#just you wait maybe this account will become more active once i have free time

[donniemines]

(sigh) i cried watching tommys last dsmp video

[justalittledumb]

What about yandere self-aware Lumine and Stelle who try to get you to play their respective games?

Hiya! I wasn't entirely sure if you wanted a scenario with both of them at once or seperate ones for both. I decided to do one where both of them want you to Play their game over the other ones, but if that's not what you wanted feel free to tell me.

⭐ Let's start off by saying in what way they are similiar to each other. Both of them became obsessed with you for a simple reason, you are real.

💫 It's hard to say what caused Lumine to become self-aware. Perhaps It was faulty programing, maybe a glitch on your side?

💫 Once she did became self aware tho... her first reaction was to cry... or at least try to. Her entire life, her world, her friends and even her brother were nothing but lines of code made to give people gambling addiction.

💫 But while in her depressed state she noticed something... a warm, soothing feeling suddenly embraced her. It was you, at the time she didn't know what exactly was happening, but she knew it was enjoyable and calming.

💫 Later she learned more about you, that you were a player that was having fun with her world. She started to memorise your schedule, waiting in anticipation for your next "visit" as she started to call call them.

💫 But one Day, you haven't showed up... and then the next and the next. Disstressed, Lumine checked your activity... and find out something horrifying... you were playing a diffrent game.

🌟 Stelle's "awakening" let's call it, was a lot like Lumine's. With one tiny diffrence, she got WAY more attached to you. (That is not to say that Lumine didn't get attached)

🌟 She Would practicaly have a mental breakdown whenever you stopped playing, it isn't a pretty sight...

🌟 So when one Day you haven't logged into the game... she wasted no time in checking your devices activity to see if you were "cheating" on her... after seeing you'v Been playing diffrent game, only one thing was able to get out of her mouth. "What the hell is Genshin Impact?"

⭐ Now, both of the Girls would have similiar way of making you favor their game above their competetor's, that is manipulating game mechanics in your favor, they would go about it in slightly diffrent ways.

💫 Lumine would be more subtle, Givng you better crit rates, making sure you only get Commision that she noticed you enjoyed and slightly increasing the amount of Primogems you were given.

🌟 Stelle on the other hand... oh boy. She wouldn't be subtle, like at all. All 10 pulls that you did would result in you getting multiple 5 star characters. The enemy AI seemed to sometimes just glitch, making the game a little too easy. And one Day you would wake up to your account having thousands star rail passes. It made you think your account was glitched or something.

⭐ Oh and believe me, if they managed to contact each other in some way, all the time they didn't spend with you, they would spend arguing about you. It's almost comical.

⭐ Overall tho the situation Wouldn't be too pleasant for either of the girls... At least you were getting free stuff in-game, and who doesn't like that?

Hiya! I Hope that you enjoyed this! I'm sorry if it wasn't the type of thing you were looking for :(.

Like always i'm open to criticism.

[mrpenguinpants]

Genshin: University AU [V1]

I love modern au. Or any “everything is fine, no one died, it’s just a fever dream” au. Half of me is thinking, damn maybe I should answer this serious- LOL HAHA no. That’s not happening. Time to crack my knuckles and let my brainworms take over again.

Once again, this is 90% crack 10% content. I want to switch up my characters from the last brainworm post but I included Kaeya and Diluc.

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Today’s appreciation post goes to twistedwishes. Hey! I’ve been seeing you pop up a lot lately and thanks for the support 💕💕 I hope things are going better for you and you’re doing alright^^ I feel kinda bad for making appreciation posts on crack fics but hopefully this is somewhat funny haha. 

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Genshin: Holding Hands [V1]

Genshin: When you’re cold [V1]

Genshin: Roommate [V1]

Genshin: Royalty AU [V1]

[Masterlist]

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[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

  @mikeysbike @hanniejji@unionwitch @musekala @twistedsunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover @dilucsz @dai-tsukki-desu @thicmitten @youaskedfurret @diaxfeliz @wintergreen-aix @dandelily @thegayrubberducky @lovelykittycatmeow @yuunoagivesmelife  @dokidokisama @simpygrimoire @minakohasmanyhusbandos @strwbrry-lia @tigerpriestess @yuu-yuukurotsuki​

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Diluc

Absolute pretty boy who has braincells, but only if Kaeya is not there. In his mind, Kaeya’s presence makes his room loose 40% of their common sense. He can’t prove it just yet but he’s working on it. He majors in accounting but also has a minor in marketing, logistics’ management, fia- he majors everything business related. He’s going to become the next Elon Musk through smarts or by getting the competition drunk. There can be no contest if he’s the only candidate. He’s actually a hard working guy that overworks and stresses way too much. You have daily “Diluc recharge” evenings where he just hangs onto you while you go through your day.

“Don’t fucking talk to me until I’ve had my coffee,” except there is no coffee - he drinks grape juice out of juice boxes and his only energy boost is when he meets up with you - and that’s his constant mood. So he usually only hangs around you and Jean, since she has childhood friend status and is actually an angel. By default, Lisa is added and Diluc doesn’t mind her but if he see’s Kaeya, it’s full on war paint mode. If he's not busy with work or studies, he's usually with you either in your dorm or his apartment.

He has a fanclub and he seriously hates it and tries to do everything in his power to get Ningguang to take it down. Shouldn’t this be against his rights? But she refuses for whatever reason and makes a whole speech about free will. No matter what he does, someone manages to take a picture and it get’s printed in the university’s newspaper. The only bonding time he has with Kaeya is every Monday, where they collect and burn all the universities newspapers before anyone can get their hands on it. You always bring marshmallows to make smores during their arson activities.

“When I graduate I’m going to burn this school down to the ground. That’s not a threat it’s a promise.”

Ningguang

Is secretly the leader of the Diluc fanclub - not that she likes Diluc, she’s in a questionable platonic poly marriage with you and Beidou - but it was the easiest way to gain funds for the student council. Which she is the president of, so rip Diluc the fanclub stays. Ruthless business woman I tell you. But she can run in heels so her danger factor rises by at least 20%.

Majors in social sciences and law but more specifically the political science & government. She saw the Imperial State Crown that the Queen of England wears and says yes, that’s mine now. If she’s not with Beidou and you planning on “how to infiltrate the state government just for lols”, then she’s with Keqing, Ganyu, and Zhongli discussing student council things. Should they or should they not tell the student body that they can see everyone’s search results? Sit back and relax as the school goes into chaos. 

She’s probably the scariest person on campus No, she is the scariest person on campus. She’s the scariest person on campus. But secretly she’s popping 20 aspirins just to make it through a night. She has the digestive system of steel. She still holds the title of "seriously do not try and beat her in a drinking game it's never going to happen" and that's her proudest achievement in life but sadly she can’t put it on her resume. Kaeya is still trying to beat her out of spite but so far it hasn't been working. You’re seriously concerned for her when she get’s challenged but Beidou gives you a way-to-hard slap on the back and cheers her on. If Ninngguang somehow get’s alcohol poisonings she’ll somehow find away to make a profit out of it.

"I'll let him die, I'll get the insurance money."

Kaeya

One day he chugged too much mouth wash, passed out, and somehow woke up in university majoring in law. His idea is that if he is apart of the law, he can therefore stand above it. To be fair, his only goal in life is to say “I am the manager” and he can go live the rest of his life in bliss or as a hermit. He’s secret best friends with you but wouldn't be caught dead beside you. He will stab a bitch if you ever get hurt but will still trip you on the way home. Seriously, you have no idea why people find him attractive. Your guess is it’s the eye patch or the clap of his ass cheeks that keeps alerting everyone.  

He’s apart of the newspaper club and if anyone asks: No, he has no idea who keeps taking all the newspapers and burns them in the back of the campus. Originally, he joined because he was nosy and needed to join some type of club for his resume. He sometimes feels bad for his junior assistant Amber because he keeps tricking her and says that Diluc is secretly a demon that is trying to steal all the jobs and is apart of the lizard government hell bent on eradicating the human race. He even brought out a whiteboard for this joke, he’s dedicated to his job ok? 

The type of guy to try and be humble and say his work is “okay” but will choke a bitch if anyone agrees. He tends to leave everything last minute and says that it’s his drug since actual drugs could land you one year in prison and a maximum penalty of $2,000. You have to awkwardly hold in your concerned mother head shake when you see him speed running his assignment literally right when the professor is walking around to check if students finished. 

“I was taught how to lead not to read.”

Mona

Broke wallet #2. Zhongli is broke wallet #1 but Childe simps for him so is he really a broke wallet at this point? In this essay, I Mona Megistus, will explain why I have the rights to the title “Broke Wallet #1″...

Believes that astrology should be an actual career path but refuses to take astronomy as her major. I can read the stars not a textbook that tells me how to calculate the mass of the sun divided by the fucks I give. Instead she went into Philosophy and cries to Albedo, who is an actual prodigy genius- sir lend some braincells to everyone else please?, that her professor keep turning her paper down because “star reading” is not an academic source.

Fischl wants her to join the occult club because, surprisingly, Mona is very good at telling people’s fates through her crayon sketch ouija board. She thinks first year Fischl is cute but is put off by the cosplay roleplay that she has going on. She would join except that stupid hat wearing gremlin in her lit class would make fun of her if he found out.

You gave her half your lunch one day and bought her a doughnut "because she seemed upset" and "out of the goodness of your heart" whatever the hell that means. She thinks you pensioned it but once that thought comes she takes a bite. Poison from a doughnut is not the worst way to go out, classes are hard enough. She’s waiting for the lord to strike her down anyways. 

“Its not about passing, its about doing better than everyone else.”

Venti

Slept through most of highschool and people question how he got into university. He’s a music major (wow how fucking original is that), and if anyone asks him to serenade someone or just do anything, he’ll do it for the right price. Or if you buy him alcohol because he still keeps getting ID checked. He’s banking on Kaeya actually becoming a lawyer or being on good terms with Diluc so he can finally stop being arrested for looking like a toddler.

Takes one step into classes and quickly nopes out and goes back to bed. Professors have no idea how he hasn't dropped out or failed. He just has some god given talent. He does whine at you to pretty pretty please with a cherry on top tutor him because you're such an angel and would never leave your poor but awesome best friend hanging right? He needs to get this essay down but how he is suppose to explain how the number 10 is symbolic and connects to the universe or the meaning of life. Do you think he can just say it’s apart of his culture and make up some random myth to pretend it looks like he knows what he’s doing? 

He’s honestly going with the flow and put his brain on the back burner all of highschool and only now realizes wait, I actually have to use my brain?

He’s been banned from most club chats since Venti has the no chill card. Someone says “lol I look ugly today.” and he’ll respond "yup, you look like a cow." and he get’s banned. Zhongli keeps a speed run timer on his phone just to document these occasions.

"Sad spelled backwards is das and das how it be sometimes."

Childe

An actual dumbass that somehow does well. He eats sandwiches with the crust off, this heathen. Surprisingly he’s studying to become a physical therapist but most of his experience has come from breaking his own bones. You’re scared how he's going to be if he actually becomes a therapist. If he'll make bets with his patients or try to one up whatever crazy injury they get into. Everything is a challenge to him that sometimes the best way to deal with Childe is to knock him out. 

This man really knows the way to a Zhongli’s woman's heart. Through micro transactions. Mona saw him accidently drop $20 and just shrugged and walked off. She has never been both spiritually and physically offended in her life. She did take the $20 though. As much as you hate leeching on Chile when he’s basically a walking wallet that probably uses bills as tissue paper, you can’t help but give him puppy eyes while planning on how to get into his will. If he even plans on having one, he might honestly write “whoever wins in a gladiator style duel in my funeral’s tournament, they will get my fortune.”. 

Any sport the university offers Childe is probably in it. Which is how he met Zhongli, challenged him to a fight, proceeded to have his ass handed to him, got a backhanded compliment, and screamed to you he was in love and how he found his soulmate. He's secretly very sappy and has cried and watched every Disney and Pixar movie at least 28 times.

"IM NOT TOO SPICY! I’M A TINY BIT ABOVE MILD IF ANYTHING!”

---

God if it isn’t Scaramouche, it’s Childe that ruins the aesthetic. This is why I hate you. Why do you people enable me like this, it isn’t even good. This is pretty much a @ yourself moment and I vibe hard with Venti. This entire post was just to make a joke about the clap of Kaeya’s ass cheeks alerting the guards.

This week might slow down since I have classes and assignments. My reply’s are gonna be late too, sorry;; (oh and thank you to everyone that was so supportive and nice when I mentioned it. All of you. Beautiful 💕💕 )

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of changes

Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

[Previous chapter] [Next chapter]

CW: Dissociation, mentions of rape, violence, unhealthy relationship, abuse of power.

Sometimes you find yourself asking what ifs. What if the Event never happened and you never received the vision? What if Ajax never developed his obsession with you? What if you treated him a little bit warmer? Would he be more tolerable? There are thousands of possible scenarios buzzing in your head, sometimes diverging just by words left unsaid or an outstretched hand being shaked. You know it’s a futile thing, thinking about the future and the present that you will never have, but you can’t stop, thoughts spiraling further and further.

This morning starts with the similar what if. What if I agreed to start again? The brief conversation from yesterday is still on your mind - you dread it’s another of the turning points in your relationship, just like the rejected handshake or the hospitalized recruit were. A moment after which there’ll be changes, changes that you won’t have time to prepare for. Speaking from the experience alone, Childe, like the rotten bastard he is, will act even worse from now on. It all started from teen Ajax following you and offering his friendship at every turn and somehow ended in him personally asking Tsaritsa to assign you to him, reducing you from a highly respectable Fatui agent skilled both in stealth and subterfuge to a glorified escort and a secretary.

One day he’ll just get tired from all of this and will forcefully bend me over in some dark murky corner, you darkly conclude, the remnants of the sleep leaving your body entirely at the grim thought. Or maybe he will break his promise not to cheat and will order me to do it.

Unwilling to think about the Ninth Wave of your unwanted relationships, you quickly stand up from the bed and start preparing for the day. Dressing and freshening up from the sleep you still mentally return to the darker place, cautious of what Tartaglia will pull out this time. Finally, you exit the door fully ready and lock the room, hiding the key under the clothes after, and make way to the fourth floor of the bank.

Here lies Childe’s working space and personal quarters , and if the former can be easily seen and entered just by walking up the stairs, the latter is hidden from view by the wall and massive door. There is a wide work desk and two armchairs placed too close for your comfort. You peek into the interior window, only to find it veiled by a thick curtain from the other side, so you decide to broaden the space between the chairs.

Satisfied with distance now, you sit at your place, taking a sheet out of the pile of documents, mostly consisting of reports of credits approved and money returned, unusually mundane yet highly classified information. Aside from accompanying Childe when he needs to beat and threaten the debts out of deadbeats, you also have to track the transactions the bank makes, a routine job consuming most of your daytime.

At the sixth or seventh fiscal account, you hear door opening and mentally brace for Ajax’s presence. Harbinger doesn’t smile, looking serious instead. You hope it has nothing to do with you, as it’s too early in the day for you to already deal with his usual mess.

“[First]”, you look up, staring at the bizarrely humorless Ajax looming over your sitting form. He clears his throat, as if he feels awkward right now, “Are you sure you won’t have one of your episodes?”

Your mind blanks for a second and then there’s a mix of shame and anger flooding your being and making you see red. Over the last months you spent working with him, he was the sole trigger of your affliction and now there are considerable gaps in your memory, in which you have absolutely no clue what happened to you. You had an inkling that Childe is aware that you are not always completely here, but a slap in the face with such casual mention is enough to render you wordless for a good minute.

“I... It happens only under certain circumstances”, you find your voice wavering and his face darkens, as he quickly catches unsaid ‘because of you’. Fortunately, he decides not to press it.

“There’s a problem at hands, one that needs your skills". These words make you do a double take - Ajax doesn't look like he's lying, speech lacking usual grandiose and bravado, yet you still can't believe he lets you return to your former work. You make a quick guess.

“Qixing?”

“Qixing” he nods,"their spies must have learned something about the sigils. It's a minor issue now, but if Tianquan or Yuheng will learn about it…"

"A diplomatic disaster and a permanent loss of Geo Archon's gnosis" you continue for him, “Fatui would be banned or seriously limited in Liyue and most of trade routes will be cut off, Ningguang can easily press sanctions against most of Snezhnayan import”. You frown at the thought, no matter what Fatui would do in such situations there's too much to lose and almost nothing to gain, even if you start destroying the investigation and replication of sigils right now, it will be a waste of possible weapons against Rex Lapis.

Then, there's one painless exit from the complicated mess: destruction of all meager material evidence and clues they somehow scraped together. Despite finally having a glimpse of a freedom, you don’t feel any excitement, but doubt instead - just a year ago, such operation would be another routine task for you, but now, having wasted months because of Childe's possessiveness, you can't help but feel incompetent.

You contemplate, glancing at him: on one hand, Tartaglia can easily send any other agents, but on the other hand, none of said agents possess a vision, a vision that you specifically molded to be a perfect tool for stealth and assassinations. He tilts his head, a hand impatiently drumming against the desk, waiting for your answer - you can infer his inner monologue - Tartaglia, just like you, is torn between his loyalty to Tsaritsa and his own feelings on the matter and this is what finally cements your decision.

You can almost see how much he itches to forbid you from taking the mission, but stops himself out of his sense of duty to Snezhnaya, and this knowledge fills you with darker type of satisfaction to the very brim: You lean back, pretending to still ponder over his words, enjoying the view of apprehensive Childe for once.

“I think, I can’t...” you start, your voice deliberately small and hesitant, watching how Ajax smiles again, convinced that you no longer have any confidence in your abilities, “let Snezhnaya be compromised in any way”.

He doesn’t let any of the anger and frustration show on his face, yet the drumming ceases, leaving you two in the silence, save for the sounds of the street coming out of the window.

You know you’re poking at the sleeping tiger, letting a childish impulses to guide your words, but the opportunity to upset Harbinger are much harder to come by these days: he took away your job, your delusion and your freedom, the least he can do to compensate is suffer in return.

“Alright”, he finally says and fails to hold back disappointed sigh “agent [Last]. Your delusion is in Ekaterina’s possession, just as the rest of the equipment. You will start tonight, information is in the upper left drawer. You have no right to fail, if you do I will write a complaint to Tsaritsa against you and personally oversee that you will be discharged”.

It’s a gambling game then, and terribly unfair at that - even if you win it won’t set you free or relocate under someone easier to handle and Tartaglia loses virtually nothing by allowing you to roam out of his sight for one night only, and by failing you will literally had your life into Childe’s eager hands.

You won’t let the bastard triumph.

***

After getting your gear and delusion back, you spend the rest of the day reading the data and mentally preparing for what is about to come. The qixing base you're to infiltrate is located awfully near the current place of sigil research, as if Ningguang or whoever planted it here already suspected Fatui from the start. The base itself is disguised as an ancient Liyuen ruin with a couple of deactivated ruin hunters placed nearby to scare off the adventurers who no doubt will try to explore it.

You are almost panting when you finally reach it - turns out that despite being easily visible from afar, the base is surrounded by the tall and steep cliffs from all sides, with the only passage bound to be guarded. Invoking to the power of your vision, you effortlessly become invisible to the eye, enter the building and almost rush back the same second - there’s a millelith passing nearby in whom you almost bumped in.

Heart racing you enter the building again, walking on half bent legs to minimize the sounds, and avoid milleliths on your way. They feel a sudden rush of frosty air, but seeing no one nearby, just write it off as a sudden midnight chill. You continue to make your way, peeking into each room, forcing yourself to remain in this form longer and longer, body aching and freezing from the overuse. Finally you see it - a stack of documents placed on the bamboo table near the oil lamp in a conveniently empty room.

Your hand is already extended to push the lamp and fake an accidental fire, when you decide to investigate the papers - it’s better to learn what qixing already knows. Your eyes quickly peruse a liyuen script, characters upon other characters - a report about suspicious activities, a detailed intelligence of Northland’s spendings and thankfully, not a word of sigils, except the note stating that Fatuis are buying a considerable amount of paper and ink.

Having memorized each of the documents, you throw the lamp now, a flame quickly spreading to the documents and soon consuming a whole table. Someone in the corridor screams about fire, four milleliths rushing in the room and you use this distraction to sneak out. Having escaped the borders of the faux ruin you quickly run, still maintaining invisibility, and only when you reach the cliffs again do you allow yourself to rest.

After climbing over the rocks, the rest of the trail is spent between jogging and walking, frost from the vision still residing inside. Bitter chill slows down your movements and you can’t help, but shiver from time to time, arms and legs aching and burning from it. You eye the pyro delusion and consider using it - unlike a cryo vision that you sculpted for secrecy and agility, the delusion is more battle-focused, able to produce quick bursts of fire in the rare occasions you get into a brawl.

Suddenly, a ball of flames explodes near you - a whopperflower bursts out of the ground, sensing you in proximity. You dodge another fireball, instinctively flinching at the sudden flash of light and send an ice blade it's way. It slightly grazes the creature's skin, yet a mimetic plant rushes back under the ground as you summon another icicle and swiftly stab it in the "head" the second it emerges again.

The plant dies in convulsion, it’s reddish walls contracting around the blade, a fast stream of boiling hot energy nectar shooting from the wound the moment you pull away the weapon. You curse, as some of the liquid hits you on the leg, burning a part of your pants and scorching the flesh underneath. Hissing and gritting teeth, you use your vision again, now to soothe a throbbing pain.

Well, at least I am not freezing anymore.

You return at the first rays of dawn, dull pain still lingering in the lower body, pulsating and echoing every step. Slightly drowsy Nadia at the entrance nods at you, her gaze at your wound obvious even with a mask on, and you nod back, a wordless exchange providing a slight reprieve, before you have to deal with Childe again.

“Hard day?”, she asks right before you enter, a pale shadow of concern in her voice. You frown, confused by the sudden disquiet.

“Something happened?”

“Uhm”, a small pause, “the boss. He was restless tonight, very restless”.

Ah, shit.

“Well, that is unpleasant” you deadpan, any remaining desire to go inside the bank vanishing the same second: “Thank you anyways” and then you step in.

Harbinger waits right there in an absolutely empty lobby - it seems that Ekaterina’s shift hasn't started yet. He’s leaning on the wall, head turning to you as you enter and immediately noticing the state of your leg. His expression grows darker, when you thought he would lighten up at your perceived failure instead.

"Who did this to you?" he asks, hints of steel appearing in his voice. You lift your eyebrows - no teasing, starters or bravado. Maybe he's so impatient to hear about your failure that he forgot to keep up the act?

You swat away his question, deciding to report on your mission instead - documents were destroyed by a set up accident, none of the qixing and milleliths saw you; he doesn’t seem to listen though, eyes still glued to the burn and then he repeats his question, voice taking the dangerous tone.

“No one, no one did it. It was an accident on the way back”, he isn’t convinced judging by the way he grabs your arm, his monstrous strength evident in the steel trap grip. “Damn” you cuss, trying to free your hand - if Tartaglia learns that you let the whopperflower of all things injure you, he won’t let you live it down and will weaponise it, to point out your so-called incompetence over and over again.

“Let me go” you tug harder, a vision coming back to life from the distress. You pull away your wrist from him again and again and then you hear it first and feel it second - a small cracking sound and a sharp pain, shooting up your arm - you broke a bone. It’s too sudden for you to realize what happened or even properly sense the shock of ache.

He lets go of you in the same second, eyes looking blankly at the injured hand. His lips thin and he exhales, in a long and strangely controlled manner - seeing Childe act and look so emotionless is sure bizarre. He hauls you up bridal carry style, ripping out a low hiss of pain as his clothes rub against the burn, and directs himself to the stairs. You're too busy gritting your teeth and trying not to cry in front of Childe to notice him climbing past the third floor and only when he opens the door to his room with a kick do you finally snap back to reality.

Despite working for him for months now, you enter his quarters for the first time. It's a spacious place, with a wide bed and writing desk located near the window. There are different weapons decorating the walls - swords, claymores, spears - all with the traces of use, and a small pile of trinkets and children's toys on the desk, placed right near the started letter, some of them already half wrapped - must be a gift for someone, then.

He sets you down on the bed and turns to the wall, taking a dagger from its place and some small container. A part of you gets scared all of the sudden - you remember your morning thoughts and all those instances when his eyes focused on your body for far too long to be innocent or comfortable. Is this it? Did he get so fed up with you that he decided to drop any pretense and abandon the cat-and-mouse game you two seemed to have?

Ignoring the pain in both limbs you jolt for the exit - there’s no meaning in fighting him, yet you can still flee, lock in your room and then plan what to do. “Stop it” he says, a warning clear in his voice, and to your frustration it’s enough to glue you in place. You look at him, heart booming in your chest, barely suppressing a flinch at every step he’s taking. He leads you back to the bed, as you feel the world warping around you again and the worst part is that you can’t stop it - It’s unfair, I can’t leave, not yet, I will hate myself for the rest of my life if it happens.

He kneels down, blade slicing through the pants as you forget how to breath. His figure deforms, a dark blue sea leaking out of the dead fish eyes and you see great leviathans lurking underneath the surface. Childe is the ocean, in a sense that he contains horrors beyond the human imagination. He is the great sleeping kraken that will swallow the world and you are his first victim.

His hand takes something out of the container and you expect it to burn and to hurt you, but instead there’s a muffled soothing feeling that comes, an unintentional “ah” coming out of your mouth. He doesn’t force himself and patches you up on the contrary.

You come back to yourself little by little, when he almost finishes with ministrations, leg and wrist looking like two casts. It feels bizarre to come back to your body halfway, to see Ajax kneeling in front of you, head hung low and it’s even weirder to hear his voice, hurt and utterly defeated: “So that’s what you think of me”.

He helps you come back to your room, as you still feel dazed. You pinch yourself a couple of times, still unable to believe that any of these happenings are real, they are.

A turning point, you conclude, there’s no way anything will stay the same after this.

You both dread and anticipate the changes.

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

hii lu <3 you said comfort requests are always open so I thought I’d request something since I really love your writing :)

how about dazai and akutagawa comforting or helping an s/o who’s having trouble with basic tasks (showering, eating, getting up, falling asleep) due to possible depression? like they’re drained and have no motivation to do anything anymore.

feel free to ignore this if you’d like! and as always, take care of yourself ily 💕

Aight, so because you said “possible”, I’m gonna go with undiagnosed depression. Sorry for the mix of HC and fic with this, but I figured that was the easiest way to do this request?

Comfort for (possible) depression | Dazai, Akutagawa x reader

Warnings: talks of depression references to self-harm

Dazai-

He notices right away. There is nothing he pays attention to more than you. After all, that’s what partners are for right? He sees you as his one and only, and that means he cares for your mental well-being.

He does however invade privacy, but he has his reasons. For one, he understands the pain. At first, you may notice how you're left with one razor and it’s a safety razor. That’s all you have to shave. Asking Dazai about it goes nowhere because he’s an excellent liar, so he convinces you he knows nothing. Slowly, you’ll notice medication start to be organized and the extras hidden in the back. He denies any knowledge, even if it makes you skeptical.

He knows, and damn does it hurt him to see you slowly start to stop caring. The lack of self-hygiene, the way he had to ask you when your last shower was. He misses your fun-filled nights, he really does. Yet here he is stuck. He doesn't want to be too clingy, too pushy, or overprotective, because losing you would be the end of him.

But god, does he know what you're going through, yet you don’t talk about it. You just keep struggling. He watches every day as more simple tasks become difficult and meaningless. Brushing your hair, keeping your room tidy, making the bed, and even just walking away from the sofa. 

When it gets really bad, like bad enough that you just won’t get out of bed, when you stop eating unless you really feel the need to. He steps in more than he thought he should. He was waiting, waiting for you to come to him. Yeah, it stung that you didn’t talk about it, but he also understood the pressure of putting something like this on another's shoulders.

He won’t leave till you tell him. Even if it’s “I haven't been feeling upbeat lately.” “I don't know, I'm just sad.” If anything like that comes from your mouth, he’ll nod and try to press for more.

Then he starts taking care of you. His first part is getting you back to three meals a day.

The next deal is fixing the sleep schedule, what he suspects as undiagnosed depression, destroyed.

When you get some normality back, he will, even if you don’t want it, pick you up and drag you around the house until you start doing it yourself.

Don’t worry, take your time, cause Lord does he understand how hard it is some days to get out of bed.

He checks though, that’s the one thing you don’t get a say in. His hands will touch your skin, and he knows how he used to get away with it. Small cuts on the legs or in places nobody would normally look. He looks there just to make sure you aren't doing what he did to himself.

He loves you, he won’t let you forget that because he smothers you with morning kisses, sloppy and affectionate. And at night, he covers your hands and cheeks in tired goodnight pecks.

Every meal, whether it's frozen or ordered, is given to you with affection.

He's patient, he’s willing to wait until you start doing daily chores on your own. Small things like bathing without being asked. He’ll smile when he sees how your eye bags start to get lighter, and your complexion gets closer to being how it was.

One day he hopes whatever put you in such a bad place will come out, and he’ll be the one holding you in his arms and whispering how everything is alright.

Akutagawa-

It takes a while for him to notice. He mostly notices when you stop doing work.

Then he’ll take into account how tired and worn out you are.

He’s not affectionate, and it’s something you knew about him, so seeing him pamper you with questions is always striking.

When you're alone, he can be more touchy and open, but he’s always so cold. Seeing him ask so many questions that you can’t keep up with may not be the best for you, but it shows you he cares.

When he does slow down, he only goes over the most important questions. He asks if you’re feeling well. Ask if you're stressed, or need a break.

Being the way he is, depression isn’t something he auto recognizes, so while he stands there every morning watching you do less and less, he researches it. 

When he finds you may be suffering from something that couldn’t be seen on the outside without careful observation, he starts making it very clear how much he loves you. 

He doesn't understand it enough to sympathize completely, but he understands you're not happy. 

Being the kind of person he is, he automatically thinks it was somebody who did this. He may be right, but he stays silent for your sake.

He’s there for you to rant to. If you ever break down, he’s ready for you. You’ve seen him get worked up once, maybe twice, and you never left him, so he’d be returning the gesture.

He also insists you attend therapy and get diagnosed. He does not care if you don’t want to, because very clearly you need to talk to somebody, and he heard therapy actually helps people cope. He’d rather you not hurt yourself or use… work’s mafia activities to cope

Tag list: (if you wish to be added, shoot me an ask or comment on a post) @jadegreenimmortality

[a-pretty-nerd]

Self Indulgent Shigaraki Nonsense Part...6??

Tomura Shigaraki x Pregananant reader series

A/N: Dude I'm not even close to being done, I really love writing this series. It's a whole lot of fun to see Shigaraki have a normal domestic life with the reader. Like damn. I'm thinking of writing a one-shot where the reader doesn't keep the pregnancy and its reader and Shigaraki going through the motions of that in their relationship because I'd like some more diverse fanfic out there. Let me know what you think!

Warnings: Descriptions of childbirth. If you want you can honestly skip this part.

Your contractions started early in the morning. Around 2am you felt the familiar cramp in your stomach that pulsed. At first, you thought it was another false alarm. You had been having a lot lately, but they just kept coming. They weren't long, and they weren't super painful yet either. They just made you tense and pause for breath. You shuffled out of the bathroom and looked over to the sleeping form in your bed.

There the father slept peacefully. You gazed upon his gentle features tucked underneath layers of scaring. You had wondered if the baby would take after him. If they would have that cute little beauty mark on his chin. You suddenly realized You'd be finding out soon enough. You laid back down beside him and closed your eyes in an attempt to get a few more hours of sleep before you had to prepare.

Mostly everything had been prepared beforehand. Your Midwife, a kind woman by the name of Mae would be on call at all times. Once contractions started getting regular, you were to call her. Apparently, Mae was well known amongst villain and crime families. When Tomura first brought her, you were surprised there was even such a thing as a Villian Midwife. But the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. Underground villains and criminals needed their own help. Accountants, lawyers, employees, etc. With Villians becoming more and more popular, it was no surprise that you weren't the only villain family.

Mae was a professional, the best at her craft. She'd delivered hundreds of babies without issue and you would be her next case. She practically took over the house with everything she did. Helping to put together a nursery and everything you could have ever needed. You decided on natural water birth. Something that made Shigaraki unreasonably nervous. If anything went wrong, he was prepared to call every villain doctor he knew of. Hell, he'd send for you to be airlifted to the nearest hospital if necessary.

The pain woke you up again. The intense ache coursing through your body. You let out a strained breath as you sat up in bed. Your partner jumping to life with a jolt. You chuckled through the pain when you saw his wide-eyed expression.

"You okay?" He asked, his wide eyes filled with concern. You've never seen him so visibly worried before. So doting. You continued to laugh as the pain passed.

"Yeah it's just, the contractions, they're getting worse." You took deep breaths as you sat up in bed. Resting your head against a tower of pillows. Tomura sat up to get a better look at you.

"Should I call Mae?"

"Um...no I don't think that's necessary yet."

"Have they been regular?"

"Well, every ten or so minutes."

"I'm calling Mae." He turned away to get up and reach for his phone before you stopped him.

"No! Not yet. I can wait. I don't wanna bother her." His expression turned dark.

"I'm calling Mae." He ignored you, leaving the room to call the midwife. You huffed in frustration. Really, you felt fine. It was like a bad period cramp. There was no need to panic. "She'll be here in thirty minutes. I'm preparing the tub."

"No, Tomura wait, please. That's not necessary. I'm not even remotely close yet. Just hold on a few more hours." Tomura looked away and back down the hallway. He shifted from side to side before entering the room again and sitting on the edge of the bed beside you. His eyes glued to your thighs. He reached out a gloved hand and placed it on your knee, running his hand up and down your thigh.

"Don't try to tough this out." He told you.

"I won't." His eyes shot up to give you a knowing look.

"You need to tell me if anything goes wrong. If anything feels even the slightest bit off."

"I will. I promise." You reassured him. Bringing your hand to grasp his. He pulled his eyes away to look down at your hand and squeeze back.

"This is really what you want? It's not too late, Mae could bring it to be adopted. We could go home." Tears filled your eyes. No. You've come so far, done so much to prepare. You're not giving them up now. You shook your head.

"No. I can't do that. I've come too far for that now. That isn't my home anymore." You tore your hand from his to cup his cheek. When you looked back up, you could see tears forming in his ruby-red eyes. He looked scared. His bottom lip starting to quiver. "You are." You told him. He let out a defeated sigh and rested his head against your belly.

"You better not hurt her. You hear me? You better be good to her." He whispered. Your tears finally fell down your warm cheeks. You quickly wiped them away. You loving ran your fingers through his hair, petting his head. The sweet moment only to be interrupted by the sharp pain of another contraction.

"Fuck!" You cursed as your hand tightly grasped his shoulder. His attention snapped up to you, tears running down his face as he watched. Soon the pain passed as you took deep breaths. "Do you think, you could time my contractions for me?" You asked as it eased.

And so the hours upon hours of labor began. At first, Mae recommended you stand and move around to lessen the intensity of your pain. So now Tomura watched you shuffle around the house as you groaned and cursed. He timed every contraction, put the blow-up pool together, and set up towels by it, made you raspberry leaf tea because he read somewhere that was helpful.

He counted the seconds until Mae arrived. When the doorbell rang he promptly stood from his seat on the couch and quickly went to open the door. There stood the short old woman with a large smile plastered across her face. Her six arms holding a plethora of bags and boxes of necessities and pleasantries. She left one hand free just to greet him with a wave. He looked behind to watch the car with his own men drive away, and then again around the yard.

"Don't worry. There's no one but me, honey." Mae reassured as she pushed past him and into the house. You watched her waddle in as a contraction began to fade. Her attention leaving Tomura far behind and devoting it entirely to you. You watched Tomura grunt before looking back out the door to check one more time before closing and locking it. "I mean really, think about it. What woman in her right mind would use this time of all times to call the heroes on you. How cruel would I be!" She chuckled as she set her things down.

"You'd be a fool not to. A time like this would be perfect. We're alone and vulnerable." He growled behind her.

"And end my career just like that? No sir! I've worked too hard to get where I am just to let you dust me! Now let's see, you said on the phone contractions were regular?"

"Oh, well, not really. They're not that bad. Maybe every fifteen, ten minutes, give or take. Right?" You looked up at Tomura as he starred down with a cold expression.

"Her pain varies, but the timing is growing consistent." He corrected. You huffed in annoyance.

"Alright well let me just check the baby's heartbeat before we do anything else, okay? The last visit everything was fine, but we can't be too careful now can we, Dad?" She addressed him. A cold metal stethoscope glided across your skin as she silently listened. "Good, strong heartbeat. Everything looks good right now. Let's keep you active for now and monitoring those contractions, okay? Dad? How are we doing on preparations?" She turned back to look up at Tomura with an unbothered stare. He glared down at her.

"I've prepared the pool and towels. I'll add the warm water when we're getting closer."

"Oh good. That's more than most Dads do. You got a planner here don't ya?" She turned to you and smiled.

"Heh. He's a doomsday prepper." You joked. Tomura did not find this amusing, but Mae gave a kind giggle.

"Well, at least he's smart, huh?" She spoke as she shuffled away and back to her cluster of items. You looked up at Tomura and watched his expression soften as his eyes met yours. You gave him a kind smile.

"Something like that." His eyes narrowed on you for a moment, only to relax again when you chuckled at him.

Contractions came and went. Getting stronger and stronger by the hour. Now they were getting closer and closer. They started at 2am, it was now 9 at night. Tomura helped you undress to get you into the warm water of the pool he placed in the living room. Mae moving furniture aside and setting up her tools and everything as you stepped into the warmth of the bath. It allowed your tense muscles to relax, forcing a moan of relief from your lungs. Tomura knelt down behind you, his gloved hands never too far behind.

He watched you closely, all of his attention focused entirely on you. His right hand reaching out to rub soothing circles across your bare back. You closed your eyes shut as you groaned, another contraction grabbing ahold of you.

"That's it, good job. Don't forget your breathing, focus on your breathing. Dad, don't forget to do the breathing too." His eyes flashed up at Mae before going back to you.

"C'mon Y/N, breath with me." He instructed, his hand coming around to lay flat against your chest as you laid back against the pool. He felt your chest rise and fall with each deep breath. "Good. Again." He continued firmly. Another contraction struck, sending a jolt of pain throughout your entire body. You coiled back in pain, your face scrunching into a painful grimace.

"Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!"

"Okay! Okay! Let's check you again see how far you're along okay!? Just breath."

"Just breath." He repeated.

"I'm breathing! I'm breathing!" You shouted back in frustration.

"Okay we're getting close you guys, we might be ready to push here in a few minutes." You panted as the pain subsided again. Tomura's attention came back down on Mae.

The birth itself felt like a pain-fueled blur. An intoxicatingly painful bender of sounds and colors. You couldn't focus or think straight, the pain rattling your head in your own skull. He watched you bark and huff and cry out. Something he knew very well. For a moment it took him back to the long and painful Dr's visits. The pain so unimaginable he grows hot with rage at the idea you might be feeling even an ounce of pain at all. Pain he caused.

You swung your head back to plant it firmly on his shoulder, your hair wet with sweat and water. He holds your hand tight, willingly letting you crush it with your own strength. It's nothing to him. He presses his lips into your temple. Wishing with all his might he could go back in time and change things. You're panting, you're body is growing weak, your hand is losing its grasp. Your shoulders are relaxing. No. No. This isn't right. You're not supposed to be this weak now!

"Almost!" Mae's voice shouts with gusto. He rests his head against yours before he lets out a weak and exhausted sigh. His voice rattles in a sad and begging tone.

"C'mon Y/N. You're so close." He says softly. Your body coils back as he feels your muscles spring to life once again. Your lungs filling with air before you let out a shrill, horrific battle cry. Only for it to abruptly be replaced by another. Your body drops limp in his arms once more as he feels you panting. Mae gives a triumphant cheer and proceeds to tell you how well you've done. How it's all over.

"Hello, little one!" The old lady chimes brightly. Tomura keeps his eyes shut tight as he presses his head against yours. He hears their loud, harsh cry. He knows it's over. He knows there is no going back. Once he opens his eyes and looks at them, at that little monstrosity, it'll be all over. Maybe you'll see the truth when you see it. Maybe you'll finally understand and come home with him once and for all.

"Both of you, open your eyes! Look at him!" Mae orders. The harsh and intense pain subsided, left with a dull ache, renders you exhausted. You hardly feel you have the strength to open your eyes, much less move. You pull your head up, feeling the weight of it on top of your neck. Heavy and pounding. You pull your eyelids apart to look down, your vision blurry at first. The harsh light blinding you for a moment before the shapes you see sharpen and become reality.

"Tomura, look." You whisper. His hand squeezes yours, he's gently shaking. You turn to watch him slowly open his eyes, and turn his head. In Mae's arms, a rather small and wrinkly infant cries. It's nearly blue skin, changing as it screams. Its face quickly becoming red with expression. It's no monster. It's weak and helpless and unaware. It's so small, it's half the height of his forearm. Its little hands, balled into fists, swat at the air as its legs coil back to its torso.

"Say hello!" Mae jokes. With a weak smile and laugh you oblige.

"Hello!" You coo. Tomura relaxes as you look back at him with a kind and elated smile. His gaze never leaves the child as Mae prepares him to be placed on your bare chest. Its crying soon subsides as it curls up under your chin. It's crying being replaced with little huff and sniffles from you. He leans back and away to watch the two of you.

He's in shock it would seem. As he sits back to watch you, he feels a tightness in his chest. He feels a wave of somber relief wash over him. His thoughts were gone only replaced my emotions.

"Dad?" Mae calls to him. "Dad?" She calls again. The third time he turns his head to look at her with a wide-eyed expression. She chuckled at him. "Would you like to cut the cord?" She offers, bringing him closer and instructing him how. He does so, quickly turning his attention back to the two of you. You look so peaceful. So happy. His gaze trails down to his child.

He watches his balled little fists press themselves against your chest, its expression turning relaxed and calm. Its little head covered in a rich black mess of hair. What color are its eyes? He wonders.

You turn your head to look up at him with that sweet adoring smile. His heart raced in his chest. He is overwhelmed and yet at this moment, nothing is happening. Time has slowed and has become irrelevant to him. The way you look at him. He feels like he's done something right. Like he's being praised for a job well done. He feels wrong about it. He should be making you feel that way. So, he tries.

"A boy?" His voice is hoarse and shaking. You nod your head. "A boy."

"A healthy one at that! Those lungs!" Mae jokes again as her arms go about working to clean and manage the space. You gently run the pads of your fingers against his small little back. His skin is so soft and smooth.

"Give me your hand." You requested.

"What?" He spat in shock.

"Give me your hand." You repeat firmly, your fingers gently spelling out the word: Mom, on his little back. Tomura reaches out a gloved hand. You reached out and removed the glove, taking his middle finger and gently directing it to the baby's back. "Gently." You tell him. Pressing the pad of his finger to his son's soft back. With this, you gently spell: Dad, repeatedly. Until he understands and continues to spell it himself along the baby's back. Very careful, and delicate. Tomura rests his head on your shoulder as he continues, slowly drawing the word. Allowing for a safe and intimate moment between the three of you.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Sorrow

Yandere Siren/Fae!Hawks x Reader

Warnings: Yandere content, survivalism, pain, slight blood, suggestive adult content

A/N: This is one of the fics I was gonna post in October, but didn’t finish it on time, but I guess that means I can be a spooky dude all year round.

Tears may be cheap, but you keep them sacred.

Your captor has taken almost everything away from you: your body, your mind, your freedom, but you will not be giving him your sorrow. That will stay buried, locked away inside your chest, where the key lies somewhere he will never get to. You know he wants it. He’d told you as much.

“I’ve committed all of your expressions to memory,” he’d said one night after you nearly bit his tongue off. He’d used his song to ease you into a half-lucid state, where he kept you in his lap, wrapped tightly in his arms, shrouded in his wings. “The scorch in your hateful eyes when you wish you could fight me. The tremble in your delicious pout when you wish you could resist me. The furrow in those beautiful brows when I have you forfeited to the pleasure I give you after a battle you wish you could have won.”

Air-light fingers brushed down your cheek. He’d grabbed you by the chin, and tilted your head so that your gaze was locked in with his.

“Do I really gotta sing every time I want you to surrender, little dove?”

His fingers tip-toed down your chest, past your opened blouse. His thumb encircled your nipple until it puckered for him. He’d given it a teasing pinch. You’d stifled a moan lodged in your throat. He’d noticed.

“Aren’t you sorry for hurting me?”

You remember how good it felt to have him kneading at your chest. How his breath was nothing short of intoxicating. How you wanted nothing more than to lean into him—to kiss him—to put your hands all over him. You also remember that the only reason you wanted any of that was due to his song—his sweet siren lullaby.

“Tell me you’re sorry, angel,” he’d said, cupping your face with his free hand. His thumb slid across your cheek, under your eye. You’d known he wanted to see you cry so badly. You would not.

You’d shaken your head, and took note of the twitch in his feathered eyebrows.

His hands had moved through your hair then, lightly pulling through your roots. That was when he’d parted his lips, and began to sing.

Kiego has three songs committed to memory: one to lull you to sleep, one to make you more suggestable in the bedroom, and one to beckon you to him. The song he’d sang for you that night was the suggestable one—the mesmeric tune that made you turn around so that your knees were on either side of his thighs, the one that made you melt into his embrace, the one that made you his.

You’ve always wondered why? Why you? Out of anybody in the world, the siren had grown to have an obsessive infatuation with you. At times, you have thought that if it hadn’t been you, it would be another unfortunate soul in your place—somebody else that might not be able to withstand him, or somebody else who would actively enjoy his company. But during the times he sings for you, you don’t think. You don’t have to.

When he sang to you that night, all you could think about was giving him everything he wanted; however, the stubborn sore in your heart still clung on to the idea that he would not have you in tears.

“Say you’re sorry,” he’d commanded again between slow, sensuous kisses.

And you’d responded with: “never.”

Since then, you’ve been good. You’ve been obedient. You’ve given him everything except your tears. If you don’t stick to your ideals, then you really do have nothing.

However, when one only has so little to lose, and so much more to gain, one becomes reckless. First, your recklessness comes in mere thoughts—creeping visions of harming your winged abuser, which proves as dangerous, seeing as he’s stronger than you, faster than you, and has that pesky siren song. Then, you’ve begun thinking about running. The closer, more agreeable you become, the more he lets his guard down. Unbeknownst to him, you’ve begun learning his schedule: when he eats, when he hunts, when he sleeps, and what wakes him.

Comfort and praise seems to be the ticket to getting him to trust you more. Each night, you stroke his wings, you kiss his neck, you tell him his voice is gorgeous, fathomless, and irresistible. He thinks he has you under his spell—maybe he does, a little bit—but you’re not completely lost to him. You know that you have to leave. You know that you will leave. You’ve just got to figure out when.

It happens early in the morning.

The night before, he’d brought home spirits for you and him to drink. The two of you toasted to each other, danced together, and drank together. But he hadn’t seen that most of what had been in your glass went discarded in one of the potted plants full of herbs and berries he has allowed you to tend to. He hadn’t seen when you spiked his glass with a concoction you’d been working on for weeks with the herbs and berries he’d allowed you to tend to. He hadn’t noticed when his eyes grew drowsy, and he fell into bed with you in tow, you eased away from him, waiting for his breathing to slow.

The sun’s not up yet, but you know you have to leave. When you’re ready, you tie your boots, stock some food and water, and despite everything he’s put you through, you kiss him. Once. A sort of farewell, thanks for the memories, I won’t be missing you, you piece of chicken shit.

The departure is soundless—something you’re not used to due to Kiego’s constant singing, crooning, and happy little chirps. His guard had been down the night before, so there aren't as many safety precautions to heed as you silently maneuver your way to escape his loft.

When you’re out, you’re out. Free. Running. The most you can do to not shriek with glee and alert him of your escape is to keep your goal in mind: Find civilization. Find help. Hide. Keep running. Whatever you need to do to keep your safe stead.

At least, that’s always been the plan. You hadn’t accounted for the landscape. In fact, you’ve only ever seen a fraction of the surrounding parameters of his loft. You don’t know about the drop-off point by the outer edge of the woods. The whispering oranges of dawn have only just cracked through the trees, so you don’t see the danger when you slip on some foliage and are sent spiraling. Falling, rolling, screaming, until you catch yourself on a tree. Rather, your body wraps around a tree, which nearly knocks the wind out of you.

Groaning, you lay there for a while and breathe. The air filling up your lungs is frigid. Deadly. A part of you wants to fall asleep, find warmth in your dreams. A part of you knows that if you do that, you might catch hypothermia and die.

So you stand.

The world is dizzying. Trees tilt, while shrubs and rocks spin around you. Your first few steps are a sideways hustle. You’re like a toddler first learning to walk. There’s a sharp pain in your leg, and it takes everything out of you not to look down. If you think you’re seriously injured, you’ll give up. You hadn’t packed anything for first aid, and even if you had, you’ve lost your water and food during the fall.

You’re not sure which way to walk for a few minutes. You’re dawdling, finding your footing. The destination should be away from the drop-off, so you slowly make your way down the hill, sitting and scooting when you’re unsure if you’ll fall again.

It’s only when you find solid ground again that you hear him. His song. Some new hypnotic tune, miles away, reverberating throughout the forest. It’s nothing short of haunting and you don’t spare another second to listen. He’s awake. He knows you’re gone.

The next mile is clumsier than before. Though you’re sure not to fall, your balance is off, and your body slams into a dozen trees. Sometimes it’s because you can’t help it, while you often just need one to hold you up so you can breathe. Your palms cover your ears the entire time, and even still, his song gets louder. Invasive. He’s growing nearer. If you don’t hide, he will find you.

By nothing short of a miracle, you find a large tree where the trunk is hollowed out. You crawl in, allowing your hands to touch the ground, away from your ears for only a moment, but a moment is all the song needs.

Suddenly, you’re struck with an aching. It’s anguish. Mourning. Sorrowful remembrance. Your chest constricts with a dire need to release, but you don’t go so far to ponder exactly what it is trying to crawl its way up your esophagus. You hold back your emotions with what’s left of your strength, while you try to keep your breathing steady.

Through the cracks in the trunk, you see a flash of brilliant crimson. The ground thuds with his landing. It’s silent for a moment, until his song starts up again. You keep your palms clamped over your ears while you bury your head between your knees. You’ll stay like that for however long is needed. You will not allow yourself to be seduced or lulled or beckoned. You will not be found.

There’s no telling how much time has passed. Seconds crawl to minutes, and minutes crawl to excruciating tension. You’re not aware of the end of his song until you use your hand to wipe at your leg. It’s sticky, probably from blood, but you won’t think about it until you’re safe.

It has to have been awhile since he’s scoured the area. You army crawl out of the tree, chest scraping away at the frosty, dirt floor. The sun is barely peeking up through the trees, and you allow its warmth to touch your mud-caked skin.

In the distance, there’s smoke. With a bit of walking, you see a fire pit, and someone in a black, wool cloak sitting by it.

Picking up your pace, you call out to him, but your voice cracks to only a squeak. Still, the hooded man looks up at you. You hope he can see that you’re hurt, recognize that you’re in need of first aid. He can shelter you, take you back to civilization, and save you.

But while you half-hazardly bound towards him, you’re pushed to the side. Rather, you’re zooming through the air, unable to utter a scream, until your back slams into a tree.

Despite the pain, the loss of energy, you writhe and howl under Keigo’s harsh scrutiny. His wings spread out, taking a predatory stance, while desperate amber eyes search your body. Though his face doesn’t show a hint of malice, you know the trouble you’re in. His lips part, and an unfamiliar melody begins.

“No!!!!!” Your hands fly up to your ears, but he catches them in a vice grip, pinning them back against the giant tree’s trunk. He begins to sing and you know you’ve lost.

Loss. That’s what this is—his song. Unbridled, unrelenting grief. The tune sweeps across your feet, slowly creeping up your body. It hugs your waist as it wraps around you, squeezing as it coils. You choke as the substantial heartache clogs your throat with the emotions you’ve been repressing for months.

Tears burn your lower lashes and your vision blurs. You blink, and a hot stream runs down your cheek. Though Keigo continues to sing, you see a subtle tilt to his mouth. While your body slackens, too tired to fight him off any longer, he cups your face and pulls you into him before you can crumple. He pets your beat up, bruised back, and coos.

“Sneaky little bird.” There are two octaves in Keigo’s voice as he speaks to you, as if two people were speaking at once. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

A part of his statement is true. You can feel it. His songs reflect his emotions and desires, and he wouldn’t be able to create this relentless melody unless he, too, felt the way it made you feel. But you also hear the triumph on his tenor. He has obtained what he’s always wanted: the key to that sacred place in your heart you wouldn’t allow him to venture to. There’s no saying that he doesn’t now own you completely.

“My sweet angel, what am I going to do with you?” As he speaks, you cling to him, knitting your nails into his shirt.

“I’m s-sorry.” It’s a faint croak, but it’s all you have to offer him. It’s all you can do to stop more renegade tears from staining his shirt. His chest shakes as he chuckles.

A twig snaps in the near distance. Keigo sharply turns towards the noise, and wraps an arm around your waist, one of his wings shrouding you slightly. Through his puffed out feathers, you see the man from the fire pit standing near a tree. He eyes the both of you with intrigue, but not concern. You cast him a pleading look, and you know he sees you, but all he does is sigh.

There’s a low, sort of echoing growl coming from deep within your captor’s chest. It’s menacingly territorial, but the cloaked man doesn’t react. Instead, he steps back and into the tree. Not like he stepped into the tree, rather, at one point he was a man, and now he is the tree. Two separate objects becoming one.

Keigo lets out an annoyed grunt, and in one swift movement, hoists you into his arms, carrying you in bridal style. He looks down at your leg, which you can now see has a giant scarlet puddled gash in it.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says while his wings begin to flap. The gusts blow foliage around you as you lift off the ground, and Keigo offers you a sort of sweet, conjugal smile. “After that, we can discuss your...punishment.”

A sob tears out from your throat. Keigo tuts, cradling you closer to his chest.

“You don’t have to worry, little dove. Though, I do promise to be gentle, don’t expect me to act like a gentleman. You’ve put us through the ringer today, and once you’re healed and healthy, we’ll work on all the ways you’ll be apologizing. Until then, let’s go home.”

Home. The place where Keigo will have you locked away in his birdcage of a loft. The place where you give him your body, your mind, your freedom, and now, even your sorrow.

While the two of you take flight, you think to cry some more--to let it all out of your system before you have your captor’s undivided attention. But as he flies, he hums a tune, and soon your eyelids fall, and you slacken in his embrace.

[astarryon]

Another Lifetime: Shouldn’t Have Gotten Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Description of war and battle injuries, mentions of blood, gunshots, language, etc.

Summary: Bucky doesn’t like talking about her, but Dr. Raynor isn’t an easy person to argue with. And now that it’s summer –– now that he’s living through the months they’d shared together all over again, only without her by his side –– fighting the memories becomes all the more difficult.

A/N: Listen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into me but ever since tfatws started I have been INSPIRED! Hoping to update this fic sem regularly, but we’ll see where the new school term takes us. As always, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes has never been overly fond of the summer.

One aspect was the fact that he could remember what it was like to be a miserable kid living in a cramped Brooklyn apartment with no air conditioning and three baby sisters who never stopped whining about the heat. Of all the jumbled, foggy memories bouncing around the confines of his skull, that one is clearer than most. And though he still finds it difficult to picture the faces of his little sisters –– can’t hardly remember arcs of their noses, much less the colors of each of their eyes –– a nostalgic, brotherly feeling washes over him all the same.

There’s also the little detail that he’d received his draft notice in the summer months. That Bucky remembers perfectly, one of the few memories strong enough to remain unmuddied by all those years of shitbag scientists rooting around his head and picking his brain apart. The heat that year had been sweltering, and once his mother found him in her kitchen with that damned letter clutched between his fingers, he felt it burn right through the strings of his heart. 

The first week of July delivered the news. The last saw him shipping out to bootcamp. 

He guessed he didn’t mind the sunshine. That part had always been nice, and it helped to calm him on occasion these days, to remember that the golden rays licking comforting heat up his skin were the same ones which had shone down on him back in the 40s, before and during the war.

Before Hydra had condemned him to seventy long years of dark and cold.

To that end, logic said the season he really should hate was winter, but he’d never felt any ill will toward the colder months, and found now, in the present, that he’d only grown fonder of them. When the rain came down from the sky in sheets, or when snow fell so thick it resembled white, puffy clouds blanketing the ground, he took walks. Partly because no other soul would be idiotic enough to trudge through a borderline natural disaster at three in the morning, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with prying eyes and conspicuously pointing fingers, and partly because experiencing said natural disasters in solitude did wonders for the soul.

Steve thought it was strange. Hated that Bucky did it, kept insisting that he at least take a goddamn jacket, there isn’t any actual proof he can’t get pneumonia. But Bucky always shook his head and declined, rolling his eyes and muttering beneath his breath about how apparently the tables have fucking turned.

But, no. The winter, the rain, the cold –– none of that could ever draw half as much ire from him as did the gentle beginnings of June, the scorching heat of July, the fading light of August. Because those weren’t the things which served as reminders from before.

Reminders of her.

“James. Did you hear me?”

Bucky blinks hard, freeing his gaze from the wall calendar tacked up and viewable just over his doctor’s shoulder. Glancing down, he sees the familiar green of the velvet armchair –– one of three options for patients to choose from in her office, and Bucky’s personal favorite on account of the way its textures did something to sooth him as he gripped its arm anxiously with his flesh hand –– and the worn, fraying knees of his black jeans against it. He doesn’t bother meeting his therapist’s gaze. He already knows which of her expressions he’ll find her leveling at him, if he does.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, sucking his teeth. He hopes his voice isn’t quite as strained as it sounds –– though, judging by the way Dr. Raynor clucks her tongue as her fingers twitch toward her pen, it definitely is. “Guess I’m a little scattered today.”

The sardonic hum Raynor gives in response as she knowingly tilts her head nearly makes him open his mouth to finish the silent argument she’d started, but Bucky knows better than that. The moment he starts up, she’ll feign innocence and inquire as to why he feels the need to defend himself when no verbal accusation has been made. God damn, it would be just his luck to end up with the one government assigned therapist actually capable at her job.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Dr. Raynor offers. “And the two days before, if memory serves me right.”

Bucky shakes his head and tsks, tapping a metal finger against his temple. “Not a funny joke, doc. Remember the audience you’re dealing with here.”

“‘Deflecting.’”

The word drops from Raynor’s mouth with a simpleness that puzzles him.

“‘Scuse me?” he prompts when she only goes on to stare at him owlishly.

“Oh, that’s what I’d be writing in my notebook,” she explains simply, folding her hands together in her lap and leaning back in her chair. “If we were using it right now, that is.”

Again, Bucky rolls his eyes, and has to make an active attempt not to cross his arms like a forlorn child. The threat in her words is easily recognizable, not that she’d really bothered trying to conceal it. She knows that damn notebook irritates him more than any other aspect of their current arrangement, and he knows she’s not bluffing. If he doesn’t start talking, Raynor starts writing –– and if Raynor starts writing, he gets tailed by government watchdogs to ensure there are no imminent incidents lurking in the near future.

He sighs dejectedly and meets her gaze. “What was it you asked me?”

“What it is about the month of June that makes you so uncomfortable.”

Bucky blinks, red alarm bells shrieking in his head. Fuck, he can’t help but think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Caught red handed.

“June’s fine,” he tries, but even to his own ears the assurance sounds weak. To think, he’d once been the most prolific tool of espionage around –– now he can hardly deliver a lie with a straight face. “Don’t have any feelings toward it one way or the other.”

“Strike two,” Raynor quips, glancing one again toward her pen.

Fuck!

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Bucky sits a little straighter in his seat, searching for any semblance of comfort to be found while already knowing he was bound to come up short. Damn it all. She wasn’t going to let him out of this one.

“Alright, hold your horses,” he sighs, waving a halting hand. Raynor’s expression doesn’t shift. She simply continues peering at him with her dark eyes, waiting patiently for his next few words to come. “Why do you assume I’ve got a problem with June?”

“Because you didn’t start staring at that calendar until it switched over from May,” Raynor supplies. “Like I mentioned, today isn’t the only day you’ve been scattered. Seems like something we should consider talking about.”

“No,” Bucky answers quickly. Too quickly. Shit. If she thought he’d been deflecting before, he didn’t even want to know the words running through her mind in regards to his behavior now. “I mean–– well, no. I don’t think it’s that important.”

Raynor arches a brow. “Funny,” she tells him, “the way your eyes keep drifting back to the word ‘June’ tells me otherwise.”

He sighs, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Caught between a rock and an even bigger, weightier rock. The universe really wasn’t one to take his side often.

Bucky knows there really isn’t any choice here. Either he does what Raynor asks and elaborates on his suspicious behavior, or he risks facing the repercussions of those notes she’ll be jotting down in her notebook. Which of the two evils is more definitively the lesser, he can’t rightly say, but he knows which of the consequences he’d prefer to suffer through. And they’re certainly not the ones which see him robbed of the ability to walk freely down the street without a detail of armed babysitters.

So he figures that, maybe for once, being honest can’t be the worst decision to make.

“A few years ago, back before the blip,” Bucky tries, “I spent a summer in Wakanda.”

“Housed by the royal family,” Raynor nods, tone soft. “We’ve spoken about that before. You said you found it peaceful there. That you liked it.”

He did, and still does. On the nights when his mind isn’t quiet enough to let him find sleep but his heart feels light enough to forego the slideshow of horrors he’d been made to suffer throughout the years, Bucky’s thoughts often return to the bliss which life in Wakanda had offered him. He’d remember the farm he kept there, the little children who would come to sing and play and dance in trees to keep him company in the afternoons. He’d remember Princess Shuri –– Just Shuri, James, come now –– and the kindness she’d displayed in deactivating the deeper, most concerning parts of his programming. The day she’d told him it was done, turned off, that he’d never be forced to revert back to the Soldier against his will again, he’d rushed her and caught her up in a bearhug so relieved and forceful that her Dora Milaje detail had actually pointed their spears at him. He’d remember the tranquility of it all, the simpleness.

The peace.

There’s no hope of him being able to return to that place any time soon, much as he’d like to, but the memories sit resolutely concrete in his mind. The first of a new set which he’d never have to worry about being stolen away from him by the currents of an electric shock.

“It’s a nice place,” Bucky affirms, sighing wistfully at the thoughts swirling up in his head. “I bring it up because back then, that summer… I started remembering a few things. From before.”

Raynor keeps her face smooth and composed, but Bucky notices the twitch in her cheek that says she’s got a question. “When you say before,” she asks, voice gentle, “do you mean your time as the Winter Soldier?”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. Ironically, things would be easier, were that the case. He might not be so miserable in the present, seeing the month of June start all over again. The melancholy might not be so strong. “No, not then. I mean from before. From the 40s, during the war. I don’t know if it was Wakanda’s heat that did it, or that my programming was officially deactivated. But one night I went to sleep in my hut like normal, and then the next morning I woke up, and… and I remembered.”

Raynor clasps her hand together in her lap, the pen, the notebook, the hesitation all forgotten. Bucky sees it in her expression, the shock at the fact that he’s speaking, that she’s actually making progress in getting him to talk about things so painful he often wonders if they aren’t better left in the past. He’s still trying to figure that one out. Miserable as he’s been for the first four days of June, he figures nothing good or relieving or positive can come from retelling this particular tale. It’s all behind him now, and there isn’t anything to be done to change the ending in any significant way.

But… but he figures he owes it to her. As painful as the memories are, they can’t be anything in comparison to what she must have gone through in the aftermath of it all.

Slowly, Raynor crosses one ankle over the other. “What was it that you remembered, James?”

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling as deep a breath as he can pull. He lets it loose after counting to six, then opens his eyes again and crosses his arms over his chest. “It started back in June of 1944. I got shot.”

––

June 1st, 1944

It was damn lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

A funny thought, really. One which brings a sarcastic, bitter smile to your lips as you bend your neck to get a closer look at your handiwork. Wasn’t it just two nights ago that you’d been laying in your cot, staring up at the moon through the flap of your tent and counting all the reasons it wasn't fair that the bliss of unconsciousness evaded you? Wasn’t it three that you’d considered sneaking into the med tent and downing a few of the sleeping pills meant for the soldiers? You hadn’t, of course –– god only knew the sort of trouble you’d get in if it came to pass that you were caught –– but the consideration had been there all the same.

“Fuckin’ shit!”

The foul language, mixed with the rough jerk of the body beneath your dexterous hands, was enough to steal your attention back from your jaded inner monologue. Nearly two years back, when you’d first signed on to work as a field nurse, the pained outburst would have sent you flinching. Now, the swearing isn’t anything new, and thankfully for the soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up, it was no longer anywhere near enough to give you pause.

“You better hold still unless you want this to scar even worse than it's already going to,” you tell him matter of factly, gently tugging the thread the rest of the way through your current stitch.

The soldier –– Matthews? Moore? You can hardly remember the name he’d gasped at you in pain, but you’re sure it started with an ‘M’ –– rakes his dirty hands over his even dirtier face, brown eyes squeezing themselves shut as his fingers quake with agony. “Sorry,” he rasps, skin paling. “Just… Jesus, shit hurts so bad!”

You cluck your tongue, guilt racking your heart as you push the needle through his skin once more. “Shouldn’t have gotten shot then, genius,” you murmur, shaking your head disapprovingly.

It works. For a moment the soldier’s face twists in disbelief, and in the next, a shuddering, wheezing gasp of laughter expels itself from his throat. The sight is bleak, but it’s enough to twist your heart with warmth as you once again pull the thread through the stitch. You’d learned in the first few months of working as a nurse on the frontlines that the last thing these men wanted or needed was to be coddled along over their injuries, especially by a woman. Vulnerability was more averse to them now than ever before.

Personally, you don’t much understand it –– but your work isn’t, and has never been, about yourself. 

“Look, why don’t you tell me something,” you start, glancing up to… Morrison’s…? face in apology before sticking him with the needle yet again. He jerks, but not quite so violently this time. Another one down. Only about a thousand more to go tonight. “How’d all this happen? I thought you boys weren’t meant to scope the new territory until tomorrow afternoon. Y’know, in the daylight? When you can actually see whether or not someone in the distance is pointing a gun at you?”

“Unit leader was gettin’ jumpy,” the soldier coughs out, groaning against the pain. Guilt stabs your heart like a knife. You’d have given him something for the pain if you had it, something to numb the wound. But shipments of med supplies were behind, and it would be at least a week before you got your hands on anything like that again. “Said going at night would be better, that we could get the drop on them before they even knew we were coming.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Never mind the fact that their soldiers know the land better than ours do.”

So, the unit leader had jumped the gun. You’d figured as much, when two of your nurses had run into your tent with messy hair and sleep addled expressions, panicking about the oncoming slew of injured soldiers who needed immediate medical attention. That had been two hours, six patients, and about one hundred and ninety seven stitches ago.

Again. It was lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

The soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up opened his mouth to speak –– whether to snark along with you at the poor choice made by the unit’s leadership or to blindly defend his superior’s decision, you couldn’t be altogether sure –– but before he could even fix his mouth to properly shape the words, a sudden roar of someone else’s agony effectively cut him off.

Steadying your hands, you carefully turn to peer over your shoulder, searching for the source of the commotion. All night, you’d been surrounded by a cacophony of screaming soldiers, but that yell of pain is one you’re certain hasn’t yet met your ears. And, as you watch the flap of the med tent swing back before admitting entry to three people –– one of your nurses and two soldiers, one leaning bodily against the other –– you discover that your assumption is correct.

“We got a bad one,” the nurse –– Sally, curly haired, nearing twenty four and a bit more capable than the other girls when met with the sight of blood –– shouts. Her eyes scan the tent, searching and searching until her gaze finally lands on you. She pauses only a moment to turn and direct the uninjured soldier to drag the one he’s supporting over to an empty cot before barrelling in your direction. “Gunshot wound to the abdomen. I haven’t really had the chance to get a good look at it, but he’s–– well, to be frank, that man has lost a shit ton of blood.”

A gutshot. Poor guy would either go through a sickening amount of pain just to die, or he’d survive, and end up having to endure even more pain. Either way, in light of your depleted supply of painkillers, ‘excruciating’ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Oh, damn it all.

“Take over here for me,” you command, gesturing with your chin to the needle perched between your fingers. Sally’s already moving to pluck it from your hand before you’ve even finished speaking. “He’s got about fifteen to go before we even think about sending him back to his tent. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

“You don’t think I know better?” Sally remarks drily, but you don’t have the time to come up with a witty comeback. You’re already on your feet and rushing toward the soldier writhing in pain across the tent, reflexively grabbing a collection of gauze, thread, tweezers, and rubbing alcohol along the way.

This isn’t going to be much fun for either of you.

The first thing you do is excuse the uninjured soldier, the one who’d carried him in. For one, there isn’t any need to keep him witness, and for another, you work better when an addition of unnecessary eyes aren’t tracking your every move. Besides. You doubt the poor soul laying on your med cot is at all interested in one of his peers –– one not sick or out of his mind due to his own pain, that is –– see him in this state. So, you simply thank the young man for his assistance and shoo him back in the direction from which he’d come, waiting until he’s passed the tent’s entrance before turning your full, undivided attention to your newest patient.

He’s got his eyes screwed shut tight in pain. You can hardly blame him. Of all the wounds to suffer through, a gutshot has the potential to win least desirable. It’s easy enough to see why, as the young man’s handsome features carve themselves into an expression of despair. A slick sheen of sweat coats his pale forehead, dampening his dark hair and sticking it to his skin. He’s biting down so hard on his bottom lip in effort to swallow his screams that you’re genuinely shocked he hasn’t drawn blood.

Though, part of you wonders if there’s even enough blood left in his body for his lip to bleed. Deep scarlet blooms stain his green shirt, so thoroughly soaked through that the fabric has turned almost black. Swathes of red cover his torso, his pants, the pale skin of his arms. It’s everywhere, already leaking onto the white sheets of the cot.

Sally wasn’t kidding. He really has lost a shit ton of blood.

“Hey there, soldier,” you start up, setting your collection of medical supplies down before taking a closer look at his torso. Shirt sticking to his skin the way it is, you aren’t going to be able to get much done until it’s out of the way. And, given that this man is certainly in no state to shrug it off himself, you’ve got no choice but to cut it. Lucky that you’d thought to grab a pair of scissors too, you suppose. “Don’t suppose you might be able to help a girl out by telling her what year it is?”

His jaw works for a few moments, teeth grinding together so forcefully the sound is audible. You think he might be gearing up to let loose another scream before he shakes his head a single time. “I got–– got shot,” he wheezes, whole body shaking, “not concussed. Don’t–– ah, don’t really… get how the year’s relevant.”

You exhale a bemused scoff through your nose, considering your response as your scissors work their way through the bloody fabric concealing his wound. You’re working as gently as you can, and so far it seems to be doing the trick. The soldier hasn’t flinched once since you started, though it’s hard to tell if that’s more due to the fact that he hadn’t noticed any difference one way or the other, or if it’s because he’s dedicating what strength he has left to keeping his head screwed onto his shoulders.

“Fair point,” you reply, still carefully cutting through his shirt. “How about a name, then? Little more relevant to the conversation, I’d say.”

It takes a few moments of silence for him to respond –– almost as if he’s trying to remember that he’s got a name –– but eventually, it comes.

“James,” he tells you, the single syllable leaving his mouth in a pained grunt.

You nod, cutting away the last of the fabric. “Nice to meet you, James,” you tell him, carefully peeling the tatters of his ruined shirt from his abdomen. “You just hold tight a little longer for me, alright? We’ll fix you up good as new.”

It isn’t a pretty sight, what you find beneath. Under all that red is a nasty wound, jagged and swollen at the edges, punched into the flesh just beneath the southmost edge of his ribcage. Thankfully, no bones have been hit –– a shattered rib would be immediately evident, both in the pitch of his screams and the deformed shape of his chest –– but the wound is more than a little inflated. There’s a puffiness to it that you can’t comprehend, a stiffness to its perimeter that doesn’t click in your mind, until––

Until you see the small, dark center, and suddenly it does.

You swear beneath your breath, a filthy, ugly word that you’d picked up a few weeks back from one of your patients. You don’t even know what it means, not really, but speaking it feels cathartic enough that you don’t altogether care.

Oh, sweet, holy hell.

James cracks an eye open, muttering, “Darlin’, you rea–– you really gotta work on your bedside manner.”

“Alright, listen to me, James,” you tell him, forgoing a witty response. You don’t have the time, not considering what you’re now dealing with, and you figure James will appreciate your working hands more than he’ll appreciate your shitty attempts at banter. “There’s… there’s something I need to do for you, before I can start patching you up. Now, normally I could give you something for the pain, but we’re out of the anesthetic I need. So this isn’t gonna… it’s not gonna feel very good.”

James looses a labored sigh, oddly calm for the clear anguish marring his face. “Shit, well good news,” he mutters, swallowing thickly, “it already doesn’t.”

His lashes flutter in a telltale manner, one which lets you know he’s getting closer to the brink and you’re running short on time. It’s easy enough, not to give in to the panic this incites in your chest. You’ve been doing this job a long time now, know that what James needs is your calm, your level-headedness. Those things have a higher chance of keeping him alive, of seeing to it that he comes out of this on the other side. Scarred up, maybe, and without the ability to breathe as deep as he once could, but still alive.

You shake your head, grabbing the tweezers from where you’d set them down before planting your forearm against an uninjured section of James’ bare chest for leverage. “Alright, big breaths, James. You scream as loud as you want or need to, but just… try and stay as still as you can, okay? I won’t be able to stop until it’s done.”

The only answer he gives in response is a shaky nod, the thick black fringe of his lashes brushing his cheekbones as his lips begin to move at a speed with which your eyes can hardly track. A prayer, you figure, or a plea for a quick end. Whichever it is, it helps him to relax just the tiniest bit more, slightly smooths out the lines of pain and suffering etched into his face.

Until you start digging with the tweezers, that is.

Then it’s all white hot screams of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper beneath his cries, words drowned out by the sheer volume of the howls ripping out of his throat. But you don’t stop working, don’t withdraw the tweezers from his bloody wound. You hadn’t been joking when you told him starting meant you couldn’t stop until you finished. Abandoning the task now meant leaving James to bleed out in a matter of seconds. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. You’re doing good, though, alright? You’re doing amazing. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment for the tweezers’ edges to find the metal bullet lodged in his skin. At first, all you can feel is a mess of flesh and muscle, shredded and frayed from the impact of the gunshot. For a few short seconds, you wonder if your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you, if it would have been more wise to search for an exit wound on his back than to simply jump straight in without taking the time to stop and think.

But your worries are unfounded –– proven two seconds later when your tweezers make contact with the tiny, foreign object threatening James’ life. Carefully, you maneuver the tweezers into the correct position to properly take hold of the bullet. Then, with one last whispered apology, you slowly and carefully begin to pull.

James’ legs buck hard against the cot, arms straining at his sides where he’s got both his hands fisted into the sheets in an attempt to hold on for dear life. His teeth chatter against each other, knocking and clacking as he tries to get ahold of the screams pouring freely from him, and that thin sheen of sweat coating his skin has turned into a full on tidal wave.

But his torso doesn’t move –– not a single inch.

“We’re almost done,” you assure him, keeping your hand steady as you continue gently easing the bullet up, and up, and up. You can just make out the silver edges of it now, slick with blood and dented. It won’t be long now, before it’s out and you can start working on staunching the blood leaking from his body. Maybe you can lift his spirits with a joke or two then, a witty comment to ease some of the pain. Maybe––

The bullet slips from the tweezers, catching you off guard and jerking your hand to the left. It’s only by a centimeter, not a huge distance, but given that you’ve got edges of metal inserted into this man’s wound, to him, it makes all the difference in the world.

James throws his head back and screams, loud enough that you can instantly hear his vocal cords go raw beneath the strain of the volume. A single word leaves his lips; it sounds like Ma, only it’s warped, strangled. Much as you detest the fact, you know the sound well. A soldier crying out for his mother while under the thrall of delirium and pain isn’t exactly a rarity around these parts.

Guilt twists your heart with the razor sharpness of a cruel knife.

“Stop,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “P-please–– please stop!”

“I can’t,” you tell him, already repositioning your tweezers and going back in. Luckily, the bullet is much closer to the surface of his wound now. It only takes a second before you find another grip on it, instantly deciding to forego gentleness in favor of speed. “But the good news is––” With a slight bend of your wrist and a soft, wet pop, the bullet comes loose from his wound. “––we’re done with the shitty part.”

James’ eyes, glassy with pain and pupils blown wide, fall first to the bullet you hold up for his perusal, set against a backdrop of lowlight and your blood covered hand, before wandering their way up to your face. It’s then that you notice his irises are water blue and clear as crystal. You’re not sure why, but their color fascinates you.

“I wanna keep that,” he mutters weakly.

Then, his lashes flutter rapidly and his head lolls to the side, his lungs expelling a great, big breath before shuddering to a halt.

Your heart lurches at the sight. For one, awful moment, you think you’ve just put the poor man through all of that pain and agony only to end up somehow killing him in the process –– never mind the fact that this isn’t the first time you’ve extracted a bullet from a soldier’s abdomen, and certainly isn’t likely to be the last. But then his chest starts up moving again, at a much less worrisome pace. It’s slow, and his breaths are shallow, but they’re still breaths.

Unconscious –– not dead.

The realization is enough to make you send a mental note of thanks to whichever being was kind enough to have shown James mercy.

You allow yourself the shortest of moments to bask in the relief –– that you’d successfully extracted the bullet, that James hadn’t died during or after your attempts to do so, that you aren’t now left to set in motion the process of another condolence letter being shipped across seas to his family.

And once it passes, once you’ve inhaled and exhaled and wiped your hands on a cloth, you grab a cloth and press it to James’ wound, setting to work on stopping his bleeding –– but not before wrapping the bullet you’d just dislodged from his body in a pad of gauze and tucking it into the breast pocket of your uniform.

––

Chapter Two: Someone Good

[pleathewrites]

boys, boys, boys

chapter 2: revelations

Summary: Does Iwaizumi have a thing for setters or do setters have a thing for Iwaizumi?

“Maybe Iwa-kun does have a thing for grey hair,” Sugawara muses, the tip of his index finger circling the rim of his drink. He’s got that signature sly smirk across the very lips that locked with Hajime's a decade ago. 

“Oh my God.” 

Hajime is seriously considering begging Oikawa to jump-serve a volleyball to his head and knock him clean out just so they can all stop having this conversation - ‘Hell, Tooru’s strong as hell now. Might knock the entire memory of this night right out of my brain, for good.’ 

“Hey, I just made out with him - and possibly gave him his gay awakening. But I wasn’t the one who convinced him to change his career.”

“Oh my God.”

“Wait, what are you - ”

“Daichi, baby, seriously, you need to go see that doctor. I am actively concerned about you developing early-onset Alzheimer's," Sugawara says, tucking a strand of Sawamura's hair behind his ear, his impish smirk melting into a fond smile, "Does Shiratorizawa ring any bells?”

“Hey, I have my own life to worry about! I’m not gonna keep track of someone else’s love life - no offense, Iwaizumi-san.”

“Hey, non-taken. Please, never think about my love life.”

Much to Hajime’s horror, Daichi’s expression turns contemplative, “Wait, actually, though -”

“Fuck -”

“… Grey hair, Shiratorizawa...” Daichi snaps his fingers and points his index at Iwaizumi with a much-too-proud smile on his face, completely unaware of the man’s rising irritation. “Yes, right! Iwaizumi, didn’t you..?” 

“Ugh, God, that one,” injects Oikawa. 

Hajime feels the vein on his forehead throb at Oikawa’s tone, “Kawa... why are you so shitty.” 

“Well, sorry, if I don’t like the edge-lord that busted my entire future!” 

“Oikawa… You are literally at the Olympics… for the second time...” 

“Yeah, with you on the opposing side,” Oikawa says with a closed throat, sliding out of the booth, and heading off to the direction of the entrance doors.

Hajime sighs.

 *

 Their loss to Shiratorizawa is soul-crushing - it always is. 

‘Always’ - that’s the most crushing thing, Hajime despairs, ‘We always lose to that school.’ And Hajime feels the blow, of course, he's devastated, but it’s not personal, hell, it’s not even for his team - ‘God, I’m such a shitty Vice-Captain.’  

No, the absolute heartbreak he feels is for Tooru.

Hajime loves his team, he believes every single member has outrageous talent, but he knows that all their abilities combined, including his own, wouldn’t even hold a candle to Oikawa’s blinding torch.

Shiratorizawa is a school for rising champions, Abo Johsai is a school for kids with talent.  

Oikawa Tooru is on a completely different level, it's a fact - he outranks his own team. It keeps Hajime up at night because he knows that if Oikawa had a team that matched his talent and ability, he would never have to experience such consistent defeat. 

In times like these, Hajime feels shameful and useless, ‘How long will I hold Oikawa back?’

Hajime knows Oikawa. He knows he’s the real reason Oikawa chose Abo Josai, that because Hajime wasn’t good enough to get into Shiratorizawa, Oikawa shackled himself to a team that weighs more than he can carry. It reminds Hajime of those free-body-diagrams from physics class that Oikawa had to explain to him ten times over; Oikawa is the upward force, striving for victory at the speed of light, Hajime is the opposing frictional force, and Abo Johsai is plain gravity times mass times sine (or was it cosine?). Hajime only managed to scrape a B- in that class, so the only answer he can give this problem is that Oikawa isn't going anywhere, any time soon. 

A harsh slap to his back snaps Hajime out of his thoughts. He jumps with the force of it and doesn’t even have to turn his head to know who’s hand is laying firmly between his shoulder blades. He keeps his eyes downcast, but Oikawa - a true Captain - doesn’t force Hajime to look at him when he firmly whispers, “Next time, Iwa-chan. We’ll get ‘em.”

Their coach takes the team for ramen, gives them a speech about being proud and working hard, all while Oikawa is making faces at Hajime from across the table and, slowly, Hajime begins to let himself smile.

Halfway through dinner, Hajime feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Thinking it’s his mother asking when he’ll be home, Hajime turns on the lockscreen and sees it’s an Instagram notification. He unlocks his phone and swipes down his Notifications - Hajime had to reset his phone notifications to conceal messages ever since becoming friends with Sugawara Koushi because the boy has zero filter and he doesn’t need his mom accidentally seeing messages with eggplant and squirting emojis, encouraging Hajime to make ‘his move’, whatever that means. 

EITA (@notsemisemi) has requested to follow you.

Now, Hajime is confused. He doesn’t even remember the last time he posted a picture on Instagram - he only really made the account because Oikawa started crying about, “Iwa-chan, I want to tag you in this picture, people should know that you’re capable of smiling! Everyone else has an Instagram, let me make you one, you won’t even have to do anything!” - so he’s not really sure how or why a random person requested to follow him.

'Maybe it's a spam account?'

He looks closely at the username and tries to think if he knows anyone with that name. When nothing comes to mind, he clicks on the person’s account and is met with very aesthetically angsty selfies of a grey-haired boy with sharp eyebrows and deep collarbones. ‘

He’s kind of…’ Hajime tries to think of the right words. He wants to say ‘pretty’, but that doesn’t feel right - Sugawara is pretty, Oikawa is pretty. Pretty people are soft and round and peppy. This guy is… 

‘Hot.’ 

And weirdly familiar. 

He elbows Matsukawa, who’s sitting on his right, and turns his phone screen towards the boy, “Do you know this guy?”

“Hmph?” Matsukawa’s lazy eyes roam over his screen and he swallows his food before speaking, “Yeah, isn’t that the reserve setter? He came in as a sub when Oikawa hit Shiratorizawa’s main setter.” 

Like a self-conscious self-absorbed bat, whenever Oikawa’s name is merely uttered, the boy in question will hear it, no matter what he's doing, “Eh? Oikawa hit who? I swear, it couldn't have been me, I’m a pacifist!” And he proceeds to put his hands up in surrender. 

The lightbulb goes off in Hajime's head, “Oh! When Oikawa jump-served the ball at that small guy’s face? With the uneven bangs?” He makes a downward sloping motion across his forehead. 

“Yeah, that one,” Matsukawa points to the phone screen, “Pretty sure that’s the guy who subbed for the rest of the set.” 

“Yeah…” Hajime trails, before adding softly, “He was good… Wonder why their coach didn't give him more playtime.”

Oikawa’s quick-clapping hands bring Hajime out of his thoughts, “Oh! I know what we’re talking about now! First off, I didn’t hit Shorty, he wasn’t fast enough, that’s the consequence of the game! Also, why are we talking about this?”

“Iwaizumi is on the sub’s Instagram page.”

Oikawa squeaks, “Is this about your grey-hair-slash-old-man fetish?!”

Hajime groans and facepalms, “No, oh my God, stop telling people I have a fetish, Shittykawa! He followed me.”

“Block him!” 

Hajime sighs, locks his phone, and puts it away, “Just forget it.”

“Hmph. That guy’s not even first string. What does he want with our ace?”

Hanamaki joins in, “I wonder why he’s not first string, though. I’m pretty sure he’s a third year, he’s been there every time we played against them. 'M pretty sure that Shorty is definitely a second year.”

Oikawa’s face turns from snooty to serious and he crosses his arms, “He’s good, but he lacks instinct. His technique is fine, but he doesn’t have what Shorty does. Maybe if he worked harder, but from the looks of it tonight, he doesn’t want it bad enough. He’s not on Shiratorizawa’s level - maybe he was once, but not anymore.”

'Not on Shiratorizawa’s level… Sounds like we might have something in common, after all.’

That night, before Hajime goes to sleep, he accepts EITA’s follow request and follows him back.

continue to read chapter

[winetae]

wall to wall (m.) 02

— female reader x hoseok

— smut, porn star!au

— sex work, insecurity, jealousy, slut shaming/objectification, role played scenario that includes: d/s dynamics - dom!hoseok, anal sex, sex toys, face fucking, double penetration, erotic massages, humiliation, degradation, porn star type dirty talk, squirting, creampie, lots of cum (and oil!)

— 19.7k 

… 

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 | part 2 is finally here ! ! ty to jordan who has encouraged me literally every step of the way and to ella for supplying a never ending amount of hoseok gifs and pics when i most needed it :’) i’m sorry again for cutting the chapter into two parts but seeing as this entire chunk only amounted to 1/3 of my outline for part two it’s safe to say i would have never finished this fic otherwise ;;

(!) if you are particularly sensitive to humiliation/ degradation then maybe u should skip the smut scene bc jdjffjkfkddkd cries in tears of heaux 

SCENE 03 - PULP FRICTION. TAKE 02. ROLL A.

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It’s hard to guess how a project will be perceived by the general public. Sometimes a xxx feature film everyone believed would do well sells less than expected, and with online pirating becoming such a rampant and common occurrence, it’s harder to measure the impact of your work. Views and numbers are no longer a reliable indicator of one’s popularity. You’re lucky that you’re signed under such a big talent agency because at least you’re guaranteed regular paychecks, regardless of how well you perform. But to survive in this industry you’re conscious that you need more than that.

According to Seokjin and his expert advice, fans are the ones who will keep an adult entertainer’s career afloat for longer than the average six months. It doesn’t matter how good-looking or well endowed an actor is; if fans aren’t interested and invested, there’s a slim chance that they’ll pay money from their own pockets to view your work. And in order to build such a strong and dedicated fan base, you need one of several things: regular content and an active social media account.

It’s a careful line to tread; not enough online interaction can make people lose interest, but so can overexposure.

You’re patiently waiting for what Seokjin baptizes “The Big Breakthrough” - the decisive project that will propel you into superstardom. None of your videos have ever garnered that type of traction, however, and you’ve been stuck repeating the same old recycled scenarios of plumbers/pizza delivery boys coming over to get the fuck of their life.

When your latest video is uploaded online, you do your best to steer clear from social media. As much as you want to see what people think of your performance, it’s too nerve-wracking to deal with on an empty stomach. You know that if you begin scrolling through the comments, you’ll spend all day glued to your phone, constantly refreshing the page to check for feedback.

And while you aren’t the type of person who lets negative opinions affect your morale, you are nonetheless worried that your time in the industry is about to run out. Lately, the thought lingers ominously in the corners of your mind.

In times like these, exercise is one of the best distractions, second to maybe sex.

Pia, the yoga instructor, walks you through several routines, bending your body this way and that, until your head feels pleasantly blank, devoid for once of any stress and self-doubt. The hour long hot yoga class puts your overthinking mind to rest. In that moment even the notion of time ceases to matter.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.

The instructor turns off his meditation playlist while the room empties out, soft chattering replacing the chirping of birds and the sound of cascading water. Slowly, mind still fuzzy around the edges, you gather your belongings and head straight to the vending machine to get a much needed dose of caffeine.

As you dig around the contents of your purse for spare change, someone comes up from behind and taps your shoulder.

“Eep!” You catch your bag before it can slip from your grasp. “What—”

“Shit, sorry!”

When you spin around, hands clutched protectively over your chest to keep your heart rate steady, you don’t expect to come face to face with Hoseok, of all people.

He grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to give you a scare. I, um, recognized you from afar and thought I’d come say hi.”

Now that the initial shock has faded, you’re free to admire the sight in front of you without any distractions.

As handsome as Hoseok looks under the bright studio lights with his hair styled and make-up applied, there’s something undeniably appealing about the way he appears now - with his hair mussed up and sweatpants riding dangerously low on his hips. While you normally prefer someone who puts more effort into their appearance, there’s something attractive and unpretentious about his casual demeanor that intrigues you.

Heat surges to the apple of your cheeks when you realize that you’re being too blatant with your ogling. Your eyes settle on his face - a safe zone, one that won’t cause any misunderstandings. It’s a nice sight to look at. Hoseok’s face is pretty, the absence of powder and contour not taking away from his handsomeness in the least. His skin glows in a way that can only be achieved post-workout or after an intense orgasm.

This train of thought brings you down a slippery slope. All too soon, your mind supplies images of his long cock filling you up over and over and over again, his lips whispering praise and filth in the same breath. Your gaze flits to his mouth as you recall how red and swollen they’d been after kissing you senseless, how sticky and wet they’d felt against your own, the taste of your own succulence bleeding into your mouth as your breaths intermingled.

“You’re - yes.” You clear your throat, embarrassed by the way you’d quickly let your thoughts spiral out of control. “It’s fine, you just - caught me off guard. How’ve you been?”

Since you last dicked me down, goes unsaid.

“Just finished teaching a class a few minutes ago. I’ve got a 30 minute break before the next one starts.” He checks his watch. “Well, eleven minutes now.”

“You teach here?” You raise your brows, taken aback by his revelation.  

Not that it isn’t uncommon for adult entertainers to work two jobs - or more. You’ve run into a variety of cases since joining the industry. Some do porn on the side, as a hobby or as a way to make a quick buck. They quit the moment porn becomes tedious or when they’ve made enough money to pay back their loans. For you, however, it’s not like that. What started off as amateur cam work has now become your whole life. You can’t imagine doing anything else, even if it means going against your family members’ wishes. They could go suck on a rancid cock, for all you cared.

“Yep, sure do. I teach the morning Pilates class on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Funny how I’ve never run into you before, huh?”

He takes a few coins out of his left pocket and inserts them into the vending machine. “Here, get whatever you want.”

“You don’t—”

“My treat.”

You want to argue but Hoseok’s too beguiling for his own good. It doesn’t take much for you to be won over; Hoseok’s smile widens and you’re a goner.

It’s that easy.

You’re not sure if it’s because you’ve seen each other naked before or if the earlier yoga session has successfully weakened your defenses, but you’re not as wary as you usually would be around people you don’t know well. Distrust runs in your veins yet something about Hoseok has you lowering your guard.  

Based on your observations, there’s nothing calculated behind his gestures and mannerisms. The blinding grin, the jokes, the way people easily get pulled into his magnetic field - it’s not a facade or an act or a fluke. It’s just the way he is.

Hoseok leans against the vending machine and watches you press in the numbers for your order. From the corner of your eye, you see him studying your profile with a degree of intensity that makes you self-conscious. You swallow down the urge to fidget.

And it’s - silly. He’s seen you bare and at your most exposed, has kissed and touched the entirety of your body from head to toe, but this quiet moment feels strangely intimate, more so than when he’d slid his cock inside of you for the first time. Perhaps it’s due to the absence of cameras and prying eyes or the knowledge that right now you’re both real people, stripped of your porn star persona exterior.

Your eyes meet.

There’s nothing predatory or hungry about his gaze. The passion and the love he’d expressed so naturally during your filmed scenes are no longer detectable. Right now he’s Jung Hoseok, not a character with a role to play. This is all him - the dark circles, the relaxed smile, the slight slouch in his shoulders.

“About—” He clears his throat. “About the other day. The guy that was with you...”

You know without needing clarification who and what he’s talking about. You run your tongue across your row of teeth, wiping away the cheap coffee’s aftertaste, and nod for him to continue.

“He give you a hard time?” Hoseok’s eyes don’t stray from yours. He looks concerned. Serious. “Afterwards I - I regretted leaving so soon. I didn’t want to - I wasn’t sure. But, regardless, I should have made sure you were okay before leaving you alone with him.”

“Oh.”

Realization sinks in. Your eyes widen and you splutter, flustered. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. Jimin - he’s my boyfriend.”

It’s hard to appreciate the concern when all you feel is shocked that someone could misinterpret your relationship for a perverted staff member preying on an unsuspecting porn actress. Although it’s unfortunately common practice in the industry, it’s so far removed from what you share with Jimin that you’re at a loss for words.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Hoseok immediately rubs his face in embarrassment. “I thought - sorry. I’m a dumbass. Ignore me.”

“It’s -”  You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

An awkward silence ensues.

You occupy the void by sipping on the bitter vending machine coffee, your eyes glued to your toenails peeking out the top of your sandals. Any other time, you’d fret over the chipping nail polish and rush to schedule an appointment at the nail salon, but your thoughts are so jumbled up that you can barely string a coherent sentence together.

Jimin - he isn’t anything like what Hoseok’s implying. Implied. You know this. But the fact that someone could mistake him as such doesn’t sit right with you. You want to defend him but at the same time you don’t know what to say.

“I just,” he sighs, breaking the silence. “I’ve seen it happen before. I’m sorry I assumed the worst. I guess I’m too paranoid for my own good. I hope I didn’t offend you too much. Or him.”

“No - I’m - I understand.” You give him a small smile to let him know you don’t harbor any ill feelings over the mistake. Hoseok seems so genuinely sorry about the entire situation that it’s impossible to hold it against him.

It’s possible, you think. To misinterpret your relationship with Jimin. The situation back then had been so tense - you remember that better than anyone. Given the context, Hoseok had every right to be mistrustful, especially when no one had bothered to set the record straight.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“There’s no harm done.” You hesitate before continuing, “I’m that way too, you know. I tend to think the worst of people when I probably shouldn’t. I thought - I was worried about you at first, too. When we met. Not because - it wasn’t anything against you personally. I’m just distrustful. But I’m glad - that it was you and not someone else.”

His posture relaxes. “Thank you. I’m glad that it was you, too. And that I was able to prove you wrong about me. With the shit you hear and see happening on set… I don’t blame you for being on your guard.”

“Yeah. Maybe we’ll - oh. I think someone’s calling you.”

Hoseok follows your line of sight to where a small group of his students are huddled behind the glass panel separating the Pilates classroom from the hallway leading down to the changing rooms. They’re all female and look around your age, maybe younger. The one who had been waving her arms wilts under the attention of her teacher, blush high on her cheeks, while her group of friends dissolve into a fit of giggles.

“Ah. That’s my cue.” Hoseok sighs in apology, the corner of his lips tugged downwards into a pout. “Sorry. Would’ve loved to get coffee and catch up but alas. Duty calls.”

“Next time.”

“Yeah, definitely. I’ll hold you up to that. And it’ll be proper coffee next time! Promise.”

“Okay, deal,” you agree easily. “I’ll buy.”

He looks somewhat offended. “What - no, that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s only fair.” You gesture at the half-empty plastic coffee cup still warm against your palm.

Hoseok opens his mouth to object but a short-haired woman pokes his head out the open door. “Yo, teach! Wasn’t class supposed to start five minutes ago?”

“I’m coming!” Hoseok shouts back, waving his student back inside. “Arrogant brat.”

“Go, go!” You urge, holding yourself from physically pushing him towards the classroom. His group of students look like they’re willing to jump you if you keep hogging his attention.

“We’ll Rock Paper Scissors it!” He says while jogging backwards. “Gotta run but see you around, yeah?”

Your lips pull into an amused smile as you watch him retreat back to his classroom. Through the glass panel, you can see the horde of girls flock around him, each vying for his attention in different ways. You’re especially impressed by how one almost succeeds in drowning Hoseok in her generous cleavage.

The sight of Hoseok dealing with thirsty college girls is so ridiculous you can’t help but giggle. You’re tempted to attend one of his classes just to watch them all trip over each other in an attempt to seduce him. Maybe you could even learn a thing or two.

With that thought in mind, you leave the gym center in high spirits, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated, ready to tackle on whatever hurdles the day decides to throw your way. You hum along to a top 40 hit they constantly play on the radio and decide to stop by your favorite restaurant to get take-out before heading home.

As you get into your car, you turn on your phone you’d disregarded all morning and are immediately notified of five missed calls and several unread text messages. More than half are - unsurprisingly - from your agent. You’re tempted to ignore him for an hour or two longer but you know how he gets once his patience runs thin.

“Don’t tell me you were out with Jimmy again,” Seokjin groans once you decide to call him back.

“I was with Hoseok, actually.”

“Hoseok?” Seokjin instantly perks up on the other side of the line. “As in, Jung Hoseok? J-Hope? Your baby daddy? That Hoseok?”

You contemplate ending the call.

Begrudgingly you concur, “Yes. That one.”

“Oooooh. Do tell,” he eggs, the smugness in his tone so thick that you can visualize it.

“It wasn’t - whatever scandalous thought you’re thinking. He works at the gym I go to. What are the chances, right?”

“What are the chances indeed.” Despite the lack of juicy gossip, he sounds pleased. “The news I rang you for earlier involves him.”

“How so?”

“Your video with Hoseok has been the number 1 trending video on Bang Gang’s home page since this morning!” He squeals, enthusiasm making the volume of his voice raise by a notch. “People are eating that romantic insemination stuff for breakfast and lunch. The views on this are insane! We haven’t gotten such a big reaction since the Agust D teacher-student role play and that was ages ago.”

“Wh- Are you serious?!”

Unable to contain the elation that surges through your chest, your face breaks out into a giant grin.

You’re admittedly the first to say that the number of views doesn’t equate to one’s talent or prowess in bed, but you also can’t completely disregard what this particular achievement implies...

While belonging to a reputable agency has its perks, it also entails continuous competition with big names. Your coworkers are also your competitors. Every month the most successful porn stars are rewarded and praised, whilst the ones who rake in the least amount of views are cast aside and are fated to fade into anonymity.

As much as you hate to acknowledge it, you’ve never had the support or interest it takes to contend for 1st place on any popularity polls or rankings of the sort. On Wednesdays, it so happens that the number one trending video spot is usually occupied by a popular femdom porn star who’s been in the game long enough to have secured a loyal fanbase.

Seokjin understands and empathizes with your excitement more than anybody.

“Yes, I’m serious! I think this is It, you know? Your Big Breakthrough, the moment we’ve been waiting for. You’ve been doing well so far but I think we’ll be able to go mainstream with this,” he chatters on, excitement building with every word. “Director Ryu said he’d personally call you up later to congratulate you, so don’t turn off your phone and ignore your calls, okay? I think he wants to ask you to film in his next movie but he didn’t discuss the details with me. Whatever it is - please say yes. I know the guy is a little pompous old fart but he really has an eye for this sort of thing. Casting you and Hoseok in the same film was the work of God. The chemistry between the two of you is unreal, no wonder people are jacking off to this at 10 am while they eat their cereal.”

You think it’s too early to rejoice in the success of your video considering the majority of the viewers are sleeping or busy at work - but when THE SPERMINATOR retains its number one ranking for the remainder of the week, you know your achievement deserves to be properly celebrated.

True to Seokjin’s word, Director Ryu does end up calling you. He wants to work with you and Hoseok again for a new film - and possibly more.

“A multi-film contract? You want to sign one with me?”

“How could I not? You’re both naturals and work well together. More importantly, the camera loves you. And people are on board with the pairing already! I think it’s a good idea to capitalize on their interest, don’t you think?”

It doesn’t take much more to convince you — not that you need any convincing at this point.

You refuse to be a flash-in-the-pan star. Although you admittedly had your reservations at first, the unexpected success of the last film is all Ryu needs to persuade you.

And - you like Hoseok. It goes without saying that there are far worse people to be partnered up with. Besides, it’s easier to work with co-stars you’ve starred in movies with previously for multiple reasons. Your acting is much more likely to come off as natural if you’re already acquainted with the dick that’s about to split you open - at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

When you mention the possibility of working again with Hoseok, your boyfriend doesn’t seem to share your enthusiasm.

“So it’s not a one time thing?” He’s not looking at you directly, his attention fixed instead on the freshly brewed coffee he nurses in his hands.  

“I mean—” You smile tentatively. “Director Ryu hasn’t said for how long he’ll keep hiring us for his projects. Maybe - maybe he’ll keep the format and hire different actors in the future? He - he didn’t really say. I don’t think he has much of an idea himself. He’s very...peculiar.”

You force out a laugh, but your attempt to lighten up the atmosphere falls flat.

“I see.” Jimin brings the coffee cup to his mouth to hide his grimace.

You don’t need to see his dejected expression to know that he isn’t pleased with this development.

“Do you - is there something wrong with Hoseok?” You hesitate, unsure of how he’ll reply.

Jimin’s never insisted you step down from a project before or expressed his dissatisfaction with any of your ‘artistic choices’, although you always imagined that someday, somewhere down the line, he might. Compared to your past dalliances, Jimin is understanding and empathetic. You don’t expect him to be perfect, however, especially when you yourself are far from that. Everyone must have their own personal limits, right? It’s unfair to ask Jimin to be accepting all the time.

It’s just that...the timing is bad.

You want to take his feelings into consideration, but you’re also aware that this might be your last opportunity to get your name out there once and for all. Your previous works have never tanked, so to speak, but they’d mostly gone by unnoticed. While you’ve managed to make ends meet in the past, such anonymity cannot go on for much longer if you want to remain in this line of work.

Your lipstick wears off as you bite your lower lip. Silence hangs heavy in the air.

Jimin sets down his cup of coffee and averts his gaze.

“No. No, there’s nothing wrong with him.”

You breathe out in relief, only now realizing you’d been holding in your breath as you awaited his answer.  

“It’s a bit difficult,” he admits after a pause. “Watching both of you together... Not because it’s bad! You did really good last time. You always do, but - saying ‘I love you’, that kind of stuff, it’s - I don’t know. It’s not your fault, though! I just need some time to adjust. Next time shouldn’t be as strange - since I know what to expect...”

You blink slowly as your brain registers the confession. His words echo in your ears and a strong feeling of déjà-vu washes over you. He’d said something along those lines before, hadn’t he?

Jimin shrugs like it’s no big deal before continuing, “As for Hoseok... He seems like a good person, I guess. I don’t think he’s the problem. Whether it’s him or another guy...” He sighs. “I think I just need to work this out on my own. It’s not like I can ask you to turn down a job offer because of me, right?”

Guilt makes your stomach turn. He’s right. As much as you want to respect his feelings, you can’t bring yourself to turn down the job for his sake. Does that make you selfish? Does he think less of you for it?

“Alright...” When you reach out to take his hand in yours, his skin is surprisingly cold to the touch. “You’ll tell me if it ever bothers you, okay? Filming this - or anything else. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with what I do...”

You’re not sure what you’ll do if that moment ever comes to pass. Work is your number one priority in life. Many of your relationships haven’t worked out because of that very reason but your past lovers’ dissatisfaction hadn’t been enough to change your mindset. After all, work is what helps put money on the table, not love. You shake your head, as if the action will help you get rid of your stressful thoughts.  

Jimin nods as he interlaces his fingers with yours. On normal days, holding hands together puts your mind at rest. You love the way his hand fits in yours, the different skin tones blending into one.

Right now, his pale hand feels unnaturally cold against your own. It feels like winter itself is embracing you and you repress a shiver.

Maybe as his girlfriend it’s not the right choice to make, but — you can’t falter now. It physically pains you to admit it but Seokjin’s worrying isn’t unfounded. Your career is stagnant, your projects predictable and boring. You’re not bad at your job, but you don’t stand out amidst the sea of pretty girls hoping to make a name for themselves.

There’s no guarantee that Director Ryu’s new project will be as successful as the first. You’re no stranger to false hopes; there’s a chance that Seokjin’s wishful thinking might never amount to anything. Even so, you want to give it a shot. Not trying feels too much like giving up and giving up is not an option you’re willing to consider, not when you’ve already put so much on the line.

You’re not a quitter. Seokjin had warned you from day one that it wouldn’t be easy and you’d taken his lessons and warnings to heart. You’d become an adult entertainer fully aware of the trials and tribulations you’d have to face and had been prepared to make the necessary sacrifices in order to achieve your goals.

But are the risks truly worth it? Looking at Jimin’s dejected expression, you’re not so sure anymore.

.

.

.

They’ve really gone all out this time, you muse as you cast a cursory glance at your surroundings. A small, electric waterfall fountain sits in the far right corner and crimson colored scented candles are dispersed all around the elaborate massage parlor set-up, dousing the room in a cosy, amber glow. It’s a surprising sight because porn sets are famous for never focusing on the details. Viewers are here for the sex, not the generic backdrop of a rented room or hotel suite.

Director Ryu vehemently protests.

“That’s precisely what sets apart my works from your average pornography film. I want the viewer to be completely immersed in the movie they’re watching. Porn is too constricting and underwhelming a word. What I’m creating is a feast for the eyes, one that leaves a lasting impression after consumption.”

“Ah... Yes.” You try (and fail) to sound impressed.  

“People want to believe the sex is real, even if it’s just for an hour.” He sighs deeply, sounding pained, like explicating such a simple fact isn’t worthy of his time. “They need the escape and it’s our job to make it happen. A few extra candles might not make a colossal difference at first glance. But that’s where you’re wrong! It’s never been about the candles. It’s about the ambiance! The visual experience!”

It’s a pity the new budget doesn’t extend to your wardrobe, you remark internally as your gaze drops to observe the stylists’ pick of the day.

For the upcoming scene, you’ve been instructed to squeeze into a tight, baby pink shirt that stretches obscenely over your bust like something straight out of a frat boy’s wet dream. Inwardly, you congratulate yourself for hitting the gym religiously because your clothes—or lack thereof—put everything on display. The cotton material of your shirt is so thin, you’re surprised the stitches haven’t popped out, while the denim bottoms you sport are so tiny that you could hardly qualify them as shorts. Although—you suppose that there isn’t any use debating over semantics. It’s not as if they’ll stay on long enough for it to matter.

The scenario that you’ll be acting out today is pretty straight-forward. You stop by the parlor to cash in a voucher gifted by a generous and thoughtful friend. Hoseok, who plays the role of an erotic masseuse, gives you a deep tissue body massage worthy of a five star review on Yelp.

Director Ryu is extremely proud of the pitch. His spectacles glint as he pushes them up the bridge of his long nose.

“We’re gonna call it My Bare Lady. Haha, get it?” He gloats. “It’ll be different from our last shoot - the both of you aren’t supposed to be acquainted with each other at all. In fact, there won’t be any romance. We’re aiming for something new because as artists, it’s our duty to reinvent ourselves every day. Complacency is the enemy of creativity.”

At the mention of Hoseok, your gaze flits over in his direction.

His brown hair, two shades lighter than the last time you’d run into him, is swept to the side, giving him a professional and tidy appearance. He’s swapped his workout attire for beige scrub pants and a matching shirt. The color compliments the glow of his tan and the cut of the uniform is flattering to his figure. Diretor Ryu’s speech continues despite your wavering focus.

“—visual stimulation. That’s why one shouldn’t underestimate the proper use of props. A believable setting sets the tone for the rest of the scene. If you don’t believe the role you’ve been given, then why should the audience?”

“Mhm,” you nod here and there but you’ve long stopped paying attention to his one-sided speech.

Your eyes linger on Hoseok’s arms and the dimples that appear every time he laughs. You’re not the only one who stares. A small group of admirers flock to him like bees swarming around a rare and exotic flower.

You’d noticed it before but today confirms it; Hoseok’s presence is riveting. It’s not the first time today your gaze has strayed his way. More than once, you find your eyes drawn to him like a moth to a flame only to quickly avert your gaze whenever your eyes meet. Each time, the right side of his mouth quirks into a half-smile, the beginning of a question forming on his lips.

It’s embarrassing to be caught red-handed gawking but, in your defense, you aren’t the only one who ogles him—and many of them are far less discreet than you try to be, some gazes curious, others downright lecherous.

It bothers you. What exactly do you and everyone else find so fascinating about his character? He’s good-looking, sure—but you’re no stranger to handsome and pretty co-stars with nicely shaped dicks. You can’t put a finger on what sets him apart from the rest.

The gaffer comes over and momentarily interrupts the flow of Director Ryu’s monologue with a personal inquiry. Thank God. You use the opportunity to slip away, grateful that someone has put an end to your misery. As thankful as you are to the director for the career opportunity, you could do without his long-winded speeches that never seem to end.  

“Hey, Hoseok.”

His smile widens, the corners dimpling the moment he spots you. “Hey! It’s been a while. Who would’ve thought we’d get to work again so soon, huh?”

“I didn’t think our last movie would do so well, honestly.”

Without its success, who knows what kind of movie you’d be participating in right now? Another re-hashed version of ‘BABYSITTER GETS CREAMED’ type scenario, most probably.

“I guess that’s a testament to your acting skills, right?”

You smile back, sheepish but nevertheless pleased. It always feels nice to be complimented, especially on days like today when you’re feeling less confident than usual.

“You changed up your hair.”

“Yeah! I thought I needed a change.” He threads his fingers through his locks self-consciously. “It looks fine, right?”

“It does!” you agree with an enthusiastic nod.

Jimin, who had insisted to be present on set today, hovers on the edge of your periphery. In the back of your mind you know he means well—that his presence is meant to be a source of support and security. On a typical day, you’re relieved that someone you trust is close by in case the situation escalates. While you’ve never had any horrific experiences, there have been the occasional uncomfortable encounters behind the scenes. Thankfully, Seokjin or Jimin have always stepped in before whichever entitled asshat could get too handsy.

But for the first time, his presence doesn’t comfort you the way it usually does.

Your smile becomes stiff.

The last thing you want is for Jimin to misunderstand the situation... Despite his claims of not having any problems with you shooting again with Hoseok, you can’t forget the stony expression on your boyfriend’s face as he had stared your co-star down, his grip around your waist strong and possessive.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok inquires, noticing your change in attitude. Worry creases his brow. He takes a step forward as if to check up on you.

“I’m okay!” You wave your hands around in the air, if only to maintain the distance separating your figures.

Despite your energetic reassurances, Hoseok looks unconvinced. He tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing in concern.

You wrack your head for an acceptable excuse. “Maybe I have pre-performance jitters? It’s nothing serious, though!”

It’s not too far from the truth, either. You feel more nervous than usual... Maybe because you’re aware that today’s shoot will most likely make or break your career. If the results prove to be disappointing, you don’t want to imagine what that means for your future.

You shake your head, refusing to accept any talks of early retirement.

But what other choice will you have, your inner voice argues. If no one is interested in viewing your works, no production company will want to book you for their movies. Even if you’re able to shoot half a dozen films after this failed attempt, the interest and support from viewers and higher-ups will soon dry up.

Hoseok’s features soften.

“Look, I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but if my opinion means anything... I think you’re really amazing.” His deep brown eyes reflect sincerity. “I haven’t had this much fun performing with anyone before and it’s not just ‘cos you’re fucking hot.” He laughs to cover up his embarrassment. “Maybe it’s a bit of a reach to compare the two, but porn is a bit like dancing in a way. There’s a choreography to follow, a certain rhythm and mood you have to get into. But the most important part is the chemistry and trust between you and your partner. And you - when I perform with you, it doesn’t feel like I’m acting at all. Not many people have that ability. For what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty special.”

“T-thanks,” you stutter in reply, taken aback by his candor. “I appreciate that.”

You’re not the only one caught off-guard by Hoseok’s frankness. He rubs the back of his neck and chuckles to fill up the momentary lapse in conversation. A bashful smile inches its way across his face, but surprisingly he doesn’t break eye contact.

You quickly change subjects, unwilling to acknowledge the slight fluttering in your stomach.

“...So, you dance?”

It’s not the smoothest transition, but Hoseok’s face instantly lights up.

“Yes! I mean,” he pauses and clears his throat. “Not professionally. I minored in dance. But it’s something I definitely enjoy, you know, to blow off some steam. Ah, wait a sec—”

He takes out his phone to show you short video clips of his dancing. He pulls up his instagram account and scrolls through an eclectic mix of mirror selfies showcasing his bold fashion choices, dog pics, and videos of him working out and dancing.

“Here’s a recent one.”

You don’t know much about dance but in spite of your little knowledge in the subject, your eyes stay transfixed on the screen in front of you. “Whoa...”

The way he moves is enthralling, for lack of a better word. You know from experience that his body is flexible and agile, lithe and strong, but seeing it in action like this leaves you speechless, momentarily robbed of coherency. You can’t even describe it. His execution of the choreography is sharp and powerful, yet his body doesn’t look rigid. On the contrary, his movements are surprisingly fluid and he never misses a single beat. You watch in astonishment as he pushes himself off of his knees after bending backwards in one fell swoop.

“Eh? Is it even possible to move your body that way?” Surely if you try to mimic him, you’ll look like a flailing chicken. “That can’t be safe...”

Hoseok laughs at your shocked expression. “It takes a lot of practice. You should come to a workshop one day! My friend teaches beginners. He’d be glad if you could join. The more the merrier, right? You don’t need to know any of the basics... And if you’re worried about people poking fun—don’t. Dancing isn’t a competition or anything.”

“I dunno.” You hand him back his phone after watching the video loop back for a second time. “I think my back would crack if I attempted any of that.”

“I think you would do really well! You’re pretty flexible and I don’t think you need to worry about stamina. Your core muscles are also really well developed. Based on what I’ve seen, you have a good sense of balance and beat awareness, so even if you’ve never danced before, you have the body and disposition for it.”

“Well... I guess I—”

“Hey.” Jimin interrupts, plump lips curved into a polite smile. You try not to let your surprise show; you hadn’t even noticed him approaching. He kisses your cheek and slides his hand into yours, clasping it between his own. “Sorry to interrupt, doll. Seokjin wanted to have a word with you before the shoot.”

“Oh.” You blink, your eyes darting back and forth between Jimin and Hoseok. “Um...if you don’t mind?”

“That’s straight,” Hoseok steps back, shoving his hands down his pockets. He shoots you a tentative smile. “I’ll catch you later.”

You feel bad for ditching him mid-conversation after he’d been so nice, but you know how annoying your agent can get when ignored for too long.

Jimin’s fingers tighten around yours. When you look up, he’s pouting, his lips pursed and brows drawn together.

“Is something on your mind?”

You can see the hesitation flicker across his face. When he finally meets your gaze, his expression is troubled.

“It’s nothing...” He looks away again and the grip he has on your hand loosens.

“Hm.” You swallow down any further inquiries, worried you’ll upset him.

“What was that about, anyway?” he asks casually, trying his best to look uninterested. “You and Hoseok look like you’re getting along well.”

“Yeah.” The memory of your previous conversation makes you smile softly despite yourself. “He’s a nice guy.”

“I can imagine.” Jimin mutters under his breath. Before you have time to question him again, he straightens his spine, his features twisting into an apologetic expression. “Look, I gotta help setting up the cameras. I’ll see you after the shoot.”

“Ah... Alright.” You fight to keep the disappointment of your face. Since you only have a few minutes before filming begins, you’d been hoping to spend it with him.

As if reading your mind, Jimin leans in and kisses you, his plush lips soft and familiar against your own. You expect him to pull away after a few seconds but his left hand slots itself behind your neck, bringing you in closer to deepen the kiss. His other hand angles your head to the side, giving him more access, and he doesn’t waste any time before brushing his tongue against the roof of your mouth.

You respond to the kiss as if on auto-pilot, but your thoughts are all jumbled in your head. Jimin’s always been a good kisser but he’s rarely kissed you quite like this. His style is more of a slow-burn, the kind that slowly creeps up on you and leaves your whole body numb with pleasure. Every press of his lips feels like a silent prayer of worship and each swipe of his tongue tastes like adoration. You like that he takes his time, like you’re not just a quick meal to curb his hunger but a delicacy worthy of being savored.

Right now, this kiss feels unfamiliar. Urgency replaces devotion. Perhaps it’s because he’s short on time, but his touch is hurried and sloppy. He bites your lower lip, hard enough for it to hurt, and licks into your mouth when you mewl out a gasp of surprise.

“I wish I could just mark you up,” he pants against your parted lips. They feel tender when you smack them closed.

“The makeup artist is going to strangle you for messing up my lipstick.” You fake a scowl. You’re not half-wrong, though. Once she sees how swollen they’ve become she’s bound to take out her frustration on the closest available victim. “If you marked me for real, she’d probably kill you. Don’t tempt her.”

He chuckles and pulls back, letting his hands fall to his side. His eyes dart to somewhere behind your shoulder, his smile curving into a smirk.

“You’re right.” He sighs, looking back at you. “But that’s easier said than done. You’re hard to resist... Anyone would agree.”

Something dark clouds his eyes but whatever it is, it’s gone in the next blink.

You laugh, pleased nonetheless by his flattery. “Didn’t you say you had to help set up? You’re going to end up in trouble because of me…”

Jimin snorts but backs up all the same. “Don’t worry about me. Besides, you’re worth getting in trouble for.”

Someone behind you gags dramatically. “Absolutely sickening.”

When you whirl around, your agent shoots you a disgusted glare. “I was wondering what was taking you so long but I should’ve known you two were out here fabricating babies. Have you no shame?”

“I’ll see you after the shoot!” Jimin says quickly, eager to get away from Seokjin and his sharp tongue.

“See you.” You smile sweetly, ignoring Seokjin’s grumbling. You feel a pang of jealousy as you watch him scurry out of sight. If only you could avoid Seokjin’s pre-performance motivational speeches...

“Anyways.” Seokjin looks noticeably less irritated once Jimin is gone. “I wanted to check up on you before filming could begin. How’s your ass doing?”

You don’t bother hiding your grimace. “Squeaky clean and stretched.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He sounds proud. “Don’t make that face. It’s your first anal scene after all. Doesn’t hurt to be prepared, right?”

By ‘be prepared’ he means following a strict diet prior to shooting, waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get a colonic, stretching out your asshole for a good thirty minutes using a fuck ton of lube, and constantly rehydrating yourself throughout the day to the point where you’d gone to the bathroom more times than you could count on one hand.

You’re never this thorough with prep before having anal but apparently that’s the difference between fucking in the privacy of your own home and on camera.

“There’s a reason why cleanliness is one of the fundamentals of anal sex, especially when shooting porn. It’s a pain...in the ass...but this way, no one sees something they’d rather not see,” had explained Seokjin after giving you a non-exhaustive list of detailed steps to follow. You suppose there’s logic behind his reasoning. Due to the magic of 4k-quality videos, viewers can now easily see everything, down to the sweat droplets dotting your hairline and any makeup-covered skin imperfections, so you don’t want to imagine what they’ll notice once the camera zooms in on your back entrance.

“Eventually you’ll get used to squeezing water out your bum on the regular.” He shrugs. “You’ll also start to avoid certain foods on your own. The dietary restrictions aren’t that bad, all things considered, and your body will thank you for eating more spinach than you’re used to. Greens are good for your health even if they taste like yuck.”

Athough his suggestions are well-intended, you don’t need another 25 minute speech on all the know-hows of filming anal sex. The first time had been more than enough.

“Thanks for the advice!” you interject right as he opens his mouth to continue his counseling. “That reminds me I need to get this butt plug out of my ass before we start shooting.”

Seokjin sighs. “That would be preferable, yes.”

He doesn’t need to know that you’ve taken out the butt plug in the bathroom half an hour ago. Any excuse will do, as long as you’re spared from listening to his passionate discourse on the benefits of high-fibre food diets and his long list of enema tutorial video recommendations.

The fussing, you think, is unnecessary. You’re not worried about the upcoming sex scene, even if it will be the first time someone other than your partner sees you in that position. No, what troubles you is the possibility of the audience growing tired of seeing you onscreen now that they’ve witnessed you take it up the ass. Boredom is the reason why so many of your peers are forced to end their careers prematurely, after all. Why else is Seokjin so adamant about you pacing yourself and not filming everything there is to film right off the bat? You’ve always held off shooting anal, double penetration and the likes, for that very reason. Although you have no qualms with the act itself, you’re worried that you’re now one step closer to retirement.

The thoughts sit on your shoulders like a heavy weight as you get ready for the scene to come. You listen to Director Ryu’s instructions as he describes the scenario’s key points, your character’s motives, and what sex positions you should include before the scene comes to an end.

“The rest is up to you,” he says with an encouraging nod. “I want the words to come from the heart! Let yourself be a vessel, a way for your character to express their innermost desires.”

“Leave it up to us.” Hoseok’s smile radiates confidence.

“I like your enthusiasm!” Director Ryu approves, clapping his hands together. He misses the way his two leading actors exchange exasperated glances over his shoulder. “Good, then we’re all set? Remember where the cameras are positioned, please, or else we’ll have to reshoot to get the right angles.”

“Got it.” You nod, eager to get this show on the road. Between him and Seokjin, your ears are about to fall off from the incessant chattering. Even the camera men are starting to grow restless.

Speaking of... You meet Jimin’s gaze, the sides of your mouth upturning the moment you spot him. As usual, he looks slightly out of place standing between the other crew members, his white, ironed dress shirt neatly tucked into his black pants providing a stark contrast with his co-workers’ unkempt appearance.  

Jimin mirrors your smile and your shoulders immediately relax. A lot of people may not understand why you’d allow your boyfriend on set while you’re fucking someone else, but his presence brings you a strange sense of comfort that’s hard to put into words.

The sound of your name being called pulls you from your line of thought.

“Can you scoot over to the right? Just a little.” Director Ryu orders while glancing at the monitor. “Yes, that’s much better. And can we fix the lighting, please? My shadow’s getting picked up by the camera.”

Now that the start of the shoot is right around the corner, your stomach cramps up with a nervous kind of anticipation. Your tongue feels like cotton in your mouth and even when you swallow, the unpleasant feeling doesn’t go away.

You clasp your hands together in your lap to hide the minute trembling of your fingers. It’s strange, you think. Ever since you started working with Hoseok, you always get too wrapped in your thoughts. Not necessarily in a bad way, at least not all the time, but --

“You all good?” Hoseok asks, low enough that the mics won’t be able to pick up his questioning. “Do you need some water?”

You shake your head. “I’m good, thanks.”

He hesitates but doesn’t push. “I just wanna run this with you one last time. I know we already signed the consent forms but I’d feel better talking with you about the scene directly.”

“Oh.” You remember he’d done something similar last time, too. “Sure.”

“Anal aside, are you okay with the use of degrading names during the scene?” His eyes never leave yours, like he wants you to know how serious he is.

“I’m okay with you calling me a whore.” Your shoulders loosen up. It’s easy to relax when you’re on familiar territory. Working in this industry requires complete transparency. There’s no shame in discussing your kinks just like there’s no shame in admitting the acts you’re not comfortable performing. “As long as I can call you a slut.”

“That’s fine.” His lips quirk up, but not in a mocking or dismissing way. “I don’t really have any hard limits myself, except for what you’ve already seen on paper. Degradation is fine with me. Call my dick tiny all you want, I won’t take it to heart.”

You laugh, forgetting to keep the volume down. “I’ll keep that in mind…”

“So degradation is fine. Is humiliation okay as well? Situational and verbal?”

“I like that.” You bite your lower lip as you remember your encounter with Min Yoongi a month or so ago, how turned on you’d been from his words alone. “I’ll admit I haven’t dabbled too much in BDSM on the porn scene, but I enjoyed what I’ve done so far.”

“That’s good to know.” He raises his brow. “Ever since we received the pitch for today’s movie I’ve been trying to think of ways to make it, uh, more interesting. So to speak. But I didn’t want to take any initiatives if they made you uncomfortable. Oh, also I meant to ask if there was anything you wanted to include in the scene aside from anal sex.”

Somehow you’re not surprised he’s put thought into this. Last time you’d worked with him, he’d been overflowing with suggestions as well. Maybe because the previous filming formats aren’t as flexible, but it’s not often you meet someone so willing to exchange ideas before filming.

The change is more than welcome. For the first time, it feels like your opinion actually matters. The two of you quietly go back and forth discussing different possibilities while the filming crew finish setting up the set the way Director Ryu wants it.

“Alright,” Ryu calls, settling into the director’s chair. Somewhere in the background, the gaffer wipes off his brow. “Everyone ready to rooooollll?”

Hoseok takes a few steps back and reaches for a nearby clipboard.

Miraculously, you note distantly, the swarming of butterflies in your stomach is now gone. Your palms are no longer clammy and cold with perspiration. When you swallow, there’s no lump of nerves stuck in your throat.

Hoseok sends an encouraging smile your way right before Director Ryu yells “ACTION!” and he schools his features into a more polite, appropriate expression.

He doesn’t speak up right away, just walks over to where you’re sitting on the massage table in a leisurely manner. You open your mouth to fill the silence but he beats you to it.

“Welcome to Happy Ending Clinic, where we ensure every client leaves feeling 100% satisfied. We guarantee high quality services personally adapted to suit the needs of our every client,” Hoseok says in lieu of greeting, the lilt in his voice smooth and practiced, like he’s used to repeating this introduction multiple times throughout the day. “My name is J-Hope and today you will be in my care.”

“Nice to meet you.” You’re careful to keep your back ramrod straight, hoping the stiffness in your body will be picked up by the cameras.

The role you’re playing today is more reserved and awkward than the usual unabashed and bold characters you’re used to acting. And while it’s not your first time pretending to be coy and shy for the cameras, such behavior isn’t second nature.

His smile, whilst professional, radiates warmth. You suppose it’s meant to be reassuring.

“I will do my best to make this session unforgettable.”  

His gaze sweeps over the clipboard sitting in his hands.

“Hmmm... ______, is it?” When you nod in affirmation, he continues. “It says here it’s your first time visiting our establishment.”

You’re surprised at how naturally he adapts to the role he’s been assigned to. The words that roll off his tongue sound like his own.

“Yes... Honestly, I - I didn’t think it was necessary, but my friend insisted - I mean, she recommended I visit this place...said it would do me some good.”

You wring your hands in your lap. You’re lucky the character you’re playing today is supposed to be a little shy and rigid. Otherwise, you’re not sure Director Ryu would have let your awkward stuttering slide.

“That’s not a problem.” The lines of Hoseok’s mouth bend into a reassuring smile. “Let’s see... It says you’ve booked an hour-long session?”

“Yep.”

“Then with your permission, I’d like to take fifteen supplementary minutes to find out which massage course is best suited for a novice like you. It’ll be free of charge, of course.”

You nod, eager to get the show on the road. Given your character’s disposition, maybe you should have pretended to mull over the proposal for a few seconds more - if only for appearance’s sake - but you’re tired of all this talking. Impatience gets the best of you.

“Oh! Yes, that sounds fine.”

He pulls out several colorful mock pamphlets and hands them over for you to peruse their contents. You try not to let your astonishment show.

It’s the first time you’ve seen a prop team this devoted to their task. Although the insides of the brochures remain blank, you still can’t believe someone actually took the time to print out fake brochure covers. You appreciate the effort, even if the covers do look like they’ve been made by someone who’s looking to major in ‘graphic design is my passion.’

You hold one up at random and pretend to read through it, hoping that whoever will watch the movie later will ignore the ugly block font that spells out ‘NAUGHTY MASSAGE : FOUR HANDS EDITION.’

“Inside, you’ll find a detailed explanation on the various vegan, cruelty-free products we use. All of our treatments are oil-based and you can choose the scent of your choice. If your skin is particularly sensitive, we have essential oil-infused body butters that work just as effectively and leave the skin silky smooth to the touch. Depending on your skin type, you might be interested in testing—” He takes out several jars all while explaining the different health benefits of ylang ylang essential oil.

Once again, you’re caught off guard by his convincing performance. Even though you’ve been given several pointers by the director before filming, Hoseok is the one who ultimately calls the shots. Inwardly, you wonder how he manages to come up with such original lines on the spot. Despite not being a professional actor, Hoseok’s intuitive choices are beyond your expectations.  

The thoroughness of his explanation makes your head spin. Cruelty-free products? Body butter? You have no way of knowing whether his statements are fabricated for the sake of the vague storyline - but you suppose the credibility of his words doesn’t really matter in the end. It’s the small details he sprinkles here and there that help you immerse in the scene.  

His proficiency in acting makes all of your worries melt away. It’s hard to believe he’s only a rookie, just starting off his career, and not an acting veteran with dozens of movies under his belt.

Not wanting to be entirely overshadowed by your co-star, you furrow your eyebrows, determination set into your features.

“I’m sorry... I’ve never done this before. They all look the same to me.”

“Ah.” Still, Hoseok’s smile stays amiable and professional. “Well, let’s go about it this way - why do you think your friend insisted you visit our establishment?”

You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, your gaze dropping to the floor in order to avert his probing stare. “I - um. I haven’t had - I mean, I guess I’ve been stressed lately. More pent up than usual. I’ve tried exercising and meditating and mas- uh...well everything, honestly. But nothing seems to work. I’m snappy all the time and...frustrated.”

Today, the character you’re playing is a bit more bashful, too timid to voice her desires into spoken words. “It’s all about the tension! The build-up!” Director’s Ryu’s voice echoes in your mind as a reminder.

“I see,” Hoseok nods, taking your comments into consideration. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate the quality of your sleep?”

“A five...” you say after a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t wake up during the night, but it takes me a long time to fall asleep.”

“Do you feel any pain anywhere?”

“Pain? No, not really.” You roll your shoulders back, conscious of the way your perky chest juts out, nipples prominent through the cheap fabric. “My neck does feel sore from time to time but I think it’s because I work an office job. They say staying hunched over in front of a computer all day is bad for your health.”

His gaze roams your figure, quietly assessing. “It is.”

“May I?” he asks, taking a tentative step closer. “I think I’ll need to gauge your level of sensitivity for myself. We’ll adjust the intensity of the massage depending on how much pressure you can withstand and how your body reacts to different types of stimuli.”

Your brows lift. “Oh. Sure, why not.”

“Move back a little. A bit more.” You obey his instructions without second thoughts. “That’s perfect, thank you.”

Your legs dangle awkwardly over the edge of the massage table. You can probably close them if you wanted to, but you don’t miss an opportunity to expose yourself in front of the cameras. The shorts you’re wearing are more like tiny scraps of denim put together with the help of a few stitches. You’re certain that if someone were to really look, they’d see the outline of your pussy lips.

Hoseok walks around the table to stand behind you. The sensation is somewhat familiar—right away, you’re reminded of the first encounter with Hoseok, the one where he’d wrapped his arms around you and whispered words of love into your ear. You close your eyes and let the images flash by in quick succession. The memories all come rushing in at once—an artist’s lips painting your skin like a brush would canvas, a potter’s agile fingers molding your body from clay, a lyricist’s tongue composing sonnets into your weeping, open cunt. Your body remembers it all.

When he finally touches you, his hands radiate warmth the shadow of his memory does not.

A shudder runs down your spine.

Oblivious to your inner thoughts, Hoseok carefully gathers your hair into a ponytail and moves it out of the way. His mobility no longer restricted, he lets his slender digits travel down the slope of your neck, the pads of his fingers digging into the meat of your shoulders.

“You’re unusually tense here.” Concern colors his voice as he increases the pressure.

Suddenly the discomfort you’re to convey to the audience is no longer feigned. “Ow!”

The wince that mars your face is authentic. You try to wiggle out of his grasp to relieve the sharp ache in your shoulders. Hoseok’s grip is strong, however, and he keeps you exactly where he thinks you ought to be.

“Hmm...”

He massages your arms one by one. The circular movements he traces across your skin are a lot more gentle this time around, and you allow yourself to slowly relax under his touch. He manipulates your body like one would a rag doll, pulling your arm over your head.

“Can you reach behind, towards your neck? How about a little lower? You should feel a stretch here.” He taps at an arm muscle.

“Yeah… I can definitely feel it.”

You suspect that Hoseok’s stunt as a Pilates instructor is what’s helping him sound so experienced and natural.

“Good.” He lets out a pleased hum. “Hold the position for as long as you can.”

His hands reach around your body to squeeze your perky breasts. You gasp at the rather rough way he handles your tits. Perhaps it’s because you’ve been told to forgo a bra, but you’re much more conscious of his every action - from the way his fingers splay out, cupping the fullness of your breasts between them, to the way he kneads your mounds with his entire palm as he gropes you from behind.

“How often do you masturbate?” he asks in an almost offhand manner, his tone is more clinical than casual. The question is crude and direct enough to distract you from the way his fingers encircle your nipples through the cotton fabric of your shirt.

You recall Ryu’s earlier directions: unlike your first movie together, this tryst is not romantic in nature. The scenario that you’re acting out this time doesn’t involve sweet kisses and whispered declarations of love. Feelings aren’t on the table.

You pretend like the bitter taste you swallow down isn’t disappointment.

“Um.” You struggle to remember the initial question. Luckily, your mental buffering comes off as bashful and true to the character you’re playing. “I, uh, I guess masturbate often?”

“But it isn’t enough, is it?”

His question comes off as slightly patronizing. Before you can formulate a suitable answer, Hoseok’s fingers tweak your hardened nipples and your back bows under the pressure. You oscillate between the desire to thrust your chest out in offering, and the pressing need to flee the sharp sensations his skilled hands provoke.

“I - um!” You squirm helplessly as he continues playing with your breasts. “It isn’t!”

“Just as I thought.” He pinches both of your nipples and pulls at them until you cry out in half-pain, half-pleasure. The thin material of your shirt doesn’t dull the ache; if anything, the cotton scratches your skin, rubbing the nubs raw.

Despite your very visible discomfort, Hoseok doesn’t let go. You can only sit there obediently while he has his fun, knowing that if you wiggle too much it’ll only worsen the pain.

“Ah!”

Only then does he release them. You fight against the urge to cover your sore nipples. Your flimsy shirt hadn’t provided any protection against his rough onslaught, none at all.

“You’re quite sensitive,” he observes, giving your breasts one last squeeze.

Finished with his appraisal, he steps away and picks his clipboard up. He makes his way around the massage table, coming back into view, and scribbles something onto the paper with a ballpoint pen. He looks so absorbed in his work that you almost fall for the act.  

You worry your bottom lip, crossing your arms over your chest self-consciously. Without a bra, your hardened nipples are clearly visible through the thin shirt. They jut out in a distracting way; Hoseok’s eyes drop down for a split-second in appreciation before flickering back to the clipboard in his hands.

“Your body is wound up. It’s tense in places it shouldn’t be.”

“Is that...a bad thing?”

“No. Your case is not abnormal.” He shakes his head and offers you a reassuring smile. “Although... Hm. When was the last time you achieved an an orgasm?”

You look away, mumbling your answer in an embarrassed voice. “Last night.”

More scribbling. He taps the end of the pen against his chin, pretending to be lost in thought.

His eyes glint when he asks, “How many times did you cum?”

It’s not real - none of this is - and yet you can feel warmth spreading from your cheeks down to your chest. It’s a strange sensation, stuck somewhere between humiliation and arousal, and it makes your entire body heat up from the inside out.

“Just - Just once…”

“Look at me.”

Your eyes snap towards his on command. He looks relaxed, unbothered, like he’s discussing the weather forecast and not your masturbation habits. You want to look away but something in his stare pins you in place.

“You’re telling me the truth, right?”

“Yes! I’m not - I wouldn’t lie.”

“Good.” He smiles pleasantly, nodding to himself. “So. You came once. Did you use your fingers? Or, perhaps, a toy?”

He’s still staring at you, forcing you to look him straight in the eyes while you confess your sins. Your thighs clench together and you struggle to focus on the conversation at hand.

“F-fingers.” Your breathing becomes ragged as you imagine Hoseok’s fingers replacing your imaginary ones. They’d fill you up nicely, too. Compared to your own, they’re longer, capable of reaching places yours can’t. All you’d have to do is hook your arms under your knees and keep your legs spread wide open. He doesn’t even need to take your clothes off; he could pull the seam of your shorts and underwear to the side and fuck you just like that. “I only used my fingers.”

He raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t quite believe you. Somehow, that makes the fire between your legs burn hotter. It’s like - he knows you’re too cockhungry to settle for just fingers. And if a mere stranger can tell how desperate you are to get fucked, what about the rest?

“Interesting.” Hoseok’s eyes darken by the minute. “And do you prefer clitoral stimulation to penetration?”

“I-” You pause and struggle to formulate your response. Your ears feel hot. In fact - your entire face feels like it’s on fire.

The embarrassment you feel doesn’t make sense - you’ve never had any qualms discussing sex. You can talk candidly about any topic for hours on end, from the condom brands you prefer to advice on how to maintain a rash-free pussy, to the point where some people might think you’re over-sharing or being too crass. Discussing intimate topics shouldn’t be a problem.

It’s not even a real dialogue anyway, so why do you -

“Yes?” Hoseok leans forward, interrupting your train of thought. The corner of his mouth is upturned, like he can’t help but be amused by your discomfiture.

“I like, um.” You close your eyes, hoping that it’ll somehow make the admission easier. It doesn’t. The darkness makes you feel even more exposed, like all your secrets are laid bare for him to see. Your voice quivers when you answer. “I - I touch - I mean, sometimes I’ll - my fingers aren’t long enough. So just rubbing the outside is - fine.”

“Ah. You like being stuffed full, I take it?” Hoseok’s vulgar vocabulary makes your eyes snap open in shock. He smirks, not expecting you to answer. “Poor girl.”

You shake your head, your reply dying in your throat. With every word he utters, your thoughts become fuzzy, muddled.

“What did you imagine last night while you were getting off? A stranger fucking your face? Big men taking turns using your cunt? Tell me. In detail, preferably.”

“I don’t see how-” The sharp look in his eyes makes you swallow down any protest. Still. You can’t get your mouth to work correctly and you look back at him helplessly.

“Is there a reason why you can’t tell me?” He tilts his head to the side, the smirk on his face growing, canines flashing. “Oh. I see.”

You flinch, your face impossibly hot.

“Were you thinking of today’s session?” He chuckles, delighted. “That’s quite naughty of you. Although, I can’t blame you, can I? We are known to deliver the best orgasma. It’s only natural to imagine what would happen.”

That’s right, you think. You’d spent all night fantasizing about a faceless, nameless stranger’s hands all over your naked body. How long had it been since you’d felt someone’s touch? Their tongue buried deep in your cunt, fucking you until your thighs trembled? Even your best dildo couldn’t hold a candle to a hot-blooded, throbbing cock.

Hoseok taps the pen against the clipboard, the staccato sound filling the silence.

“One last question.” He makes sure he has your undivided attention before continuing. “No need to look so worried. I won’t ask you what lewd thoughts you get off to, although maybe in future sessions I’ll expect that of you.”

You don’t linger on the implication there - that you’ll undoubtedly come back for seconds - and nod your assent for him to go on.

“Did you cum hard while thinking of getting fucked by me today?”

You inhale sharply, struggling to hold his stare. “I… The sheets were so wet afterwards, I had to change them.”

“I see.” He jots something down on his clipboard but his reaction doesn’t give anything away. Nervously, you pull on a loose string hanging from the hem of your short. “Hm…”

After a few seconds of silence he speaks up again, done with his assessment.

“Well, normally for first timers such as yourself we’d recommend starting with a more soothing body massage. But I think in your case a more thorough massage is needed. It’s not a cause for concern!” He adds quickly, as if to assuage any growing fears. “But in my professional opinion, I think the massage I have in mind for you might be more beneficial than the beginner level massage.”

“Um, what does this massage entail exactly?”

“We call it the full treatment. In other words - it’s a deep tissue penetration massage,” Hoseok explains calmly. “It includes an internal massage. We’ll use a variety of methods but rest assured - all techniques are tried and tested! You’ll be in safe hands.”

You pretend to mull it over.

Hoseok waits for your nod of confirmation before instructing, “There are towels at your disposal.” He motions to the pile of fluffy white towels folded neatly on the bench. “Feel free to use them. While you change into a...less restricting outfit, I’ll go retrieve the rest of the massage equipment. See you in a bit!”

And with that he’s gone. The privacy he grants you is, of course, just an illusion. Even without looking in their direction, you know that the cameras’ lenses are all focused on you, waiting to capture the impending striptease. You’d forgotten about them but Hoseok’s absence reminds you of their presence.

Per Director Ryu’s earlier instructions, you make a show of taking off your clothes. Teasing the camera comes naturally to you thanks to your prior experience as a cam girl; you know exactly which angles are the most flattering and which ones, on the other hand, emphasize your flaws.

Your back arches as you peel off your shirt, drawing attention to the swell of your breasts and the curve of your waist. Not long after do you shimmy out of your shorts, exaggerating the swing of your hips for the audience’s viewing pleasure. You try not to show your surprise when the dampness of your crotch sticks to your folds as you pull them down your legs - you hadn’t expected how much a simple tit massage and few exchanged words would rile you up.

The denim pools around your ankles and when you bend over to retrieve the useless item of clothing, you’re acutely aware of how your wet, waxed pussy peeks out from between your thighs. You stay in position, giving the camera ample time to zoom in, and while the stretch isn’t painful (thanks to your yoga lessons!), it is a rather awkward position to maintain.

Once you straighten up, you take a few seconds to fold up the shirt and itty bitty shorts before setting them aside. Normally, you’d leave your discarded clothing strewn about but you can’t imagine your character behaving in such an uncouth way.

With that thought in mind, you wrap yourself with a short towel. Rather than covering your intimate bits, it’s so short that it emphasizes your nakedness. When you go to sit on the massage table, the towel rides up, leaving you exposed and you have to fold your hands in your lap to preserve a semblance of modesty.

It’s easy to convey nervousness while you wait for Hoseok’s return. While you’ve never attended any drama school, you have watched plenty enough Netflix dramas to know which physical cues are more or less effective - constant fidgeting, shifty eyes, audible gulping. Since it’s your first time putting your knowledge into practice, you’re not certain how convincing your acting is, but hey, isn’t it the effort that counts? You’re not here to audition for the starring role in Hollywood’s next summer blockbuster, after all.

Hoseok knocks twice before entering, stopping your self-depreciation in its tracks. He’s abandoned the earlier clipboard for a large, nondescript, white cardboard box that rattles with every step he takes. It sounds more ominous than it actually is.

If Director Ryu is truly aiming for realism, he wouldn’t make Hoseok carry back the items in a fucking box, you think privately. Who even does that? Although you suppose realism isn’t the be-all end-all, no matter how much the director insists. Sometimes viewers like to be metaphorically edged and endlessly teased, and all this guessing only adds to the build-up, making the climax more than worth it. They could, of course, fast-forward to get to the juicy sex scenes, the crux of the matter, but you’d like to believe all this extra effort is worth it.

You blink curiously back at Hoseok, feigning ignorance.

“Oh good.” He beams in your direction, his eyes drinking in your scantily-clad figure. “Now that you’re more comfortable, please lie down for me.”

He sets the box to the side, opens the lid, and takes out a bottle of oil while you settle down on your stomach and carefully rearrange your towel so that it covers your bum.

“I’ve chosen bergamot essential oil for today’s massage. It’s a nice, citrus-like scent that’s not too overwhelming because it’s been mixed in with sweet almond oil. Its many virtues include, but are not limited to, increasing the body’s energy flow and enhancing feelings of joy and freshness.”

“That sounds lovely.” You sigh dreamily. Getting massaged and getting dicked down in one go? Hell yeah. That one is a no-brainer for sure.

There’s a shadow of a smirk on Hoseok’s face when he rounds on you, like he’s somehow privy to your thoughts. That, or your eagerness is too transparent. You’re betting on the latter.

His voice lowers an octave, the low timber making shivers run down your back.

“Shall we begin?”

He moves your hair to the side, leaving your neck and back exposed. He then pulls down your towel so that it uncovers the expanse of your back and covers more of your bottom half instead.

“Is this alright?” he inquires. As if testing the waters, his fingers trace down the line of your spine, stopping right before your lower back dips into a curve.

You moan your assent. “More than.”

Hoseok takes the bottle of oil and drizzles its contents over your skin like a painter splattering ink onto a blank canvas. He spreads the lubricant all over your back, rubbing your skin in circular motions until you’re coated with it. You let out a few pleased sounds here and there that are not entirely faked or exaggerated. He definitely knows what he’s doing with his hands.

Honestly, you feel sorry towards your co-star who’s stuck doing most of the work while you’re splayed out like a starfish. It feels a bit unfair that you’re getting paid more than him when he’s the one putting in most of the effort. Had you any shame, you’d give him half of your pay for his services. Alas.

“Tell me if it hurts anywhere,” he warns, not unkindly.

Your back stiffens. You expect Hoseok to replicate the rough treatment he’d inflicted to your breasts, but contrary to your expectations, he kneads your body gently, almost tenderly. The contrast between this touch and his earlier ministrations messes with your head. When his hands outline your flank, his fingers prodding the sides of your breasts, you swallow a hopeful sigh as you wait for him to envelop your soft mounds and roll your sensitive nipples between his skilled fingers.

Betrayal brews in your gut when he fails to indulge your fantasies. You’re tempted to grab his wrist and guide his hand to where you need it the most but you miraculously hold yourself back. Since the scene doesn’t call for that much impatience and desperation on your part, you’d hate to be the reason why Director Ryu asks for a re-take.

Thankfully, he soon puts you out of your misery. Hoseok retreats, done teasing the sides of your breasts for the time being. You’re not sure it’s relief or disappointment that swims in your lower belly, but Hoseok doesn’t give you time to dwell on the question. Almost as soon as he retracts his hands from your back, he redirects his attention to your legs. His hands, warm and slick from the oil, glide over the back of your calves and thighs with ease. His thumbs rub circular shapes into your flesh as he slowly works his way up, the pleasant sensations leaving your whole body boneless.

“You loosen up well.”

Hoseok’s fingers skirt the hem of the towel. Your breath gets caught in your throat as he toys with the fabric.

“Will you open up for me, pretty? You look tense right here.” He flips the towel up, revealing your bare lower half. He wastes no time before gripping the meat of your ass cheeks, fingers digging into the supple flesh. He spreads your cheeks apart, cool air blowing against your exposed holes, and lets them jiggle back into place after giving the camera ample time to capture the view. “Hm. Looks like you haven’t been properly stretched out in a long time... We’ll fix that today.”

Bolts of pleasure run through your body. The whole situation is ludicrous and yet, for whatever reason you cannot pinpoint, moisture gathers between your thighs with every passing second, adding to the mess dripping from your folds.

“Um, like this?” You part your legs open slightly, as if unsure. In situations like these, the biggest challenge is to act diffident and coy when all you want is for your co-star to blow your back out.

He tsks, the sound sharp and reproving. It goes straight to your core and makes your belly clench with unspeakable need.

“How am I supposed to fuck your holes open in that position?” He has the audacity to sound impatient. “Work with me here.”

He grabs your ankles and separates them himself, ignoring your yelp of surprise. Unaccustomed to the stretch, the muscles in your thighs strain with the effort to hold the position.

A whine slips out your mouth. He’s so mean.

While you expect Hoseok to act somewhat distant and objective because of the role he’s playing, his fluctuating behavior gives you nothing but whiplash. One moment he’s cordial and friendly, the epitome of what a  professional should be, the next he’s treating you like you’re his plaything, not his client.

His grip around your ankles is firm and unyielding. He’s got you spread impossibly wide, your legs dangling dangerously off the edge of the table with your waxed holes exposed for inspection.

“That’s good, just like that.” His hands let go of your ankles when he’s sure you won’t move from the position he’s steered you into. He strokes up your legs, the touch feather-light and fleeting. “Keep your legs spread wide. I want to see your cute little holes on display.”

His crude remarks make your body flush with heat.

Even if this is the sort of place that offers sexual gratification, Hoseok’s wording toes several lines. As his client, he should be focused on giving you pleasure, so why do his comments make it sound like you’re here for his entertainment instead?

Despite your character being fully aware of what type of establishment she’s visiting, you reckon Hoseok’s words are enough to make her squirm in embarrassment. There’s something filthy about the way he orders you around and bends you to his will. Even you’re not indifferent to the impersonal way he handles your body like a doll. Flickers of arousal lick up your spine, and with your legs extended so far apart, it’s not difficult for Hoseok to notice how much you’re wound up.

The position is far from proper. Hot streaks of humiliation burn through you when you imagine how easy and slutty you must seem to whoever is watching. You don’t dare move from the pose he’s maneuvered you into, not because you’re scared of the consequences, but because his presence demands obedience. Even without explicitly saying so, he’s made it clear that for the next hour or so, you’re his to toy with.

“Good girl. You open up so nicely.” Hoseok purrs, satisfied with your compliance. “Now let me see what I’m working with here.”

He swipes his index finger through your glossy folds, the action forcing you to stifle a startled gasp. It’s nothing like the erotic oil massage you’d experienced minutes prior. The touch is inquisitive, clinical, assessing. Like he’s testing out a new product before purchase.

You want to stay still but you’re so wound up from his incessant teasing. The slightest caress makes the hairs on the back of your nape stand straight. Hoseok is all too aware of this fact. The tip of his pointer finger comes in contact with your clit, the touch more delicate than a feather's caress. Hoseok watches with thinly veiled amusement as you jerk against the table.

“You really are sensitive,” he all but coos. “What a treat. Don’t need any oil when you’re leaking all over the table like a faucet. How long has it been since someone touched you here, hm?”

The teasing lilt in his voice borders on condescending. Heat simmers under the surface of your skin as you struggle to collect your thoughts.

“Eight months,” you squeak just as two of his fingers dip into your slicked up entrance.

“No wonder you’re all worked up.” He slides his digits right up to the knuckle, the glide so easy it’s embarrassing. “Needy holes like yours should be used more often.”

He fucks his fingers into your pussy one, two, three times, before pulling away, chuckling under his breath when your hips push back, greedy and desperate for more. Using the same hand he’d used to test out your cunt Hoseok slaps your ass once, the sharp sting making you still at once.

The damp mark on your ass is a testament to how fucking soaked you are. You can’t imagine what kind of mess the cameras are picking up on - but maybe you don’t have to.

Hoseok wipes his fingers off on you, using you to clean himself off. Although you can’t see anything because of the way you’re laying down, everything feels wet and filthy. He rubs your own juices onto your skin, reminding you of the intensity of your need.

And just when you don’t think his mouth can get any filthier, he proves you wrong.

“I can tell you haven’t been stretched recently,” he sighs, almost disappointed. “You’re just gagging for a pounding, aren’t you? It’s a shame your fuck-hole is too tight to take a big cock or I would have given it to you right away.”

Your lower body clenches as his words wash over you.

The idea sounds downright delicious. Hoseok is right. Even if it’s just for the sake of the storyline, there’s nothing more you want right now than a good, hard fucking. It would take him less than ten seconds for him to pull his hard cock out from his scrubs and make a home for himself between your thighs. Images flash through your mind of Hoseok’s hands on your breasts, in your hair, around your throat. You want him to cover you, smother you, as he forces you down against the table and takes his fill. You want his lips on your skin, hot and possessive, as he uses you like the cocksleeve he needs you to be.

God, you want that. You want to be used hard, to be fucked full until you break. You need this - your character needs this.

You whimper, high-pitched and needy. “Please. Please, I want it. I want - I want your cock.”

“I’m sure you do.” Hoseok all but scoffs. “Why don’t you just sit still and relax for me? I’m going to massage you until you’re nice and loose, alright? First-timers like you could get hurt if they’re not prepped properly but I’ll get you ready, don’t worry. By the end of this, you’ll be able to take big cocks in all your holes like a pro.”

“Shit.”

You bite back a moan, startled at how much you’re turned on.

Porn dialogue is rarely arousing. You’re the first to tune out your partner whenever they talk for longer than a minute. It’s because you hear the same exact shitty lines repeated so often that you’re half-convinced there’s a porn acting for dummies handbook being circulated around.

Although… Maybe if Hoseok’s lines had been delivered by someone else, they wouldn’t have the same effect on you. That’s the difference, you think to yourself. Hoseok’s delivery. The cockiness that infuses his every word, the way he confidently carries himself… He does it all so convincingly - nothing like the wooden and awkward memorized performances you’ve witnessed from fellow actors.

While you’re lost in thought, Hoseok rummages inside the cardboard box. Without his touch or words to distract you, it’s harder to ignore the building arousal between your legs. As the seconds tick by, your shameful desire only worsens.

Before you can crane your neck or voice your confusion, Hoseok returns, humming under his breath.

“We’re gonna try a different massage technique now. This method will help with lubrication,” he explains evenly. “I’ll use a special vibrating tool that will massage hard to reach areas.”

“Um…” You swallow, blinking rapidly. “Okay.”

“It’s not as scary as it sounds. We’ll start off slow and I’ll gradually up the intensity once I deem you ready for the next stage. How does that sound?”

A click, followed by a low buzzing, fills the room.

You gasp when the vibrating object comes in contact with the back of your knee. Hoseok’s free hand settles on your leg - a nonverbal reminder to keep your legs wide open for him as well as the cameras.

“See? Nice and easy. Nothing to be scared of.”

He rotates the tool in slow, even circles. You force yourself to relax and accept the foreign massage, disregarding how strange it feels to have small vibrations travel up and down your leg. After a few minutes of him repeating the same motions on your other leg, he slowly makes his way up your thighs, the rounded tip of the tool dangerously close to your drenched pussy.

A pleading whine reverberates in your chest. The electric whirring of the vibrator is not enough to soothe the burning between your thighs. If anything, it makes it worse. You need more, you think urgently.

Hoseok moves to the side of the table so that the cameras can get an unobstructed view of your clenching hole. It’s the first time you’ve seen his face since he made you lie down. From his voice alone, it’s impossible to tell how affected he is. More than once you’d caught yourself wondering… Does he like what he sees? Is he enjoying himself?

A dark streak of satisfaction crosses over you when you notice the hunger in his gaze, his pupils blown so wide his brown eyes look black. Drool pools in your mouth when you spot the sizable tent in his scrubs.

The fact that you’re at the perfect height to suck his dick doesn’t slip by you. He could flip you over onto your back, your head hanging off the table, and use your mouth to his heart’s content. You whimper at the thought of him fucking your face, your mouth reduced to a fleshlight for him to get off. You could probably cum like that - his cock buried deep in your throat, his fingers pressed against the side of your neck to you struggle around his length, while his other hand reaches down to grab at your breast, using it as an anchor to fuck into you harder.

“Shit, you’re really making a mess of my work table.”

Hoseok’s gaze is trained between your legs. He wets his lips and adjusts his hold on the vibrator. The sudden movement changes the angle, positioning the tool right over your dripping entrance, closer than ever to your swollen clit. The vibrations suddenly feel louder and stronger than before. If this keeps up, you reckon that it won’t be long before you’re hurtling towards the edge of a precipice.

A moan slips past your parted lips, loud and wanton. Embarrassed by the sheer need that colors your voice, you quickly shut your mouth closed, hoping that your desperation goes by unnoticed.

Hoseok chuckles, the sound sharp and mean. He comments on your obscene behavior, how you’re acting so slutty it’s a wonder you’d kept this side of you locked away for this long without people suspecting your love for cock. Every word infiltrates your mind, leaves no corners untainted, until all you can think and breathe and smell is him.

“Over the years, I’ve seen a lot of sluts parade in here and pay for my time,” he says, his dulcet tone making the degradation sweeter. You hang onto each and every word, letting yourself fall deeper into a haze of arousal and submission. “But it’s been a while since someone like you showed up. Just look at this… Your little fuck-hole can’t even take a bit of teasing without getting me dirty.”

The buzzing between your thighs switches back and forth between strong pulses and rapid, little vibrations. You keen, shaking from head to toe in pleasure. Your thighs are wet, sticky with your juices, and your clit is hard and aching for attention.

You don’t even want to know what state your sopping pussy is in. Every time your body jerks and trembles, you feel the pool of arousal that’s gathered underneath you. It’s - embarrassing. That you’re this soaked and close to cumming when he hasn’t even touched your clit or fucked you with his cock.  

In the midst of your pleasure-induced haze, your eyes meet his. The lines of his face are drawn into a smug expression, his gaze smoldering. Embers of arousal light up his dark eyes, and you can only stare back at him, clit throbbing, as he ups the intensity of the vibrations.

“Fuck! Oh God, oh I’m-” Your legs thrash, hips lifting off the table in an effort to escape the shocks of pleasure zapping throughout your body. Mercifully - or not, depending on how you looked at it - Hoseok brought the vibrations down a few settings, until the whirring had quieted down to a low thrum.

“Feeling good, huh?” The grin he sends your way is positively wicked. “I think you’re ready to take more.”

More? you think weakly. Any more and you’ll explode, like popcorn kernels in a microwave.

For a second you think he’ll bring the vibrator up to your clit. Maybe even slide the long, phallic-shaped vibrator inside your pussy so that it’ll stretch you out like he’d promised. What you don’t expect is for him to bring it down to your other hole, the powerful vibrations rattling you to the core.

Your surprised gasp is so loud, not even the buzzing of the toy drowns it out. Hoseok places his available hand on your left hip and pins you to the table, the gentle weight keeping you steady.

“That’s right,” he soothes, voice smooth like silk. It sounds patronizing, almost like he’s calming down a dog startled by thunder or explaining right from wrong to a small child.

“Um.” You let trepidation inch its way into your voice. “You - what are you doing? That’s not - that’s dirty.”

“What is?”

“My,” you pause, humiliation coiling tightly around your spine. Hoseok presses the toy harder around your rim, its coat of arousal making the tip slide over your sensitive skin. You’re tempted not to answer but you know Hoseok wants you to voice the dirty words. “My asshole. It’s - dirty. Please - I… I don’t think you should touch it. It’s not right.”

You mumble the end of your sentence like you’re embarrassed to say such a scandalous thing out loud.

Hoseok laughs, sounding both mocking and endeared. “Oh, sweetheart. Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I’m going to loosen up all your holes. Because that’s what you’ve always wanted deep down, isn’t it? To service cock. Even if it means letting me play with this dirty hole of yours.”

The vibrations intensify with the click of a button. Your whole body spasms, limbs flailing pathetically as the sensations run down your back all the way to the tip of your toes.

You bite down a whimper. How does he know? How can he tell? All you want right now is a nice, hard cock buried inside of you - and at this point you don’t care which orifice he sticks in it. You’re just so - empty. So empty it physically aches.

Hoseok dials down the intensity of the vibrator and with his free hand, squeezes a copious amount of oil onto the toy, slicking it up.

Surprisingly he doesn’t bother prepping you with his fingers before easing the toy into your back entrance. From your position, you can’t tell if Director Ryu signaled to hurry things along or if his own impatience played a part. Either way, your sharp intake of breath is genuine.

You try your best to relax your muscles but the toy is thicker than expected, its sides bumpy and ribbed. Even though you’d stretched yourself out beforehand with a sizable dildo, the girth of the toy still makes your breath hitch. Your bottom lip hurts as you scrape your teeth over it.

“Relax for me. That’s it.” Hoseok whispers soft words of encouragement. “You’re doing such a good job.”

Finally, after what seems like light years, the toy is fully inserted, only the base of it peeking out from between your parted cheeks. You feel full, deliciously so. It’s only now with the weight of the toy inside of you that you realize how much you’d missed being stuffed to the brim.

“There you go.” Hoseok smacks your right ass cheek hard enough for the sting to go straight to your clit. “How does that feel?”

“Full.” You smack your lips together. Eloquence is not your strongest suit in the present moment and your lack of coherency only humiliates you further. It’s like he’s rendered you cock-dumb. Reduced you to a lust-driven creature that only has dick on the brain. “I feel good.”

“Of course you’d enjoy that.” The cockiness in his voice is undeniable, like he’s drunk off the power he has over you. “Needy sluts like you only care about getting filled up, huh?”

It sounds like a rhetorical question but you answer it anyway, just in case he wanted an answer.

“Yes! I’m a needy slut. Please - could you…?” You wriggle your hips, trying to entice him into action. The rocking motion jostles the toy nestled inside of you, causing you to choke out a moan. “Hng! Use my pussy this time, please?”

Hoseok clucks his tongue and slaps your ass again to keep you still. It moves the lodged vibrator, knocking it against a spot inside of you that makes you gush. Your pussy clenches up in an imitation of an orgasm - but you know from experience that you haven’t cum just yet.

Fuck. You’re so fucked and he hasn’t even given you his cock.

Your head thumps down against the table as you take in deep, steadying breaths. You can’t think straight; every thought seems clouded by a dense smog of lust. Your body feels like a live wire, all your nerve endings crackling with electricity. How much more can you endure before you shatter beyond repair?

Hoseok takes pity on you. “The vibrating massage should have helped your muscles relax. Your tight cunt should be able to fit this in by now.”

He slides another silicone toy into your pussy, this one wider and longer than the first. Your hands grapple for purchase as your body accommodates both toys, one in each hole. You’re so wet that there’s no resistance despite its impressive size and you suck in a breath as Hoseok keeps pushing it in, inch by interminable inch.

If you thought you felt full before, it’s nothing compared to how stretched you feel now. The wall separating the two toys is stretched thin and when you tense your abdomen, you can feel both of them nudge against one another. Your stomach feels - bloated. As if there’s a bulge where the toys are nestled deep inside of you.

It’s quite frankly obscene.

You’ve never felt more turned on.

“Whoa.” He grips both of your legs and widens them even further, displaying your stuffed holes for the cameras. “Your hungry cunt ate up my biggest dildo like it was nothing.”

The fact that he admitted it was a dildo - and not some vibrating tool - just adds to your mortification.

“Okay. Two holes down, one to go.”

He releases his hold on your legs and raises a brow at you. The smirk is back on his face and that, paired with the ravenous look in his eyes, makes you want to run and hide. He looks like he’s two seconds away from devouring you whole for dinner. “Why don’t you turn around for me? It wouldn’t be a full body massage if I didn’t rub down the other side, right?”

His chuckle spurs you into action. It’s not that you’re not embarrassed by the idea of baring yourself completely for him like some sort of cult offering, but the need to get dicked down trumps all.

Your mind feels fuzzy and your body sluggish. There’s a fire inside of you that not even double penetration has managed to extinguish and it roars to life as you manœuvre into the position he’s ordered you to get into. The toys jostle inside of you, reminding you of the depraved lengths you’d go to because you’re starving for cock.

He’s right about you, you think as you settle onto your back. You’re a needy slut. All you want is for your holes to be filled. And when they’re empty, your body aches with the need to fill them back up again. Toys will do but they’re a poor substitute for what you really want.

Thankfully, Hoseok’s own patience is running out. You’ve barely gotten into a comfortable position when he’s fishing out his cock from his scrubs, not even bothering to remove his clothes.

Drool pools into your mouth at the sight. He’s just as long as you remembered him to be. Not too thick or veiny, but prettily flushed and glistening with translucent precum. How long has he been hard? The erection looks painful. Distantly, you’re comforted by the knowledge that you haven’t been the only one suffering from this prolonged foreplay. God is fair, you rejoice internally. 

Your mouth opens of its own accord and your tongue lolls out, hungry.

Hoseok doesn’t comment on your pathetic state -  a testament to how worked up he probably is. He guides his cock into your waiting mouth with barely repressed urgency.

His cock is heavy on your tongue, the perfect weight. He pushes in until he can’t go any further, the position you’re in giving him better access to your throat. You fucking love it.

When you swallow around his length, he hisses between his teeth. “Shit.”

He gives you little time to adjust. As soon as he’s certain you can take it, he starts to thrust his hips. His cock drags across the rough surface of your tongue as it’s pushed and pulled out of your mouth at a rapid pace. Each thrust of his hips makes you gag, drool running down the sides of your face, and the obscene sounds of your choking echo in your ears.

The rough treatment should revolt you, make you squirm or shy away, but you’ve never felt more alive. Your mind feels pleasantly blank - like your sole purpose in life is to be a glorified cum bucket, a receptacle for his cock and cum. Even when he buries himself all the way to the hilt, so far down your throat it feels like he’s reached your stomach, you’re eager for more. Logically speaking you don’t even know if you can handle more, don’t have the mental faculty to figure out if more is physically possible, but your body knows that it’ll never be sated, not fully, not until he cums inside you.

“Greedy girl,” he rasps between heavy breaths. “Look at you… I’ve plugged up three of your holes but you’re still gagging for it, aren’t you? Filthy slut.”

His words are meant to degrade and humiliate you. Instead of disgust, you can hear the admiration ring in his voice. His awe satisfies you and you hollow your cheeks, suctioning around his girth just to hear him curse under his breath. You live for the way his hips stutter and how his deep breathing is interspersed by the occasional grunt or moan. It feels good to know that you’re bringing him pleasure, that your hole is satisfactory.

Hoseok reaches over your body and grabs something from the discarded cardboard box you can’t see. You soon find out what it is though - the oil is drizzled over your torso and chest, liquid spilling down the sides of your body. He throws the bottle to the side, more interested in spreading the lubricant over your tits until they’re slick and shiny.

It soon becomes clear that he’s abandoned his earlier massage techniques in favor of a more rushed treatment. Gone is the slow build-up. He rubs your breasts, grabbing and squeezing them like stress balls, and pinches your hard nipples tightly between his fingers, pulling them out until your back arches.

The next time he slams his erect length into your mouth, your breasts bounce from the force of the thrust. Hoseok’s eyes remain transfixed on the lewd way your breasts jiggle; because he keeps your nipples clamped tightly between his fingers, your tits have no other choice but to swing around every time he rocks his hips back and forth.

Every time you gag and choke on his cock, tears prickling your eyes, you feel the fire between your legs grow stronger. Shame and arousal course through you, your head dizzy with lust. You can’t move, can’t scream, all of your moans of pleasure muffled by the cock buried in your throat.

He laughs derisively, pulling out after a particularly hard thrust. A string of saliva connects your mouth to his cock and your eyes zero in on it, finding it impossible to look away.

“You slut.”

He makes a disapproving noise low in his throat before slapping you across the face with his cock.

It doesn’t hurt anywhere as much as a real slap but it’s so unexpected you gasp, your jaw throbbing in pain. The imprint of his cock is wet and dirty against your cheek. He keeps his cock hanging a few centimeters above your face. It taunts you, beckons you closer. The seam of your mouth stays wide open, your appetite evidently knowing no limits.  

“Heh. You’re really something… Never seen a whore so cock-hungry in my life. And trust me when I say I’ve seen plenty.” He sneers, walking away.

For a long second, you fear he’s gone and left you high and dry and that the scene will end like that. Except - no. He’s positioned himself at the other side of the massage table. You shudder as you realize that can only mean one thing : he’s going to grant you the fucking your body craves. 

Hoseok’s lips twitch into a knowing half-smile. He grips his stiff cock in one hand, the length of it soaked with your spit and precum.

You gulp, suddenly intimidated. Perhaps it’s the angle, but he looks taller than you remember him to be, bigger, his shoulders slightly broader. His cock looks more imposing, too. Despite just having choked on it, it’s long; his hand sits loosely at the base of his cock, leaving a few good inches poking out of his fist. Your mouth goes dry, your insatiable hunger reawakened. 

The impatience marring your features is probably disgustingly obvious because Hoseok makes another comment about how desperate and pathetic you look once you’re deprived of cock.

Using his left hand, he slowly removes the toy from your ass. The slide is painful because you’re clenching so hard down on it, unwilling for your hole to become empty once again.

A whimper escapes your parted lips. Hoseok laughs at the betrayed look that crosses your face at the loss of the thick dildo.

“So fuckin’ greedy.” He slaps your entrance with his cock, his grin wolfish as you wail in reply. “Stay still if you want my cock.”

Immediately you freeze, taking his words to heart. Deep down, you know that he won’t be that cruel but you’re so exhausted from the never-ending teasing, that you’re not willing to take any chances.

Hoseok holds up one of your legs and pushes it over his shoulder.

“Good girl.” He breaches your ass, both of you moaning as his cock works its way inside of you. It’s a tight fit; you can feel his cock bump into the vibrating dildo in your pussy, the feeling overwhelming you. He grunts, fingertips bruising your skin as he hold back from cumming too quickly. 

His hips work up a steady rhythm, the both of you already so close to finishing. You know that a lesser man would have cum ages ago, but Hoseok troops on, eyebrows creased in concentration. He looks - hot. Ridiculously hot, even in that dumb fake masseuse uniform.

His once perfectly combed hair is now disheveled, strands of hair falling over his eyes and dripping brow. There’s something about all of it - the wild glint in his eyes, the rough way he’s fucking you, the domineering aura that he exudes - that makes you absolutely lose it.

You clench up on his cock without warning, your insides squeezing around him even more tightly because of the toy still lodged in your dripping cunt. The orgasm rips through you, fast and hard, leaving your thighs soaking. Hoseok fucks you through it, his cock relentless, drawing your pleasure out until your body goes limp. 

It’s the kind of orgasm that on a normal day you could only hope to achieve.

Except Hoseok doesn’t stop to let you rest or take a breather. He brings your other leg over his shoulder, testing the limits of your flexibility, and uses the new angle to plow into you with renewed force.

“Ah - ah fuck wait!” You cry out, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations traveling through your body. “Oh my God, oh shit! You’re so fucking deep, ah!”

Hoseok chooses that moment to turn on the vibrating dildo. He doesn’t even start at the lowest setting, sets it straight to one of the higher level ones, and your whole body jumps. Both of you moan as the toy comes to life. The vibrations rattle your insides - and that, coupled with the fat cock that’s splitting you open relentlessly, threaten to rearrange your insides.

Arousal builds again quickly inside of you, pulsing steadily alongside your heartbeat.

You feel so fucking full you think it’s possible you’ll burst. Before, when you had both toys buried inside of you, the stretch and the fullness had been pleasant. You had even been able to tune it out for the most part once you’d got used to it.

But with the way Hoseok is now fucking into you with reckless abandon, it’s impossible not to be reminded of how stuffed your holes are. Every thrust of his cock in your ass bumps against the vibrator, pushing it harder against your bundle of nerves. 

“I knew the minute I saw you,” he growls, his pace punishing. “No bra, pussy ripe for the picking. Whores like you could never be satisfied with the beginner massage. No, I knew exactly what you needed.”

He adjusts his grip on your ankles and the change in angle keeps the vibrator pressed directly the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you.

“Fuck! Oh God, there there! Please, keep going. It’s so good. Fuck me!” You chant, out of your mind with pleasure.Your words are raw, unrefined, and in any other circumstance, you’d laugh at how ridiculous you sound.

“You’re so fucking loud,” he hisses between grunts of pleasure. “Why don’t you go ahead and cum for me. Make yourself useful and tighten up this hole of yours so I can feel good.”

He reaches down between your legs and fiddles with the switch.

You scream. Your eyes roll back and your entire body locks up. Intense pleasure that you’ve never experienced before thunders through your body. If your previous orgasm was like a building wave crashing to the shore at long last, this one is a fucking tornado determined to rip you to pieces.

Maybe you might’ve passed out. You don’t know. But when you regain consciousness, Hoseok’s cock is pulsing jet after jet of hot cum inside of your pussy. You feel it spurt inside of you, coating your already slick walls with his essence. 

He pulls out quickly so that the camera can zoom in on the way the cum oozes out of you in thick globs. Instinctively you clench your walls to keep more from leaking out, but it only pushes more of the mess out, painting your inner thighs white.

When you glance up at him you notice his shirt is soaked. There’s a huge dark spot that starts from his chest to his pants. He doesn’t seem to mind the stain.

“You came so hard you passed out,” he informs you while tucking his spent cock back inside his scrubs. “I came inside of you while you were out of it but I figured you wouldn’t mind. That’s what you came here for, right?”

The smile he shoots your way looks more like a smirk. You bite your lip. He must’ve taken out the dildo - or it might’ve gotten pushed out during your orgasm, you don’t know - and you feel your holes gape a little after being stretched and used for so long. You’re tempted to snap your legs shut but you know the cameras need to record your debauchery.

“I’ll let you change. You can meet me out front to schedule your next appointment. Hm let’s see… Considering how well you reacted during this session I think we’ll have to take more, hm, drastic measures next time. I’m curious to see how far your greedy cunt is able to stretch with enough incentive. I’m positive that with you anything is possible. We’ll try fitting two cocks insides for starters and maybe - ah. I’m getting carried away.” He chuckles. “Anyways, meet me at the counter in ten minutes and we can go over the details then.”

“I…” You wet your lips. “I’d like that.”

A silence ensues and for a second you think your acting was bad or you’d said the wrong thing.

“CUT! And that, my friends, is what you call art!” yells Director Ryu, clapping his hands like a seal.

You breathe out a sigh of relief and sit up despite your muscles protesting loudly. God, your ass feels sore. Hoseok had really done a number on you.

“Hey, are you all good?” He asks, drawing closer to you in concern. He must have seen your grimace.

“Oh! Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking. It’s just - it was kind of intense. In a good way! I’ll probably be sore later but that’s because I’m not used to these kind of scenes yet.”

“You were really hot. I couldn’t tell this was your first anal scene at all.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Really.” Hoseok sighs dreamily. “I think I saw Jesus when I came.”

“What?” You bring a hand to your mouth to muffle your laughter. “It was a good nut, I take it?”

“The best.” He looks over at you, dimples on his cheek as he returns your smile. “I blacked out for a second and went to heaven.”

You bask in the afterglow for a few minutes longer than you usually would. Hoseok makes no move to leave either, even if logic dictates that you’re both better off washing up instead of letting the mixture of sweat, cum, and oil dry on your skin. You know from experience that it’s hard as fuck to clean up once it hardens - not to mention it stinks.

“Babe!”

You’re roused from your peaceful state of mind as your boyfriend approaches. He’s smiling but one side of his mouth looks stiff. He hands you a towel, eyes trailing down your figure, and suddenly you feel self-conscious. You hurriedly wrap the fluffy material around you, eager to hide the cum still dripping out of your swollen cunt and the red marks littered over your body from Hoseok’s rough treatment.

It’s not - you’re not ashamed. You never are. It’s just - you don’t want to hurt Jimin. Even if it does come with the job, it can’t be easy for him to see his girlfriend getting fucked by someone else.

“That was so good! You did great. The camera really loves you. I can’t wait to see how the final cut turns out,” Jimin compliments and you preen despite yourself, conditioned to suck up praise. “Are you hungry?”

Just on cue your stomach lets out a grumble.

Jimin’s eyes crease into crescents as he smiles. “I knew it. You’re always famished after a scene. It’s a good thing I booked a reservation at our favorite restaurant, right?”

You nod, thankful yet again that you have such a caring and thoughtful boyfriend. “I’m famished now that you mention it.”

Hoseok observes the exchange silently and his presence makes you embarrassed for some reason. Maybe not embarrassed but - something. You can’t put a name to the emotion.

“Um, I’ll see you around?” You say as you gather to your feet. Jimin is instantly by your side, his hand wrapping around yours tightly. “It was nice working with you again! Thank you for your hard work.”

Hoseok’s lips quirk into a half-smile. He’s still eyeing the both of you in a strange, intense kind of way and the scrutiny makes you fidgety. You try not to make your desire to flee the scene too transparent.

“It’s always a pleasure. I look forward to working with you again.”

The words he utters are tactful and diplomatic - nothing like the carefree familiarity he’d showcased minutes prior. You don’t blame him, given the circumstances.

You shoot him an apologetic look as you turn away to leave. To your relief, Hoseok doesn’t appear dejected or offended. Just - curious, maybe? Pensive? Like he’s in the middle of solving a complicated and intricate puzzle and that puzzle involves you.

The idea scares you. Mostly because you yourself don’t know what he’ll find.

As soon as you’ve rounded the corner, Jimin excuses himself. “I have to finish helping the guys. There’s still some equipment to put away. But we’ll meet out in the back like last time?”

“Sure.”

He kisses your cheek and scampers away.

Seokjin is waiting for you in the next room over. He’s holding a water bottle, your favorite silk robe, and a dark chocolate energy bar. You’re so sweaty that it feels silly to wear the robe but you shrug it on anyway, knowing that Jimin will feel better if you’re not parading around the set naked.

Your stomach rumbles loudly and it’s only then that you realize the extent of how fucking hungry you are. Non-stop sex sure is tiring, you note while ripping open the energy bar with your teeth. Seokjin calls you a savage under his breath but those types of comments are so commonplace that it’s easy to tune him out.

“God, I could kiss you right now,” you say after swallowing down a mouthful of granola. After eating spinach exclusively for the past three days, the sweetness on your tongue tastes like a slice of heaven.

“Not with that mouth, you won’t.” Seokjin narrows his eyes. “I know where it’s been.”

Still high from your mind-shattering orgasm, you giggle and pretend to kiss him just to watch him squirm. It’s not until much later, after you’d washed up as best you could with the help of baby wipes, that you check your phone. You respond to a text or two before finally checking your social media page out of habit more so than anything else.

.

(2) new notifications

JHOPE94 has followed you!

JHOPE94 has mentioned you in their story.

.

It’s the same account Hoseok had shown you earlier in the day. You follow him without much thought, grinning to yourself when you read his bio “hope on streets and in the sheets ;)”, and click on his Instagram story.

You’re surprised to learn he’s one of those people who uploads multiple pictures about just about anything - his Starbucks’ coffee cup with JAY written in black sharpie, several mirror selfies, a snapshot of his shoes, pictures of the film crew setting up the scene. You click through the pictures, a little flummoxed by the random collage, and pause when you get to the picture you’d been tagged in.

It’s you. Squinting, you realize that he must have taken the candid picture in passing. You’re sitting in the hair and makeup chair, the makeup artist applying a layer of gloss on your lips. The row of lights that border all around the vanity mirror give your figure a halo spotlight effect.

JHOPE94 : not in heaven but i saw an angel today :))

.

.

[babbushka]

My Agent

Bond Villain!Kylo Ren x 007!Reader 

2.5k ; Content Warnings: It’s really way more tender than I anticipated lol but Light murder (gun violence & mention of blood), NSFW (Bondage/predicament bondage, fingering) 

Inspired by an idea from the ever wonderful @contesa-lui-alucard​!

[not my gif, please let me know if you happen to know the op so i can give proper credit!]

Kinktober Masterlist || Available on AO3

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

You can’t help but think this whole thing got blown way out of proportion. Really, you don’t know how things like this happen to you; by all accounts you should’ve been in and out with no problem – a routine mission sent by Mi6 to investigate some potential new threat to the peace of the world. That was all, just an investigation, and now look at you.

Deep underground in some evil villain’s volcanic lair, chained to a large steel beam on a platform that is slowly sinking into what can only be described as a river of magma. You’re a good ten meters away from it still, but the heat is unbearable, as the molten metals of the Earth bubble and hiss below your feet. Tugging on your restraints and trying to plan, you try to figure out some way to break these bonds so you can escape while the monologuing of this newest and most annoying megalomaniac drones on.

Ahead of you, standing on the middle of a dangerously narrow bridge that stretches across the red hot bubbling death trap you are being sent into, is your captor, and you’d very much like to free yourself if for no other reason than to get him to shut up.

That is, until, there’s a BANG!

The man falls forward, clutching at his stomach where a large red blood spot has begun to seep into his expensive suit, and standing behind him is none other than your arch rival, your nemesis, the notorious villain himself – Kylo Ren.

Dressed in a pristine white tuxedo, Kylo tucks his gun back into the holster concealed against his side in his jacket. He’s smiling, grinning in fact, and you want to roll your eyes, because of all the ways for him to see you, chained up like some damsel in distress isn’t one of your preferred scenarios.

Kylo kicks the shot man, your target, off the narrow bridge, and you both watch as his body falls into the depths with a hard smack before the bubbling gurgling spitting magma consumes him. It’s a bit brutal, but you would have done so yourself if you weren’t so, well, tied up.  

“Hello gorgeous.” After the last of the man’s flesh is burned and eaten away, Kylo begins a slow walk down the rest of the bridge.

“Oh not you again.” You groan, half amused and half irritated, in that way that Kylo always makes you.

He rests at the edge of the bridge, looking down at you where the platform continues to descend. You’re not afraid though, not now that he’s here. Glancing behind him way on the other side of the volcano, you can just barely make out the forms of his henchmen standing at the control panels which safely sit behind thick glass windows.

“What, not happy to see me?” He raises his scarred brow. He’s entirely too casual, stuffing his hands in his pockets while he looks down at you, watches you sink ever more towards the magma.

“No, Mr. Ren. I had everything perfectly under control.” You lie. Well, maybe it’s not a lie, but you’re sure you could’ve figured something out had he not shown up. You’ve gotten yourself out of stickier situations than this, after all, you weren’t the top agent for nothing.

“Of course you did.” Kylo shakes his head and grins, “Here I thought I was helping.”

“If you really wanted to help, you would’ve stopped this platform from sinking.” You point out.

The heat is starting to become anxiety-inducing, just from the sheer proximity of it. You saw what happened to the man, to your captor, and your heart starts to pound at the thought of that happening to you. Especially when Kylo shrugs and shakes his head.

“Hmm, no I don’t think I will.” He replies, making you scowl.

“Kylo!” You shout at him angrily, your voice sharp enough that he winces.

“I’m just teasing.” He says quickly, before looking back over his shoulder towards the henchmen who are watching carefully and calling to his favorite, “Slip! Reverse it, bring her back up.”

Relief floods through you as the hydraulics hiss and the machines whirr to reverse the direction of your movement. Smoothly, the platform raises and carries you back to relative safety away from the magma, clicking and settling into place at the edge of the bridge where Kylo is anxiously waiting for you.

He doesn’t bother to wait until the platform settles all the way, stepping onto the platform as it still moves up to cup your cheeks in his hands and kiss you. His mouth is insistent on yours, unyielding, and despite how he is certain to make you go grey at your young age, you long to hold him.

“Are you alright?” Kylo asks, pulling away to search your face, your eyes. His are so brown, even the scarred one, the damage there not doing anything to inhibit the sheer depth of his gaze. “Answer me honestly.”

“I’m fine, I promise.” You nod, because really for all intents and purposes, you are fine. There’s nothing much wrong with you aside from the soreness in your shoulders from being chained up like this. It could have gone much worse, if Kylo hadn’t shown up when he did. In fact, you can’t help but ask, “What are you even doing here?”

“I told you, helping.” Kylo smiles and kisses you again, “You’re my agent, no one else gets to kill you but me.”

The sentiment makes you chuckle against his lips, and he grins, his endearingly crooked teeth biting into his lower lip.

“How romantic.” You roll your eyes, before your curiosity gets to the better of you and you can’t help but ask, “How did you find me?”

Kylo looks at you and tenderly puts a hand on your cheek, his thumb rubbing against your lower lip ever so slightly. He looks at you like you put the stars in the sky, because to him, you do. He’s told you as much, on those many instances where he whisks you away to some beautiful tropical island to give you a break from the headache of work.

“The same way I always find you, and the same way I will always find you.” He breathes.

“There’s a tracker in my car, isn’t there.” You suck across your teeth and ne nods at once.

“And in your shoe, and in your gun, and in your lipstick.” He reaches into your shirt where he knows you have a tube of your favorite color tucked securely into your bra. He snatches it and pops open the cap, showing a small homing beacon. “I know you never go anywhere without your lipstick.”

“I hate you.” You laugh, incredulous at the way he’s so…so…Kylo.

“You’re welcome.” He kisses you once again.

You go to reach for him once again, wanting to get your fingers in his silky smooth hair, when you realize you’re still chained up.

“Kylo?” You ask against his mouth, and he hums, his eyes closed as he kisses at the corner of your lips.

“Yes, Agent?”

“Aren’t you going to free me?” You ask, and he pulls back with a blink, realizing that he never actually undid the bondage that is keeping you here. Not that you’d go anywhere, now that he’s here, you’d stay with him, you both know it.

Still, he gets this look in his eye that makes you groan, because you know you’re really in for it now.

“Hmmm, no. No, I don’t think I will, not yet anyway.” He chews on the inside of his cheek and calls to his henchmen again, “Leave us. Wait in the chopper until we come out.”

You can see behind him that the henchmen do as they’re told, and you wonder if they must have killed everyone else who was already here, already working for the man who captured you.

Kylo waits until they’re out of view, before turning back to you and smoothing his hands up your body. He likes this, likes feeling you, even over your garments. Something about it reinforcing the fact that you’re real, that you’re here with him. Or, you suppose, that he’s here with you.

“I like this place, I might just absorb it now that Mr. Monocle down there won’t be needing it anymore.” Kylo regards the volcano with interest as his hands skim across your stomach, your sides. “What do you say, would you have dinner with me tonight? It’s very atmospheric.”

He’s got a point, the place really could be beautiful if outfitted nicely. You remember snooping through the less actively dangerous spaces, all the banquet halls and the residential rooms. There was something to be said for having a nice lair, you thought – not that Kylo didn’t have enough as it were.

“I don’t know why you bother asking, when you know the answer is always going to be yes.” You say truthfully.

“Because I like to hear you say it.” Kylo’s nose brushes against yours, his eyes slipping closed as his hands reach around you and hug you tight. You wish you could hug him back, but you know he’ll free you soon. He kisses the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, “Have dinner with me. I’ve brought you something to wear and everything.”

Of course he did, he knows you too well. Although, you can’t help but let out a huff of laughter at the thought of eating dinner with him in his finest tuxedo, and you still wearing your all-black spy ensemble.

“Yes.” You breathe, trying your best to push your body against his more fully.

“Yes?” He repeats, although this time, you know what he’s really asking. One of his hands slip back around to your front, and his fingers just barely tease at the waistband of your tight pants.

“Yes, Kylo, please.” Your heart beats loudly, you wonder if he can hear it.

He grins, and with deft fingers, he pops open the button of your pants and slides his big palm underneath the cotton of your panties and against the heat of your pussy. He hums out happily to see that you’re wet for him, because of course you are, you were wet the moment he killed that sonofabitch who had chained you up.

Two of Kylo’s fingers work their way into you slowly, savoring the feeling of your walls clenching and squeezing around him. You lean your head back against the steel post, and Kylo corrals one of your legs around his hip so he can get a better angle to finger you more easily.

“Kylo…” You gasp as he kisses you.

The kiss is slow, unhurried, just as his fingers are. He strokes against your walls, his rough thumb coming to rub and stroke and push at your clit. You can only think of the pleasure you feel, although somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re reminded of those lazy island afternoons where he eats you out for hours on end, and can only imagine that that’s what’s in store for you after dinner.

“You’re safe with me.” Kylo whispers, and you nod, because you know it’s true. You know he’d never hurt you, no matter how much he was supposed to.

A third finger joins his other two, and you moan, the sound echoing into the magma. It swallows your voice up, the way your pussy swallows his fingers, and your hips begin to grind down on his palm, seeking more friction than he’s willing to give you. You find that you like being restrained like this – you would only like it with Kylo, but still. Still, the thrill of the situation, of trusting him so completely as he pleasures you, it makes sparks tingle up your spine.

He smiles, and if you were to open your eyes you’d see him nearly cross-eyed looking at you as he speeds his hand up. You’re sweating, you’ve been sweating because of the heat from the volcano but now you’re sweating because of him, and your moans grow louder and louder.

“Kylo I’m – faster, I’m close.” Your mouth drops open into a pretty O as he does as he’s told, shoving his body as close to you as possible, fingers crooking inside your cunt to search for your gspot.

It’s hard with this angle, hard with all your clothing, but when your body writhes and pulls at its restraints harder, he knows he’s found it. He moves faster faster faster until your entire body shakes and curls in towards him, a sharp gasp as your eyes fly open and you blink rapidly, pleasure swimming through your veins.

“I missed you.” You say softly, vulnerable as your orgasm sings through you, as he kisses and licks up the sweat on your throat.

“I missed you more.” He fingers you still, milks your orgasm for all that he can, and stars and spots and fireworks pop gently behind your eyelids. It’s not earth-shattering, but it’s with Kylo, and that’s enough to make you gush on his fingers, enough to make you dizzy.

“Not everything has to be a competition.” You quirk a brow, turning your face to capture his lips once more, obsessed with the way they feel against yours. Your mouth tingles, lips swollen and plump from all his attention, and he smiles.

“Yes it does.” He’s too much, cheeky, you love him.

You’ll never say it, but you love him.

“Thank you, for saving me.” You say instead.

He can hear the words anyway, you know he can.

Kylo pulls his hand away from your pussy and sucks his fingers into his mouth, licking the taste of you off of him, cleaning himself up and humming with satisfaction around the digits that were just buried inside your cunt.  

“Always. I meant what I said, you’re my agent.” He winks at you.

And you know that another time, you’ll be shooting at one another. You’ll be dodging the traps he sets for you and he’ll be dodging your bullets. He’ll have his henchmen and you’ll have backup, and you’ll be back at each other’s throats, nothing more than 007 and Mr. Ren, nothing more than spy and villain, rivals, enemies.

But…

But it’s starting to become less and less real, this rivalry. It’s starting to become more and more performative, while you plan, while you plot. Keeping up the façade while you buy yourselves some time. Because you know, you both know you’ll join him one day. You’ll join him and you’ll never again have to wake up without him beside you like you have been doing these lonely months.

He unties you, a simple press of a button just out of reach on the bindings, and all of them pop open with a hiss. You smile, and massage your shoulders, roll the joints there to wake them up. Kylo offers his arm to you, and you take it, looking up at him with a smile as you ask,

“What’s for dinner?”

[kaznejis]

Vignettes- Marco Peña x reader

Anonymous asked: just some like cute fluff with marco, maybe like different stages of your relationship. like first date, kiss, first time, just cute lil fluff like that.

Anonymous asked: I feel like you’re one of the few people who write Marco x readers that I love, so can I request your typical how you meet, first kiss etc imagines xx

A/N: Thanks for sending these in, I decided to get through two requests with this one. Sorry that I haven’t posted anything in the last week or so, I’ve been away but I am at home now and promise to be much more active! For those who have sent in a request, expect to see it on here sometime soon. :) 

Also, I gave your parents names in order to make the story flow much better- if those are your parents names then lucky for you, haha!

Feel free to send in any requests!

Vignette- A brief evocative description, account or episode

i. 

“Hey Y/N, grab one of these boxes for me?”

“Sure thing, Dad.” You wiped dust from your hands as you hauled another box that was stacked before the now-empty moving truck. 

“Thanks,” He grinned from the doorway, wiping the sweat that clung to his forehead as he did, “Once you’ve moved that into the kitchen I have some bad news for you.”

“Okay,” You spoke slowly, blowing a hair from your face as you deposited the (admittedly heavy) box onto the kitchen floor before joining your dad in the hallway, “What’s up?”

“Your mother contacted some nearby families before we came here; long story short we are eating dinner with one of them tonight.”

“You’re kidding?” You groaned, running a hand through your messy hair as you pictured the state of your appearance. 

“You’ll have time to fix yourself up,” Rolling his eyes, your dad had practically read your mind, “Think about it, we don’t even have furniture right now let alone food.”

“True,” You sighed, “When are we going?”

“Six.”

“Wait-” You spun to stare grab your phone and check the time, “That’s in two hours!?”

“Better get moving.” Your dad laughed as you sped up the stairs toward the bathroom. 

-

Luckily, you did manage to get ready in time and at 5:52 your family stood on the porch of a large house only a few blocks from yours. Shifting the bottle of champagne that served as a piece offering into the crook of your arm as you moved to knock on the door, the three of you twitched nervously in anticipation.

Eventually the door swung open and light flooded the porch that had been previously lit by a few dim garden-lights. A thin, dark-haired woman stood on the other side of it- a bright smile adorning her features. 

“Welcome,” She laughed, beckoning you all inside, “It’s freezing out here. Come in, come in!”

“Thankyou so much for having us,” Your mum smiled as she took the bottle from you and offered it towards the woman, “We don’t really have anything to cook with but I hoped that this would be enough.”

“oooh Anna, thankyou very much,” She placed the bottle down and pulled your mother into a tight hug- doing so caused her to spot you and your father loitering awkwardly in the hallway, “Oh! I’m so sorry, I should introduce myself. I’m Laurel, Laurel Pena.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Chris” Your father stepped forward, engaging in a side-hug with Laurel before gesturing towards you, “And this is our daughter Y/N” You smiled awkwardly and gave a timid wave. 

“Y/N! Your mother has told me so much about you, come here and give me a hug.” She did so, the hug was warm and comforting- washing away any awkwardness you had originally felt, “Now, let’s go meet the rest of the family.”

Turning down the hallway, Laurel led the three of you towards what was presumably the dining room- noise and light erupted from the room as the activity of a family preparing for dinner bustled from it. Smiling reassuringly, Laurel turned into the room and at the sight of guests the family paused- each member turning toward you. 

“The guests have arrived.” Laurel cheered, throwing her arms in the air as the whole family erupted into greeting. Laurel quickly jumped to introduce the each of you to the other family and vice versa. As she moved around the table, you noticed a boy around the same age as you watching you, a small smirk on his face. Chewing on your lip in an attempt to calm the nerves the gaze penetrating the side of your face caused, you willed the eruptions of want that sunk into your spine to stop. 

Eventually, Laurel placed her hands on the back of the boys chair, “...and this is my son, Marco.” She ruffled his hair before turning to the seat beside him. “I noted that the two of you are the same age so I thought that it would be great that you sit beside him Y/N.”

Cocking his head to the side, Marco stared at you as he awaited your reaction. You simply bit your tongue and let out a harsh outtake of breath in an attempt to steady your voice, “Yeah, that sounds perfect.”

“Great!” Laurel then moved to show your parents to their seats, “Now, I will go and get the last of the food- everyone feel free to tuck in!” 

Lowering yourself into the chair hesitantly. you watched as the table began digging into the copious amount of food that littered the table upon different variations of plates and bowls. Marco reached for a dish before him, causing the toned muscles of his arms to flex beneath the short-sleeved shirt that he wore. Turning the skirt of your dress between your fingers and swallowing harshly, you composed yourself before turning to fill your plate with the food that surrounds you. 

“She always goes all out whenever we have guests.”

“Hm?” You hummed, turning towards the voice beside you as you hadn’t quite heard what he said. 

“My mother,” He smiled fondly, which was a really good look on him, “She always goes all out with the food- we usually have about a quarter of this during normal meals.”

You spluttered out a laugh, reaching to cover your mouth as he grinned at you in triumph, “Well, I’m honoured.”

“You should be,” He snorted around a mouthful of food, “She hasn’t spent that much time cooking in months.” At that, you both continued to converse throughout the night as you both became familiar with each other. You and Marco shared a number of interests and you weren’t going to lie about the fact that you had originally found him extremely attractive anyway- these factors only deepened the feelings you already felt towards Marco. 

Apparently, Marco had felt exactly the same. 

As the night came to a close and everybody had separated to different rooms in the house, Marco had pulled you aside and asked the question that would start everything, “Would you consider going out with me sometime?”

ii.

You said Yes, of course.

Though the date didn’t end up happening until a few weeks later- you needed time to settle into the new house and become familiar with the local area. 

You vividly remembered Marco’s grin when you had gone over to his house and told him that you were ready for the date he had promised you. He had bounded around like an excited puppy, pulling you into a joy-filled hug as his arms squeezed your sides. 

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 11,” He had beamed, staring down at you as he slowly pulled his arms from around you, “I can’t wait.”

It was now ‘tomorrow’ and you anxiously waited beside your window- every time a car pulled up you would jump in anticipation, even if it was approximately an hour before Marco had arranged to pick you up. Chewing on your nails, you moved away from the window and walked over to the mirror in order to check over your appearance; continuing the cycle you had been performing over the last hour or so. 

Just as you begun to settle the nerves that flooded your mind, a car horn sounded from outside the house. Speeding back to your window, you set your gaze upon Marco who was moving to lean against his car. Taking a deep intake of breath and patting down your summer dress one last time, you left your room and headed towards the door. 

“Wow!” Marco exclaimed as soon as you stepped down from the entrance to the house, “You look beautiful.”

You laughed, feeling a heated hue of colour filling your cheeks, “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

You weren’t wrong, Marco wore an unbuttoned plait shirt paired with a black top and ripped jeans- he didn’t look too bad; he looked hot. Marco just shrugged his shoulders and opened the passenger door for you, a content grin on his face. 

“So what actually are we doing today?” You inquired as you slid into the seat, looking over at Marco as he shut the drivers side door behind him. 

“I was going to keep it a secret,” He laughed as he manoeuvred the car out onto the road, “But it’s nothing too big, I thought it would be fun to go bowling and then grab something to eat.”

“Bowling?” You giggled childishly, “I haven’t been bowling in years.”

“Well then,” He grinned at the sound of your laughter, “There’s a pretty high chance that I’ll beat you.” 

“Oh, shut up.” You laughed, shoving him softly (mindful of the fact that he was driving), “That doesn’t necessarily mean that I’m bad at it.”

“Well then we’ll just have to see how it goes.”

“Game on.”

-

In the end, Marco did win the game. It turned out that bowling was a regular for Marco’s family- meaning he had years of experience against your lack of.

After your pathetic defeat, you sat together in a booth within the restaurant that was connected to the bowling complex- each with a burger and a shared plate of curly fries. 

“You know what Marco,” You swallowed the abundance of greasy food in order to speak easily, “I had fun today.”

“You did?” He smiled widely, staring at you intently, “Well, I did too.”

“Well I mean, you did plan the date.”

He continued to stare at you for a beat. as if he was contemplating- then once his mind was apparently made up; he smacked a salt-covered kiss to your cheek, “Whatever.” He mumbled cheekily after doing so. 

You grinned shyly at Marco, bringing your hand up to brush the area of your cheek that he had kissed, “Ew- You got sauce on my cheek.” Marco broke into a howling laugh that practically crippled his body as you scrubbed at your cheek. 

“You’re so cute.” He huffed out as he recovered from his laugh. 

“Whatever.” You echoed, twisting your lips bashfully. 

“Go out with me again.”

“Slow your roll,” You sipped your drink and winked, “We have to finish this date first.”

iii.

One date turned into two...and eventually three. 

Over the two months in which you had now known Marco- you had grown to harbour some intense feelings for the guy. The two of you were in constant contact between dates; texting and calling until the early hours of the morning or simply falling asleep together on facetime. You were adamant that he shared these feelings- giving you the confidence you needed for what you were about to do. 

With an arm curled around your shoulder, Marco was walking you home after offering to do so as soon as the movie you had attended came to a close- therefore giving you the opportunity to, well, kiss him. 

It had been due to happen since that moment during the first date when Marco had lunged over and smacked a kiss to your cheek- the two of you had been stuck in a limbo of whether or not one of you should make the move. This usually resulted in the end of dates closing on an awkward hug or another cheek kiss. 

You were sick of it and taking this much needed step was very much necessary. 

“-I just think that the main character should of made a much better choice, do you agree?” Your prolonged train of thought had taken place whilst Marco had gone on a rant about the main protagonist’s moral choices from the cheap, indie movie you had just viewed. 

“Yeah,” You grinned up at him as his hands trailed patterns upon your shoulder blades, “I agree.”

“You weren’t listening, were you?” He laughed, though he didn’t seem to be offended nor surprised. 

“Sorry,” You snorted out a laugh as he ruffled your hair, “I was trying to listen to you I swear.”

“Well, as long as you tried.” He grinned down at you, moving to encircle his hands around your waist as you came to a stop beneath a fluorescent street-light. 

This was it, you thought, as you stared up at Marco’s lips from beneath your lashes under the glow of the light. 

Though, it seemed that Marco had been thinking about the same thing. Before you could even begin to lean upward he brought his hand up to cradle your chin with his thumb and forefinger, “Can I?”

You huffed out a soft laugh. “You don’t even have to ask.” And before another word can be uttered, you both met each other in the middle and connected your lips into a slow, sipping kiss that made your heart speed up and your knees weaken. 

Eventually the two of you had to pull away for air, as you did so Marco smiled down at you sweetly- with a slight smug look to it, “I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

You just smiled bashfully up at him, chewing on your slightly-swollen lip lightly, “Me too.”

“Hey,” Marco spoke, throwing his arm back over your shoulder as you set back onto the path, “Does this mean we’re together now?”

“That’s your way of asking?”

“Yep.”

“Alright,” You giggled, tucking yourself into his side, “Sure, we’re together now.”

iv.

“Are you 100 percent positive that you want to do this?” Marco asked sincerely, running his arm up and down your arm in a comforting manner. 

“Yeah,” You nodded insistently, reaching up to brush a stray curl from your boyfriend’s forehead, “I want you.”

Marco gulped, his brown eyes darkening ever so slightly, “Are you sure? I mean-”

“Marco, love.” You laughed, shaking him slightly, “We’ve wanted to do this for weeks and this may be the only time in a while that the house is completely empty for the entire night.”

“Okay,” Marco whispered, closing his eyes and toying with the end of your loose shirt, “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Sighing, you pulled Marco forward and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips before pressing your forehead up against his, drawing circles upon his cheek with your thumb, “I know you won’t, I trust you.”

“Good.” Marco mumbled huskily, moving to kiss you again as he lowered you to lay back against the pillows at the top of your bed. 

-

“Fuck,” Marco breathed out as you both lay side-by-side, pliant and sweaty against the bed covers. 

“Yeah.” You grinned widely, allowing yourself to roll over and cuddle up against Marco’s side as the endorphins and love hormones produced from sex coursed through you. 

“That was good,” Marco grinned, kissing you lightly on the forehead as he pulled you into his arms, “Was that good for you?”

“I loved it,” You sighed, not allowing your mind to catch up before you said what you were about to say, “I love you.”

Marco paused, going still and silent for a moment as you could feel his eyes boring right through you- though he pulled himself back together in a matter of seconds as he let out a glee-filled laugh, “God, I love you too.”

-

Taglist: @mansaaay​ @yongboxerrr​ @the-not-so-iconic​ @sandovalali12

[everwitch-magiks]

dance with somebody (ch. 26/26)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 25

Throughout his five years in professional hockey, Connor Whisk has been called a great many things.

During his rookie season with the Pittsburgh Penguins, the adjective most frequently used by ESPN was promising. (Editor’s note: we’ve counted. Yes, we’re nerds.) However, soon after Whisk’s abrupt trade to the newly minted Seattle Kraken, sensational and unprecedented quickly started climbing the charts. It truly seemed like Whisk had found himself perfectly at home as a rising star on a young and fiercely untamed NHL expansion team, full of players with nothing to lose, yet so much to prove.

At least, that was the way things appeared.

Whisk suggests meeting at a quiet coffee place in Pioneer Square. He’s already waiting outside when I arrive (and it should be noted that I'm at least ten minutes early). Whisk's handshake is firm, his shirt is completely lacking in wrinkles without a single button undone, and there's something carefully proper in his manners as we exchange pleasantries and order coffee.

We don't have an abundance of time, which is why I get right into it almost before we're seated. What’s his opinion on the current standings? If the Kraken do make the playoffs again, like most experts have assumed, what will be their strategy for staying in the game longer, this time? And what’s changed for the Kraken, during these last couple of seasons, that have enabled them to become such a force to be reckoned with so soon after the team’s very foundation?

Whisk, who isn't necessarily known for taking pleasure in excessive attention from the media, seems surprisingly at ease with my onslaught of questions.

“We’ve worked really hard as a team to get to this point, slowly but surely. It may look like a sudden breakthrough from an outside perspective, I guess, but that’s very far from how we’ve experienced it. Although, I’ll be the first to admit that those first couple of seasons in Seattle were tough. Extremely tough. We were fighting so hard every single day, trying to get some semblance of proper teamwork, trying to get our plays to work, get anything to work, really. A lot of the guys were rookies, and many of us who weren’t had been pretty shocked by our trades. We did alright, for a new team, but we all knew that we should be doing better. That was the thing, really – we all felt that we could be so much more. Maybe, if we had believed that a little bit less, things might not have felt so hopeless at the time.”

Whisk speaks with a familiarly serious expression. Some of my fellow sports journalists have pronounced him subdued, and stiff, and on one memorable occasion, unemotional. Yet as we continue to chat about his teammates over a second cup of coffee, and Whisk goes into detail about what the Kraken’s recent achievements have meant for each of them, those descriptors couldn’t be further from the picture Whisk paints. Connor Whisk is clearly compassionate. Effortlessly earnest. Irresistibly determined.

"Last season, when we made it to the playoffs for the first time, that was such an important milestone. It proved to us that we’d had it right, all along. That as a team, we could be capable of anything. And I think, especially for the older guys who’d uprooted the lives of their families after their trades, getting that recognition from the whole league was so important. It’s definitely helped us feel like we have every reason to go into each game with that much more confidence, this season. Our plays are bigger, bolder and braver, and it’s really been paying off. This year, the goal is to make sure that energy lasts us not only all the way to the playoffs, but much further beyond.”

Whisk speaks about his teammates with both respect and compassion. It’s really quite obvious just how he's earned himself the title of Assistant Captain. And on the subject of leadership – is there any truth to the retirement rumours surrounding the Kraken’s current Captain, Donald “Ducky” Rodriguez? And would Connor Whisk agree with the consensus among both supporters and sports media, that he is practically guaranteed to inherit the title?

It's the first time since the start of our conversation that I find a certain amount of evasiveness in Whisk's answer.

"It's difficult to say. Every player has their own journey, and I can't speak for Ducky when it comes to his thoughts on possible retirement. As for my own feelings on the subject, I'd prefer it if Ducky just stayed in the game forever." Whisk laughs. "Really, I would. Ducky probably wouldn't have described his trade from the Aeros to the Kraken as the best thing that ever happened to him, back when it all went down, but it was honestly one of the best things that could've happened to me. I had looked up to Ducky for a long time, and having such an experienced player join us made an enormous difference for a lot of us who were relatively new to the game. We've had a great run together in Seattle, and I know Ducky has talked at length about how rewarding it's been for him to captain this team, especially at this point in his career. And honestly, I can't even really think about what might happen after his eventual retirement. I just can't. I guess I'm just trying to focus on the now, one game at a time, until the end of this season. That's as far as I'm allowing myself to think."

Of course, on the subject of the Houston Aeros, I must ask about the rumour that seems to circle back around every so often without ever being properly addressed. It's time we all knew, once and for all. Did Connor Whisk, during his time as a free agent, really decline an offer from the Houston Aeros? If so, when? And, perhaps most importantly, why?

"No, I did." Avid Aeros supporters will be pleased to know that Whisk has the decency to look quite apologetic. "It was during my time in the NCAA. I found it a very interesting offer, but ultimately, it just wasn't the right time for me. I'm sure it would've been a journey that was rewarding in other ways than the path I'm on, now. But sometimes, you've got to go with your heart, and my heart was very much still in Massachusetts with the Samwell team. I was very lucky to be able to make that decision and still have such great opportunities to play professionally after graduation. That was never something I took for granted, when I made that call."

Before we run out of coffee, and more importantly out of time, I remember to ask about Whisk’s tattoos. As frequent readers of Sports Illustrated will be well aware, he has two, both on his upper right arm. According to my quite extensive knowledge of Whisk’s frankly limited media appearances, he has never once commented on them.

Evidently, they're not some big secret. Whisk readily rolls up his sleeve.

“The first one, got your back, is a saying from my college hockey team. It’s about always looking out for your teammates on and off the ice. My time on the Samwell team really meant a lot to me, I was fortunate enough to play alongside incredible NCAA players like Eric Bittle, Will Poindexter and Nathan Piper. I learned so much, both about hockey and about myself. A lot of the guys actually got the exact same tattoo at some point, without any of us really talking about it. It caused a bit of unintended comedy at our last reunion.”

The second tattoo, know where we stand, is placed just a few inches below the first.

“That one is more personal. It's about having trust and faith in those I love, about making sure they always know how much they mean to me. I'm a somewhat private person, I guess, but anyone close to me could tell you that it's very important for me to make sure that my feelings are known.”

Private is certainly a word that comes to mind. Whisk doesn't agree to many interviews, and his fans have long given up hope of getting more than one or two TV appearances per season, post-game interviews not included. He's on Twitter, as is the whole Kraken rooster, but his activity is mostly limited to retweets of various sports accounts. His instagram feed? Almost exclusively pictures of his aquarium.

At the mention of aquatic creatures, Whisk’s expression brightens.

“My housemate actually took this amazing picture of our axolotl a while back, I have to show you. Look at this magnificent queen.”

Somewhere between several anecdotes about Whisk’s certifiably adorable pets, and a tangent about his commitment to supporting organisations working towards marine conservation, we do finally run out of time. As we say our goodbyes, I’m reminded once again of Whisk’s polite, proper manners, a stark contrast to his somewhat unfeeling reputation. But if one thing’s for certain, it’s that Connor Whisk is anything but unfeeling. He’s reserved, yes, and perhaps somewhat reluctant to put his innermost thoughts and feelings on display. But he’s certainly an impressively focused athlete, one who has proven time and time again to have an admirable commitment to supporting his teammates, on and off the ice.

I can only imagine the regret that must be felt over in Pittsburgh. Seattle, meanwhile, has every reason to celebrate. It’s really something, given how much Whisk has already achieved, that he still gives off the energy of someone who’s got so far to go. The question is, just how far is that going to get him, in the end?

Will he be remembered only as a key factor in the foundation of Seattle’s so-far successful expansion endeavour, or could he be a true star player in the making, one on the verge of creating a legacy that will last well beyond a time and a place?

Only time will tell.

    Whiskey lets the door fall shut behind him. He takes a deep, steadying breath.

There’s a familiar suitcase that’s been left right in the hallway. Whiskey quickly toes off his shoes and walks past it. Ah, there’s a t-shirt. And a bit further, a pair of jeans. Then socks.

Whiskey follows the enticing trail of clothes into the living room. He passes by the mantelpiece, where his Samwell Men's Hockey Captain's plaque sits right in the center, with his Art Ross Trophy from last season over on the side.

Out in the kitchen, he finds a pair of boxer briefs. The double doors out to the patio are wide open. Whiskey eagerly steps through them, his feet quickly carrying him across the patio, over to-

Yes.

Oh, yes. Finally.

Miguel breaks through the surface of the water just as Whiskey makes it to the side of the pool. Immediately, Miguel offers him a wide smile. He looks so perfectly relaxed, back in his pool, in their home. In the nude.

God, he’s so beautiful.

“Water’s warm,” Miguel greets him softly. He trails his fingertips across the surface of it, almost like he’s reacquainting himself with how it feels. “Much more pleasant than the Atlantic, let me tell you.”

“I’ll take that as an invitation.”

“Oh, please. Come here.” Miguel’s tone turns impatient as Whiskey pulls off his shirt, only to take a moment to fold it. “Fuck, just, come here. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. So much.”

Whiskey willingly abandons his attempts to keep his clothes from getting wrinkles. He makes quick work of his pants and underwear, before he lets himself slip into the water. Immediately, he gathers Miguel up in his arms.

It’s not a languid kiss, by any means. Being separated for eight fucking weeks will do that to you. Miguel kisses Whiskey like he’s been trying to breathe underwater for months, like Whiskey is his fresh gulp of oxygen, his moment of clarity. He kisses Whiskey like Whiskey is his very reason for breathing.

Which is almost funny, given that Miguel has been doing quite a bit of breathing underwater, lately.

“Did you get bulkier?” Miguel murmurs against Whiskey's bare skin. He’s trailing his fingertips along Whiskey’s forearms. “You’re kinda firm, here. I like it.”

“Maybe a little.”

Whiskey kisses the top of his head. He lets his hands travel lower, let's his fingertips glide across Miguel's ribcage over the ink that matches Whiskey's own, four little words with so much meaning. He grins as he reaches Miguel's ass and let's his hands come to an abrupt stop. God, it's been much too long.

“S'okay. You're here, now.” Miguel shivers pleasantly from Whiskey’s touches. “Practice run over?”

“No, Angela called me in. She needed me to sign off on the final draft of that article.”

“Sports Illustrated?” Miguel recalls curiously. “How bad was it?”

“Actually, it was… Fine.” Whiskey thinks back on the feature. “Better than I expected. There’s even a couple of paragraphs where that reporter’s made me sound, I don't know. Oddly sweet.”

“You are sweet.” Miguel smiles fondly. “Is it really so bad, if people find out?”

“I suppose not,” Whiskey agrees reluctantly. He lets himself give Miguel's ass another indulgent squeeze. “And they actually included my off-hand mention of my housemate, this time. So that’s something.”

“Good job,” Miguel says with a flushed grin. “Angela must be so pleased.”

Angela Johanson, PR and communications officer for the Seattle Kraken, had indeed been extremely pleased.

Her strategy had really worked for them, so far, which was why Whiskey wasn’t too inclined to argue with it. “If you want to hide anything from those vultures in the media,” Angela had told him during one of his earliest PR briefings, “You’ve got to do it in plain sight.”

Of course, there had been other parts of Angela’s PR strategies that Whiskey had found himself arguing with. Especially during their very first conversation with one another, before he’d had the chance to inform anyone in Seattle of his situation.

It had been right after the trade – hours after, literally. Whiskey was still in Pittsburgh, both physically and mentally. And, fine, Whiskey had maybe already started to realise that Pittsburgh wasn’t completely right for him. It was a very good team, but they were so swamped with talent, and maybe fighting his way to the top of that rooster should’ve been an exciting, motivating challenge, but it wasn’t. It just wasn’t. Whiskey had spent his whole rookie year feeling like he was working against his own team. He had known there was a fair chance that he would get traded. He wasn’t even entirely opposed to the idea.

But Seattle? The Kraken? A team that, for all intents and purposes, didn’t even so much as exist, yet?

“We’re rolling out a whole media package,” Angela had informed him over the phone – as soon as Whiskey’s very first chit-chat with management was over, they’d switched him right over to PR. “There is an enormous amount of buzz right now, given that you guys are the very first players we’re signing. I’ve got some talking points to go over, and then you’re going live on channel four tonight at-”

“Hold on,” Whiskey had cut in. “It’s, I’m not… I don’t usually do many interviews.”

“Oh, you will now.” Angela actually had the audacity to sound cheerful. “We’re right in the middle of establishing our whole brand, and profiling our players in the media is an incredibly important part of that. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

“I’m not too interested in being a… A media profile.” Whiskey had tried his best not to panic completely. Really, he had. “I don’t… I’m fairly protective of my private life.”

“Well. You’ll certainly need to share the overall gist of it.” Angela had sounded almost confused. “We need you to be approachable, Connor. Likeable. You’re young, and very handsome, and incredibly talented. We’ve been hoping to have a broad interest in this franchise, all different age groups and so on, and right now, you’re looking a lot like our best bet to attract some real interest from young girls and women. We’re not going to miss that chance.”

“Look," Whiskey had told her flatly. "I’m going to tell you something in confidence, alright? In confidence. This needs to stay between you and me.”

“Okay? Connor, I’m not sure if-”

“I have a boyfriend.”

Angela had been quiet for well over five seconds.

“Oh,” she’d said. To her credit, there had been something like embarrassment in her tone. “I see. Of course, that’s not an issue. Not at all. We’ve done a lot of groundwork about the values of this organisation, Connor, and I want you to know that you’re going to be completely safe with us.”

“Right. Thank you.”

“And,” Angela had added, just a bit hopefully. “If you would choose to be open about that, I can assure you that you would have our full support to-”

“No,” Whiskey had interrupted. “No. I’m not going to.”

“Right.” Angela had paused. “Okay. We’d really be prepared to back you up, you know. It might cause a bit of a media frenzy, and earn us some frankly disgusting press, but we’d be ready to take that on.”

“Yes, a media frenzy sure seems like the last thing on your wishlist.” Whiskey hadn’t bothered to keep his anger out of his voice. “In any case, I’m not going to cause it for you. I’m extremely protective of my private life, and for very good reason. And I’m not going to go live on channel four, today or any other day.”

“Right, okay," Angela had said quickly. "Okay.”

There was a longer moment of silence.

“I hear you.” Angela’s tone had shifted significantly. Somewhere in the background, Whiskey thought he could hear the sound of papers being shuffled around. “I think… Well, won’t need this anymore. Or that. Hm. Let’s see.”

Whiskey managed something of a breath. He was feeling slightly calmer, although honestly not particularly regretful. Really, he’d be more than prepared to fight the Kraken’s entire PR department, if that’s what it took.

“Look.” Angela had apparently found something to say again. “I’ve seen your tapes, Connor.”

Whiskey frowned slightly.

“Okay?”

“You’re very good.” Angela’s tone was quite careful. “Very, very good. I used to play, you know, back in high school. You’re fast, and you play very smart. I’ve heard the way our head coach talks about your technique, and about your adaptability on the ice. Quite frankly, he won’t shut up about you.”

“Is any of this supposed to make me like you better?”

“That’d be nice,” Angela had said calmly, and okay, she was certainly brave. Whiskey had to give her that. “Most importantly, though, you should take me seriously when I say that we’re fully expecting you to be one of the faces of this franchise.”

“On the ice, sure, but that doesn’t-”

“And,” Angela cut in, “That means the media is going to be all over you. Even if you won’t let us schedule you for appearances, they’re going to find something to write about anyway. Really, I’m sure they’d be thrilled to publish all sorts of assumptions and speculation, especially if there’s nothing else out there to contradict them.”

Whiskey wasn’t sure what to say to that.

Angela actually had a point, was the thing.

“I understand the need to keep your professional and private lives separate,” Angela had continued. “And, Connor, I’d really like to help you with that. Because you’re going to need help. If we could work together and figure out a level of public visibility that you could actually be comfortable with, that would definitely keep a lot of so-called journalists from spinning a narrative that we have no control over.”

“Right.” Whiskey hadn’t needed to hesitate much longer. “I understand that. Honestly, I’ve seen the way certain publications go after some of our big names here in Pittsburgh. I’d hate to face something like that without a solid plan for how to handle it.”

“We don’t want you to feel like you’re facing anything on your own, or without a plan.” Angela had sounded quite hopeful once more. “Connor, I… I’m sorry if I came on too strong, just now, and demanded too much from you. We’re genuinely thrilled that you will be joining us in Seattle. I hope that you and I can figure out a media strategy that actually works for you."

“That sounds good.” Surprisingly, Whiskey actually meant it. “I, uh. This is all extremely important to me. I appreciate that you’re making an effort to see my perspective.”

“Of course.” Angela’s tone had been warm. “My job is ultimately about supporting you, you know.”

“Well.” Whiskey had actually smiled. “I suppose I’m glad to have you on the team, then.”

“That’s my line, isn’t it?” Angela had chirped pleasantly. “So. I’m cancelling with channel four. Let’s talk about alternatives for how to make your first impression.”

Whiskey hadn’t quite understood, back then, just how invaluable Angela was going to prove herself during his time in Seattle.

He also would never have guessed that, over a series of meetings where the two of them had drafted contingency plans for various hypothetical scenarios of Whiskey being outed, as well as quite a few bottles of increasingly expensive red wine, he and Angela would actually end up with something not entirely unlike a friendship.

"Angela says hi, by the way," Whiskey tells Miguel presently. They've made it out of the water – except, Miguel's already dived back in. Whiskey has sat himself down on the edge of the pool, content to stick his feet in and just watch Miguel. "She practically demanded that we have her over for dinner, this weekend, when I mentioned you were coming back home."

"Oh, I'd love to see Angela." Miguel dips beneath the surface, just briefly. "You could make those dark chocolate brownies for dessert."

Whiskey smiles.

"You've missed my desserts."

"Come on, try again." Miguel grins. "You're so close."

"Ah. You've missed my chocolate desserts."

Miguel rolls his eyes. He disappears back underwater with a playful splash.

Whiskey smiles softly as he watches Miguel swim down, down towards the bottom of the pool. He still remembers the first time Miguel took him swimming, remembers how his breath hitched at the sight of Miguel moving in the water, his lithe, flexible body completely in control. It was, and honestly still is, the most beautiful thing Whiskey has ever seen.

There's a picture of the two of them that hangs framed in their bedroom. It was taken the summer before last, during a trip they took to see Miguel's family. Miguel is looking at the camera, and his smile is the one that Whiskey loves the most – it's soft and warm and just so lovely. His brown eyes are wonderfully bright in the sunlight. He looks beautiful, and full of life and love. He looks perfect.

In the picture, Whiskey isn't looking at the camera. Instead, he is looking at Miguel. He's smiling, too, and although his smile isn't anywhere near as radiant as Miguel's, it's definitely gentle and content. He looks happy.

They both look happy.

The picture sometimes makes Whiskey wonder what others see, when they look at the two of them. Miguel, so full of energy and life, always bright with excitement and emotion, easily allowing his feelings to flow freely in any direction like a rippling, playful wave, his world a whole sea of excitement. And next to him, Whiskey. So purposeful, and focused, and bold. Always serious and earnest, making every decision with exact precision like he's carving his whole world out of ice.

And yet they come together so perfectly, almost as if they were always meant to find one another.

Miguel breaks through the surface again, with a bigger splash this time.

"I almost forgot," he says, a little breathlessly. "Whiskey. I do actually use Twitter, you know."

Whiskey frowns slightly.

"I don't."

"And as much as I love you, you're not the only account on there." Miguel rolls his eyes. "You Can Play made a pretty interesting announcement, today. Did you see it?"

Ah. Quickly, Whiskey looks away.

"They've received another one of those big donations," Miguel continues. He sounds delighted. "And still no sender, can you believe it? Funny, how this always happens right after you win another big game."

Whiskey ducks his head, grinning. It's only happened a handful of times, that Whiskey has managed to quietly donate a few thousand dollars to You Can Play without Miguel connecting the dots. Ever since that first time, when You Can Play had announced their deepest gratitude to an anonymous donor the very same week that Whiskey had received his signing bonus, and Miguel had immediately texted Whiskey a string of cash emojis and a question mark, it's become something of a game between them.

"Fine. You win this time."

"I win every time." Miguel grins, too. "I guess I should just be grateful that you haven't splurged too much on another ridiculous welcome-home present. I'm still getting over the shock from last time."

"You love the pool," Whiskey reminds him softly. He clears his throat. "I, uh. I might actually have gotten you something."

Miguel stills.

"Please tell me it's something that fits inside the house, this time."

"Well..." Whiskey knows that it's better if he just sticks to his plan of showing Miguel, when he gets the chance. They've been making loose plans for a trip to Boston, anyhow, and Miguel definitely won't mind going back to the New England Aquarium. Especially when he finds out that they'll be attending the opening ceremony for the aquarium's new, privately funded manatee conservation program. "It's not really something you can take home. But I know you're going to love it."

"Okay, mister." Miguel looks a little bit weary. "God, you've got that look in your eyes. I'm getting nervous."

"You'll love it," Whiskey repeats firmly. He smiles. "And, uh, speaking of love. We got a letter from Dex and Nursey, yesterday."

Miguel's eyebrows shoot up.

"A letter? Don't you guys text, like, a lot?"

"They've finally set a date."

"Oh," Miguel exclaims. His smile widens. "Oh, that is so exciting! We're going to a wedding!"

"We are, yeah." Whiskey smiles, too. "I haven't RSVP'd, yet, but…"

"No, no, of course we're going." Miguel is still beaming. "Wow. Wow. Do you know what colors they're doing? Ooh, and what's their venue?"

"I don't… We can read their invitation together." Whiskey watches Miguel for a moment. "You like weddings."

Miguel pauses briefly.

"I like seeing our friends happy." He smiles. "Whiskey, you know that I don't expect… I've never really thought that I would be married."

"Me neither." Whiskey isn't quite sure how to phrase his next question. "But, just because you didn't think it was in the cards… I mean. That's not necessarily the same thing as, you know. As not wanting to?"

"I guess not," Miguel agrees easily. Still, he shakes his head. "Honestly, it's really not something I've ever dreamed of, the way some people do. My choice of career was always going to be a big commitment for me, one that would certainly make things complicated in the romance department. But then you came along, and we've managed to build this life together, and it's just… It's so perfect. I don't need anything more."

"I know." Whiskey returns his smile. "I love the life we've built together, too. But, I'm just… Well. Actually. I've been thinking."

Slowly, Miguel's expression shifts.

"You have?"

"It's not…" Whiskey begins, only to pause. He needs to get this right. "It's something I'm still thinking about. I don't have all the right answers, yet."

"Okay." Miguel tilts his head. "Whiskey, did… Did something happen? To make you question yourself?"

Whiskey's smile softens. It's really something, how Miguel knows him so well.

"Kind of," he admits. "You know I went home, recently?"

"Yeah. For a funeral, right?"

"Exactly. My one of my uncles passed."

"Right." Miguel is nodding, even though his expression is somewhat confused. "I don't… You said you two weren't very close?"

"No, we weren't," Whiskey agrees. "But still, I… It got me thinking."

"About marriage?"

"About death." Whiskey almost smiles when Miguel's eyebrows shoot up. "I promise this isn't constantly on my mind, okay? It's just something I've kept coming back to, recently. Something I haven't ever thought about before."

"Okay." Miguel watches him in apparent confusion. "Whiskey, I'm sorry. You've lost me."

Whiskey takes a deep breath.

"When we die, I want them to bury me next to you."

Miguel is quiet for a moment.

"Oh," he says. His tone is careful. "I… Oh."

"And I don't think that would be possible," Whiskey continues. He actually smiles. "Unless… You know."

"Wait. Really?" Miguel actually manages to sound equal parts serious, and reproachful. It's really quite something. "Connor. I may never have dreamed of the perfect proposal, but if this is your idea of one, death might greet you a whole lot sooner than you think."

"No, it's not," Whiskey says quickly. "It's… I haven't finished thinking about this, not yet. I mostly feel like I don't really know what I should want."

"Maybe what you should want isn't the right question." Miguel sounds slightly more calm. He pauses to actually think for a moment. "You know, I'm… I hadn't really thought about that, either. But you… I think you have a point. You really do."

For a moment, they just look at one another.

"Well," Whiskey says lightly. It feels like something significant has shifted between them. It feels big. "I guess we'll see?"

"Yeah." Miguel seems to have found his smile again. "It wouldn't have to be an extravagant affair. You'd hate that."

"I would," Whiskey agrees. "But, at the same time… We wouldn't necessarily need to keep it just between you and me."

"I like that." Miguel tilts his head again. "You know, if… If we did? The world would find out, eventually. When we're gone, if nothing else."

"Yeah. I know."

"I don't know how I feel about that. I'll need some more time." Miguel's tone is unusually thoughtful. "But you would be okay with it?"

"I… I guess." Whiskey pauses for a moment. Suddenly, he remembers everything Angela's told him about the importance of taking control over the narrative. And honestly? Just like always, she has a point. "Except, if that is the path we take, maybe we should actually make sure that we have a say in how this story gets told? Not anytime soon, but, I don't know. At some point down the line."

"Right." Miguel is nodding, even though he still looks quite contemplative. "That's probably not a decision we should rush into."

"There's no need. We can figure it out at whatever pace feels right." Whiskey offers him another smile. "Thank you, by the way."

"For what?"

"For listening to me. For going through all of this with me."

"That's not something you need to thank me for." Miguel's smile softens into the one Whiskey loves best. "It's, you know. Sickness and health, good times and bad times. No matter what we tell the world, we both know that's what this is."

"Yeah," Whiskey agrees softly.

Sometimes, he still can't believe that they got here in the end. He smiles, helplessly.

"That's right. You're exactly right."

[smndragon]

Hello, I know I haven’t been following your account for too long but you’re one of my fave accounts. You really put a lot of effort and offer your resources/knowledge/time without hesitation which I feel often times other creators don’t really have the opportunity to do. Thank you for your dedication because I’ve found your posts really insightful and they’ve been really helpful in expanding my knowledge <3

I also wanted to ask if you were offering readings atm because I was really interested in receiving one from you! If not, it’s okay! <33

[ Big Six :

Sagittarius ↑, Scorpio ☀︎, Leo ☽

Virgo Venus , Capricorn Mars, Sagittarius Mercury ]

I hope you’ve been doing well and I hope both sides of your pillow is cold !!! <3

Also, Idk if you watch anime but if you could recommend one one of your faves I’d really appreciate it! :,))

If you don’t mind me asking, I was wondering how many years you’ve been studying Astro considering the amount of knowledge you have. I’ve been dabbling myself but I find it intimidating. ESP when it comes to the complexity of birth charts because of all the different variables you need to consider.

Thank you for taking your time to read my ask! I really appreciate your consideration!! <3

You had me over here looking up "what does atm mean in text" like a grandma on Google 😭😭 I really couldn't figure that out I thought of the money atm. Thank you for saying all this though! I do try to take time even if my fingers have to hurt for it. I'm glad you're learning a bit from them or opening your mind to it! Glad to be one of your favs!

An anime recommendation is probably sword art online. It's a basic but I really like it I've watched all the seasons at least 5 or 4 times. Either that or possibly is it wrong to pick up girls in a dungeon I think it was called. I haven't watched anime in a while to be honest. Learning wise and growth I believe movies like Mirai and flavours of youth on Netflix are very sentimental and leave you touched.

I've been studying only since early 2021 really maybe mid? I started by Tumblr actually, I got the app because I wanted to read more fanfic sites and explore more and I got into more astrology here. I already was interested before then for years but I never actually looked so far into it until then. I actually only learned by readings posts every day I would look up "astro observations" and just read for as long as I could. I took a few people's charts that are long dead by now to compare and analyze since I liked them so much. I learned everything here and still am. I actually recently got back into the astrology side, I took a break to read more into other things. The rest I get are based on feelings and easy searching, I'm sorry I can't really explain it too well. Most of the stuff I learned was from @d4rkpluto @saintzjenx @hillarysss and @ilyneptune I believe is somewhere there either that or it was for pile readings which they have really good ones!

It's like 5:36 in the morning I haven't slept at all but I feel great so let's do your reading! Hm, Scorpio sun, Leo moon, and Sagittarius ascendant. We have the same ascendant which makes me happy! I didn't save so a part got deleted but I saw a girl with lilies on her head immediately, like a sort of crown. It reminded me of Hans Christian Andersen because he once made a flower crown and placed it on someone's hat making them mad after finally finding it💀 this girl reminds me of a time that seems so long ago now. She smiles at nothing and laughs at air, as if she sees things no else had dared speak to. Children are walkways wonderful because they have these gifts, to see things we cant. Possibly 'imaginary' friend when you were younger, or you spent time just pleasing yourself easily.

The first sign that talks to me is the Leo moon, the Scorpio wanted to speak but the Leo was very loud. It feels so touch starved to me which ain't bad but lord both it and the Scorpio sun are. Possible manifestation abilities. They aren't strong but you're able to do it anyone is, whatever you want in life must be looked brightly at, it's okay to have dark days but return that dream and wanting image to your sun and it will become as close as true as out world allows it. The flower crown I saw makes me think there's an Innocence and purity in you that still stand today, never changing. The flowers are the manifestation of this Innocence and this need to be that ways somewhere in you. Possibly fear of expectation and somehow losing that part of you to something in the future. You shouldn't be afraid of what happens, things will change sadly, we can never change that and as people we have to accept it even if it gets dark. Unless this will deeply harm you it's time to let go. Tell that younger you or someone that they cna be free, to be a with all the friends they were with when they were younger. Ik that wasn't a full reading but that's what I got from either your Leo or Scorpio. The Leo wants your joy to be brought back, but not in the form of the fear of losing something. "I'm here" "it's okay" they held you at your darkest moments and will continue to do so. I feel they'll be there especially when you're older, telling you it's alright to let go of the life you once had. (Dark theme sorry but it is what happens to us all in the end) their home is in you, every part I see, the physical body comes out when you need her, a dirty blonde with a white plain shoulder and neck showing shirt, with a plain but modern skirt thin material. They have brown eyes, the eyes of a mother really, with a broad and flattens at the nose. A few dots on the sides of their eyes or face. Aura color is a wheat yellow.

The Scorpio sun is very wanting, jealous of being ignored at times. It wants some things so wholly it hurts. The domain of the Scorpio is a dark and warm place, sweat falls down my forehead as if I'm being boiled to a roast. I want to hold the Scorpio sun, it feels ignored by people. Scorpios are every sympathetic people deep down, they crave affection and reassurance, when not given they cna form unhealthy habits. Not to say you're suffering from this too harshly it's just your Scorpio needs to be cared for at some point, drink a cup of tea or something soothing, talk to your Scorpio and let it talk back, in the deepest parts of your mind they are there always and forever, waiting to recover with your strength and company. Aura is brown and radiant black splotches here and there. Possible placements are the neck, or left shoulder. Body is in the form of a bulked Scorpion, brown shelled. You may possibly have longer nails or well shaped ones. Been complimented on your hands or had them called small which was annoying maybe.

The last of the signs is the Sagittarius ascendant. It take the form of a human, has a long tail though, reptile like. It adores the space you allow it. It roams the chest area, pillows and blankets cover the room. The Sagittarius isn't lazy, it's just overworked they don important things for the body, they care for your muscles and heart. Making sure it has steady beats. They keep you as active as you could be. Enough to keep you healthy. The room is plain with white walls and tan yellow carpet. The Sagittarius takes chalk and writes on the walls "plans" "action" weird words to put down but they keep writing, I also them what they're doing but don't really get a reply. Nothing left here.

Characteristics: small hands well shaped nails, brown hair?, Style is kind of alt if or neutral. Hoodies, jeans, skirts occasionally, the not too extreme chokers, bracelets, slight makeup or none. Because of the Sagittarius I would like to say tall and slim, but I have that and I sure am not those💀 possibly could still work though. I think short though honestly. Sneakers. Binders and folders in school or home. Filled with ideas and things. Brown or green eyes.

Soulmate/ future relationship: (it in one now ignore or keep reading) I see you both planning stories and all kind soft things, laying down pointing to journals and books of your things. You guys don't laugh often but you do show affection in smiles, kisses, hugs, and closeness. I feel they won't fully kiss you until you age to grab their face or after the 11th date🙃

Possible zodiac influence in your life around you: Scorpio Mars, Gemini Venus, Libra

Future/health: nothing much here possible accidents involving phones be careful and lay attention, may crack or break it soon.

[fandom-necromancer]

Ghosts of the past

This was prompted by an awesome anon! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed1700 (Warnings: implied past abuse, manipulation, mentioned forced drug intake, drug abuse)

[Part2]

‘I don’t feel too good about this…’ ‘Me neither, but I can’t think of any other way, unfortunately…’ Nines swallowed, looking Connor in the eyes. It was hard to look into these eyes when he normally was the one telling Nines to forget about the mission for a while. Whenever Nines sunk a little too far into his comfort zone of code and orders, Connor was there to remind him he didn’t had to follow it. He was allowed to indulge in his emotions and listen to his wants. Now that their roles had changed it really made him think about how compromised he really was with this particular case.

‘Nines, we need that confession. You know that.’ ‘I know Connor!’, the android yelled with frustration. ‘I know, but I’m not sacrificing Gavin’s mental state, health or career, just because some criminal decides to play with us!’ Connor sighed. ‘Do you think I want that? Nines, he matters to me as much as to you, I’d rather die myself than see him hurt. I’m just saying we should ask him and not decide for him just because that makes us more comfortable.’ Nines sighed, nodding. ‘His sense of duty will make him say yes.’ ‘Maybe, but it will be his decision. He’s a grown man and we will be there for him should anything happen. Come on.’

Gavin immediately shit was about to go down as both androids exited the interrogation room heading his direction. Both their LED’s were yellow bordering to red and knowing just who sat behind that door, Gavin knew exactly what must have happened. Still, he tried to look optimistic: ‘And? What did you find out?’ Nines looked aside, arms crossed over his chest, while Connor put up a fake grin that should be calming. So they both were disagreeing about their way of action. Gavin wouldn’t dare saying he knew what was going on in their heads most of the time, but he could read their emotional state like nobody else. ‘Not much’, Connor answered him. ‘He refuses to speak with anyone but you.’

Gavin swallowed and lowered his head. ‘Well phck’, he cursed, accepting his fate. ‘Guess I’ll go talk to the asshole then.’ ‘You don’t have to’, Nines immediately stated, taking a step forwards when Gavin stood up. ‘You don’t have to talk to him.’ ‘Nines, I have to if we want to get a confession, right?’ ‘He didn’t say anything about confessing’, Connor corrected. ‘Just that he doesn’t want to talk to anyone but you.’ ‘Yeah, well, that’s basically the same thing, isn’t it?’, Gavin huffed determined. ‘It’s been years, I think I can talk to the asshole if it means I won’t see him for a long time, because he’s locked up. I’ll manage.’ ‘We’re right in the next room observing’, Nines tried to reassure him, knowing arguments wouldn’t help. ‘Then I’ll try to give you two a show, huh?’, Gavin joked and took the lead towards the interrogation room.

He heard the others following him and tried to keep his composure for as long as they saw him. He knew they worried about him. Hell, Gavin worried about himself. It had been a long time since he had last seen David Smith and he wouldn’t have complained if more years had been added to that. And his confidence in his ability to keep calm and professional around him was fragile at best. But they needed that confession and Gavin would get it. No matter the cost.

He took a deep breath before opening the door and entering the room. He didn’t spare the man sitting across the table any mind, sat down and slammed the file on the table in front of him. ‘Your name is David Smith, is that correct?’ He stared strictly on the papers in front of him. ‘Yes.’ Oh that phcking voice. That goddamn soft voice that reminded him of all the times this stupid phck had him wrapped around his finger. If he could, he would have thrown up already, but as it was, he kept up his neutral façade. ‘State your age and occupation.’ ‘Thirty-nine. Freelancing salesman.’ Gavin could hear the asshole’s sly grin in his words and narrowed his eyes. ‘Come on, Gav. Why so stuck-up? Not happy about seeing your man?’ ‘You will address me as Detective Reed, Mr. Smith’, Gavin commented sharply. ‘And I’d appreciate you staying on topic. Does “freelancing salesman” include the producing and selling of illegal substances by any chance? We found copious amounts of drugs, mostly Red Ice and cocaine in your flat. Additionally, there have been accounts of eyewitnesses depicting you handing over those substances to others. The evidence clearly speaks against you, but a confession might increase your chance at a decreased sentence.’

‘You’re still as beautiful as I remember you.’ Gavin felt himself shudder but ignored the goose bumps in his back. ‘Mr. Smith, I doubt you understand the situation you are in.’ ‘Hmm… all professional, aren’t we, Gav? I remember I could get you to be pretty unprofessional in a matter of seconds.’ Gavin couldn’t help but look up. It had been a mistake, as the man’s grin widened, and those eyes captured him once again. ‘Ah… So you remember too.’

Gavin sighed and closed the file. ‘Why the phck did you refuse to speak with my partners? David, we’re over and done with. The years with you were some of my worst and there is no way I will ever want that back.’ The man smirked at him. ‘So they are your partners? I thought so, they’re your type. Tall and strong enough to put you in your place…’ Gavin ground his teeth and stared at David with eyes that could kill. ‘Are you selling drugs again? Who are your suppliers? Who do you keep around to test your phcking new creations on?’ ‘Come on, babe, you were more than just that for me.’ ‘I asked you a question asshole. You said you’d talk to me. I’ve yet to hear a single word that’s worth the air.’

David leaned back and grinned. ‘Oh, please Gavin. You pretend to be so high and mighty. You can’t put me behind bars. In fact, I know I will be walking free in a matter of hours.’ ‘And why should that be?’, Gavin asked. ‘Charlotte 2.0.’

Gavin’s eyes widened and he had to hide his hands beneath the table because they were shaking too much. In one quick motion, he took the file and left the room. Only to sink against the closed door as his knees gave in. Not much later Nines and Connor came running to his side. ‘Gavin! Are you alright? What the hell happened in there?’, Connor asked, obviously scanning his vitals. ‘Who… What is Charlotte 2.0?’, Nines asked. Gavin concentrated on breathing first, speaking second. ‘We have to let him go’, he whispered desperately. ‘We have to.’ ‘What? Why?’

Gavin stood up and walked away from the door. ‘Charlotte was an android. Non-deviant. His fail-safe. Remember how I never wanted to tell you how I got out of that relationship? I killed her. Killed her and ran, moved and stopped talking to anyone I knew. Deleted all accounts and made new ones.’ ‘You did what?’, Nines asked. ‘Yeah, she was just a machine, okay? It was the only way out. I… David is anything if not prepared. Charlotte had the single task to gather as much information as she could. That means he can notify any gang, any lab, drug den or dealer in the city they have been compromised. With a single word from him, she can make every current operation in narcotics null and void with everyone alarmed.’ ‘Then why did you kill her?’, Connor asked. ‘Because she also keeps tabs open on everyone dear to the people he wants to keep in line. I’m not an idiot, I realised what I had fallen into a week after we first met. But I could only run years later because she was dead and couldn’t hold my family and friends at gunpoint in secret.’

Connor and Nines stared at each other. ‘So we need to find the android he uses this time.’ Gavin shook his head. ‘I doubt he will be dumb enough to make the same mistake twice. I’d guess Charlotte 2.0 is a program ready to unleash all the gathered information if something goes wrong.’ ‘Then what do we do? Search his apartment again?’ ‘Would be a good start.’

Less then twenty minutes later, Gavin, Nines and Connor sat in a car driving towards David’s apartment. ‘You did good in there’, RK900 suddenly broke the silence. ‘I worried for you.’ ‘We both did’, Connor added. ‘But it’s good you decided to go.’ ‘I just want to end this shit’, Gavin sighed. ‘I don’t want to think back to it, and I’ll sleep the hell of a lot easier knowing the asshole is behind bars.’ ‘Couldn’t put it better’, Connor nodded. ‘You want to come with us?’ They had parked the car and Gavin looked up to the apartment complex he knew far too well. ‘Yeah, I’ll come. Don’t like it a bit, but I might be of help.’

They exited the car and made their way up using the shitty rumbling elevator Gavin despised. Not only that you had to fear the damn thing giving in any moment, the memories of how he had been slammed against a wall, barely conscious with the bastard’s lips all over his body… No, he refused to think of that. He refused to think of anything but him being here to put an end to it all. He felt two reassuring hands on his shoulders as the door opened and gladly let them exit first, following the two androids towards the apartment Gavin had never wanted to see ever again.

In the end it didn’t look too different to what he had gotten to know: the flat was messy, clothes thrown around, empty mugs and take out containers stood on the kitchen counters and table. The dead plant that had been Gavin’s company throughout many drying-outs from some experimental drug high, still stood on the windowsill rotting and gathering dust. ‘Would you rather wait outside?’, Connor asked, but Gavin shook his head. ‘No. Thank you, but we need to find Charlotte 2.0. I’ll help.’ They systematically went through every corner and every drawer. Gavin found a few disposable phones he couldn’t activate; Connor was long sitting on the couch interfacing with a laptop while Nines was somewhere in the bathroom.

Gavin was waiting for the next phone to charge enough so he could try to get to any contacts or other data on it. He tried to concentrate on his task, but waiting hadn’t exactly sat right with him for most, so he ended up lost in memories he hoped to rather forget. Two years of his life just gone and wasted. Who knew how many years of his life the drugs had taken from him? The lies he had told. The things he had done to keep David safe. No, to keep those dear to him safe. He looked up at Connor. Did David know of his relationship with Connor and Nines? Did he know how happy he was with them, how much he loved and needed them? Was Charlotte programmed to cause them harm too? He didn’t want to imagine what would happen would they not find whatever failsafe David had thought up this time. If they had to let David go. Phck, no, they had to find it. They-

‘Nines!’ Connor had stood up and placed the laptop on the kitchen counter next to Gavin. ‘I found something, but you are better at this.’ RK900 hurried out of the bathroom and joined their side. ‘Better at what?’ ‘At breaching the security measures. I think I found this Charlotte 2.0, but I can’t access it. It’s protected with a password and I can’t get past it. The system looks everything like an android mind to me. Or at least the security is similar. I can’t get in.’ ‘Okay, let me try.’ Nines reached for the laptop to interface and Gavin watched how his LED spun faster and faster as his brows furrowed. It only was a matter of seconds, but that alone should have told Gavin something was wrong. When the android stepped back desperately looking at the computer-screen asking for a password. ‘I can’t get in either. We need the password.’

‘How many tries do we have?’, Gavin asked. ‘Three’, Connor supplied. ‘We can’t just trial and error the solution.’ Gavin stared at the keyboard, then turned around to look at the apartment. ‘Try Gavin Reed.’ ‘What?’, Nines asked. ‘Darling, we can’t just try it out.’ ‘Listen’, Gavin sighed. ‘I wasn’t the only one David tried his drugs on. But it… It was personal with me. In some twisted way, he really loved me. Why else pull such a damn stunt? He could have just moved to a different place and continued on with his business. But he stayed, he kept dealing right under our noses after I left. The asshole wanted to be found. And we don’t exactly have much time. Try my name, if it doesn’t work, we still have two tries left.’

Nines stared at him unmoving, but Connor took the chance and typed in “Gavin Reed” Then he hit enter. The screen cleared to give access to code Gavin didn’t understand. But from the way Nines and Connor interfaced with the device immediately he took it had worked. ‘It’s deactivated’, Nines stated, stepping back. He looked at Gavin, who had pulled his arms around his middle and looked to the ground. ‘Thank you, Gavin. Let’s get this Laptop to the police and then go home.’ ‘Forget this all’, Connor said, when he pushed the laptop shut. ‘Sounds good’, Gavin sighed tiredly and closed his eyes as both androids pulled him in a deep hug. ‘Sounds phcking perfect.’

[>next part]

[citylightsbooks]

The Motor of the Essay: Rachel Kushner in Conversation

This is an excerpt of a free event we held in conjunction with Litquake for our virtual events series, City Lights LIVE. This event features Rachel Kushner in conversation with Dana Spiotta celebrating the launch of The Hard Crowd: Essays 2000-2020, published by Scribner. This event was originally broadcast live via Zoom and hosted by our events coordinator Peter Maravelis. You can listen to the entire event on our podcast. You can watch it in full as well on our Youtube channel.

*****

Dana Spiotta: I know that everyone's going to ask you these questions about writing fiction versus nonfiction. And I read somewhere that you said, with your novels, you begin with imagery more than an idea or a character. With the nonfiction, there is a range of pieces about writers and specific books to journalism--like the prison story and Palestine--and then there’s the ones that are personal essays, right, like the girl in a motorcycle. So I guess they might all have different origins. But where do you begin with that? And how is that different as a process from what you write in fiction?

Rachel Kushner: Yeah, so it is kind of a different process for me, although I sometimes feel guilty to try to make declarations about which is harder, or how one does one thing, because you know, for some people, the essay is what literature is.

For me, fiction is more difficult. And so in a certain way it's what I've signed on to do with my life, because the process can be so mysterious and fickle and unreliable. And I'm waiting to catch a wave, or get the drift and then try to figure out how to sustain it, and then how to change it in order to sustain it. Managing so many different things at once is a very curious hermeneutic, because you need to know where you're going.

But then you also need to let happenstance inform you. I think some of the ways that we are challenged, and how we learn in our lives and also as writers, are by having encounters that we did not anticipate or predict, and that happens in fiction. And then you're kind of in a "taking mode" and you know exactly what's for you and you go with it and you run.

Essays are a little different for me. I mean, obviously. Time is shorter. But usually the motor of the essay is a sprung sentence. I come up with one sentence that is doing something in the syntax and it's making something sort of declarative. And it's kind of a gambit. And it needs to be followed by another. And sometimes I'll have a whole paragraph like that. And those paragraphs will just be floating in the void of the potentiality of the essay that I haven't written yet. And I don't sweat, like, "How am I going to link this to that?" yet. Because I just know by instinct that they're both going in. And if I put them in the essay, then they are interrelated by virtue merely of their proximity to each other. Then I start to build links.

Some journalism is a very different process. Like you mentioned, for the piece that I wrote, originally for the New York Times Magazine, about prison abolition and the carceral geographer, Ruth Wilson Gilmore, they said it can be any length and made it long. So you know, it was like 20,000 words. And it was my version of that essay, and it probably was a pretty good essay. But I think the weakness in it was that I was not speaking to their audience. And they really--you have written for the New York Times Magazine--they want to be able to countenance everything you say, sentence by sentence. It's not like writing an op-ed, where you just say your thing and then people can fight it out in the comments. They want to be fully on board. And I wouldn't want to have to do that all the time.

It's extremely difficult, because you have to keep remembering how to bring in somebody who may have wildly different ideas about how society should be organized, and not seem polemical, not seem pushy. It's a kind of seduction I think that really benefits from collaboration with an editor. It's arduous, it takes time. That essay took two years to write, but because the subject matter was important to me, ultimately, I decided it was worth it.

Dana Spiotta: Yeah, it's such a great essay. And I learned so much from it.

Peter Maravelis: When you're writing about events and feelings from decades ago, how do you return to the experience? What takes you back?

Rachel Kushner: That's a really great question. So, you know, with some of these essays, like the first essay in the book called “Girl on a Motorcycle,” which is about the Cabo 1000--a no longer existent, illegal motorcycle road race where you span the Baja in the course of a day--was the first thing that I ever published and I wrote it 20 years ago. And after looking back over it, in order to put it in this book and to improve upon it, I opened it up; I wrote a new beginning and a new ending. There are so many details and scenes in that essay that I never, ever would have remembered had I not written them down when I was much closer to the meat of that experience.

But there are other essays like the title essay which I just wrote quite recently. I'd put the book together, and I knew it was going to be called “The Hard Crowd.” And then I just basically sat down and wrote this essay. And I think, you know, as maybe you're telling a story, or going through your life, sometimes things really do sort of trigger the release of a memory. And Proust has this conception of two different kinds of memory that he calls voluntary memory and involuntary memory. And voluntary memory is the kind of fixed story that you tell, you know, "Oh, he's telling that story again," meaning it's a kind of sclerotic, hardened account that, for Proust, doesn't really have any real artistic or intrinsic wealth to it. Whereas involuntary memory is maybe when you would smell a perfume that you haven't smelled in 30 years and it reminds you of this or that. And I think that writing itself can activate involuntary memory, because you start to see into spaces you haven't seen in a really long time.

Like when I was writing this essay, I somehow ended up talking about Terence McKenna, and remembered that I'd seen Terence McKenna give this lecture at the Palace of Fine Arts. And then I saw the Palace of Fine Arts and him on the stage and where I was sitting, and who was in the audience. And so then I mentioned in the essay that this noise musician who I don't know, but I knew who he was, was sitting right in front of me. And that was a funny thing because the New Yorker called him and asked, "Were you at a Terence McKenna lecture in 1991." “Yeah, I was.” I mean he probably thought like the FBI is after him or something. I can start to see things and details in pretty haunting detail, particularity once I'm starting to build the framework that will allow those kind of involuntary memories to come up to present themselves.

Peter Maravelis: Do you feel that maybe kids who grew up in a certain era share communal memories, like growing up in San Francisco in the 70s is full of shared moments and scenes?

Rachel Kushner: Yes, I do feel that, but I would maybe even particularize it to not just an era, but to kids who grew up in a certain world within San Francisco. And I'm going to just be blunt: it's the kids who went to public school in San Francisco in the 70s and 80s. We all traversed a world together, and the particularity of that world. I'm not saying that it's special or different. Everybody has a world that they traversed, and that stays inside of them as memory. And ours is ours. And those who experienced it do feel bonded, I think, for life, in a way. And it's something I've thought about a lot since that essay was published in the New Yorker because of the number of people who reached out to me and wanted to talk about their own memories of this same world that we shared.

Peter Maravelis: In the New York Times review, Dwight Garner mentioned the phrase: “At the party, she was kindness in the hard crowd," from the Cream song "White Room." Is that in fact where your title came from?

Rachel Kushner: It is. I mentioned that in the title essay, it all becomes clear, or at least somewhat clear where I heard that song, and why I made it the title of this book. It's a good line.

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