DIE”, WITH THE FINE PRINT AT THE BOTTOM “AT LEAST NOT UNTIL HORIKOSHI GIVES US LIKE TWENTY-SIX MORE OF THEM FIRST IF THAT’S THE WAY HE WANTS TO PLAY IT.” IT’S A GOOD SIGN, PLEASE RESPECT ITS WISHES!!

so anyway though, Jeanist is giving a speech about how god knows how many people all worked together to bring Machia down. and now RHA is getting in on those fabric puns too, I see. “A SINGLE STRAND MAY BE THIN BUT TOGETHER THEY FORM A STRONG ROPE” oh so you think you guys are funny eh? I’m a frayed knot

MEANWHILE EXCUSE ME BUT WHY ARE YOU FUCKING CRYING BLOOD, HOLY SHIT

fffffff. so much for him taking over as the Number One once all this is over. so let’s just recap real quick, because Horikoshi has long since made it clear that one of his plot goals for this arc is to wipe out every single member of the Billboard Top Ten. so how we doin?

Endeavor - was just figuratively eviscerated in front of the entire nation by his homicidal zombiepunk son. also burnt half to death and possibly down a lung. will almost certainly be forced to retire after this one way or the other

Hawks - lying prettily in a medical tent. wings status: gone. hair status: still perfect

Jeanist - WELL I THOUGHT HE WAS FINE BUT APPARENTLY HE’S OUT HERE DYING, JESUS CHRIST

Edgeshot - MIA, last seen fighting Re-Destro. I really want him to have kicked RD’s ass because fuck that guy, but realistically they probably fought to a draw at best

Mirko - alive but in critical condition and missing something like 1.5 limbs

Crust - dead, currently haunting Aizawa’s traumatized dreams. now he’s gonna be triggered the rest of his life by people giving him the thumbs up, THANKS A LOT

Kamui Woods - was set on fire which is His Weakness. thoughts and prayers

Wash - last seen floating hospital patients to safety as Tomura’s wave of decay descended towards him. probably dead ffff

Old Man Samurai - haven’t seen this fucker in a hot minute, who even knows where he’s wandered off to

Ryuukyuu - currently being treated for her wounds, looked pretty bad off. but it’s hard to tell how hurt she is since most of the injuries were acquired in her transformed state. SHE BETTER GET WELL SOON

anyways, so yeah. so much for the top ten. guess that’s another reason Horikoshi brought Mirio back now, huh

so there’s a big panel of everyone fighting the Noumu while Machia lies there all “blurgh.” good riddance my dude. it took like twenty chapters and a hundred people to stop this guy so I really fucking hope he stays down. you’ve had your fun

anyway so Jeanist is sending another steel thread towards Dabi! and he’s all “just a bit more!!” fklklj this is gonna go real well isn’t it

meanwhile Mirio’s fighting a Nearly High End with all of these weird rock formations jutting out of its skin. go on and kick his ass then, Mirio

“each of these guys is probably just as strong as the Noumu from Kyuushuu” hold on I thought Ujiko or Tomura or someone said that wasn’t the case? not that Mirio would know I suppose. anyways let’s just hope he’s wrong cuz if not these kids are probably screwed

kLSDKFHLSKHGLKLK OH MY GODDDD

IIDA FUCKING TENYA YOU’RE A PEACH. THINKS THE NAME IS OUTRAGEOUS, CHECK. USES IT ANYWAY, CHECK. “JUST BECAUSE I DON’T UNDERSTAND DOESN’T MEAN I CAN’T BE SUPPORTIVE.” WHAT A CLASS ACT

AND KACCHAN IS RESPONDING WITH AS MUCH DIGNITY AS HE CAN MUSTER

WOW, SON. IT’S ALMOST AS THOUGH YOU HAVE A HOLE IN YOUR TORSO, OR SOMETHING!! although listen up, real talk, the fact that Kacchan of all people can’t muster the energy to yell at someone questioning his ability to kick ass is HIGHKEY troubling and we may be in need of an intervention here soon :/

now Jeanist is finally turning his attention to the League! was... was it not already on the League. omg

ACTUAL SCREAMING AHHHHHH FUCK FUCKLK LK AHHLKHKFFFF

hey so um. what the actual fucked up hell. my soul left my body. imagine if you saw the reflection of this panel on your bedroom window. you would never sleep again

OKAY RHA TRANSLATORS ARE YOU HAVING YOURSELF A LAUGH AGAIN

THIS CANNOT BE WHAT HE’S ACTUALLY SAYING RIGHT. BUT IT’S RIGHT IN THAT UNCANNY VALLEY OF NOT BEING QUITE SURE, THOUGH... (　ﾟдﾟ)

(ETA: just a next-day clarification here, apparently my sleep-deprived ADHD word-skipping brain completely skipped right over the “a” in that last panel, so what I read was, “and Shigaraki’s limp noodle.” so yeah, the moral of this story is always read the speech bubble carefully before you start making running jokes throughout the rest of your post, folks.)

oh wow he’s really freaking out lmao

to be fair though, I’d argue that Dabi has gotten pre-tty close at this point :’) thrilled for him, really I am

but anyway, well then figure something out you big dramatic robot-armed fiend. didn’t you just say you could touch your own ass? can you not just Compress yourself to break free?? does it not work on you? or would you be stuck afterwards lol

(ETA: I was picturing him compressing his entire body at once, not just chunks of it. ghhhlkh.)

um

holy shit Jeanist. are you stupidly trying to cut off their air, or are you going for more of a sleeper hold (jleeper hold??) thing instead. the latter would be way smarter and faster and probably safer as well just saying

but unless Spinner is just being super dramatic, it sure looks like he’s fucking strangling them djslkjlk. this will certainly cement his popularity among the villain stans. good thing you’re not running for office any time soon bud

anyway so I have no idea what these guys are trying to do now. what is this

do you even have till the count of 5 at this rate. I mean

OH MY GOODNESS

HE’S REALLY FUCKING DOING IT!! HE’S COMPRESSING HIS BUTT!! OMFG. TOMURA HIDE YOUR NOODLE!!!

WHAT THE FUCK

DID YOU COMPRESS A PIECE OF YOUR OWN ASS. FUCKING WHAT. PUT THIS MAN’S PICTURE IN THE DICTIONARY NEXT TO THE WORD “LOYALTY”, HOLY CRAP

HOLY SHIT COMPRESS

“HOLY SHIT DID THAT GUY JUST PUNCH A HOLE THROUGH HIS OWN ASS IN ORDER TO SAVE HIS VILLAIN PALS. FUCK IT, HE DESERVES TO ESCAPE”

jeez, talk about... A HALF-ASSED ESCAPE ATTEMPT :D :D :D hahaha. but real talk though, Horikoshi has clearly never tried to leap twelve feet straight up in the air multiple times in succession with only half his glutes though. everyone, I regret to inform you that this panel right here on the left may be slightly unrealistic

also where the hell is he going to go?? did you pack a jetpack away in one of those little marbles sir. and what about Dabi?? and Skeptic too, I guess, but we don’t really care about Skeptic

(ETA: at this point I had to stop reading for about two hours because I had to go out and take care of something; that’s also why this is being posted later than usual lol. anyways so where were we.)

oh my lord

the existence of a translator’s note here implies that the earlier line about Compress being able to reach Tomura’s junk was not, in fact, ad-libbed. hmm. hmmmmmmmm

anyway so now he’s grabbing Compress again because OF COURSE HE IS, so now we’re right back to square one! except now Tomura and Spinner are secured inside of little marbles, and presumably Compress is the only one who can release them

oh nevermind he’s just maiming himself again instead, SHEESH

Skeptic a man is dying please have some goddamn respect

so, uh. is he gonna die, though??

I really can’t tell wtf is going on here, this is the most confusing the art has been in a while. Horikoshi put all of his spoons into that creepyass close-up panel earlier, that bastard

OMG WHAT ARE YOU SERIOUS

DON’T FUCKING TELL ME THE “COMPRESS IS RELATED TO THIS THIEF GUY FROM OLDEN TIMES” THEORY IS ACTUALLY TRUE WHAAAAAAT. OH SHIT

so apparently Harima was a Robin Hood type guy who stole from... heroes?? wtf. are heroes the 1% in this scenario. y’all didn’t have any Fortune 500 CEOs to steal from?

THAT’S THE BLOOD THAT FLOWS THROUGH YOU, OH SHIT. and in a related oh shit, the fact that we are getting a Compress flashback now of all times doesn’t bode super well for him. ffff

MEANWHILE THE TODOROKIS ARE STILL TODOROKI-ING

listen here boy if you touch one freaking hair on Shouto’s candy cane head I swear to god --

WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY!!!

SHOUTO NOOOOOO. WTF YOU’RE LITERALLY THE ONE GUY WHOSE WEAKNESS IS ABSOLUTELY NOT SUPPOSED TO BE FIRE. DABI YOU SHIT, YOU BETTER WATCH YOURSELF!! I’M PRINTING OUT A COPY OF THAT COMPRESS PANEL!!! KEEP AN EYE OUT ON THAT BEDROOM WINDOW YOU PUNK!!!

SO NOW POOR SHOUTO IS UNCONSCIOUS AND FALLING!! SOMEONE SAVE HIM!! WHO CATCHES THE CATCHER

COMPRESS LITERALLY HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE RIGHT NOW, WHAT IS HAPPENING

PLEASE DON’T CALL TOMURA LEADER OF THE “PLF” YOU KNOW I CAN’T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY WHEN YOU DO THAT. ARE YOU DYING. ARE YOU JUST A FUCKING HEAD NOW WTF

(ETA: “masks are removable, makeste” you know what it’s been a long day okay lmao. or I suppose Compress is really the one who is lmao.)

GASPPPPPP

okay. okay. looooool okay then

WHY WERE YOU COVERING THIS SEXY MOP OF HAIR UNDER THAT HOOD YOU TOOL. IT WOULD HAVE LOOKED SO GOOD WITH THE TOP HAT. I’M SO MAD AT YOU RIGHT NOW

as if it wasn’t enough for him to demask himself, he also had to get all shirtless and then do this weird attempt at a sexypose too huh

hard to say exactly how much of his torso is currently missing, but safe to say that’s proooooooobably not good. :///// fuck

on the other hand, Kacchan also has a torso hole and he’s still flying around like he just drank a dozen red bulls, so

this man lost his ass and he’s still out here monologuing like it’s the last two minutes of The Prestige. one might say he is monologuing his ass off

so he let Spinner and Tomura free, but is Dabi still trapped in his marble?? wasn’t he all on fire and stuff?? hopefully he can still turn off his quirk in there because if not that’s a pretty fucked up way to die. somewhere out there Snatch’s ghost is all “YEAH I’LL SAY.” oh how the turntables

last but not least, sooooooo. Tomura. back on the ground. that’s. um. ...shiiiiiiiit

[authenticcadence18]

“Ice Cream and Dances Pt. 2: Electric Boogaloo” Ch. 2

…

HELLO I AM POSTING A FIC UPDATE!!!!!!!! :DD

(Also a disclaimer! This fic uses the phrase “more than friends” a lot, and I wrote the first chapter before I realized that phrase can imply that friendships are lesser than romantic relationships. I want to make it clear that I do not see romantic relationships as inherently more valuable than friendships. Friendship is equally as important!!!! In the context of Phineas and Isabella, starting a romantic relationship would literally be them becoming “more than friends” because they would then be romantic partners AND friends. So, when I use that phrase in this fic moving forward, this is the meaning I’m choosing to interpret it as!)

…

“Ice Cream and Dances” by FrsdGirl

AO3

Previous Chapter

…

Isabella did her best to focus on inhaling and exhaling as Phineas led her back onto the dance floor.

“THIS IS A FRIEND THING.”

Once they found an empty spot, Phineas let go of Isabella’s hand and turned to face her, eyes wide and face flushed and GOODNESS HE LOOKED CUTE—

“HYPOTHETICAL. PLATONIC.”

Somehow, Isabella’s hands found their way to Phineas’s shoulders, though she wasn’t consciously aware of it until she felt him gently place his hands on her waist and oh goodness, friend thing or not, Phineas still wanted to dance with her and be close to her even though they’d already danced earlier aND—

“NO. STOP IT. KEEP IT TOGETHER, GARCIA-SHAPIRO.”

For about half a minute, they swayed platonically (or, well, somewhat platonically), neither saying a word.

Isabella just kept on focusing on breathing, on making sure she didn’t lean too close to Phineas, on keeping the desire to admit she’d actually love to be here with him on a real date at bay.

(She couldn’t have known Phineas was focusing on very similar things.)

Sure, she’d been nervous when they danced like this earlier. But those nerves were nothing compared to the nerves she was experiencing now because NOW, she had much more to worry about.

This was still strictly a friend thing, but it was also now a hypothetical more-than-friends-who-were-on-a-date thing. Except it WASN’T actually hypothetical in Isabella’s case, and she couldn’t help but hope that it might be more than hypothetical for Phineas as well but NO, she couldn’t give in to that hope, that was dangerous, so she needed to maintain a good balance between honesty and nonchalance about all this but that was difficult to do when he was so close and holding her and good grief , why’d she ever taken Buford up on his dare, and—

“Isabella? Are you okay?”

Isabella started and blinked, clearing her head of myriad worries with a shake to find Phineas staring at her with concern in his eyes.

“You kinda spaced out there for a second…” he continued. “And you looked a little worried. Is something wrong? Would you rather do something else?”

“NO!!!!!” Isabella shot back. A few nearby couples darted their heads in their direction, and she winced (the LAST thing she wanted to do was draw more attention to her and Phineas after their “grand entrance”).

“I...I just mean… I’m fine. Really.” She did her best to muster a smile for Phineas’s sake. “Just got lost in thought for a bit, you know?”

Phineas grinned, seemingly relieved to know that she was okay (though that could’ve just been Isabella reading into things). “Been there, done that!” he said.

Isabella chuckled a little, the image of Phineas hunched over his phone flickering in her memory. “I bet! You looked pretty lost in thought while Buford and I were dancing earlier. Who were you texting? Or were you testing out a new app?”

She felt a little more at ease now that she was talking with Phineas (as opposed to drowning in her own thoughts.)

“Huh??” Phineas blinked and bit his lip, shoulders briefly tensing up beneath Isabella’s hands. “...UH, I was just...texting Candace!”

“Really? It must have been an intense conversation, you looked so focused. Did she ask you for advice on a case assignment or something?”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t that… I just….uh” Phineas stared at her for a second and then up at the sky before continuing, “...I talk with her a lot these days. She’s got good advice.”

Isabella smiled and nodded in agreement in response.

(Perhaps she was a little curious to know what exactly Phineas had been discussing with Candace. But she knew he’d tell her if he wanted to, and she didn’t want to press him in case he didn’t.)

In the meantime, she could change the subject.

“So...have you been brainstorming any new projects lately?” she asked. “Other than the Stargazer 3000 of course, though if you want to talk about that I’m all ears!”

Phineas’s eyes practically ignited with excitement, making something flutter and glow in Isabella’s chest.

“Yeah!!!” he exclaimed. “Yesterday Ferb and I started experimenting with levitating carpets, like we did when we were kids! We want to see if we can replicate the effects over a smaller surface. But the technology isn’t quite ready yet…..”

…

“And THAT’S how we plan to modify our pre-existing anti-gravity quantum state lift disk technology to function effectively over a smaller surface area!! We’re planning on finishing up a prototype tomorrow and using it for a project.”

“Cool!! Can I come over and help out?”

“Of course! You never have to ask to come over, Isabella. I’ll—er, we’ll always be glad to have you around.”

“Thanks!”

Sometimes, it was easy to take living across the street from Phineas for granted. Because of that, Isabella was used to his boundless creativity and ideas, used to his uncanny ability to make the impossible possible...but she never wanted to lose sight of how extraordinary just being able to be used to those things was.

Moments like this reminded her that Phineas was brilliant .

And handsome.

….brilliantly handsome.

She cracked a smile at that last thought.

Phineas, fortunately, didn’t ask why she was smiling. He just smiled back...and then tilted his head, his expression morphing from fond to thoughtful.

“.....I just realized something,” he said. “We danced earlier.”

Isabella nodded, unsure where he was going with this.

“I guess, I just realized…. This—you know, us , dancing together—it doesn’t feel much different from how it felt before, when we were dancing but like...strictly as friends. ….uH! Not that we aren’t dancing strictly as friends right now! But...the hypothetical more-than-friends thing you were wondering about...you’d think it would make things feel more different….but if it’s us, it doesn’t. Not really.”

A blush sprawled across Isabella’s face. She’d been so wrapped up in listening to Phineas’s ideas, she’d almost forgotten about the hypothetical more-than-friends thing.

But Phineas apparently hadn’t forgotten.

“Uh—is that still a thing we’re doing?” he asked. “Pretending this is, like…a date? Or thinking about what it would be like if it were? Because I thought we were, but maybe I misunderstood, and if so that’s my bad—”

“No, you didn’t misunderstand!!!” Isabella replied quickly. “And, we can keep pretending this is a date. If you want.”

Phineas exhaled with a smile. “Cool!”

“Yup! Cool!” Isabella agreed.

Whew.

“And, you’re right,” she continued. “It doesn’t feel much different from how it did before...but it feels right. Talking with you feels better than just dancing in silence and staring at each other. I guess other couples might do that, but not us.”

“Yeah!!” Phineas let out a gentle chuckle. “I guess this means, if we were a couple, we wouldn’t act much differently from how we do now.”

“That’s what happens when you fall for your best friend, huh?” Isabella gave Phineas a knowing grin (she was basically a world-renowned expert on this subject). “Since there’s already a great foundation of friendship in place, romantic feelings can just develop naturally from what’s already there.”

….wait a second.

“….uH!!!” she choked, jerking back and clutching her hands to her chest on instinct. “Not that I’d know that personally!! Just, uh! In movies and stuff! That’s how it always goes. Yup. And we’re best friends, so! In this hypothetical scenario, we’d be best friends who fell for each other. Hypothetically.”

“Okaaayyyy time to divert the subject, Garcia-Shapiro.”

“People in movies have it easy….” she continued, trying her best to sound light and casual. “They meet and then, less than two hours later, BOOM! They’re together, true love for life!! Or...at least, they’re together until a sequel comes out and they’ve broken up offscreen just to get back together again….”

(The older Isabella got, the less patience she had for subpar romance movies and subplots.)

“Yeah….it’s a lot harder in real life...” Phineas agreed quietly. “Though, we’d be remiss if we didn’t talk about how it is hard for couples in TV shows. Like, Candace used to watch this show where the two main characters were in love but they didn’t realize it, and they kept on ALMOST confessing or getting together but didn’t actually get together until the very end. She’d get so frustrated with them, called them the ‘token will they/won’t they couple.’ There were a few steady side-couples though, Candace always used to say they made watching the show a little easier.”

He leaned in, a conspiratorial twinkle in his eye, and whispered, “She always used to compare herself and Jeremy to the main couple, but between you and me, the two of them are definitely more the ‘steady side-couple’ type.”

Isabella snickered. “ Oh yeah. They had it easy! They liked each other from the beginning, went on dates, started officially dating and then just...stayed that way.”

“If only it were always that simple….” Phineas sighed.

“If Candace and Jeremy are a steady side couple, what would that make us?” Isabella asked.

She flinched and quickly added, “uH!!! In a hypothetical sense!!!!”

Phineas blinked. “UM!!! That’s a great question!!!”

...was he blushing? Or was it a trick of the light?

“I guess, uh….we’d be the token ‘will they/won’t they’ couple?”

he rubbed the back of his neck and chucked slightly. “I mean, uh...in your hypothetical scenario, I’m not sure if we’d already be together or if this would be our first time doing something together. Together -together, I mean. On a date, you know. But, uh…….. Okay, let’s say I had feelings for you. Hypothetically. I’d have no reason to believe you returned those feelings.”

Isabella bit her lip and resisted the urge to roll her eyes into the nearest adjacent galaxy.

That was Phineas, alright. Oblivious as always.

“...BUT!!” he continued, “if you returned them without knowing about MY feelings, that would be a classic ‘will they/won’t they’ scenario. At least, according to Candace, anyway….yup….”

He suddenly seemed quite interested in staring at the grass beneath their feet.

Isabella followed his gaze and studied the ground for a bit, both to avoid pondering their hypothetical couple status any longer AND because, if Phineas was staring at the grass, it likely meant something interesting was happening down there.

...except nothing interesting was happening.

“.....okay, there’s no way the grass is interesting enough to warrant us staring at it for this long,” she mused. “You didn’t get hit with a dull and boring ray, did you?”

(She was mostly joking, but one could never be too careful in Danville.)

Phineas glanced back up at her and just stared at a moment before cracking a smile.

“Funny you should mention that….i was JUST thinking about the color beige….”

A moment passed.

And then he started to giggle. Quietly at first…and then not so quietly. His amusement was contagious, and soon Isabella was caught up in it too, the two of them grinning and laughing and as carefree as could be, all the awkwardness momentarily gone.

(The ruckus garnered some more stares, as the music playing was still pretty soft….but Isabella didn’t really care about that anymore. Having fun with Phineas was way more important than worrying about what others thought.)

Gradually, their laughter died down, with Phineas giving one final giggle and wiping a tear from his cheek before placing his hand back on Isabella’s waist, eyes shining with mirth.

Isabella gazed at him with a beaming smile.

There was just something about Phineas’s laughter, something about the way he smiled so brightly and expressed such genuine positivity so effortlessly, that had fascinated her and made her head spin since they were kids....and right now, it was hard to feel scared of expressing her true feelings for him.

(In other words, she was sooo in love with him right now.)

“You know….” she whispered with a flirtatious grin, “...if WE were dating—uh, on a date, within the parameters of the hypothetical more-than-friends thing!!!”

Good save, Garcia-Shapiro.

“...I’d have told you how handsome you look by now.”

“Huh?” Phineas blinked and glanced down at his outfit. “...Oh! Thanks! ...but, I’m not really dressed for a date….I wear this shirt at least once a week, and I haven't brushed my hair since this morning.”

“Aw, Phineas, you ALWAYS look handsome,” Isabella assured him. “No matter what. I mean, between the red hair and all your freckles and your acute nose and your SMILE, I’m not sure how anyone could NOT see how handsome you are…. And it’s not just your looks either, it’s your laugh and the way you can light up anyone and anything around you just by being you, it all makes you handsome, and……”

A bit of the happy fog in Isabella’s brain evaporated, allowing her to realize she’d been rambling to Phineas about how handsome he was for the past 20 seconds.

Oops.

“uH!!!! That is! That’s what I would say if this wasn’t a friend thing! But it is! So! Uh. You can just forget I said all that, if you want….”

She winced and clenched her eyes shut. That had been too much, she’d totally taken things too far, and now Phineas would probably be super weirded out...

Except.

One glance at Phineas revealed he wasn’t weirded out at all. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes soft, mouth slightly agape with what might have been astonishment.

He looked flustered, but in a good way.

And then...he smiled again. He smiled at her.

And it was a warm smile, a gentle smile, perhaps the most adoration-filled smile Isabella had ever seen and it was directed at her and doing funny things to her heart.

“Well….” he whispered softly, “...if this weren’t a friend thing, I’d have already told you you look as beautiful as ever…. But, since this is a friend thing and I haven’t told you yet….I’ll just tell you now. Isabella, you look as beautiful as ever.”

He grinned before continuing on in a manner similar to how Isabella had spoken a bit ago.

“I mean, between your eyes, and your hair, and the way your entire face seems to light up when you smile, and your adorable laughter, and the way you’re brave enough to say whatever’s on your mind…..I don’t think anyone else is as beautiful as you, Isabella. In every sense of the word.”

Isabella’s heart was going to pound right out of her chest. Or perhaps her knees would give out and she’d collapse right here, sprawled across the grass, running Phineas’s words and tender looks over and over again in her head for the foreseeable future.

It wouldn’t be a bad way to spend the rest of the evening.

But Phineas wasn’t done yet. He drew a hand back and then reached out for Isabella’s face...only to flinch and freeze in place.

“...uH!!” he breathed, hand still suspended in mid-air. “....if this were a date, I think I’d unconsciously reach out to brush a lock of hair behind your ear after saying all those things, just to see you better! ...would you be alright with that?”

Isabella didn’t trust herself to piece a coherent sentence together at the moment, but she knew she’d definitely be alright with that, so she nodded her head.

Phineas inhaled and tentatively reached out until his fingers were gracing Isabella’s cheek and then ever-so-gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

And once again, Isabella did her best to focus on inhaling and exhaling, on staying present in the moment…but this time, she wasn’t constantly reminding herself this was just pretend.

Because….what if it wasn’t?

Phineas was one of the most authentic people Isabella knew. Authentic to a fault, almost.

And that trademark authenticity, which she’d come to recognize in all of his inventions and actions and words in the years they’d been friends…..she recognized it now. In the hand cradling her face and the eyes gazing at her softly and the tender smile that hovered a mere foot or two from her own.

…perhaps Phineas had tried to ask her here on a date earlier.

Perhaps Buford had been right.

…

Thanks for reading!! And thanks as always to the lovely FrsdGirl for inspiring this fic and allowing me to write it and also for being just, the best ever, I adore you my friend🥺💕.

This isn’t the end btw, I know how this is gonna end, just haven’t written it properly yet!

[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

.

.

.

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

.

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.

.

.

.

[wind-goddess-eri]

Joker’s Wild (Shang Tsung x Reader) Chapter 2

Ok there is a small bit of smut but its more of an manipulation.  soooo yeah. I hope y’all like it.  Joker is a dick and we all know this.

Weeks pass, and everyone eventually forgot about the whole thing that happened. Everyone except for you. It was almost as if a silent spell had been placed over everyone's mind to purposefully forget the incident even happened. For you, dreams, hallucinations and daydreams of The Joker were slowly breaking you down into a slight insanity. Something you hadn't had in a while. The insecurity you felt, as you laid on the ground, you thought, "What did that card mean?"

As you wondered curiously you spaces out. A few moments pass and you heard Mileena's voice, "Hey Y/N, hey Lord Shang." Not knowing Shang Tsung was there, you looked over to meet his smoldering, handsome eyes. You feel somewhat safe now that he is there with you. "Hey, what are you doing here?" you asks Mileena. Mileena merely shrugged at first. "I was walking around and remembered that I had to go get Bi-Han," she replies. That would somewhat explain why Sub-Zero wasn't around right now.

"Oh cool, where is Bi-Han by the way?" you asked.

You notices Mileena rubbing her stomach that is making hunger noises, indicating that she hadn't eaten all day. It was around 3 in the afternoon. "You didn't eat him did you? you asked your friend with a smirk on your face. "NO! He went to get food for all of us."

You and Shang go to her house, which was a block away from where Bi-Han was getting food. It's a decent sized apartment that had 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a living room and a kitchen. Usually Mileena did the cooking. "Make yourself at home."

"I'm going to take a shower," you tells the sorcerer looking at him with lustful eyes. His mere presence got her hot and going. "Okay dear, I love you," he whispered in your ear. Just as he was about to kiss you his phone rang with an unknown number on it. He turned away to answer it, wondering who it might have been.

You made your way to the bathroom, turned on the shower, got undressed and went in. Then you start to think about her past. A past you didn't want anybody that didn't already know it to know about it. You starts thinking about an old flame that was never put to rest. A flame that matched no other flame she'd felt before, and possibly never would. As the water gently trailed down your breast, going down your stomach, you thought to yourself, "Could this be real?" You go into deep thought, deeper than ever before. Trying to sort out confusion that has set itself in your mind. "I'm scared. What is happening to me?" you whispered to no one in particular, mostly yourself.

As you sits there in the shower, water pouring on your head, drenching your hair and down you back, you pondered. You thought of your life with him. What it was like. It seemed strange and too good to be true. As you sat there, trying to warm up, wet, and alone, you wanted him to be there with you. You opened your eyes and looked up. Three emotions passed your mind: surprise, confusion and anger.

There he was, The Joker, fully clothed, in the shower getting soaked to the bone. His hair was more of a mess than normal. It made you realize why the water wasn't hitting as it should have been. It wasn't directly touching you. You asked The Joker in the order of your emotions, "How did you....?? Where did you...??? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN THE SHOWER!!!??"

The Joker looks at you and said, "I've been here...waiting for you. There's no need to be frightened. I am surprised that you didn't notice me," he adds causally. You looked at him in disgust. "I am not ascared of you, okay," you told him, trying to cram two words together; afraid and scared. "You look stressed," he tells you with a condescending tone in his voice.

"Get the hell out of my shower and hand me a towel," you told him a bit pissed. You turned the shower off and held out you arm and Joker hands you the towel. There was no way you were going to finish it with him in there. As you puts the towel on, getting out of the shower you asked him, "How did you get in here?" He simply replies, shrugging as if it were obvious, "The door was unlocked." you thought about it for a minute and very alert you asked with fear behind her eyes, "Where's Shang?"

The Joker was talking to you, trying to convince you to go back with him. His life was just not as chaotic without you, and he lived for chaos, for chaos brought peace and logic, no matter what people said. "Get the hell out of here! Don't do this!" You cried out to anyone who could hear. He wouldn't let you leave the bathroom and you didn't know where or what happened to Shang.

"Come on. It won't hurt. Just remember all the good old times when I would tie you up and have my way with you." He grabs your face with one hand and with the other hand he holds a knife. "Look at me!" He yells at you getting your attention. When you do, you can't move at all. Then he kisses you. He forces his tongue in your mouth...you have no choice but to do this. He stops and he looks at you.

"This is so unnecessary," You say. You looked back and say with a quiver in your voice, unsure on what exactly is happening. He steps forward and kisses you so passionately that your body just gives in. There was no more will to fight him, because in your reality, there never was a chance. In a little part of your mind, you doesn't want this to end. You dropped your towel and wrapped your arms around him.

Quicker than you thought possible, The Joker had managed to strip his jacket off and slowly reveal his purple and green suit. The suspenders were the first thing you had grabbed and tore from his body as his gentle but strong hands quickly unbuttoned his shirt. When that was thrown from his body along with the suspenders, you both went for his pants, rushing to remove his last piece of clothing to at least satisfy the both of them. Socks and shoes would remain, keeping him from actually removing his pants. Of course that would be the last thing that would be in their way, he never wore underpants.

Completely and utterly amazed at his shirtless form, you bore witness to not only the scars he'd gained by living the life that he has always lived by, but also the scars that you'd given him. It confused her as to why something as trivial as hurting him and having the scars to prove it turned you on. Before another thought even crossed your mind, he pushed you down to the floor and crossed the threshold that joined their bodies. For you, the sensation was like it was before; no one would be able to match it because of his uncanny ability to know your very thoughts on the actions they did together. As he penetrates you, you moans and looked at him with pleasure in your eyes. You felt like you was floating as he thrusts, moans and kind of laughs in passion. He'd always done this, mixing business with pleasure. In fact, this probably was business. Last minute business that included sex like no other. Harder and harder he dove into your cave that he'd touched with his light so many times before. Only now, you didn't really belong to him anymore, which made it the forbidden fruit that he needed to take, taste and devour. The last thing you saw before your peak hit was your eyes traveling to from the ceiling to the window, thinking how wrong and bitter sweet this was.

Then Mileena and Bi-Han bust in the door. The Joker was no were to be found. He left a card on the counter top next to the sink. Sub-zero runs over to you, grabbing a towel to cover you with it. Mileena reads the card out load, "You almost caught me. HA HA HA!!!!"

[ythmir-writes]

Fictober 2020, Day 01

Prompt: “No, come back!” Fandom: Obey Me! feat: Solomon Audience: Teen and up; mentions of wounds and blood

I know Solomon first as a regular customer in one of my supply shops. I can still remember the first time I had met him. You cannot miss that sort of power coming into a room. It’s a kind of tickling on your skin, a sense of foreboding that something larger than you can ever fathom has arrived, and you would best hurry along.

Most do. Even if you had not yet heard of how he survived a year in Hell unscathed, there was no mistaking the tattoo on the back of his left hand: a demon seal. Etched on skin and bone and soul. Very few survive the process of making a pact with a demon, and anyone who tells you otherwise is either lying or a demon in disguise tempting you to try.

If only that kind of daredevil behavior translated properly into how Solomon presented himself. He had an affable smile and an air of politeness around him that almost made you forget about the rumors. In the times I had spoken with him, he replied only in gentle tones. He also always paid up-front, and whenever he needed bulk orders for whatever concoction a sorcerer of his calibre needed, he afforded the shop enough time to prepare them.

Surely a fellow practitioner to whom the Council had nothing but praise for, must be a good person – is what his entire demeanor said. Surely someone who looks the way he do, who is pleasant the way he is, who never misses payment, is not a man to be feared.

Most dismiss his smile as veneer; nothing more than a ploy. For what reasons, the stories are endless. There is always some poor sap or other who had seemingly witnessed the atrocities Solomon had done, who had seen the shadows yield to him, who had seen him with blood on his hands and mouth. A human simply cannot survive living with demons without some evil in him.

And he was a sorcerer. Everyone knew their magic was different for a reason. That this reason has been lost to time and has long been laid rest in numerous debates in academic circles was often ignored by those who disliked him.

It did not help that Solomon did nothing to dissuade whatever was untrue.

✧ ✧

It also did not help that often Solomon had peculiar requests, some of which were too strange and dangerous to the point that if he had any special orders, it would be best that I handled them directly. Being discrete was important in our line of work.

The strangest request being a bottle that could hold a soul, in exchange for knowledge.

To be fair, it was a simple trade. Basically, a commission. If not that, then a barter.

Solomon wanted my expertise. He was the rising star of sorcerers, a human with such uncanny ability and talent he had his own personal grimoire. And while I may not carry the same infamy as him, I was one of the few apprentices of Isabel, the Witch of the Sierra Madre. And that was fame by and in itself. For all that the world has always lived with magic, there still remains some practices most find distasteful.   

Or at least he knew that Isabel, had an apprentice who was just as good but less susceptible to dark moods.

“Your words, not mine.” I had said, the moment the words left him. “Best not to speak ill of her, even if she is not in the same room.”

“Or country.” Solomon had agreed, but shrugged nonetheless, as if suffering Isabel’s wrath was all in a day’s work.

“Why not go to Isabel herself?” I had asked the obvious question.

“I am currently pressed for time,” He had admitted, looking sheepish at that. “I simply cannot afford to fulfil her many side requests before she considers if she would commit.”

“I should charge extra for convenience.”

“So you will do it?”

To set the record straight, it had taken me more than five minutes before I made a counter-offer. “Two pages from your grimoire, and you let me meet the Demon you made a pact with.”

“How long will it take?”

“Give me a week.”

“But if I give you the ingredients?”

“I don’t trust your ingredients.” I had answered honestly.

Solomon had laughed at that. “Only a true arbularyo would say that.”

“Only a true arbularyo could do it in a week’s time.” I had explained. “You want a real soul bottle, you have to make time. Anything rushed and it could break.”

Solomon had nodded, as if he knew that undesirable result only too well. Then, he had offered his hand to me. The hand with the demon seal. “It’s a deal.”

And what else could I have done but take it? We shook hands, professionals and in a way, peers. “I know it’s not my business, but in theory, having a general description of the soul you plan to keep would make it easier to hold them indefinitely.”

“Then I suppose, if you’re free, you could meet Asmodeous now and he could give you a thorough description of her.”

But of course Solomon made a pact with a Lord of Hell.

✧ ✧

I know Solomon second as a friend. You interact with someone on a consistent and regular basis, and you begin to know some things about them. Small glimpses shared in the moments when goods and payment exchange hands.

I know he preferred his mushrooms whole, no matter the kind. He knows I prefer to be paid in coins, rather than bills. I know he keeps a list of true names with him, always. He knows I have a latent talent for necromancy I am too afraid to explore. I know he likes to make quips about everything. He knows I find them insufferable. I know he is an absolutely terrible cook. He himself does not know this.

I know he has more than one demon seal on his body. He knows I keep a small collection of peculiar skulls in the back room of the shop.

I know Solomon did more than just survive in Hell. He knows I can be persuaded to look the other way for the right book.

Small glimpses but nothing harmless. Enough that favors could be exchanged when the need arises. I know that often he would go away on some grand adventure. He knows I have a spare room in my apartment he could use while he smelled of brimstone and death without judgment, for a story. He knows I hate the trinkets he keeps giving me as souvenirs. I know he hates my singing. I know that he has a stash of questionable encyclopaedias in his private safe and he knows exactly where he can keep the key safe  in my library.

Rapport is important. Second only to your word of honor. There were already few of us who understood that magic is life. Magic is blood. And that as practitioners, we should never discriminate based solely on origin.

But I digress.

I am often asked this question: if I had known that associating in any way with Solomon would end with the way it did, would I still want to associate with him at all?

Obviously, yes. I would have.

Power and knowledge rarely come knocking voluntarily on your door. Most have fought for it, or bled, or sacrificed, or have done numerous ghastly things for a sliver. A few have even died for it.

Solomon had walked up to me, offered his hand, and offered a trade.

Only a fool would have turned him down.

✧ ✧

And only a fool would not help a friend in need.

I trust Solomon and his abilities. No ordinary human can simply manage to tattoo most of their body with demon seals without skill and strength. Most people forget that a demon has to like you before it would even consider making a pact – and that was already a feat in itself. You had to be strong enough to survive the seal. Stronger still, to carry demon magic as part of your own.

It was not to say I had never been tempted to try. However, Asmodeous had taken one good look at me and told me I would not survive. I took no offense and believed him. My magic was simply not made for the living.

So, I have never pressed Solomon into telling me what his business was in Hell. For his sake, and mine. Demons know when you speak their name. Solomon might fearlessly recount the stories he feels are safe to share, pronouncing ancient names others would go mad from just by hearing, but that is for him to do. I can only listen and sometimes, tell him he had made an absolutely lame joke. Whatever detail I do ask him are of the other players, the angels, the mortal transferees, the lucky (or unlucky) souls invited to glimpse the other planes.

However, when he suddenly appeared one night, wounded, terribly disoriented, and still clutching the very first soul bottle I had made for him in his hands, I knew something had gone very very wrong.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Solomon had whispered, his eyes barely focusing on me. “I didn’t meant to go back here, I’m sorry –!” Solomon’s body had begun to glow. He had been about to use a teleportation spell despite his obvious confusion.

I pulled at his arm. “Solomon! No, come back!”

At this point, it is obvious that I have much respect for Solomon as a sorcerer. I want to make it of record that the same cannot be said when it comes to his impromptu decisions like these. Even a child knew better than to teleport while confused.

“Solomon, don’t be an idiot.” I pulled him back, pushing away the remnants of his magic. “You are here because you thought you would be safe here. You are. Don’t make me have to clean the rest of my apartment of your blood.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t talk, don’t use sorcery.” I had sternly said. “I will grab bandages and you will stay.”

“Chasing me…”

“Stay, Solomon.” I pulled him towards me, pressed his forehead to mine. “Stay.”

If Solomon had made further protests, I was tempted to smack him into unconsciousness just to get him to lie still. As it happens, there had been no need for any of that. His wounds had been far deeper, his coat soaking up most of the blood.

I have seen enough in my life to be able differentiate between the kind of unexpected you could learn from and the kind you cannot escape. This is not an exaggeration of my abilities. You do not survive through and finish kulam apprenticeship without developing a sort of sense for these things.

And this, whatever Solomon had tangled himself in, was definitely the latter.

(part 2)

[mysticalmusicwhispers]

YEA indus catching them and throwing yao out... go queen! keep your child away from bad influences (even if it fails and your child is a terrible influence himself) also OF COURSE aditya begins lying to continue hanging out with yao lmaoo though idk how much indus knows about this because parents have an uncanny ability to Sense lies Iike these... aditya i hope your plots are airtight! it'll only take one change in indus' schedule for your plans to be discovered otherwise! and then she will be SO MAD oh my god

nyo china's neighbours must hate her lmao.. their impression of her is like "woman who is never home and has a feral brat who hangs out with other feral brats" which is so bad for neighbourly harmony 😭 and YES she would like india! indchu are so similar.. together they're a bit loud but that's nothing that soundproof walls and headphones (that also muffle the noise of the destruction they cause) can't fix!

nyo china's first solution to anything is to chuck money at it lmao this is what happens when you a) are too lazy to convince people to bow to your will in any other way b) have too much money on your hands 😔

and YES your reason for why they like each other is spot on!! i think that out of all chinas (1p, 2p, nyos) nyo china is the worst parent because her morals are nonexistent AND she's the most checked out? like she's very focused on herself and her wants/needs and her inner world which doesn't bode well for child-rearing lmao.. so a hyperindependent brat who only needs money and a superlative education, both things she would want for herself and her children? perfect. they both get to have fun and do what they want, to the detriment of everyone around them. a functional dysfunctional family dynamic. but also can you imagine them at extended family reunions lmao like. yao is such a brat but aside from the utter lack of qualms and morals and respect he's literally a 别人家的孩子 can you imagine how jealous and angry all the aunties are going to get? also he's going to cause a giant scene and it's going to be gossip forever and ever but nyo china isn't going to care because he's still top of the class

also do you think that after a few years the teacher just gives up like the third year of parent teacher meetings there's just no more mention of behaviour like "yeah his grades have been consistently excellent and he won three spelling bees plus a regional art competition now get out of my sight both of you"

YEAH Indus would totally be someone who’s extra-sensitive to Child Lies lol. She quickly notices Aditya’s change of heart and almost thinks it’s sincere.... but there’s something rather fishy about it.... hmm....... she doesn’t have enough evidence to prove he’s lying, just little flashes of suspicious activity, but. when she finds out what he’s actually doing it’s going to be WILD (she seriously entertains the thought of writing a letter to his teacher asking them for advice on how to train this problematic streak out of him lol)

And fffff I would hate her too lol do they live in an apartment or house? Either way it’s chaos. I feel like nyo china has enough money to buy a separate house and stop annoying her neighbors, if only a little, but she doesn’t want to go to the trouble 😭 “there’s nothing wrong with the apartment! I might need to get a storage unit for all the things I collected on business trips though, but the apartment is fine for human beings!” and yeah moneybags lol just give gifts to your neighbors to appease them (she’s also very attentive to neighborhood gossip so she knows exactly what each of them like lol, plus she has the connections to get all of it). Problem solved. (bonus that she hands out fistfuls of red packets to the other kids at lunar new years, so all the kids like her even if their parents have a love-hate relationship with her lol)

I WILL DIE he is 100% a 别人家的孩子 (but also 90% of him is a 熊孩子) I hate him so much for that oh my god. UHGHGHHG everyone and their mother whispers about this smartass, rulebreaking, back-talking, “my way or the highway” kid, day in and day out, as well as his rather anti-social moneybag caretaker. He will be the talk of the town (or at least the very large extended family) for the rest of his school days and probably even after that. Think about how much all the other kids envy him 😭😭 their parents tell them they should follow Yao’s example, but when they point out that Yao is literally a feral delinquent the parents just say “you should follow his example in the things he’s a model at, not in things he does badly” sksksksk. And yeah they are a functionally dysfunctional family lol; they think they’re just vibing with each other but actually they’re causing the world to burn, they just don’t know it :)

Also that’s exactly what I was thinking lol. I don’t know if y’all switch teachers from grade to grade (at my school we did) or not but if not, 100% yes at the scenario you described. If Yao gets a new teacher each year, his previous teacher always makes sure to tell the new one not to even try reforming him lol. There’s a little note in his file that says “not worth the effort” and he becomes the most hated legend in the teacher’s break room. All the teachers sympathize with whoever has him this year and the teacher’s who’ve had Yao form a little club to complain about him. They have a welcome party every year for the next teacher to have that headache of a child :)

(Bonus entertaining plot twist: a random substitute teacher who came in once to fill in earns Yao’s respect by arguing with him in front of the entire class instead of telling him to be quiet when he objects to some mundane instructions. The sub outlogics him (somehow) and finally Yao thinks he has found an adult who’s not insufferable. He also gives the kids lollipops, which might be another part of why Yao likes him, and when the sub manages to land a job at the school, Yao asks nyo China to bribe the school into getting him as Yao’s teacher. His problematic streak slowly decreases, but he’s still got most of his spirit. The sub also gets introduced to Aditya and Iran, and they make fast friends. The other teachers are jealous of the young 20-something sub who tamed the feral child nobody else could.)

[vintagevalentinex]

Decode, V

Whew!  Here we go.  I hope you guys like it!!  Please, please, please  let me know what you think!

xoxo

Decode, V by vintagevalentinexx Mycroft Holmes x Reader ~1400 words

For someone who appeared as though he could spin a story, Mycroft Holmes was fairly quiet.

You sat across from him in the small café on the corner of where the hotel was located.  You swirled your spoon idly in the tea that Mycroft insisted you drink, trying to think of something, anything to talk about.  This felt like the most awkward date ever.  Did he think of this as a date?  Do I think of this as a date?  Do I want this to be a date?  Oh for the love of God…

“How do you do it?”

You were snapped out of your thoughts by his simple question.  You furrow your eyebrows, slightly tilting your head.  “What do you mean?”

He placed his hands on the table, leaning in.  He made the table seem so very small, and the space between you was instantly shrinking. As much as he was infuriating you, something about him made you disgustingly curious.

“How is it that you’re able to decode those ciphers so quickly?  I must confess that my brother and I were unable to solve it at first glance, and my employees are still running algorithms on it…”

“Employees?…Just what is it that you do, Mycroft?  How did you know that I solved more than one coded message?”

He pursed his lips, staring intently at you, making sure you realized he was making eye contact.  “I maintain a minor position in the British Government.  It just so happens to make me privy to certain pieces of information.”

You maintain eye contact, narrowing your gaze.  “Minor position?  Privy?  I’m sorry but someone with your obvious intelligence would be completely wasted in a minor position.  If you’re going to lie to me please make it more interesting.  I do teach children, I’ve heard just about everything.”

Mycroft looked at you as though it was Christmas.  His lips barely turned upward but his eyes were definitely amused, as if you pleasantly surprised him.  You took a sip of your tea, trying to keep your tough front up under the scrutinizing gaze of Mycroft Holmes.

“As much as I’d love to continue this line of conversation, I’m more interested in your answer to my question.”

You looked away wistfully, shrugging.  “To be honest, I don’t really know.  It’s always kind of been that way…”  You chewed on your lip.

“For whatever reason when I see a puzzle, especially one that involves letters and words, my brain has the uncanny ability to rearrange the letters or symbols so they make sense. It’s like they automatically rearrange themselves.  It’s almost automatic at this point.  I suppose that’s why I take to languages so quickly…”

You were instantly brought back to when you were young, and didn’t understand what an incredible gift you had.  School had been absolutely tedious and sometimes terrible for you.  As a child you never understood why the teachers would tell you to put your hand down, or clearly make eye contact with you and call on someone else.  It became conditioning for you; hide your intelligence, blend in with those around you, or be completely alienated.  This worked for a while, but it naturally didn’t last.  It something unavoidable and you had learned to keep to yourself.

“Penny for your thoughts, (Y/N)?”

You shook your head, feeling yourself becoming flushed, embarrassed that you were so completely unfocused.

“I’m sorry; I was lost there for a moment…”

“He was not telling the truth, (Y/N)…Sherlock.  Well…not completely…”

“What are you talking about?”

“There is nothing wrong with you.  Quite the opposite, actually…”

“How did you know—“

“What you were thinking about?”  The determined, amused look bubbled back into his eyes.  He shuffled his seat over to the side, motioning with his hand at the empty space.  “Bring your chair over here; I want to show you something.”

You looked at him warily as you slid your chair over, the proximity of his form something quite new. It was almost unnerving, but you weren’t sure if it was in a good way or a bad way.  It was…different.  Mycroft looked straight ahead, motioning for you to look at the couple across the café.

“I have a knack for being able to deduce information out of people merely by observing the mannerisms, the way that they interact with others, and other factors, of course.  Now these two for example…actually…”

He looked at you, lips upturning only slightly.  “You tell me. Tell me all you can about them.”

You furrowed your eyebrows.  What the hell were you supposed to be able to know about two random people?!

“I…um…?”

“Start with the things that are obvious and see what you can infer from there.”

“Um okay.  Well they are dressed up so perhaps they are on a date…?  Am I doing this right?”

“Keep going.”

“Right.  Okay.  I don’t see wedding rings on either of their fingers…um…they don’t seem fairly awkward around each other so maybe they know each other?”

Mycroft nodded, his lips forming a small smile.  “Very good. So far you have observed that they are indeed on a date, their body language suggesting that they are at the very least acquaintances.  Now look deeper, look at the man’s fingers.”

You take another look, trying to understand what Mycroft was talking about.  You turned back to him, looking at him to explain.

“His ring finger.  There is a significant tan line where a wedding ring should go, or in his case, is supposed to be.”

Your eyes light up, whipping your head back around at the couple.  You try to keep your voice down, but the sheer lasciviousness of it all was exciting.

“He’s having an affair. With a good friend…maybe a friend’s girlfriend…?”

“A friend’s wife…you did quite well, (Y/N).  I knew you would.”

“This is exactly what Sherlock did to me.  You…you do this too?”

“Who do you think taught him how?  However, I certainly did not teach him to be so rude about it.  For that I deeply apologize.”

You nod.  “He seems like he can be a handful…”

Mycroft snickers, “(Y/n), you truly have no idea. This is not the only reason I wanted to meet with you, however…”

Before he could continue his phone began to ring.  You sat there, wringing your hands as he spoke softly on the phone.  Moments later he was putting his phone back into his pocket.

“I apologize for that interruption.  As truly enjoyable as this has been, I have just been informed that your presence is about to be requested down at Scotland Yard yet again.  It seems that they have just received another envelope and could use your expertise.”

You almost pouted. You were actually enjoying yourself and now your time with him had to end.  He stood up as you followed suit.

“Allow me to escort you there, (Y/N).  If I know anything about my brother he is probably already there causing a scene.”

The car ride was quiet, yet it was not at all awkward.  It was a calm kind of quiet that you really enjoyed.  It gave you an opportunity to gather your thoughts and prepare for whatever was going to be at the precinct.  As the car slowed down, Mycroft’s hand paused at the handle.

“(Y/N)…it is quite rare as I navigate the world that I come across a mind as astute as yours.  Would you do me the honor of perhaps meeting me for dinner tomorrow night?”

A smile slowly found its way to your face, nodding.  “Yes. Yes Mycroft that sounds lovely.”

Pleased with himself, he cleared his throat.  “Well then…right.  I will text you the details.  Let’s get you inside, shall we?”

Mycroft led you into the precinct, nodding a “hello” to Lestrade as you made your way over to the desk with the envelope.

“Really Mycroft, are you here to make everyone’s night miserable?”

You rolled your eyes as you heard Sherlock’s low baritone, not even bothering to acknowledge his presence.

“Brother mine, I am quite certain that everyone is really not in the mood for your petulance.”

“I second that.”

“John!”

“He does make a good point, Sherlock.”

You deciphered the code easily enough, becoming perturbed as you turned around.  It took them a moment to remember you were in the room. Lestrade spoke first.

“What’s it say?”

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting around, finally resting on Mycroft’s.

“It says,

“She’s next.”

Next Part!

[eponymiad]

“Spar with me.”

Helen tilted her head to one side. Without breaking eye contact, she took a sip of her tea. The prevalence of sweet, brewed mint leaves were the one good thing to come out of the Mede empire. “I am Annux.” She blinked at him, then looked back down at her writing. * On a rare vacation with the other monarchs of the Little Peninsula, Eugenides learns that Eddis once let him win at sparring matches when they were children.

[word count: 3750]

(for @thecrenellations​, who is as emotional about two (2) loving disaster cousins as me)

*

At the Eddisian hunting lodge on the coastal side of the pass, the air remained cool in the summer. Making the most of it, the kings and queens of the Little Peninsula took their breakfast outside each day during their short retreat. The stone terrace looked across the meadow, purple and yellow wildflowers in full bloom. On the meadow’s far side, the forest sloped up into the mountaintops beyond.

One morning, the king of Sounis arrived late to breakfast, freshly bathed. He dropped onto the bench beside his wife with a grunt. Every inch of him radiated exhaustion. The summer break did not mean a break in training, even for the sovereigns.

“Are we sure ,” he said. “Procivitus is not actually a fiend from Hell, sent here by the gods with the express intention of torturing me?” He cringed at his own words. Sophos tried not to accidentally question the gods these days.

Attolis and Eddis laughed.

“You may be right about the fiend part, but certainly we all suffer,” Eugenides said, shaking the left sleeve of his overcoat down to expose the deep purple bruise near his elbow.

With a heavy sigh, Sounis added nuts to the bowl of oatmeal an attendant placed in front of him. Then he set the dish down, stared at the table, and considered laying his head down instead.

“Sometimes I think the nicest thing about living in Sounis is not having to train with him,” Eddis said, rolling up the sleeve of her husband’s tunic to check the bright red marks while he tucked into his oatmeal with the other arm.

Attolia looked between the couple. “Do you train together when you are not in Eddis?”

Sounis snorted. “Gods no. Helen won’t practice with me. It’s just as well — I’d be nursing bruises for weeks.” He paused for a moment to rub his hand gingerly down his side. “Not that I won’t be now.”

“Oh, stop. You would be fine,” Eddis said.

Sophos looked at his wife, amused. “Are you trying to make me feel better? Because I am not embarrassed. You are all terrifying.” It was no secret that the Eddisians, who trained with swords from a young age, were the fiercest soldiers on the Peninsula — and perhaps the Continent. Their monarchs were no exception. Eddis, as ruling queen, had continued her sword training beyond the age when most Eddisian women stopped.

Eddis looked at him reproachfully, but he did not relent. “Helen, I’ve seen you train. It’s more intimidating than watching Aulus, and I’m still unsure whether he is entirely human either.”

At that, Eddis rolled her eyes, but Eugenides laughed.

“He is not wrong,” Gen said, leaning back in his chair, eyes closed. “There are few people she couldn't gut.”

Helen looked at him out of the corner of her eye and smirked. “Including you,” she said lightly.

Eugenides’s head snapped up. “Absolutely not.”

“Perhaps not.”

“There is no ‘perhaps.’ I can take you.”

“I believe you, cousin.” She put up her hands in deference, but the effect was ruined by her chuckling.

“You’re placating me.” He crossed his arms irritably.

“Eugenides, I believe you.”

He glared at her. “I’ve beat you before.”  

“When?”

“We sparred, when we were children. You were much older than—“

“—I still am.”

“You were much older,” he repeated, more firmly. “And I still won sometimes.”

Eddis considered him for a moment. And then, in the practiced voice of someone coddling a younger relative, she said, “Eugenides, you were ten . Of course I let you beat me sometimes.”

If Gen had been scandalized before, it was nothing compared to now. He looked at her in outrage. “You what ?”

“Surely you suspected?”

“I did not. I can’t believe you—” But whatever Eugenides believed died in his throat as he sputtered, at a loss for words. Finally, he choked out, “And so you think you could still win? Just because you could beat me when I was small?”

“Gen. I have eleven years of training on you.”

It was true.

Face dark with mistrust, Attolis turned away from Eddis. “We shall see about that,” he muttered under his breath, spearing a piece of apricot on his fork with excessive force.

Eddis rolled her eyes and sighed.

*

“Was Gen actually angry?” Sophos asked his wife when they were safely out of earshot. It was at times difficult, separating Eugenides’s intentionally melodramatic temper tantrums from the real ones.

“Oh, who knows. But if he is, I am sure he will get over it.” Her voice was gentle but firm, as though speaking it into the universe could make it so.

And perhaps it could, thought Sophos, not for the first time. The Eddisian cousins had an uncanny way of making the world bend to their will by the mere act of existing in it.

*

“Helen, do you have plans for the morning?” Eugenides asked.

The couples were gathered around the hearth. An evening storm had chased them inside after dinner. Conversation faded as they grew sleepier, lulled by the sounds of the crackling fire and rain pattering against the wooden lodge. Attolia hummed quietly in her chair, notes just clear enough to carry across the low rumble of the elements. Her husband, cross-legged on the floor, leaned back against her legs. She scratched his hair idly.

Across the dark red shag rug, Helen was tucked into her own husband’s side, his arm tight across her shoulders. She eyed Eugenides suspiciously from her couch. “Why do you ask?”

“Sophos and I were going to spar with our guards before breakfast. I thought you might like to join us.” Irene’s hand stilled in her husband’s hair. The sudden absence of music was louder than the humming had been. Helen felt Sophos’s shoulder tense behind her head.

“No, thank you. I do not think it would be appropriate. They are not used to women sparring with them.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure you aren't paired with any of the guard.”

“No, I’d rather not. Thank you, Gen.”

Bodies relaxed and humming resumed as Eugenides accepted defeat for the evening.

*

The next day, Eugenides practiced with Procivitus on the far side of the courtyard, in full view of his family.

“Is he trying to intimidate you?” Sounis asked Eddis when they had all finished eating. Attolis was still training.

With a shrug, Eddis said, “Sometimes you just have to let him tire himself out.”

“It sounds like you’re talking about a small child,” Sounis said.

Turning toward him in unison, the two queens raised three eyebrows at Sophos.

He nodded. “I see your point.”

*

“I could make you, you know.”

“Hmmm?” Eddis looked up from the letter she was writing to find her cousin surveying her from across the table, chin in his hand.

“Spar with me.”

Helen tilted her head to one side. Without breaking eye contact, she took a sip of her tea. The prevalence of sweet, brewed mint leaves were the one good thing to come out of the Mede empire.

“I am Annux.”

She blinked at him, then looked back down at her writing.

“This is,” he said, with a little more conviction. “An inter-state matter.”

“While I am sure the petulant whims of Attolis still fall under the treaty, I hardly think the king of Attolia wants to admit to his court that he has never beat the neighboring queen in a sword fight.” Eddis never raised her eyes to look at him, pen still scratching away across the parchment.

“Last I checked — and I did have final say — the treaty says nothing about conflicts being handled publicly. They would never find out — Not that you will beat me,” he added.

Eyes still trained on her letter, Helen took another careful sip of her tea. The rounded tops of her cheeks gave away her smile. “Oh, they would find out,” she said sweetly.

*

One evening, as Sounis read his book by the late summer sun, and the queens discussed a particularly sticky problem with one of Attolia’s courtiers, Eugenides slipped out of the house. He had a practice sword in his hand, with another tucked beneath his arm.

“Helen!” he called sweetly.

His cousin looked up at him. “Excuse me,” she said to Attolia, and stood to face Eugenides. She crossed her arms. She said nothing.

Irene sighed. “His ability to wear someone down is astounding,” she said, so quietly that only Sounis could hear.

“Oh, he will not. Not this time.” Sophos was confident.

They sat and watched their spouses locked in a staring contest. Sure enough, it was Eugenides who broke, dropping the swords to the ground with a rattle and a petulant huff.

Irene looked at Sophos. “How—?”

“You can almost always tell who will win,” Sounis said with a small smile. It was a rare moment he knew something Attolia didn’t. “The more reasonable Gen’s suggestion, the more likely my queen will win the standoff.” He glanced at Eugenides, who had splayed himself across the breakfast table, head hanging upside down as he stared across the meadow. “And the more outrageous the idea…well, my navy is still half the size it once was, and he is Attolis.”

Beside him, Attolia regarded her husband. She nodded slowly. “Indeed.”

*

The third morning Eugenides turned up to breakfast with practice swords, he said nothing.

It was the dread of imminent irritation that finally made Eddis crack. She rubbed at her temples. “Eugenides, if I do this, will you leave me alone?”

“Of course.”

“Forever?”

He smiled, victorious. “Anything for you, cousin.” His use of the familial term made it clear exactly what kind of fight it was to be.

Head hung in resignation, Helen relented. “Fine,” she said, abandoning her half-finished breakfast. Grabbing a sword roughly from under his arm, she stalked across the terrace, looking every bit the soldier she had once worked hard to pretend she was not. Like a self-satisfied cat, Gen strode leisurely behind her.

Irene turned toward Sophos in unspoken question.

“I did say almost always. I am not so sure of myself that I believe I can fathom Attolis’s every machination.”

Irene snorted delicately.

*

Eddis and Attolis readied themselves to spar.

“Are you sure you want Sounis here? I would not want to embarrass you in front of him.”

Eddis looked over at her husband and snorted loudly. “I think I will survive.” She pulled the wooden sword from under her arm by the edgeless blade, tossing it into the air in front of her to catch it by the hilt.

“Ah, so you’ve already accepted defeat?”

Eddis moved into starting position. “No, I am just not worried about losing.” She relaxed while she waited for him to pick up his own practice sword. “Nor am I worried about embarrassing you in front of Attolia. You manage that often enough on your own.”

*

“She is good,” Attolia said, sounding mildly surprised. The cousins had been sparring relentlessly for ten minutes. It was clear it was an even match, but Eddis moved with a practiced grace most lifelong soldiers did not possess.

“There is a reason I will not practice with her,” Sounis mumbled under his breath.

At that exact moment, the king of Attolia let out a loud swear as a wooden sword made contact with his ribcage.

Eugenides was panting quietly. He grunted in disgust. “I think I’m losing my mountain lungs.”

Helen rolled her eyes at him. “Can I please go back to my breakfast now?”

He shook his head, curls already sticking to his scalp. “One more, Helen. You owe me.”

“ Eugenides .” She sounded, more than ever, like a woman exasperated with a very small, very difficult child.

Helen glared. Gen smiled.

Helen lifted her sword into position.

*

Just a minute later, Attolis landed a blow on her shoulder. To everyone watching, it looked like a clear hit. But rather than celebrate, Eugenides was furious.

“You let me win again!”

“Gen,” Helen said weakly.

“No. Too embarrassing. Go again.”

Eddis was close to anger now, cheeks flushing. “ Fine .”

*

“That was quite a show,” Sophos said quietly when Helen dropped down onto the bench beside him. Her face was red, and sweat-damp curls stuck to her forehead. Enraged, she had fought Gen into a corner, knocked the sword from his hand, and whacked him hard enough that everyone who saw was certain Attolis would be nursing a bruise for days.

Leaning back with both of her elbows on the table, Helen turned toward her husband. His cheeks were red but his smile was sly.

“Sophos,” she said, her voice tinged with amusement. “Surely not.”

He shrugged, unabashed. She shook her head slowly. “You are very strange.”

“Yes,” he nodded seriously, still speaking quietly. His voice was low and throaty. “And I would very much like to take my wife upstairs and—“

“Sophos!” Gen called from where he sat on a tabletop across the courtyard. Irene had gone to check on him after the last blow — it would not have been the first time Eugenides stubbornly ignored broken ribs. He struggled between not wanting to be seen licking his wounds, and basking in his wife’s concern. As always, Irene’s attention won out. She stood over him, rubbing a thumb across his check, satisfied that he was not badly injured while he yelled to Sounis. “Do you want a go? I could use the morale boost.”

“No, thank you!” Sophos called in response. He turned back toward his wife expectantly. She bit back a grin.  

One hand on Sophos’s knee for support, Helen rose and headed toward the house.

“Where are you going?” Eugenides asked.

“I need a bath,” Helen said without turning back.

“Sophos, where are you going?” he called back after Sounis now, who was trailing behind Eddis. “You didn’t spar.”

Sophos paused and turned to look at Eugenides. He raised his eyebrows briefly.

Gen recoiled. Beside Eugenides, Irene tried and failed to conceal her laughter.

Waving a hand dismissively at his friend, Sophos turned back toward the house and followed his wife inside.

*

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?” Helen asked, sitting down beside Eugenides. It was late in the evening. Eugenides sat at the edge of the paved courtyard, ankles resting against the grassy downslope into the meadow. It was the first chance she’d had to talk to him alone all day.

He turned to look at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Gen,” she said gently. “The last time you were this hung up over something petty, you brought an entire farm to its knees.”

“It was not petty . Ornon deserved it. And look at him now. He makes a far better foreign ambassador than physical presence on the Peninsula. Without him, the Medes might already have attacked.”

“Yes, Eugenides. As always, you were right.”

He gave his cousin a rueful smile, then looked back out across the grass. He was silent for a long time.

“Do you miss it?” he asked. His eyes were now fixed on the forest in the distance.

“Being pestered by you until I’m nearing the point of attempted regicide? No, I can’t say I do.”

Eugenides turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. She smiled.

“Yes,” she said truthfully. “Very badly.”

“Does Sophos know?”

“I think so. He asks, and — well, I don’t lie. Sounis is lovely. I like being near the sea. But it’s hard to deny, when we’re here...” She raised an arm and gestured at the mountains beyond  the trees.

It was her turn to look at him. He was staring into the distance again.

“Irene knows?”

“Oh, yes. She’s caught me sulking. And she’s had my guard admit to catching me sulking.” He shook his head. “Did you know that even from the highest point of the palace in Attolia, you can’t see the mountains?” He paused for a moment. This trip ended his longest ever streak in the lowlands. “When I was young, and used to sneak off to Attolia, it felt like an adventure. If I could not see Eddis, then none of you could find me either. But now…” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “Gods know I would not trade my life for anything, but sometimes...sometimes I feel as trapped as Hespira beneath the mountain.”

“Hespira wasn’t trapped,” Helen pointed out. “She chose to stay.”

They looked at each other yet again. Gen smiled softly. “So,” he agreed.

Helen laid her head on his shoulder. He rested his head on hers.

“Do you remember the last time we came here with everyone?” Gen asked. He had been ten-years-old, and Helen fifteen. It was a late fall hunting trip with all their parents and siblings. All three of her brothers had died a few months later, and her father not far behind the next year. She had been queen before the following fall. Eugenides’s mother had died the next winter. “You all went on some overnight hunt, but I refused to get on the pony, so my mother stayed behind. She took me up to the roof, and we spent the night dancing up there.” He lifted his head and dipped it back briefly to look at the tall, wooden lodge. The only people brave enough to square dance on the slanted roof were Thieves.

“That was just a few years after you broke your arms falling off that horse in Kathodicia, wasn’t it?” He still hated riding, but those first few years after the accident had been particularly difficult for him.

“Yes, but that wasn’t why I wouldn’t get on. Pylaster and Lias spent the week stuffing my boots with mud and sticks, and Janus hid snails in my oatmeal. The horse was just an excuse to get away from them.”

Helen smiled fondly. “My brothers, always on a mission to upset someone.”

“I got them back though. Did you know that if you rub coleus leaves on bedding for long enough, the next person to sleep on them will break out in a horrendous rash?”

Helen pulled her head back slowly, shocked. “Gen — you didn’t.” She remembered vividly the three days of the trip that her older brothers had been miserably itchy and cranky. It had not been a fun time for anyone on the trip.

“That trip was just a few months after Irene was queen. I thought she was very clever.” His smile was wicked. The news that 15-year-old Attolia had poisoned her bridegroom at her wedding dinner with powdered coleus root had spread through the Peninsula like wildfire.

Helen shook her head in disbelief. It was rare Eugenides could surprise her anymore. “We thought they had been foolish and touched a poisonous weed while we were out on the hunt. My father lectured them for weeks .”

Gen was unapologetic. “They deserved it.”

“Yes, I suppose they probably did.” Helen’s brothers, like so many of their cousins, had been notorious for picking on the younger boys. Usually, that had meant Eugenides. “You know, they made Sophos cry once, when he was very small.”  

Gen laughed. “It probably wasn’t that difficult. He is very kind and they were ruthless brats.”

“Yes,” Helen agreed. “It runs in the family.”

Gen nudged her in acknowledgement of the point scored. “I’m sorry I’ve been rotten company,” he said.

Helen snorted. “As have I. Did you truly believe I did not want to spar? When have I ever let a chance to beat you pass me by? I did not want our trip to dissolve into bickering. A lot of good it did us.” Helen left unspoken what they both knew — time together in Eddis was precious now.

They said nothing for a few minutes, watching the sky gradually change to orange.

“I hate leaving,” Gen admitted, breaking the silence.

They were due to part ways and return to the lowlands after breakfast the next morning. Neither knew the next time they might be back.

“Have I ever told you about the temple I found when I was small?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Temple?”

Helen told him the story of the temple hidden in the narrow valley beyond the hunting preserves, and about Moira, Perihys and Eugenides — “She called him Gen, you know” — and about how she learned she would be Eddis — the last Eddis. Gen stayed quiet, listening. “I forgot, until the morning my father who was Eddis died. I woke up and found this on my table.” She slipped her hand from the pocket of her tunic and held up a piece of wax the size of a button. Gen eyed it warily. Eddis slipped it back into her tunic.

“I remembered very little, even then. But the more I dream of the mountain, the more I remember of the temple. They fed me pigeon and told me I was a terrible shot.”

“You still are.”

She nudged him hard with her shoulder. “Perhaps. But I can still beat you in a spar.”

Gen laughed loudly, the sound echoing across the meadow before them.

“You still have the dreams?” he asked.

“Less,” she said. “Less since Sophos came back from Hanaktos. Less since we were married. Less since I began to spend more time in Sounis.”

“How generous of them."

She matched his earlier rueful smile. “Neither am I trapped below the mountain.”

Heads piled on one another once again, they watched blues turn to pinks and purples as the sunset slowly painted itself across the sky. They neither spoke nor moved, each thinking their own remarkably similar thoughts.

Footsteps rustling the grass behind them brought them from their trance.

“Supper is ready,” Attolia said quietly from above. Eugenides looked up at her, a smile lighting up his face. First lifting himself up on his knees, he stood, and then offered Helen his hand. When she was up, Eugenides released her hand and took his wife’s, walking toward the table where the attendants had already laid out the food.

Sophos, coming out of the house at that very moment, made his way toward her. Just the sight of him chased away some of the melancholy hanging over her.

Sophos bent to kiss her cheek. “Is everything all right?”

This, Eddis thought, made everything worth it, Sacred Mountain or not.  

Taking his hand, she nodded. “Yes, just very hungry. I worked up quite an appetite today.”

Sounis blushed. Arm in arm, they made their way to the table to join their friends.

Cross posted on AO3 here! 

[blarrghe]

10 and 16, your choice 👀

Currently neglecting everything else I have going on for this Dorianders modern au. This is going to go somewhere...interesting.

16. I need a date for this wedding from the cliche prompts

Dorian asks a favour, he even has the foresight to ask using kittens. How can Anders say no?

Continues from the last one, for more of this tale you can read them in order on AO3

--

He had a wrap made with roasted vegetables, house made hummus, and smoked tofu, and it was surprisingly good. A little expensive still, but the menu said that a portion of all the proceeds went towards supporting the animal shelter, so really no part of him could find reason to complain. A skinny young tabby came and sat by them while they ate, and Anders stroked its stripes slowly, almost mesmerized, while Dorian told him the latest dramatic tale from some high-brow party he’d been to the night before. Anders was only half listening; they’d been friends for just over a month, though with all the little chunks of time they found to spend together, it seemed longer, and in that time Anders had learned that Dorian went to an unbelievable number of fancy parties. It seemed like there was a new one each night, fundraisers and awards ceremonies and shows of support for one cause or another. Pompous, stuffy affairs that he looked to Anders to laugh over, later. Anders didn’t mind, exactly, he could make fun of upper class excess any day of the week, and he actually appreciated being privy to some of the more political gossip, but there was a reason why Dorian seemed to always cap the nights off with an outing to some noisier, bouncier club. Most of what he did for work was painfully boring. And the stories that came after, about what happened at said bouncy clubs, were worse still. 

He was going through it, Anders reminded himself, he didn’t really talk about it, but it was there. Grief and guilt and an unmistakable feeling of relief, which only led him to more guilt. There was a good deal of alcohol in the mix, too. He looked good, tall and handsome, workouts the next day to detox from the wild nights, but he was still a mess, underneath it all. Easy to forget, smooth as he talked, but Anders had an uncanny ability to see through veils, thanks to that ghost still shadowing his soul. 

As his friend, Anders was more or less supportive; reminders about the uselessness of detoxes, a sounding board for work-related gripes, encouraging smiles when it looked like Dorian might say something a little closer to the truth. But as a man who had seen him, been struck down by the lightning bolt of his smile every time it graced his lips, he was mostly just jealous. But Dorian was busy treating his grief with sex and mindnumbing dance beats, and Anders would rather be a friend than a drunken encounter at a noisy club, so that was that. And he was very deliberately not waiting. He’d done all that before, the yearning and pining and endless aching for a one-sided love, and it was fucking terrible. Unhealthy. Friendship was good, friendship was healthy. Being used as some kind of distraction would not be, no matter how tempting. 

Anders, meanwhile, had found his own distraction in the form of a coworker who was also decidedly going through something. Someone as different as could be from Dorian, and who had no undue attachment to Anders whatsoever. In fact, she had three or four men in rotation and was very obviously beginning to fall in a complicated way for one of the other ones. So distractions abounded, but at least between himself and Dorian there could just be a solid foundation, untroubled by jealousy and sex. Except for when he smiled. 

“Anders?” Dorian’s voice cut through his thoughts, and the skinny tabby looked up, irritated that Anders had abruptly stopped petting it. “Alright, I get it, Tevinter politics, boring.” Dorian went on, “shall I leave you here with your new friend?” The cat hopped down from its perch on the seat next to Anders, and slunk away, indifferent. 

“I — ah,” Anders shook his head, turning his focus back to Dorian, who always seemed to be smirking at him. “Sorry, I’m just tired.” 

Dorian raised an eyebrow, then glancing away over Anders’ shoulder, he indicated something with a slight nod. “Would a kitten help?” 

Anders turned to look, and whatever else was going on in his heart simply melted away, as two bright white kittens emerged stumbling from one of the carpeted cat tunnels set out under the windows of the cafe, wobbling and hopping over one another with fluffy little tails and bright blue eyes. 

“Sweet maker,” he breathed, and he could hear Dorian laughing under his breath as he watched, “I’m going to go pet those kittens now.” Anders announced, leaving his head-shaking and amused friend behind. 

He played with the kittens until they finished being curious about him and wandered off to sniff at someone else, and then he took a look around the place, appreciating the genius of it. Lots of fun shelves and carpeted tunnels and posts with fluffy balls on strings tied to their ends, cats lounging and wandering about; the skinny tabby, the two white kittens, an old black and brown giant with long hair and a grumpy expression, watching from a shelf on high, and several others, sleeping in happy piles on top of one another in various hiding spots or jumping from platform to platform overhead. There was a bulletin board on the wall with each cat’s picture posted up, along with an informative biography detailing their name, breed and personality. Paperwork for adoption could be requested from the servers, and the place had purportedly housed over a hundred lonely cats in the short time since its opening. There were some pictures of the lucky adoptees up on the board as well, and a flyer requesting volunteer help at the shelter. Anders ripped off one of the phone numbers hanging from it. 

By the time Anders returned to their table, feeling altogether lighter and refreshed, Dorian had paid their bill. Anders watched as Dorian stood, pulling the strap of his gym bag back up over his shoulder and checking his watch with an apologetic grimace. 

“You didn’t have to pay,”Anders frowned, reaching in his pocket for the bills to cover his share. Dorian shrugged. 

“I may have ulterior motives, actually.” He replied, and Anders’ frown deepened. “I need to ask you a favour.” 

He crossed his arms, feeling rather buttered up, what with the kittens and the lunch and the way Dorian was still slyly smiling at him. 

“There’s an event next week, and I need someone to accompany me…” 

“I’m no good at formal events,” Anders warned, “I’ll get you voted out of the Magisterium just by holding my fork wrong or something.” 

“It’s not that kind of event, it’s a — it’s a family affair. A wedding.” Dorian admitted the context stiffly, a tenseness in his jaw already. It had been weeks since the funeral, which he’d never talked about at all, but the way he said wedding sounded about as much like one. 

Anders’ heart stilled. “Can’t you find a date?” He quipped, or tried to quip, throat going dry again. 

Dorian sighed. “I could take the one my mother’s found, or I could take a friend.” he replied, eyes pleading. Fuck that word and his desperate eyes. “Besides, the whole thing would be much more tolerable with someone to make snide remarks with on the sidelines. Free food, free wine, saving me from an evening of drudgery celebrating the union of some distant fourth-cousin and her fifth husband. Please?” 

“I don’t much want to antagonize your mother.” Anders said, still frowning. He remembered her in the hospital, shouting bloody murder at his supervisors and snapping at the nurses. And it didn’t escape him either that for Dorian to bring another man to a family affair would set tongues wagging; that he probably wanted it to. Anders had a habit of flaunting Tevinter sensibilities where it came to things like gender presentation and respectable life choices. Some of it was accidental — there were so many rules to Tevinter codes of behaviour, it was too easy to break them — but some of it was deliberate. He missed Kirkwall, where none of it had really mattered, and some part of him didn’t want to let Tevinter rigidity take away his freedom. Halward Pavus, rest his temperamental soul, had seemed to pinpoint him for his otherness even while laying on his deathbed, and had let him know it with regular scorn. Scorn he’d no doubt directed at Dorian his whole life, given all the maladaptive coping mechanisms he was displaying in the wake of his death. And Anders was still trying not to become a maladaptive coping mechanism. Spirits on earth, he needed to call Merrill. 

“Not even a little?” Dorian prodded, breaking through his brooding once again, “it can be great fun you know; it’s practically a hobby of mine.” 

Anders sighed. “I wouldn’t know what to wear.” he said, a lame excuse that Dorian would happily rectify in a second, given how much he delighted in his own stylings. He could see it already, a smirk coming back to his lips out of that tense jaw, ready to make some suggestions as soon as Anders gave him permission. 

“We can work on that. Come on, if you say no I’ll be forced to get exceedingly drunk, reject a probably perfectly tolerable woman, and generally make a scene.” 

“As though inviting me isn’t going to do that,” Anders protested. No, Dorian didn’t talk about his family much, but Anders didn’t need him to in order to figure him out. 

“You’re a friend, and a doctor. It’s plenty respectable.” Dorian leaned back, “and an excuse to leave early, if you get called away for some sort of...medical emergency.” he winked. 

Anders sighed again. “Fine,” he said, shaking his head and wondering who exactly was deciding his responses at this point; clearly not the part of him that was sensible. “But I’m not buying new robes.” 

“Of course not, you have terrible taste.” Dorian grinned, “I’ll find you something.” 

Anders took the bus home, and fell asleep on his couch, an unsent text message still in the draft stages on his phone. Not to Merrill, she would be useless in this particular dilemma, but to a different old friend. Not that he trusted Isabella to know what to do, either, but at least her advice would be fun. 

[shedreamsofstars]

Cataclysm of the Heart - Chapter 7

She’d waited so long to hear those words fall from his perfect lips. She’d never even stopped to consider that they might not be sincere.

They were going to die. He’d been sure of it. It had only been meant as a comfort. Something to keep a smile on her face as their end loomed.

Neither of them had counted on being rescued.

Start from the beginning  |  Next Chapter

…xxx…

Amy mashed the buttons on her comm as she fled the tea shop, ignoring the pitying eyes she could feel on her back, sharp and burning. She couldn't see well enough through her own tears to know who she was calling, but as long as it wasn't the boy she'd just deserted inside, she really didn't care.

Hopefully it would be Cream she thought as the cold air of the afternoon hit her fiery face. She could really do with the young rabbit's uncanny ability to know exactly what was wrong right about now. The wrist comm beeped a few times before Knuckles dulcet tones greeted her with surprise.

"Oh, hey Amy. I wasn't expecting a call from you today?"

The girl in question choked back a sob, unable to respond. Not Cream.

"Uh … Amy, you there?"

Amy sniffed loudly before managing a weak, "Uhuh."

"Hey, what's going on? It kind of sounds like someone's crying or some-" Knuckles voice cut off with a deep sigh as he realised what was up. There was a moment's pause and then. "Where are you Amy?"

It only took ten minutes before Knuckles hulking figure came into view, and in that ten minutes Amy felt like she'd finally put a stop to the fountain of tears that seemed to spill from her eyes. But seeing the echidna's familiar face creased with worry set her off all over again.

She ran towards him and fell into his arms, glad that he didn't push her away. Knuckles wasn't huge on physical contact, but he knew that it was exactly what she needed right now. And so he held her, patting her back and soothing her even though he had no idea what was wrong.

When she finally calmed herself down enough to pull away and take a deep breath, Knuckles asked her the words she had been dreading ever since she left the tea shop.

"What happened Amy?"

The pink hedgehog bit her bottom lip hard in an attempt to stop the tears from flowing all over again, and Knuckles picked up on it immediately, realising he had asked the wrong question in the wrong place.

"Alright, not here," he said with a wince, noticing the strange glances passers-by were throwing them. "Come on, let's get you home." He reached towards her and put an arm around her shoulder before shepherding her down the road.

"Can I ask just one thing?" Knuckles asked as they turned down a new street, his voice painfully sombre. Amy nodded, not trusting herself to form words that wouldn't be overshadowed by her sobs. "Is this … does this have something to do with Sonic?"

She didn't say anything, but Amy knew Knuckles would know her silence for what it was. A confirmation.

They walked for a little while without saying anything, and when she couldn't stand it anymore, she looked up at one of her oldest friends. His expression passively blank, but she'd known Knuckles long enough to know the turmoil that was unfolding just beneath the rugged surface. He was caught between two of his best friends, a position more difficult than she could ever imagine.

She glanced away quickly, stifling a fresh sob.

"Hey," he said softly, tightening his grip on her shoulder. "You can tell me what happened when we get to your place, and then you can cry a lake big enough for someone to drown in, okay. Besides, I have it on good authority that a certain someone's not a big swimmer.”

Amy felt a watery giggle burst from her despite the overwhelming desire to fall to pieces right there and then. She gave Knuckles a grateful smile that took all her effort, and he returned it with a reassuring one of his own.

Whatever happened, at least she knew she wouldn't be alone.

... xxx ...

Sonic stared at Amy's retreating form; a dumbfounded expression fixed on his face.

Did she really just …?

It wasn't until the girl turned the corner and he lost sight of her that he shook himself free from his own shock. If Amy thought she could stun him with her words and then just go throwing herself face first into danger, then that pink hedgehog had another thing coming.

"Hey," he called out, rushing in the direction Amy had just gone. With his speed, he was beside her in seconds. "Stop running," he called out, but she barely spared him a glance. If anything, she just ran harder.

"Amy, stop," Sonic said again, skidding to a clumsy stop in front of her and blocking her path. She tried to bypass him, but he held her by the shoulders, shaking her gently as he forced her to meet his gaze. "I can't let you do this. I won't forgive you."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not looking for your forgiveness, now move."

She tried to shake out of his grip, but he held onto her firmly, his green eyes locked onto hers like a magnet. He knew she wanted to look away, but every time she did, she was drawn right back. When it became clear that she didn't have the brute strength to break free from him, Amy let out a frustrated groan.

"Sonic, stop being selfish. If you don't let me pass, you'll get everyone killed."

"I just want to understand one thing first," he replied. "You were mad at me for days and days, and now all of sudden you just forgive me? Just like that."

He saw irritation flash in her green eyes. Good. He could use that.

"You wanted my forgiveness, didn't you? Well, take it."

"I don't want it anymore," he said, with all the vain stubbornness of a child.

"What!?" she said, so incredulous that she stopped struggling to glare at him.

"Look, I know I can be stupid about these things, but even I know it doesn't work like that. I don't want forgiveness if the price is losing you. I'd rather you keep hating me."

"I … don't," Amy replied slowly. "Hate you, that is. Not really."

Sonic raised a single brow in doubt. "Sure could have fooled me."

"I know." Her words were almost regretful.

"I'm not going to stop you," he said quietly, deliberately phrasing his words in a way he knew they couldn't come back to bite him later. "If you insist on going in there then go ahead, but I need you to know something first."

Amy blinked hard at his words, and he knew that they sent her back to another time another place. He hoped they would.

'If this is it for us, then … I need you to know the truth'

"Don't … don't do this again Sonic," she said, the fear of being hurt stretching its wide wings in her eyes.

"Will you let me say what I should have said the first time, Amy?"

Sonic watched her curiously, waiting for her response. What he wouldn't give to get a glimpse into her thoughts in that moment, maybe then he'd finally be able to understand what it was about this girl that had always intrigued him. For now, he'd just have to settle for the next best thing - a quick incline of her head for him to continue.

"Amy Rose," he breathed, one hand rising to rest on her cheek. It was hot to the touch and he couldn't help but wonder if it was because of him. "You have never been 'just some girl with a hammer'. Ever."

Amy bit her lip, and Sonic got the impression that she was holding back a retort. When she didn't voice it, he saw it as permission to keep talking.

"I never loved you 'from the first moment' and all that stuff that you felt for me … but that doesn't mean that I don't feel anything, or that it doesn't mean anything."

Sonic stared hard at the ground between them, his foot fidgeting restlessly. Why couldn't he meet her eyes he thought as a nervous chuckle escaped him. "I feel a lot of things Amy, most I don't even know the names for," he said as lifted his gaze again, the sight of her expectant face sending a strange sensation skittering down his spine.

His hand was still resting on her cheek, and he let it slide to the back of her head as he took a step closer to her without quite knowing why.

"I know that everyone's lives are at stake, but I need you Amy. I need you to be okay, I need you to be in my life and I just … I can't let you do this."

Amy frowned.

"But, you said you weren't going to sto-"

The rest of her words were caught up in his lips as they crashed into hers, rough and demanding. Amy's eyes were wide as she registered what he was doing, but he doubted she was any more surprised than he was.

He stopped immediately as he realised that she wasn't kissing him back. What on Mobius was he thinking? Of course she didn't want to kiss him, she barely wanted to even look at him. He should just take what he needed and go.

"Amy, I'm sorry if I… I … I don't -" He pulled back to give her space, or at least he tried to. Before he could back away, Amy shoved her arm into his chest and pushed him back into the wall. It slammed hard into his back and he let out a gruff wince of pain.

Amy's face was inches from his own, flaring with anger and confusion, but her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke. "Why did you just kiss me?"

Sonic swallowed uncomfortably.

He briefly considered lying before remembering that this whole situation had come about in the first place because of a lie that had spiralled out of control. No, he reminded himself. He'd learned his lesson on that count. It was the truth or nothing from this point forward.

"I don't know."

Something softened in her features and he could tell that she was waiting for him to say something more, to do something more. When he didn't, she pulled away from him a little but her hand was still splayed across his chest, holding him against the wall.

"Did you …" she stopped and took a pause, as if the next words pained her to speak out loud. "Did you do it for me?"

Hearing his own words echoed back to him felt like a kick in the ribs. Had he really sounded like that this whole time? No wonder Amy barely wanted to look at him, let alone hear him out.

He shook his head vehemently. "No, definitely not."

"Then, why?"

"I don't know, I just … did." There was no better way to say it. Sonic had never been good with words, but he doubted anyone would be able to explain the amount of 'not thinking' he was doing lately.

Amy glanced away from him, running a thumb absentmindedly over the place his lips had just met with hers. "Did you like it?" she asked, her voice muffled.

He didn't reply. Not because he didn't know the answer, but because he did. He did like kissing her, but if he said that then … where did that leave them? Things were already so convoluted and confusing; would he just make it worse?

Amy was biting her lip, and Sonic wanted nothing more than to replace her teeth with his own. He was so consumed in thoughts of those lips and deciding whether she tasted more like sugar or strawberries that he almost didn't hear her next words, whispered like a plea.

"Can you do it again?"

Her lips hovered above his own, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation, and Sonic felt that same rush of sparks flicker inside him again. He leaned forward and caught her bottom lip between his teeth in a gentle nip, reaching for her hands.

One still clutched the emerald, but she let him intertwine their fingers and walk her backwards until they hit the opposite wall, their positions reversed. He kept their hands locked together tightly, the emerald pressing into their palms, as he finally let their lips meet properly.

Kissing her earlier had been nice enough, but when she kissed him back … that was something else entirely. Amy was warm and enticing and Sonic couldn't get enough, growing lightheaded the more and more he lost himself in her.

The ground shook violently beneath them, and Sonic pulled away from the kiss groggily, his head foggy with desire and confusion. It took him longer than it should have to realise what the shaking was, and what it meant.

The cannon. How had he let himself get distracted to the point that he had almost forgotten about it? As much as he wanted to continue kissing the girl in his arms and hold onto this moment just a little while longer, he had a job to do.

Leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers, Sonic forced himself to catch his breath and clear his head enough to start thinking straight again - which, granted, wasn't easy given the fact that Amy was right there watching him curiously with half-lidded eyes.

Sonic pulled his hands back, making sure he had what he needed before dipping in for one last kiss. "If anyone has to die," he whispered, moving so his lips rested close to the shell of her ear, “then it only makes sense for it to be the hero."

And then, before Amy could even comprehend the words that he'd spoken or the fact that she no longer held onto the emerald, Sonic used his speed to run as fast as his legs would carry him in the direction of the Master Emerald.

With every thump of his feet hitting the ground, one distracting thought echoed in the recesses of his mind.

Sugar coated strawberries.

She tasted like sugar coated strawberries.

... xxx ...

thanks for reading. i can't believe there's only two chapters left! (we're in the endgame now folks)

[argylemnwrites]

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment - Chapter 19

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (Canon Divergent from Book 2, Chapter 15)

Word Count: ~6000

Rating: R (language, as always)

Summary: Drake clears the air with another woman in his family, and Liam comes to some decisions about his future.

Author’s Note: Some computer issues were preventing me from accessing my google doc (my absolute nightmare), so sorry I didn’t quite get this posted on Saturday, but I’m making sure this gets up before the Choices Big Game Blitz fics start dominating my queue. Happy Superbowl Sunday, everyone!

This series diverges from TRR canon, where instead of waiting to discuss his relationship with Riley until their last night in NYC, leaving her a note while Liam is proposing to her, Drake tackles this topic as soon as possible after Tariq makes his statement and Riley’s name is cleared. To catch up on this series, you can find the previous chapters in my masterlist (link is located in my bio).

Drake shuffled through Austin-Bergstrom airport, making his way over to baggage claim. He didn’t know what would be worse - his mother being there and acting like this was in any way normal, or her not being there at all. As he rounded the corner and headed for carousel 4, he saw her there, looking nowhere near as anxious as he felt. When she caught sight of him, she waved frantically and then dashed over to give him a big hug.

“Oh Drake, I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, squeezing him tightly.

Drake returned the hug, but it felt rather awkward, like they were acting out the parts of a mother and son reuniting at the airport. It didn’t feel natural.

“Hey, Mom. Savannah says ‘hi.’”

“Of course she does. Tell her she needs to bring that baby boy of hers out for a visit!”

Drake nodded and followed his mother out to the truck, throwing his luggage in the backseat before climbing into the passenger seat. As his mom backed the truck out of the short term parking spot and headed toward the exit, he tried to figure out whether he should start this conversation now or if it would be better to wait until they were at the ranch. He probably should have tried to come up with some sort of plan for this on his way out here, but it was too late for that now.

“Are you sure you can only stay one night?” Bianca asked once they had gotten onto the freeway, “We haven’t seen you in ages and it would be nice if you could stay for a bit.”

Drake shook his head, “I need to be in New York tomorrow night. Someone’s expecting me.”

“Liam?”

“No,” Drake replied, turning to stare out the window. He did not want to discuss Riley and how up in the air things were in his relationship. He came here for a purpose, and he couldn’t let himself get sidetracked onto another topic. His mother had an uncanny ability to redirect the conversation.

“Well, regardless of how long you’ll be here, this is a lovely surprise,” she said, clearly looking to keep things light and friendly. Drake cringed slightly, knowing he planned to take things in a very different direction. He took a deep breath before he started. It was now or never.

“Mom, I… well I actually came to Texas because I kind of need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay. What is it?”

“Well, it’s kind of a lot of things, actually.”

“Drake, are you in some sort of legal trouble?”

“No! Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. You’re just being very cagey and I don’t understand what else would have you so jumpy and flying in on a whim.”

“This isn’t exactly a whim, Mom. I’ve thought about coming to talk to you about this for a long time now.”

“Okaaaayyy…” she responded, turning her head briefly to look at him as she dragged out the word, then snapping her eyes back to the road ahead. 

Drake tilted his head back slightly and closed his eyes, hoping that would make getting the words out a little easier, “I’ve been carrying this around with me for a long time. Trying to figure out how to say it without being an asshole to you. But I think it’s just gotten to the point where I need to tell you. There’s not a good way, really.

“When you left Cordonia, when you left Sav and me in Cordonia, well… you hurt me. And I’ve been carrying around that hurt for almost half my life now. And I can’t keep doing it anymore. It’s not healthy and I just need to get it off my chest.”

“Oh, Drake,” his mother replied, “I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing right by you and Savannah, leaving you with Liam and your friends. You seemed so happy there, I didn’t want to uproot your lives any more than they already had been by your father’s death.”

Drake ran his hand over his face. He had kind of expected this - some superficial justifications and a light apology. But that was like slapping a bandage on a gunshot wound - it wasn’t actually going to help anyone. If they left it at that, he would leave Texas tomorrow the same as if he had not come at all. He had to keep going, even if it meant that he destroyed any semblance of a relationship he had with his mother.

“Okay, but we were just kids. For Christ’s sake, Savannah was only 12 when you moved out. We had just lost our father and then less than a year later we lost our mother too, by her choice. It’s bullshit that you even attempt to justify this, Mom. And you know it.”

She didn’t say anything, but he heard her flip her blinker on, getting off the highway at the next exit and pulling into a gas station parking lot, turning off the truck before she spoke.

“Drake, I’m sorry,” she bit out, her voice cracking, “But I was in no shape to be a mother. I was mourning and I had no support system. I needed my sister.”

Drake shook his head, “Sorry Mom, but that’s just too damn bad. When you’re a parent you can’t just fuck off because things are tough. You were mourning? Well, what about me and Sav? We were mourning, too. You might have needed Aunt Lee, but we needed our mother.”

His mother was crying in earnest now, but Drake felt like he couldn’t stop talking, that all this old pain was just flooding out of him, “Tough shit that you were in pain. Your kids were hurting just as much. What kind of mother just leaves her children behind? How could you do that to us? Didn’t you miss your kids at all?

“I was 15, Mom. Fifteen years old and I suddenly had to figure out how to not only grow up and face the world all on my own, but I had to help Savannah, too. And you know what? It fucked me up. It made me wonder what was so wrong with me that my own mother couldn’t stand to raise me. It made me scared to get close to women, wondering if they were going to leave me too. It broke my trust and made me cynical.

“And I’ve let this shit sit inside of me for too damn long. I let myself grow bitter and cynical and jaded, all before I turned 30. And I just needed to talk to you, to actually talk to you. Not gloss over our family’s messy past because that’s easier, but actually let you know what I thought, because otherwise this resentment is just going to keep growing and growing.”

Drake took a deep breath, trying to gain some semblance of control over this situation. He hadn’t meant to just dump years worth of pain onto his mother on the drive to the ranch, but in some ways, it was probably best that he had just kept talking. He didn’t exactly give himself a chance to back down or close himself off.

His mother wasn’t saying anything, just sitting there with her hands covering her eyes. Drake opened the glove box and found her some tissues, passing the packet to her. She grabbed them, swiping under both of her eyes before she spoke.

“Well, if you’ve said what you needed to say, I can drive you back to the airport. No reason for you to even stay tonight, it sounds like.”

“That isn’t everything I need to say, Mom. I didn’t fly out here just to hurt you. I just… I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my life. About what I want. About how to let myself be happy. And I think I realized that I need to move forward in a lot of areas. I’ve been stuck in a rut for a very long time, and it’s time to let myself change. So, I need to stop letting my past define my relationships. I need to stop letting my fear of abandonment drive my actions. And that means I need to make some changes to my relationship with you.”

“What kind of changes?” his mother asked, still sniffling slightly.

Drake shrugged, trying to gauge how to phrase it, “I don’t know yet. I mean, I know I just told you how much pain you’ve caused me, but I still love you, Mom. I just… if we decide we want to be a part of each other’s lives, I can’t keep doing it like this, getting one phone call from you a year on my birthday. I can’t have my mom acting like a distant great aunt or something.”

She shook her head, “I didn’t call because I felt so guilty. Talking to you was just a reminder of my failures as a mother. I assumed you saw it the same way and wanted nothing to do with me. I didn’t want to put pressure on you.”

“Well, you’re right. A handful of phone calls aren’t going to erase the past or anything. But I don’t know how things here get any better if we both just keep doing what we’re doing.”

“I want to be a part of your life, Drake,” she insisted, reaching over and grabbing his hand, “I really do want to know you and Savannah as adults.”

“This has to go both ways, then. A two way street, okay?”

His mother nodded emphatically, “You’re right. I’ll book a flight out to Cordonia soon, okay?”

“About that…” Drake said, “I, uh… I kind of moved.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Er, I sort of live in New York City now.”

“Maybe I’m just missing something here, but how do you ‘sort of’ live anywhere?”

Drake sighed. Apparently, he was going to have to get into this, at least a bit. “Well, I kind of met someone, and I moved to New York to be with her, but things are kind of rocky between us at the moment and the move is pretty recent. I’m not exactly sure it’s gonna stick.”

 She nodded slowly, staring off to the side as if she was searching for more information to make better sense of Drake’s ramblings. “So might you be heading back to Cordonia soon?”

Drake just shook his head, “Nah, not right away at least. Like I said, I gotta make some changes in my life. I don’t know that I’ll stay in New York if things don’t work out there, but I probably won’t head straight back to Cordonia. Too easy to slide back into my old habits there.”

“New York’s your first choice, though?”

“I mean, she’s my first choice, and she’s in New York, so yeah,” he replied with a shrug.

“Okay.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

His mother gave him a watery smile, “It sounds like you’re working through some things right now. Believe it or not, I very much get that feeling. Given everything you’ve told me today, I think I’m mainly just glad you even shared that much with me.”

He let her words sink in for a little bit. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like a peace offering. Like his mother was trying to express interest in whatever part of himself he was willing to share at this point. He wasn’t naive enough to think that suddenly he would have the world’s most loving, attentive mother after today. He knew there was a high probability that they would end up drifting apart going forward. But that was okay. At least he’d put himself out there, shared his fears knowing full well that it might not make anything better. He’d held onto those fears, kept them far too buried for way too long.

“Well… I will let you know where I end up, okay?”

“I’d like that. Now, how about we get heading back to the ranch? I’ve got some chili in the slow cooker for you.”

“That sounds nice, Mom. Are you okay to drive?” he asked, gesturing to her red eyes and tear streaked cheeks. She just smiled and nodded, turning the key in the ignition and pulling the truck back onto the road.

“Oh, Leona’s head is going to explode when she hears you’re moving to one of the biggest cities on the planet,” she said after a few minutes of driving, the thought clearly just popping into her head. Drake laughed, picturing his surly aunt’s reaction. It was the first time he could remember laughing with his mother since before his father died. And while he knew their relationship was still an absolute mess, well at least there was one more good moment between the two of them now.

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

Madeleine rolled her shoulders back and took a steadying breath before knocking on the door to Liam’s office. She just had a terrible feeling about this meeting he’d requested with her. The only topic she could envision him wanting to discuss with her was their wedding, and the tone he’d used did not imply a routine planning discussion.

She wasn’t an idiot. She knew she wasn’t his first choice as a wife. She probably wasn’t even his second choice if the amount of time he was spending with Olivia was any indication of who he actually liked to involve in his life. But she’d tried to be there for him. She’d learned from Leo that forcing things with Constantine’s sons got you nowhere. She’d let him carry on with Riley Liu. She’d been at his side through all the terrorist attacks and his father’s death, through calls for abdication and threats on both of their lives. For God’s sake, she’d taken a bullet for him. She’d hoped she’d be able to prove her worth as a political ally. But if the sinking feeling she’d had in her stomach was any indication, all she had done had not been enough.

“Come in,” Liam called out, his voice muffled by the door. She strode through with poise and purpose. She was not going down as some timid waif of a woman. She would face him with dignity.

Liam was not at his desk, but instead on one of the couches. They had never had a meeting that wasn’t at his desk, and the change in the setting unnerved Madeleine. But she wasn’t going to let him see that, not now. “Good evening, Liam,” she said, careful to keep her voice even and steady.

“Good evening, Madeleine. Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the opposite couch. She walked over and delicately sat down, crossing her ankles as she did so. She knew how to comport herself, not that such behavior was going to get her anywhere.

“Would you like something to drink?” Liam asked, running his index finger along the top of his own glass of whiskey.

“That depends, Liam. Am I going to need something to drink?”

He paused for just a moment, “I would venture to say yes.”

Madeleine nodded tersely, trying to take deep breaths without being too obvious. It was one thing to suspect your engagement was getting called off, it was another to have it confirmed. She had already been through this once before, but it still stung. “Vodka,” she said after a moment, after she was sure her voice wouldn’t crack.

Liam stood and walked over to a sideboard, crouching down and pulling out a bottle of Belvedere. “Any mixers or ice?”

“No, thank you,” she replied, accepting the liquor with a nod as Liam handed it to her before returning to his seat.

“Shall we get this over with?” Madeleine asked.

“Madeleine, please. I at least want to discuss this with you.”

“What’s to discuss, Liam? I don’t see the point in dragging this out. I’ve been through this before, remember?”

“I would like to talk this through at least. I want you to understand where I’m coming from.”

Madeleine let out a little laugh, “I don’t particularly need to understand your reasons, Liam. Quite frankly, you purging your soul and looking for absolution is not going to make me feel better. It’s just selfish.”

He actually smiled slightly at that comment, just for a brief second, before he let his calm, diplomatic expression return to his face. It infuriated her all the more, that her pain and frustration was apparently a source of amusement for him.

“It’s interesting that you would use that phrasing,” he said after a moment, staring at the whiskey in his glass. “Madeleine, I just have to ask, why do you even want to marry me?” He turned his eyes up to meet hers at the end of his question, almost as if he thought he was about to witness some moment of revelation. It was insulting, quite frankly.

“No. You do not get to twist my words to make me sound like a crown chaser. I have been preparing to be queen my entire life. I am qualified in every way for this job. You would never fault a man for going after his professional dreams.”

Liam tilted his head back and forth, looking at her intently, “I might if he pursued them at the expense of all other realms of his life. Madeleine, do you really think being queen would bring you enough happiness to compensate for the extreme misery it would bring you in your personal life?”

Madeleine shook her head, letting out a frustrated snort. Everyone saw the ways that Leo and Liam were different, but right now, they’d never seemed more similar to her. They both had wanted her to be the one to end things. Leo had just ghosted her repeatedly, and when he did come around, there was always a new woman to throw in her face. Liam at least was more subtle, clearly trying to convince her that this was her idea. It was still infuriating in its own right, though.

“Liam, if you aren’t going to marry me, at least have the courage to call off our engagement yourself. You don’t get to dump me and have me do all the work for you.”

“Madeleine, this isn’t a decision I made lightly or on a whim. All I am trying to do is minimize the pain and discomfort here for all parties involved.”

“Well, that’s just too bad, Liam. You don’t get to break up with someone without hurting them.”

He sighed heavily, “Fair enough. I just hoped you might be able to see the positive aspects here. That you might be able to find a silver lining.”

“How could having my dreams ripped from me yet again be a positive, Liam? Explain that one to me, please,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, you won’t be trapped in a loveless marriage and forced to raise children with a man you’re indifferent to at best,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders slightly, “That seems like it could be worth something.”

“Liam, be realistic. I will never marry for love. Any marriage for me will be a political one. You at least would have been a tolerable husband.”

“Why can’t you marry for love?”

“Be serious.”

“I am. I don’t see why you act like this is some impossibility.”

She just shook her head, “How are you still such a romantic? The woman you love chose your best friend over you.”

Liam raised his eyebrows at that comment, “Careful, Madeleine. There is little reason for either of us to resort to petty personal attacks here. But suffice it to say, that while Riley’s rejection was painful, it did not change my belief that there is love to be found out there, and I mean love for all of us.”

“Well, that’s not been my experience. And quite frankly, I don’t see how it’s been yours either.”

“Just because I am not currently in a loving relationship doesn’t mean that I don’t see a world full of potential for love and connection.”

She shook her head and let out a short little breath, “For a highly educated king, you are so naive. Nearly foolish.”

“And you have a very stubborn and narrow worldview. If someone hasn’t found love in the world, that’s either because they are blind to it or they reject it anytime it’s offered and push it away before it has a chance to grow. I think we both know in your case it’s the latter.”

“Awful presumptuous of you, assuming that anyone has even been open to loving me.”

Liam stared straight at her, the disbelief evident in his eyes, “Do Penelope and Kiara not count?”

“What? They aren’t attracted to women,” Madeleine retorted, waving her hand dismissively.

His eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up at that, “I can’t speak to their sexual orientation, nor was I trying to, Madeleine. Love can be platonic, you know. You might have found that with Kiara or Penelope if you hadn’t berated them at every opportunity. Instead, they both chose to return to their homes. Or Hana, who has never been anything but kind and compassionate, could have been a true friend to you just as she has to so many others. Gentle Hana, who decided she couldn’t live under the same roof as you, would have been your friend if you hadn’t constantly cut her down and aimed to hurt her.

“I know your parents were never some source of unconditional familial love. Believe me, Madeleine, I can comprehend that. But it is your choice to continue to be harsh and compassionless with all your peers. If you can’t see that, I don’t know what to tell you.

“I am sorry that you have to go through a failed engagement for a second time, Madeleine. I truly am. But that isn’t enough of a reason to marry you. And I honestly believe this is the best chance at happiness for the both of us.”

“No, Liam. It’s the best chance at happiness for you. At least own that fact.”

After a few seconds of silence, Liam finally spoke, “You’re right, this is something I am doing for myself. But I hope that someday you’ll see that this opens up the potential for you to find something better as well.”

“Why now?” Madeleine asked, tapping her fingers against her untouched glass of vodka, “Why lead me on for months?”

“I probably never should have gotten engaged to you in the first place. I did so in a moment of desperation where I saw no other options for either of us. If you want to hold something against me, that is what it should be. But I am not going to let that lapse in judgement determine the course of the rest of my life. I do not want to be a bitter king who only has a family out of obligation. I want children that are born into a home of love and warmth. I may sacrifice many things for Cordonia, but I’ve decided this is one liberty I’m going to take for myself.

“Now, as far as the more practical matters go, if you want to be the one to announce the end of our engagement, I will happily grant you that opportunity. You can prepare a statement; I would just ask you send it to Stefan for review before you go to the press, but I understand if you prefer to release a statement independently. I can also send you to my private island for a while if you’d like to avoid the press or your parents. I want to allow you time to collect yourself away from external pressures if you desire. Just let me know by this weekend, alright?”

“So that’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“Yes, Madeleine. I honestly think we’re done here. Don’t you?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she said as she rose, downing her entire glass of vodka in one, then striding to the door. Once she was on the other side of the door, she pinched her eyes closed, fighting off waves of self-loathing and despair at her repeated failure. It was like Leo all over again, but this time, there was no back up plan. She was left entirely directionless, and now she had to figure out what she was supposed to do with her life now that the only thing she’d been raised to do was no longer possible.

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

The trials on Friday had run straight through to the end of the business day, and after all his late night case review, preparing for the press, Liam was exhausted. He was planning to head straight from the courthouse to his private quarters for a few hours of needed decompression, but as he answered a few questions from the press, he noticed Olivia standing over by the town car that was waiting for him, talking with his driver.

“Lady Olivia,” he said in greeting, nodding at her politely as he walked over after the press dispersed.

“Your Majesty. I was hoping to run into you. Are you headed back to the palace?”

“That was the plan.”

“May I join you for a bit? I was hoping to discuss if there were any more findings in regards to Anton’s spouse.”

Liam nodded. He did need to talk to Olivia about the investigation that he and Bastien had been privately conducting there. “Of course. Would you like a ride?” he asked, gesturing to his car.

Olivia shook her head, “My car and driver are just around the corner. I’ll meet you there. Do you need me to bring by some cookie dough and wine spritzers?”

Liam shook his head and chuckled. He should have known that Olivia would know that he called off his engagement, even though neither he nor Madeleine had released an official statement yet. “I think I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, the glint in her eyes in direct contrast with her overly concerned tone, “Breakups can be tough.”

“Don’t gloat, Olivia,” Liam chided. He wasn’t really upset, but Olivia didn’t need to be so pleased that he and Madeleine were no longer engaged.

“I’m just happy that you aren’t stuck in a miserable political marriage.”

“And…”

“And if Madeleine won’t become queen because of it, all the better.”

Liam couldn’t help but let out a little laugh. It’s not that he reveled in ending things with Madeleine, but it did feel like a significant weight had been lifted from his soul. “Shall we meet in my office?”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you in a few.”

And so Liam went to his office when he returned to the palace. He’d been seated at his desk, reviewing some news sites, when Olivia was let in by Stefan about 10 minutes later.

“Sorry, I would have been here sooner, but I got stuck waiting for the royal motorcade. A real pain in the ass, I tell you.”

Liam chuckled at her statement, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. Olivia sank into one, leaning back and looking him in the eye before she spoke.

“Alright, what can you tell me about my supposed marriage to that traitorous vile snake?”

Liam let out a sigh, knowing there was no easy way to break this news. “What kind of wine do you want?”

“That bad, huh?” Olivia asked with a little wince.

He unlocked the middle desk drawer and pulled out the documents he’d set aside for her. “I wish I had better news. Unfortunately, the document your parents signed is legally binding.”

“Motherfuckers,” Olivia breathed out, letting her head drop to the back of her chair. “I was four, Liam. Who the hell marries off a toddler?”

“I’m very sorry, Liv. I have a private lawyer investigating how best to go about getting this annulled given all the clauses and conditions that various House Nevrakis members have put on the books over the centuries.”

“You brought in a private lawyer? Liam, I was kind of hoping-”

“He signed an NDA. However, I think it would be prudent to warn you that Anton might bring it up in trial if he decides to go scorched earth. The prosecutors would never reference it, but I have no idea what he or his lawyer are planning.”

Olivia inhaled deeply before nodding slowly. “I understand. Are you sure we can’t just torture him to keep him quiet?”

“Fairly certain that’s a violation of the UN Human Rights Council guidelines.”

“Even if I make sure it can’t get traced back to you?”

“Yes, even then, Olivia.”

“Damn,” she said with a little laugh, “So, either I release the info myself and undermine my public support in an effort to control the narrative, or I take a gamble that he won’t bring it up?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Those really are your only choices. No matter what you choose, though, you will have the Crown’s full support.”

Olivia tapped her fingernails against the desk’s surface, eyes roving over her marriage certificate. “I’ll release it Monday,” she said after a few moments, raising her head to look Liam in the eye. “It’s the opposite of what our fathers would have done, so that probably makes it the right call.”

Liam tilted his head at that, “Have your staff send Stefan your statement this weekend, and we’ll craft an official royal press release to match.”

“Thanks, Liam.”

“Of course, Olivia.”

“No, I mean it. I’m sure that you’re already being stretched thin between the trials, and I’m guessing you’re getting some pushback for calling off your engagement, so thank you for looking into this for me.”

Liam nodded. She wasn’t wrong. It hadn’t even been 24 hours since he called off his engagement, and he’d already been chided by several council members. Regina had also had some choice words for him after he blocked a meeting with Godfrey.

“How pissed are people that you aren’t getting married?”

“I think they’re more upset that they can’t technically do anything about it. The law clearly states a monarch needs to be either married or engaged to ascend the throne; it makes no reference to his or her marital state once they are the reigning monarch.”

“So, what’s your next move?”

“Nothing,” he said with a little shrug, “Like I said, they can’t really do anything about it. Thanks to you, public opinion of me is quite high at the moment, so it's not like they can apply pressure that way either.”

“Nice,” she replied, nodding and cocking an eyebrow, “What are you going to do about an heir?”

Liam just shook his head, “I’m not even 30 yet. I feel like I have some time.”

“I agree, but others won’t. You’re going to have to have a statement prepared for when they start hounding you about it.”

He paused for a second, organizing his words, “Well, then I’ll just tell them that succession laws are clear, and that I am perfectly comfortable leaving Cordonia in the hands of the woman who is next in line for the throne.”

Olivia’s eyes widened before fluttering closed. She pressed her lips together and took several slow breaths before she opened her eyes, a slight glimmer noticeable in the corners. “Thank you, Liam,” she whispered.

“It’s the truth, Olivia. You care about this country and its people. If something were, god forbid, to happen to me, I would have no qualms about you becoming queen.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. How about we just have that glass of wine?”

 Olivia just shook her head, “I wish I could, but I actually have… well, I have a date.”

Liam smiled gently, “Oh, well then it sounds like you have much better plans than me for the evening. I’ll let you get heading back to Lythikos.”

“The date’s here, actually.”

“Really?” Liam asked, his curiosity mounting by the second, “Who’s the man in question, and does he know what he’s getting himself into?”

“None of your business and of course not,” she replied, giving him a genuine smile as she stood up. “I’ll see you at the courthouse Monday?”

“Of course, Olivia. Have a wonderful evening.”

She smiled and walked out of the office, throwing up her hand in farewell as she closed the door.

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

Drake shifted in his seat. He could blame it on the cramped airline rows, but he knew it was more his nerves than anything. He was an absolute mess at this point.

For the second time in as many days, he was on a flight towards a woman he wasn’t even sure wanted to see him. But unlike when he went to see his mother, he was actually terrified of that fact. If his mother had been cold or hadn’t wanted to see him, he knew how to deal with that fact. He’d been through it before, and though he hadn’t come out without some emotional scars, he fucking got through it.

But Riley… well the thought that she might not want to talk to him shook him to his core. He honestly didn’t know what he would do if she told him to fuck off, that she needed a boyfriend who could actually handle her life or one that didn’t have a best friend with very specific emotional demands. It was honestly part of the reason he went to talk to his mother first - he was more scared of his talk with Riley. The stakes were just so much higher. He knew that made him a coward. But when he’d been booking his tickets, he just wanted one more day where he could pretend that Riley and him were going to be alright.

Part of him also knew that if Riley left him, he was likely to spiral a bit. Get drunk, self-destruct, throw himself a goddamn pity party. He knew he needed to talk with both Riley and his mother, but with how long he’d put off his conversation with his mother, he just knew he would never get around to it after a rejection from Riley. He wouldn’t have seen the point. It just had to happen first.

But now it was time to face the music with Riley. No more beating around the apple tree. She knew when his flight was landing at JFK, he’d sent her the flight details before he left Cordonia, and she’d texted back “okay.” Drake didn’t know if that meant she would be there or not.

If she wasn’t there, Drake wasn’t sure what his plan was. He was pretty sure she would be off this weekend, but just barging into her apartment felt presumptuous, even if he did still have a set of keys. Maybe he would just call her? See if she wanted to meet him somewhere?

But when he exited the plane and made his way towards baggage claim, he saw her there, standing off to the side, her arms crossed over her chest. He started walking toward her, his legs suddenly feeling heavy as lead. At some point, she caught sight of him, but she made no move toward him, just offering up a little nod. He raised his hand and waved, feeling like a giant dork in the process, but he didn’t know what else to do. And he made it those last painful meters, he tried to figure out what to say. But then he was in front of her and all he could do was stare at her. She was so beautiful, and nothing he could say felt like it would be enough.

Riley wasn’t saying anything either, and neither one of them made a move to touch each other. The tension was nearly palpable, and all Drake knew was that he had to break it somehow.

“Hey, Liu,” he choked out.

“Hi, Drake.”

Permatag: @speedyoperarascalparty​​ @mfackenthal​​  @lilyofchoices​​  @thequeenofcronuts​​  @jamesashtonisbae​​

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @kingliam2019​​   @sirbeepsalot​​  @texaskitten30​​   @princessleac1​​  @ladyangel70​​  @dcbbw​​  @yaushie​​ @octobereighth​​

Drake x MC only:  @jovialyouthmusic  @iplaydrake  @gibbles82  @drakewalkerisreal  @riley--walker​ @notoriouscs​  @butindeed​  @addictedtodrakefanfic​  

It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment: @wickedgypsymoon  @thesumofmychoices​​  @cosigottahavefaith​​   @thequeenchoices​​  @katedrakeohd​​  @feartheendlesssummer​​  @ao719​​  @ooo-barff-ooo​​   @sunnyxdazed​​

[things2mustdo]

I went to visit my family for Thanksgiving, and as usual, I was confronted with numerous blue pill beliefs. While I’m no longer annoyed by these things, because I’ve gone through the “Return Journey” phase of swallowing the red pill, I did notice something that was extremely disturbing.

As I grew tired of arguing over basic political, economic, and gender points, I meandered downstairs to my family’s recreation room. There was a group of my younger relatives, aged 16-20, watching some show on Netflix about trans-gendered individuals.

I don’t know what the show was called, but one thing that really struck me was the show’s uncanny ability to use emotionally charged scenes and drama to elicit a feeling of compassion for the characters. In other words, numerous TV shows are now starting to take advantage of our natural empathy, and using it to sway our political and social opinions.

Emotionally Gripping

As I stood behind the couch watching a few minutes of this transgender show, I saw a very heart wrenching scene take place. Although the nuances of the story line were lost to me, I gathered enough information to see what was going on.

Basically, some guy was getting surgery to turn into a woman. As he was in the operating room, something went terribly wrong, and despite the surgeons’ desperate attempts to save him, he ended up perishing.

The following scene was comprised of extremely grief-inducing piano music played to various clips of the man’s children all mourning their loss. While this may seem innocuous, or like it’s just “creative, dramatic television,” I believe that it’s actually something far more sinister.

What’s going on here, is that the elites (because remember, this is a top down operation) are trying to traumatize the average American youth with images of the “horrors that transgender people go through!” They’re using television to create these emotional “triggers,” if you will, that will be ignited anytime someone says something against transgenders.

In other words, the trauma that occurs from becoming engrossed in this TV show (in our example) leaves an emotional residue of sorts, so that whenever the topic of transgenderism is brought up in conversation, the viewer subconsciously remembers the emotions associated with the topic which the TV show implanted into his mind.

Emotional Triggers

This became abundantly clear to me as I was arguing with a friend from the West Coast over transgenderism. I very calmly said that I believe it’s a mental illness, and should be treated as such. I said that these people need help, and we shouldn’t encourage them. I backed my assertion by referencing how the chief psychologist at Johns Hopkins Hospital has vehemently called out doctors who perform transgender surgeries as “collaborating with a mental illness for profit.”

Despite my calm and collected assertions, she grew EXTREMELY emotional and automatically assumed a whole host of things about me:

I’m a disgusting, careless sociopath

I have no sympathy for others’ suffering and I’m a cold-hearted bastard

I vehemently hate anyone who’s different than me

Despite the fact that none of these things are true, it became clear to me why she automatically believed this about me: the TV shows that she watches had been subtly implanting little emotional biases into her brain. This is how manipulative our “real” media is.

What happened, in psychological terms, was that as I was calmly explaining my perspective on transgenderism, her subconscious was flooded with all of the EMOTIONS that she associates with the topic:

All of the pain and grief she experienced from TV shows depicting transgender “issues”

How Bruce Jenner is a “hero,” and how much mainstream “opposition” he encountered when coming out

All of the anger she experienced when the token “anti-transgender person” in each show was a huge dick to the main character (more on this in the next section)

All rational thought was completely stopped, as she had literally been trained to elicit a certain response whenever the topic of transgenderism is brought up. Do you see my point? By repeatedly exposing people to scenes that elicit sympathy for transgenders, the media is engineering a widespread social response in favor of it.

Token Characters

As I alluded to before, another underhanded tactic that mainstream TV shows use is that they never have a rational, level-headed man who supports traditional marriage and normal heterosexuality. Any time someone in mainstream media doesn’t support the main character’s disorder, he’s always portrayed as a complete asshole.

This can take the form of him beating up the main character, bullying the main character, or what have you. I recall several years ago there was ample talk at the work place over some “anti-homosexual” character in glee that smothered a smoothie onto a guy just because he was homosexual, or something ridiculous like that.

Despite the fact that NOBODY I know would do something like this, the elite-sponsored TV utilizes token characters in order to implant a certain idea into our heads—the idea that everyone who opposes deviant sexual orientations is a cold-hearted bully. I recall that this was pointed out to me by a Catholic high school teacher, and it didn’t make any sense to me back then (before homosexuality was normal).

Now, in retrospect, I’m extremely thankful that he planted that seed in my class’s mind. The more that I look at television through this lens, the more I see what he was talking about. There’s never a level-headed, confident, genuine man that has game, either. It’s always either a completely meek beta male, or a chauvinistic “bad boy” Hank-Moody type character (although I do love me some Hank Moody).

This phenomena is taken even further as the transgender or homosexual person in mainstream TV is almost always portrayed as some brave, sweet, sensitive soul, with a hard life. In other words, the elites are engineering a dichotomy as Roosh has referenced before.

The dichotomy is that you’re either a sweet, empathetic, gentle-hearted person who supports transgenderism and deviant sexual preferences, or you’re a complete asshole who bullies and berates people just because “you’re mean.” This use of labeling brainwashes others into IMMEDIATELY putting you into the “sociopathic jerk” category if you don’t support transgenderism, making any and all rational discourse folly.

Subtle Desensitization

Another terrifying event that comes to mind of the media’s disgusting methods was when I was watching a popular kid’s TV show known as “Adventure Time,” a year or two ago. Again, I was with my family for some holiday event (I can’t remember which), and recall some of the kids watching this show.

Despite the fact that it’s labeled as a kid’s show, I saw an insidious little dialogue take place that was meant to desensitize children to pedophilia. In the show, there was some ball going on (I assume it was like a “prom” type deal), and the old wizard was looking for a partner.

He ended up going with some underage girl, who was probably 60 years his prior, and when the main character pointed this out, the old wizard simply stated: “Age…is nothing but a number!” Upon which the characters started dancing and doing comical things to prevent any sort of rational thought occurring after this was said.

After seeing this I became extremely disgusted and turned off the television, but that’s beyond the point. Why is this type of dribble being used to brainwash our youth? Anyone with half a brain can see that the point behind this scene was to start subtly implanting the seeds of pedophilia into a child’s mind.

Again, the words of my wise old Catholic high school teacher come to mind. I’ll never forget when he told me that “in 15 years, pedophilia will become normal.” My entire class was shocked, and couldn’t comprehend such a thing happening. He said this in 2009, and it seems that his prediction is coming true.

“First it will start with the media,” he said. “They’ll have some show where they make jokes about it and they’ll keep the humor very lighthearted, never showing the actual act. They’ll begin the process of desensitizing you, then eventually some politician will bring it up, and it will be an official stance that other politicians will be forced to take. This will begin the process of slowly normalizing it.”

My God was this man spot on, because this is EXACTLY how the media sways our opinions.

Keep in mind that their methods are SUBTLE, and that’s the point—they want to keep it below the level of thought so that you never question what they’re teaching you. Any time a strange or ridiculous belief is asserted, they very quickly move into a joyful scene or celebration to not only prevent you from thinking too much about the ridiculous belief, but to have you associate happiness with it, as well, which brings me to my next point.

Association And Correlation Bias

There’s a very powerful phenomena in psychology known as association; this is sometimes also called the correlation bias, or “Illusory Correlation.” This is basically your mind’s tendency to look for relationships where there aren’t any.

For example, why do you think most modern girls aren’t girlfriend material? Why do you think that the average man is weak, pathetic, and emasculated? It’s because of the media’s tendency to slowly create illusory associations within your mind.

The media causes women to associate happiness and a successful life with the following:

Being a man-hating feminist, who can’t submit to a strong, confident man

Not cooking or cleaning, because that’s “sexist”

Riding the alpha male cock carousel, and not getting married, because marriage is “oppressive”

The media creates a false correlation in women’s minds by constantly portraying bitchy, overly-masculine, slutty women as being empowered, sought-after, and happy. As any man who’s been learning game knows, this is absolute nonsense.

It doesn’t matter, though—once your brain has an association, it’s extremely difficult to get rid of it. This is why so many men are emasculated nowadays. It teaches us to associate:

Being a weak bitch with getting a hot girlfriend

Being a feminist and leftist with having girls think you’re noble and heroic

Courting a slut with being a gentleman

As any modern man who reads the manosphere knows, these are completely fallacious beliefs. Being a weak, low-testosterone man will not in fact land you the girls. Being a screaming leftist who holds those “I’m a feminist because,” signs will not get you the approval of women, and courting a washed up slut does not make you a gentleman (it makes you stupid).

Despite the obvious illogical nature of these beliefs, because the mainstream media has 8 hours a day to indoctrinate us, most men end up buying into them wholeheartedly, and will even berate you for having game when you CLEARLY get more women than them.

“So What Can I Do?”

First things first, stop watching mainstream media. In case you haven’t noticed, the MSM is starting to feel the effects of men waking up; in fact, they’ve recently gone on a long, drawn-out tirade about “fake news,” or in other words, news that is red-pilled.

I haven’t watched mainstream media EVER—the only time that I ever watch MSM is if they’re interviewing a pickup artist, a manosphere blogger, or if I’m trying to debunk their ludicrous reporting. I get almost all of my news from sites like ROK, Danger And Play, Info Wars, Natural News, and the people that I follow on Twitter.

In addition to only consuming a red-pilled information diet, ensure that your children don’t watch TV unarmed. I saw a phenomenal post recently on “How to Raise Red-Pilled Daughters,” and the ROK author talks about how he doesn’t flat out ban TV, but rather teaches his daughters to think rationally and learn to see the foolishness of MSM.

Aside from not watching MSM and raising your family to be skeptical of it, you can also support alternative media sites by simply tuning in. You don’t have to buy any of their products (although it helps); simply giving them your attention and leaving a thoughtful comment or two is enough to generate interest.

All in all, we’re facing extremely tumultuous times. More and more people are starting to break free of the MSM’s grip on their mind, but the men who get left behind end up more brainwashed than ever. Eventually, once the MSM dies, we can begin the long and arduous process of reclaiming our country—and this, my friends, is something I believe is worth fighting for.

Read More: Fact Checking Emotional Propaganda

When I was making a purchase at my local bookstore last week, the cashier solicited me for a donation. This donation was for a charity dealing with sick children or something. I told cashier I came here to buy a book not make donations. I guess she realized I am not one to be guilt tripped into doing things and told me that many people do not have the courage to say no. This pressure to comply due to emotional appeal has run rampant in America. When people make decisions on how they feel or manipulated by their feelings, not many good things can come of it.

Usually I do not delve into the details of the various schemes and manipulations that powerful people do in order to influence people’s behaviors. Someone actually fact checked one sales pitch for the limitation of guns. This exercise in breaking down an argument outside of the emotional shows that emotion is all it has. While the premise is guns, the method is pure emotional appeal.

The Mayor of New York City, Michael Bloomberg has decided to throw his hat in, as well as his capital, in a political fight against the NRA by spending an estimated fifty million dollars to start up Everytown for Gun Safety @ Everytown.org. If you go to his website, one of the articles pops out on the front page is an “analysis” of the over sixty “school shootings” that have taken place since the Newtown massacre on December 12th, 2012.

In this era of political rhetoric and ideological echo-chambers, there is little in the way of fact-checking and realism with statistical data. The media is off  panicking the masses of soccer moms and metrosexual dads that mass shootings are a growing epidemic, apparently none of whom look at the FBI’s Uniform Crime Reports of homicides every year. Of the sixty-two incidents on Everytown’s “analysis”, only one can be classified as a mass murder. The FBI is quite clear that a “mass murder” involves the homicide of four or more individuals with no cooling off period between the murders. The article would lead readers to believe that there have been sixty-two incidents of similar scope as the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting. But this is simply not the case.

With a total combined death toll between the sixty-two “school shootings” of 39, it’s hard to match them up to Newtown, which in one incident saw 28 deaths, including the perpetrator, Adam Lanza. Despite what the media might portray for politics, ratings, or profit, such shootings are exceptionally rare. Of course, a large amount of the focus is on the AR-15 reportedly used,the  gun control advocates would like gullible Americans to think without which Adam Lanza would not have been capable of such carnage. But if you remember the Virginia Tech shooting on April 16th, 2007. Seung-Hui Cho managed to kill 32 people, then himself, with nothing more than a .22LR caliber Walther P22 and 9mm Glock 19; the Walther with a magazine capacity of ten rounds and the Glock a bit more at fifteen. There is little discussion of firearms in the Everytown analysis, probably because they are virtually all handguns or the suggested firearm for home defense of Vice President Joe Biden, a shotgun.

Let’s look at that the lack of analysis this “analysis” gives us, as it’s little more than a picture of a crying woman and a list of schools at which a firearm was discharged on or nearby campus grounds since December 2012. Thirty-nine people dead, because of school shootings, between December 13th, 2012 and mid-April 2014. It’s hard to find statistics for causes of death even near that number. The United States averages roughly 51 deaths due to lightning strikes per year, over the last 20 years; according to NOAA. According to the CDC, there was an average of 3,533 unintentional drownings per year for the years of 2005-2009. Yet where is a politically motivated and affluent billionaire to launch a safety campaign outlining the dangers of pools or thunderstorms?

The fact that Mayor Bloomberg has taken Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel’s now infamous quote “never let a good crisis go to waste” to heart, is no surprise. But who thinks about the political realities of why someone is making moves against one of the GOP’s biggest political lobbies, using a tragedy like Newtown as the crest on their flag; when they are busy being emotionally compromised by the idea of children being gunned down in their school classrooms?

Among the 39 deaths, there is a justified case of self-defense, a possible case of self-defense, and seven cases of nothing more then suicides by firearm. The biggest trend among these “school shootings” is the shooters and victims are young black men. This reality is in stark contrast to the media image of upper-class white elementary school kids gunned down by socially awkward psychopaths with AR-15’s or other “assault weapons”. Few if any of the mainstream gun safety campaigns reflect the reality of gun violence. Remember, you are more likely to be killed by bee stings than you are to be shot on or around a school campus.

In conclusion, this emotional appeal by Mr. Bloomberg seems to be all about coercing a population into following his politics through emotional appeal. His advocacy gives them an audience of motivated people controlled by their emotions. What could a powerful person do with this audience aside from campaign against guns. I signed up at this website to get the newsletter. This newsletter only talks about political activism for those that seem to not be able to make up their own mind. Be aware of those that appeal to your emotion, because they may not appeal to your interests.

Note: The author received help from “Glocktopus”, a member of the notorious “Donk Chat” in writing this article.