#so like. keeping them in my memory? fat chance. not gonna happen.

[engagemythrusters]

Pretentious dick artists on the internet everywhere: using a reference is CHEATING

Me who can’t visualise faces w/out a face in front of me: 😭 😭

[prettyboyrxpist]

My little brother Zee wanted to hang with me and my friends cuz were hot and smoke weed and he's a fucking cum hungry faggot.

He genuinely thought I didn't know what he really wanted when he said that he just liked Alessi because no one else he knew liked Mad K, or when he swore he was just staring because he thought Devonte's scars were really cool, but the runt knows by now that Genjutsu of that level doesnt work on me.

Of course I'm sex positive, I'm a slut and I love to nurture more sluts, if he wanted to get his pussy stretched pounded and filled up, if he wanted to fuck my friends, choke on cocks and piss himself in carnal ecstasy, I'm in his corner all the way.

But No One Is Sinking Into My Little Brother's Pussy Before I Do.

So I let him think hes pulled one over on me. I invited him to come camp with us, were gonna roll blunts, drop acid, barbecue and set off fireworks.

All that and the chance to get split open by one of my friends? What self respecting little brother slut could refuse?

And he didn't. Its probably the most impactful decision he's ever made.

Because when we got to camp and fell under the qualia of our intoxicants and cover of starlight and got high enough to see rythmic mandalas dancing in the shadows of our fire and he started touching Alessi's thighs I had no choice but do what i did and it irrevocably changed the direction of our relationship.

I grabbed him by his waist and picked him up and away from Alessi. Alessi's face fell from a grin to an expressionless combination of shock and curiosity. He knew what was about to happen, I'd told the both of them beforehand.

But i dont think they believed I'd really do it.

I carried him over to the tent, playfully shaming his desperation.

"You don't get embarassed, throwing yourself guys you barely know?"

"Of course you dont. Youre a testosterone pumped desperate little cuntboy faggot. All you care about is getting a fat cock in you."

"You want to bounce on dick so fucking bad dont you dirty fucking hole?"

Zee whined like a puppy when he could manage any sound at all in response.

"l'll be honest i thought you'd fold for Devonte before Alessi, but you're such a cum thirsty whore I bet you'd even fuck them both at once."

"Lucky you, youre gonna get them both."

"But first, youre gonna get something soooo much better."

I placed him on his back on the floor of the tent, he didnt let go of me.

Devonte and Alessi stayed close and watched us from just outside the tent, I wish theyd come in but i get it. They probably wanted to keep some distance from the monster who got his little brother tripping balls so he could rape him into a devoted pet cum slut.

I started peeling off Zee's clothes and watched his face twist into sick combination of shame and rapt anticipation. He was blushing redder than a strawberry and he would later confess to me that in that moment he was more afraid that I wouldnt go through with it than anything else (isnt my little brother the best?)

Once his soft pink glistening little cunt was out I was acutely reminded of the fact that I was an animal. And might as well have ripped my clothes from my body. His eyes were fixed on my cock like he'd never seen one before (turns out he hadn't, not irl anyway)

He was already soaking wet, I'd thank Alessi for rizzing him up but all four of us know he was so wet because he was boiling with the uncontrollable ecstasy of knowing he was about to get fucked by his big brother's fat throbbing cock.

I hooked my arms under his knees and pulled them spread nice and wide, the scent of his cum starved little cunny will be burned into my memory for all my time. I couldnt helo myself, I lined us up and forced the tip of my cock into him. Then more of me. Then more, and more until the tip of me was nestled neatly against his cervix, like he was made for me. Probably Because he was, what else are little siblings for?

He looked to be having a rougher time.

Digging his nails into my arms, gasping and opening his sweet little doe eyes so fucking wide and desperate. Pleading with me not to stop. He looked like he was about to cry, but in a good way.

Not that i'd have stopped if it was in a bad way.

1/?

[s-brant]

Cherry Bowl (3/8)

(gif: @kiekiecarrera) (PART TWO) (PART FOUR) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: When Kie cancels their plans together, Y/N asks JJ on a date to the Cherry Bowl Drive-In. Unsure of how to navigate his first ever date, JJ seeks out advice. Unfortunately, the night doesn’t go as planned, and both parties are left shaken by miscommunication.

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Smut, public sex/exhibitionism, sexual choking, angst, depictions of mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, and implied/referenced abuse.

A/N: Welcome back to Tokens! Slight trouble in paradise is brewing for these two lovers, so buckle up and read because it’s gonna be a rollercoster for a little while after what happens in this chapter. I hope you all like it, and if you did, feedback is very appreciated. Have fun!

"I'm just saying that oatmeal raisin is superior to chocolate chip, why is that such an egregious crime, Kie?"

The lunch room is filled to the brim with students going to town on questionably cooked frozen foods, soggy tater tots, and sugary drinks from the vending machines despite the Obama-era posters on the walls advocating for healthier school lunches that never seemed to make their way to Kildare County High. The extent of their healthy lunches extended to a serving of overcooked canned green beans served with the worst slice of doughy pizza known to human kind, so it was sort of contradictory.

Y/N sits across the table from Pope and JJ, the latter of which being the one who launched into a full-fledged debate with Kiara about which type of cookie was better.

The clear cling wrap sits, unfolded, on the table with one of her stickers neatly placed on the back of it. As consolation for his epic loss yesterday at the beach, she paid an extra .75 cents to get him it when she arrived first to their shared lunch period—one of only two class periods they have together, the other being gym. He was still in line when she peeled a surfboard sticker off of her sheet and placed it at the center of the wrapped up cookie as if to remind him of her triumph over him in the waves.

"Thanks, hot stuff," he said, voice somewhat quieter despite the fact that hardly anyone was in the cafeteria with them. Then his smile dropped into an deadpan expression as soon as he saw her choice of sticker and looked back up at her. "You're never gonna let me live that one down, are you?"

"Never in a million years. I'll be gloating about it until I'm elderly."

"That's my girl."

The sound of the constant chatter surrounding them from at least two hundred other people drowns out the memories of yesterday that threaten to haunt her when she watches him debate with Kie. The mere recollection of their night in the back of the van has her reaching to pull the collar of her cropped tee up to assure that the hickeys remain hidden on instinct, and he catches the action out of the corner of his eye. It has him fighting a smile.

Kie quips, "Maybe on another planet, but, here, I think we can all agree chocolate chip is better, right Y/N?"

Y/N's eyes widen around a forkful of mushy "green beans" at the sound of her name being said bringing her from the depths of her memories.

Usually, she's quick to jump in and give her two cents on whatever stupid back and forth they're all having, but her mind was elsewhere. Unbeknownst to Kie and Pope, she was mentally reliving every second of getting fucked in the van last night, so her attention to detail when it comes to the Chocolate Chip vs Oatmeal Raisin case isn't all too sharp.

"Uhhh," she stops for a second, looking at the half eaten chocolate chip cookie in Kie's hand, "If I say chocolate chip is better, can I get a piece of it?"

Kie's face lights up at her words, and she's already pulling off a generous chunk of the baked good to hand off to her. The sound of a certain someone whose lap Y/N's legs are outstretched onto from beneath the table scoffing distracts her from the first bite.

"I know you prefer oatmeal raisin, you traitor," JJ says.

Their brunette friend's brows scrunch.

"Why is she a traitor?"

They try to keep from making any faces or giving anything away, but Y/N has to stifle the sound of her choking on her mouthful of cookie at the question. You'd think one of them came out and asked if they were dating or something with how she reacts, and she feels JJ squeeze her ankle in a non-verbal way of telling her to hold it together. It was her idea in the first place, yet he's a lot smoother with keeping it under the radar.

Under it all, the aspect of keeping it a secret does unnerve him to a degree. He doesn't think he'd be brave enough to communicate it, especially not when their relationship remains undefined, but the darker side of his mind wonders...

He shrugs, saying, "Cause we were friends first. Duh. Other than John B, I've known her the longest."

None of them stop to acknowledge the identical aches in their hearts at the mentioning of his name. They skip right over it like it never happened. After the funeral a few days ago, they've filled their quota on mushy-gushy sad talk for the next week and a half.

The real reason is something far more complicated than him having a claim staked on her loyalty through having the longest friendship. It's something tied up in days of slowly getting pulled into one another's worlds like the tug of gravity itself, in how he has to refrain from slipping his arm around her waist in the hallway or kissing her goodbye after a sleepover at the Chateau. But until she gives him the go-ahead, he won't let it slip to anyone.

Pope speaks up from beside him, "You literally met her twenty minutes before we did."

"Still counts. Technically, I did meet her first, so her betraying Team Oatmeal Raisin is enough to be tried for treason in Pogue Court."

"Pogue Court isn't a thing."

He crosses his arms after he pops the rest of the cookie into his mouth.

"It is now. You can be tried for treason for breaking the rules. Rule number one is that all Pogues have to admit oatmeal raisin is superior."

He's about to ball up the cling wrap to throw away later when the surfboard sticker catches his attention again. It's the same color as his board, which he'd like to think is a result of her being an evil mastermind that went out to get this sticker sheet for the sole purpose of teasing him, but he's the one who got her the sheet as a gift for her birthday, so he knows it was pure coincidence.

Last second, he peels the sticker away from the cling wrap and looks down to place it over the top of her yellow converse that were once a vibrant, paler color when Big John got them for her, but have since turned into an ugly mustard/dirt-dusted color they heckle her over.

"What are the other rules?" Y/N asks.

One of the hands holding onto where her feet are casually planted in his lap, something that they've done long enough that their friends won't see it as anything odd, slides down to caress the stretch of skin beneath the frayed hem of her dark jeans. Something she didn't know about him before whatever it is they have together started was that he constantly needs to be touching her. She can't say she doesn't love it though.

Pope answers, "The oatmeal raisin rule is not official"—a pointed glance at JJ—"But I'd assume the rest of the rules of Pogue Court would be no lying and no macking."

"So, basically you two break almost every rule except the oatmeal raisin one, and I lie," JJ says and turns to look at her, "How does it feel to be better than everyone, Y/N?"

"Pretty good, not gonna lie."

He keeps caressing little circles and tracing up and down her skin beneath the flared out pant leg of her jeans while he swipes his phone off of the table top without attracting the attention of their friends, who continue on to a new topic. She isn't too focused on what it is. She only picks up that it has something to do with a class they're in that's more advanced that hers, so she promptly checks out of the conversation.

Ever since John B died, she hasn't been performing too well in school. She tries, truly tries, but her mind outright refuses to absorb any of the information. When she reads her assigned reading, she hovers over the same paragraphs over and over until she shuts the book in a huff and hides it in her backpack again. Losing someone you love has a surprising amount of side effects.

Her phone buzzing in her hand brings her away from the impending cloud of doom that often accompanies any thoughts of John B, and when she taps in her passcode, her brother's birthday, a message bubble appears with a banner displaying JJ's contact name.

JJ (Derogatory) ur a good liar. prob could've fooled me if i weren't the one macking on u

Their eyes meet for a second across the table, then he watches her thumbs move to type a response.

Kief Princess Little do they know I break every rule now that I've switched sides on the cookie debate. Kinda impressive ngl.

JJ (Derogatory) triple threat, baby

JJ (Derogatory) thanks for the cookie btw

She smiles to herself, so wrapped up in their own world that she doesn't notice everyone in the room starting to pack up their stuff in anticipation of the bell that is due to ring any second now.

Kief Princess Had to repay you for last night somehow ;)

When she glances up to see his reaction, she watches his chest rise with a particularly large inhale, and he chews on the inside of his lip in thought.

JJ (Derogatory) strategically bringing up last night so i'm turned on in physics? ur an evil mastermind

Kief Princess I try.

Kief Princess Apparently whooping your sorry ass at surfing isn't the only thing I'm good at.

She hears him scoff.

JJ (Derogatory) first of all, ouch. second, u barely beat me

Kief Princess I'm happy to challenge you to a rematch. I have plans with Kie tonight, so I can't till this weekend. All it'll prove is that I am the rightful winner, but we knew that already.

JJ (Derogatory) what r the stakes this time

Kief Princess No sexual favors. If you beat me (fat chance) I'll formally rejoin team oatmeal raisin.

JJ (Derogatory) :( sex makes it more fun but i still accept those conditions

JJ (Derogatory) team oatmeal raisin needs u, even if ur a traitor

Kief Princess Why bet sexual favors if you're just gonna fuck me after anyway?

JJ (Derogatory) good point

The sound of the bell ringing echoes through the cafeteria, and they both pop their heads up from their phone screens to see everyone, including Pope and Kie, already packed up and raising from their seats to scurry off in the direction of their next classes. Meanwhile, their stuff is all bestrewn across the table, particularly JJ's belongings.

The sight of Kie walking away makes Y/N ask after her, "We're still on for tonight, right?

She stops with Pope's hand interwoven in hers. The look on her face when she turns would make you think she got caught doing something she wasn't meant to. Something like forgetting about the plans they made last week to watch Fear Street together. The Cherry Bowl Drive-In is premiering the first two movies as a double feature for the horror movie buffs of Kildare, so they decided to get tickets. Kiara shares a fondness of horror movies with her. Since gory movies make the boys squirm, though JJ pretends they don't, it's their own thing.

"Actually, Pope and I were gonna go to the beach. I'm sorry."

JJ knows she's more upset about it than she lets on, but Y/N simply gives the pair a smile that doesn't reach the eyes.

The sound of JJ behind her makes them laugh on their way out, diffusing the minor tension lingering in the air from the awkward encounter, "Use protection!"

After their friends offer them a goodbye, they gather their stuff quite leisurely, not really caring about being late.

It's something they've talked about before here or there: her feelings surrounding Kiara and Pope's sudden relationship. It's not as if she harbors any ill feelings for them, she doesn't, but the ripple effects of their pairing on the group, and more importantly the girls' own friendship, couldn't be clearer from her perspective. Between the missed hangouts, forgotten plans, and the convenient way she never seems to have time to hang out with her and JJ unless Pope is there too, it's been building up for a month now.

What makes it sting the most is how close her and Kie used to be. They didn't hit it off immediately the way she and JJ did as children until her thirteenth birthday when no one she invited showed up to the party Big John helped her set up in the yard of the Chateau.

She was the one who rallied the boys together to walk to ask their school friends from the year above to come hang out for an hour or two, promising a slice of the wonky-looking but delicious strawberry cake her and John B spent the morning crafting together. She can remember the sound of their high-pitched laughs and the cloud of flour that hung in the kitchen when they high-fived over the finished product like it was yesterday. In her heart, it was yesterday.

That night was when she fell in love with her friends, and that was when she first knew Kiara was her best friend. They wove friendship bracelets on each other that night and wore them for years until they withered away. No one had ever done something like that for her before. Not even JJ.

"You okay?"

Feeling his hand on her arm, slipping down to take her hand for a moment in the seclusion of the empty cafeteria, makes her glance up at him with a distinct sorrow washed over her features.

You know what? Screw this. Why should she be torn up over Kie and let it ruin her excitement for the double feature tonight? There's no way in hell she's letting her best friend ditching her for her boyfriend get in the way of her plans.

"Do you wanna go on a date tonight?" she asks him abruptly, then adds, "To the Cherry Bowl with me instead of Kie?"

The question sparks a pause in his mind, a halt of hesitation in which he worries about her avoiding having to answer what he asked, but he attempts to play it cool and not fuss over her outwardly. There have been times where being treated like that has made her feel suffocated, so he doesn't want to risk it. When she's ready, she'll talk about it, and if she takes too long and buries her feelings, then he'll intervene. For now, he tries to keep his face neutral despite the frown tempting his lips at her disappointment.

JJ looks around once more before throwing his arm around her shoulder to walk her out.

"You bet your ass I do."

What is a person supposed to act like on their first date that's not actually a date cause everything between them is the same, but kinda is a date because they called it one? If you ever find out, please find JJ and tell him because he has no clue.

Pope wasn't too much help in the Instagram group chat he made for it seeing as his and Kie's relationship is too fresh, John B isn't even alive, so he's out of service for advice unless there's Ouija Board he can borrow, and, thankfully, Kiara was his savior.

Their phones began blowing up as soon as he reached his class after lunch period ended. He couldn't under any circumstances let it be known that this mystery girl he had a date with was their friend, but thankfully Y/N already had the alibi of going to the Drive-In alone. All he had to do was make up a fake date scenario and get basic advice.

danknugstickiestickies added kiara-c and popeheyward to the groupchat

danknugstickiestickies named the group HELP ME

danknugstickiestickies i have a date with this chick i met on the beach when i was out with y/n last week. i need ur advice

His phone screen lit up with the notification that both of his friends were typing, signified with the three dot symbol bouncing in the bottom left corner as he thought it through. They couldn't possibly figure it out, right? They'd been careful, he'd been respectful of her wishes, and they'd been too busy together to notice anything new with them. He figured it would work. It was a risk, sure, but it was worth it to him. He didn't want to fuck this up with her.

Knowing her, she probably wouldn’t even treat it differently than any of their other hang outs. It's not like they haven't been romantic or sexual with each other. They've done everything but go out on an actual date, so why was he nervous?

kiara-c ummmm

popeheyward Yeah, I'm gonna need you to ELABORATE!!

kiara-c did hell freeze over? since when does jj maybank go out on dates??

danknugstickiestickies renamed the group hell froze over

kiara-c very funny, I'm laughing so hard 😐

popeheyward Do we know her?

danknugstickiestickies don't think u do. she moved here last week and hasn't enrolled in school yet. her name's steph

popeheyward What about Y/N though?

kiara-c ^^

JJ's chest muscles tightened with the question prompting a rush of anxiety that made his breathing feel slightly harder. He glanced up at his Physics teacher, who was essentially dozing off behind his desk with his hand in a bag of chips and an educational video on the projector as an excuse to not teach, and looked back down at his phone without the added stress of possibly getting his phone confiscated.

Pope's message might as well have been a sucker punch. Forget butterflies, he set a wasp’s nest loose inside of his stomach to tie it into knots and flip it every which way. His neglected textbook served as a prop for his phone to lean on as he set it down to think.

Did they know? As far as he was aware, they were getting away with it. No evidence, concrete or circumstantial, was there to prove it. At least the stress of the situation killed any chance of him being turned on by her reminder of last night in their messages. This shit was boner repellant of the highest degree.

He played stupid. Better to let them volunteer whatever information they had before he went in saying anything incriminating that they didn't already know. If anything would sour the experience of their first date, it would be him accidentally making their strange in-between relationship public behind her back.

danknugstickiestickies ?? what do u mean

Three dots bounced in the bottom left corner of his slightly cracked phone screen.

popeheyward ...

kiara-c I mean, you don't see it?

danknugstickiestickies see what

popeheyward I guess we were wrong, but all of us always thought you two had some feelings going on.

"You don't say?" JJ murmured sarcastically to himself under his breath. "Never crossed my mind, Pope."

danknugstickiestickies bro that's jb's little sister

kiara-c so?

danknugstickiestickies forbidden fruit? making john b roll over in his grave? do those ring a bell or am i speaking in tongues

He was already a proficient liar in real life, but, fuck, it was easy in text messages. There's no chance at deciphering facial expression or tone, just a plain message with no room to budge. Thank God he didn't do this in person with them. He could've survived, but it wouldn't have been as quick and painless as the group chat was.

kiara-c jeez, sorry

Pope didn't voice it, but he noticed something.

He looked up from his phone and stared off at the wall in thought in his AP European History class. It piqued his interest that JJ simply said she was off limits, forbidden fruit as he put it, but did not outright deny having feelings for her. In fact, he didn't even address the question. He made excuses for why he shouldn't have feelings for her, but he never said he didn't have feelings for her.

Kie did not notice. Not because she wasn't smart enough to either, but because she was too busy hiding her phone behind her backpack to think too deeply about it. Her teacher was one of those teachers that would flip shit if they saw a cell phone turned off and faced down on the desk, let alone being used by a student during a lesson.

In his classroom across the hallway, JJ bounced his leg up and down beneath his desk in an absentminded urge to release the built up energy the anxiety produced in an over abundance.

popeheyward Our bad then. Even John B thought y'all were sus lmao.

Since when was that a known fact? Could he tell? Did he talk to Pope about him and Y/N before he died? Either way, it wasn't the time to pry about it.

kiara-c yeah you guys honestly could've fooled me if you wanted to

danknugstickiestickies well thank u, glad ur invested in our friendship but

danknugstickiestickies please help, i have no fucking clue how to act on a date and this girl is too cool for me to screw this up

That was when they finally dropped the interrogation session and started offering up tips. The best ones came from Kie, which made sense to him since women are more likely to know what other women like than two dudes who share one collective brain cell and never had real relationships.

Rule One: Be ready to pick her up five minutes early.

He wasn't ready to pick her up five minutes early. His bike broke down by the time he made it halfway down his street, so he had to push it back up the road and into the yard before setting off on foot to reach the Chateau quickly enough. And by quickly enough, it means he got there five minutes late, not early.

Rule Two: Compliment her after you get in the car.

She tossed him the keys to the Twinkie from across the hood, not giving him the chance to open the door for her, and it wasn't until they were setting off down the road that he remembered the next piece of advice he was given.

Side-eyeing her in his peripheral vision, he tried to find something to compliment her on specifically rather than the general compliments about her being pretty that she never fully believes when he says them. He was intending to say something about the skirt she had on, but when he chanced a glance over at her, she caught him and asked—

"What is it?"

Sent into panic mode, JJ blurted out instead, "I like your shoes."

He could've bashed his face against the steering wheel twenty times right then and there at the utter absence of reaction on her part for the next few uncomfortable seconds. It wasn't that it was a bad compliment. She appreciates any compliments at all...but her shoes were hidden from his view. Not to mention, they were the dirty, mustard yellow converse that the Pogues bash on a daily basis.

She laughed, lifting her leg to expose the sneaker on her right foot, and asked, "These? Dude, you roast me for these all the time. You and John B said they look like Big Bird shit on them."

The skin on the apples of his cheeks scorched hot with embarrassment, and he was never so glad that the overhead lights in the van were burnt out until that moment. He would've died on the spot if she saw him blush like that, face flushed pinker than sunburn. All he could do to save himself was murmur something about the color growing on him and keep driving in the direction of the theater with his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel he fantasized about banging his face into.

Rule Three: Insist on picking up the check.

In this case, it meant insist on buying the popcorn and drinks, and he miraculously managed to drop his wallet somewhere along the way when he ran over to the Chateau, so when he stepped up to the makeshift concession stand with her standing at his side, he felt around for his wallet in his jeans to no avail.

His thoughts echoed back to him, You gotta be fucking kidding me. Seriously? Is this actually happening right now?

"JJ, it's honestly fine," she said softly as he leaned over to search back of the Twinkie for the wallet. "We can look for it on your street right now if you want. It has your ID and stuff, you don't want a stranger to have that. We don't need to stay—"

It took all of his control to not shout it in reaction when he said, "No way. You've been waiting for this, and Kie ditched you, so I ain't ditching you too. We're staying."

His wallet could go kick rocks.

He came too far to be dragged down by the old leathery piece of shit anyway. Would he go out and search for it tirelessly the second the date ended? Hell yeah, that fucker had twenty dollars and his debit card in it, but he couldn't bear the thought of abandoning her or ruining her anticipated movie night by taking her out to search the streets with their phone flashlights for a wallet they might not find. He'd wait till the movies ended, take her home, then haul ass around the Cut searching for it after.

Thankfully, he found a couple bucks crumbled up in his front pocket while she scavenged for coins in the glove compartment, and they came up with enough to buy a water bottle and small popcorn to share together.

Rule Four: Don't have sex on the first date.

And it may sound easy enough to not act like a complete Neanderthal for the length of two movies, but the girl makes it pretty damn difficult if he's to say so himself.

That's what led him here, laying in the back of the sideways-parked Twinkie in the farthest corner of the outdoor theater with her practically on top of him. In any other instance, he wouldn't be opposed in the slightest, but with the cursed fourth rule in mind, he isn't too thrilled with the feeling of her hand rubbing up and down his thigh.

It isn't even meant to be sexual. They're constantly touching one another this way. She'll even slip her hands up under his shirt just to feel the warmth of his skin or when he asks her if she can get an itch on a part of his back he can't reach, but for some reason his brain is short circuiting right now.

The thing is, when Kie and Pope said he shouldn't do it on the first date, they meant it for his and Steph's made up circumstances, not his and Y/N's full-blown relationship without labels. When you've had sex with someone as many times as they have with each other, the hesitancy on the "first date" is nonexistent. It doesn't matter. But JJ, trying to follow the advice given to him to the letter for the sake of being the date she deserves, doesn't think about it that way.

It shouldn't be this nerve-wracking. They've been best friends since they were children, they've been flirting since they found out what basic attraction was in the first place, and they've been forming this relationship ever since John B died. Why can't he relax? Why is this so different compared to how easy it felt between them yesterday on the beach or today at lunch?

Rule Five: Be yourself.

It takes him another few moments of laying here with her before he realizes quite abruptly what went wrong in a quick flash of a thought that brings the fifth rule back to him. The problem wasn't the bike, or the weird compliment about her Big Bird sneakers, or the lost wallet.

The problem is him. The problem is that he's trying way too hard to make this something it isn't. The part about them that he adores so dearly is how they never have to try when they're together. With any other girl or guy, they'd have to fake something or act a certain way, yet when they're together, they can simply exist and everything is runs smoothly. That's not to say they don't disagree or bump heads, they do, but short of those outlier moments, it's easier than anything else they do in life.

His eyes flicker away from the screen for the first time since the movie began, which, by the way, is gruesome enough at times that he had to divert his eyes to prevent himself from seeing it happen. They land on where she lays, completely content with the night in spite of its mishaps, with her head propped up on the pillows they brought from the Chateau.

He wonders if she can tell he's acting differently. Surely she must notice. She's the type of person that typically never misses a thing, perfect for the gold hunt they went on in the summer with picking up the clues and helping her brother unravel the mystery, so maybe she noticed how flustered this date has him. Does it bother her? Does he bother her?

With a confirming glance back up at the movie to see nothing important happening, he can't fight the urge to speak anymore.

"Can I tell you something?"

His voice appearing through the darkness of the shut off van after spending the past half hour in complete silence makes her jolt at first before realizing who it was. Though she loves horror movies, she can't claim to not be affected by them. The night she falls asleep after watching one, she often finds herself compelled to turn a light on and keep her feet from dangling off the edge of the bed. It's worth the fear, though.

When she turns to look at JJ, there's a warm smile on her face. She's cuddled into his side with a hand placed casually atop his thigh, caressing with no purpose or intent, and her movement halts when the light from the movie on the projector allows her to see the expression on his face.

Anxiety has become an increasingly significant presence in his life with the recent events in mind; John B and Sarah, the four-hundred million dollars they lost out on, and dodging his father whenever he sneaks home to switch out the backpack of clothes and personal belongings he keeps at the Routledge house.

It manifests itself in jittery nerves, stomach pains, shortness of breath, and, at worst, panic attacks striking either at random or in response to a specific trigger. It's one of the few things he still tries to hide from her, and she tries not to push him too hard with opening up about it.

She abandons the movie for the time being and rolls onto her side to face him, upper body propped up on her elbow as she examines his face with downturned features.

"Of course," she says.

The words left unsaid are, "You can tell me anything. Whenever you need someone to listen, or to talk to about shit, you can tell me." He's heard her say it enough that he doesn't need to hear it now to know it's true.

There's a pause, then—

"I feel like I fucked this entire date up," he starts to ramble and cuts her off before she can think about saying what she wants to, "and I know it's okay to you. You have way too high of a tolerance for my bullshit, and I've been trying so hard to make this perfect, but all that did was screw it up."

She's left quiet for a second, taking it all in.

Maybe if he hadn't been so anxious about it, he would've realized what was wrong with his bike when he rode it home from school, or he would've noticed his wallet fall out of his pocket. The point is, he wishes he hadn't let the label attached to this freak him out so much. He isn't sure why it does, but it does.

But she doesn't do what he expects. She isn't drowning him in reassurances and, "It's okay's" because she knows he doesn't care for them much. When he, the most stubborn person she knows, apologizes for something he did, he doesn't want it to turn into the person accepting the apology coddling him.

Y/N sighs.

"Is that why you've been acting so different all night? I scared you with the whole ‘date’ thing, didn't I? It doesn't have to be a date if you don't want it to be."

What she doesn't know is that he wants it to be a date. He wants it to be a date so badly, he risked Pope and Kie finding them out for the sake of getting some proper advice on it, and now he's caught up in the same game of tug and war in his mind that always occurs when he wants to tell her the truth about his feelings for her.

Part of him doesn't understand why he doesn't outright say it. With every other girl he once showed interest in, he had no issues in letting them know he wanted them, but this is different. This isn't simply wanting someone, he thinks he's fallen for her. But whenever he says he's gonna grow a pair and tell her after all this time, he chokes. Involuntarily, he's reminded of his parents. Other than his friends saying it platonically, the only people to tell him they loved him were them, and with how they treated him, he sure as hell doesn't think that is love.

From his dad's brutal physical abuse to his mom's abandonment, he's too timid to tell her he loves her because of what could happen if she loves him back. Everyone else that has said that to him has either hurt him, died like John B did, or abandoned him.

He won't let that happen with him and Y/N. What they have, albeit undefined and codependent, is safe. It's the only thing he has left. Maybe it isn't right, and maybe he should open up about it to communicate the correct way, but somewhere in the misshapen logic of his mind, he correlates love to abandonment. And he doesn't want that to happen with her.

There are two sides of him at battle inside his mind. One side, the side that wants to do right by their relationship and actually communicate his feelings for once in his life, wants him to tell her everything. The other side, the side that responds based on the history of his past, wants him to hide it all.

"Will you be mad at me if we don't call it a date?" he asks.

She shakes her head.

The heavy sensation inside of JJ's chest nears a point of vitriolic violence against him as he starts to realize what he's doing to her, clearly letting her down, but he can't stop himself. Like a passive witness watching himself from outside of his body, the instantaneous trauma response to the sudden confrontation of his true feelings for her guides his actions without his permission. It shuts down any protest he has.

The sound of the movie fills the gap of silence between them the entire time. It’s a variety of bloodcurdling screams and disgusting sounds that would've made him gag if he weren't as distracted.

They can make out each other's faces through the darkness, but barely. It takes a flash of bright color from the film or a nearby car's lights turning on for them to fully see one another. Without the other knowing, they both put masks of calm and collected coolness on their faces despite the feelings raging beneath the surface—more so on his part than hers.

"Maybe," he says, pausing, "we should just keep things the way they've been."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, a soul-crushing amount of disappointment weighs her down. She said it was fine if he doesn't want it to be a date—and it is, she would never hold it against him—but that doesn't mean it can't hurt her. Things have been going so well, she almost thought...If tonight went well, she was thinking about no longer keeping it a secret, but if he said he wants things to stay the same, then maybe he isn't as ready for it as she is?

Meanwhile, JJ is on another page entirely.

She's embarrassed of being with you, a familiar voice in the back of his head croons. She's gonna leave just like everyone else does. If she doesn't even wanna tell your friends, why should you pretend you're dating?

The internal comments are the type that cause him to physically grimace when he's alone. Intrusive thoughts are just that: intrusive.

Sneaking into the guarded sanctuary of a person's mind, they set out to convince them the opposite of their reality. The only thing is, where most people's minds are guarded sanctuaries with walls of impregnable defense, his mind is the equivalent of a fortress blown to smithereens. The castle walls lay in rubble, the guards no where to be seen, and the path for these thoughts to slip past and straight to the vulnerability of his mind is left wide open.

In the privacy of his room, these thoughts attack him the most at night when he tries to fall asleep—when things get too quiet. With nobody around, when they get this bad there's nothing he can do except break down. It builds from the mere anxiety of attempting to force the thoughts away to full-blown panic attack mode. The more he resists them, the more aggressive they become. He'll gasp for air with tears streaming down his face, hitting his head with the heel of his hand as if that'd do something to stop his relentless mind.

But he can't afford to react in front of her, so the extent of his reaction is a subtle twitch of his face that she cannot see in the momentary darkness before the movie switches to another scene a second later. In a way, it does make the thoughts go away to have her here preventing him from spiraling alone. Having to focus on her keeps his mind away for moments at a time until the thoughts ease their grip on him.

When she hasn't answered for a while, he asks, terrified that he did something bad, "Are we good?"

The question seems to wake her up, snapping her out of the lonely direction her thoughts went into when he "rejected" her. It takes every bit of common sense she has left to force herself to understand that this doesn't mean he doesn't want her. He does, and not calling this a date doesn't mean they won't be together in the way they have been since John B's death, but she isn't perfect. She gets as unsure and insecure as he does.

As if the cloud of doom was lifted off of her, she makes her face lighten where she lays on her side next to him. Seeing this expression makes his chest feel less heavy, and he could let out a sigh of relief at the realization that he didn't break her heart and stomp on it. He should've known. Y/N is the sweetest person he knows, so she never would've flipped shit over him not wanting to label this as a date. That's not how she is.

And he's partly right. It isn't how she is. She would never hold it against him if he didn't want something further with her since she got herself into this position by pursuing him with his reputation with girls in mind, but she can't ignore it. Whether she wants it to or not, it had its affect on her as soon as he said it.

She leans in to kiss him, their lips meeting in the middle with the faint taste of popcorn salt mingling at the soft peck.

When she pulls away, she brushes the hair back from his face and says, "Don't worry. Nothing can change how I feel about you."

She has no clue what it feels like to hear that from her.

Despite the turmoil they unknowingly share beneath the surface due to this conversation, he could cry hearing her say it. It doesn't feel real to him that she feels the same way he does about her, because nothing could change how he feels about her either. That’s why he manages to work up the courage to repeat it back to her, and, for now, this is the closest he's physically capable of coming to telling her the truth.

"Ditto," he says.

It isn't what she wanted, but it's close enough, and if she dwells on this any longer, she might start getting too emotional and let the urge to tear up become too strong. Why does she have to be this sensitive? It's no secret that it's remarkably easy to make her cry, but this is insane to her. When all of this began with him, she didn't give a shit about him not wanting a label. She understood him, and she understood that he doesn't do this kind of thing, so why has it changed? Why doesn't she want to keep it a secret anymore? Why does she want this to be a date when she knows he doesn't want it to be?

Pulled by an invisible string back to him to silence her mind, she leans in to kiss him again with a hand cupping the back of his neck to guide him the rest of the way to her.

It shouldn't be laced with any sexual intention. She should be kissing him simply because she wants to, and, in a way, she is. Their kisses and touches are never lacking the motivation that is their underlying connection and mutual feelings for one another, but this is not the same. As he kisses her back with as much confidence and passion as always, she is reeling from the conversation that reminded her too much of a breakup.

It takes another minute of this for the kiss to heat up, their breathing becoming shallower in the moments they part to inhale, and she is undeniably the one instigating when she officially crosses the line between casual and sexual by crawling onto his lap. It's not hard for him to pick up on when their innocent moments take a turn. She's easy to read in that regard, and this has happened a multitude of times with them, so the shift of a mini make out session turning into something more is nothing out of the ordinary for them.

If he knew how shaken she is on the inside, he'd never want this. And the same would go for her if she knew what he was thinking before this. Neither of them wants to admit what they're feeling.

With her legs seated on either side of his hips, she kisses him like it's the last time she'll ever get the opportunity to. Her hands wander wherever they can, pulling at his shirt and feeling him up as his hands guide her hips to move against his in a steady grinding that she has no issue partaking in. It's an eagerness he hasn't seen from her in weeks. She's never un-excited when it comes to being physical with him either, but this is another level. The last time a girl was all over him like this, it was desperate touron at a party a few months ago.

In the span of time it takes her to glance over her shoulder to see if anyone could see them and reach to pull her skirt up until it bunches around her hips—no one can see them, by the way, since they got here late and were forced to cram the van into the back corner of the lot with no street lights illuminating the path—his brows raise at her presumptuous behavior. Not that he's one to complain, however, seeing as he's typically the one doing what she is.

Their next kiss clashes their teeth hard enough to make them wince, but he loves it. It makes him smirk into her parted mouth, alive with both the feeling her reassurance provided and the fuzzy-headed high that often finds him when they're together in this way. Incomparable to past flings or the high related to any drugs, she is the peak of everything to him. It's no contest.

His chest stutters against hers with a bout of amused laughter, asking within a brief pause in what feels like the most JJ thing he's said this awkward night, "Two for two in the Twinkie. What's gotten into you?"

Y/N's hand dips between where their bodies move together to unclasp the closed buckle of his belt in one smooth motion that has it falling apart with a clinking noise.

Her features are set with a look that tells him she means business. Whatever it is that sparked this, he wonders how the fuck to make it happen again another time. She's begged for it before, but never taken control so dominantly, and he can't deny what the role reversal does to him. The evidence is obvious in the distinct hardness she feels pressing up against the hand undoing his jeans.

"I was hoping it'd be you," she says, voice breathless and airy from the constant contact in a way that makes it ten times hotter for him.

If there were any chance of him not being in the mood prior to this, which wasn't the case anyway, it's gone now. He never wants to hear her say she doesn't deliberately try to tease him ever again.

He doesn't need to be told twice.

JJ surges forward to capture her mouth with his, this time with no intention of pulling away to breathe or speak again. No, he'll let himself get lightheaded and dizzy if it means he can stay with her for as long as possible.

With the circumstances of it all, them being visible to someone if they happened to pass by the open door of the van, they move at a pace quicker than usual. She's immediately helping him shimmy his jeans and underwear far enough down his hips to free his dick from the confines of his clothes, making him sigh out a breath of relief when her hand brushes against him in the process.

There's no opportunity to slow down, it has exploded into a full-throttle speed race that neither of them can halt.

His hand blindly flies out beside him to grope the floor of the van for the set of keys he tossed carelessly to the side once the movie started, eyes shut in the midst of the hot, messy kiss they share. His fingers find the fabric of one of the blankets they brought in case they got cold, then drifts again and lands on her Big Bird sneakers until he feels the sharp metal of her keys meet his calloused palm.

After the events of last summer, she bought a switch blade to keep on her key ring alongside the keys to the van, HMS Pogue, and Chateau. She may not like violence or weapons, seeing as she was a skeptic of JJ keeping the gun alongside her friends, but she saw it necessary. Between Rafe, Topper, and Kelce, how could she leave the safety of her and her friends up to chance knowing what some of the kooks did to them not long ago? What happened to Pope on the golf course alone was enough to make her skin crawl.

Right now, though, the knife flips out from the pressure of his thumb pushing the button to release it. He holds it out away from her at first to assure it doesn't nick her in the process, then uses his other hand to tug the side of her panties that hugs her hip far out enough to press the sharp side of the blade onto the inside of it.

She can hardly believe what she's watching as JJ cuts the delicate maroon underthings from her body as if he were doing something so normal, like it's something he's done before. Her forehead is pressed against his, her mouth parted both in shock and in a need to pant for oxygen, and she watches the knife ruin her favorite panties. The stitches come apart with a satisfying ripping noise that can hardly be heard over the sound of people reacting to the movie in the background.

Other customers of the Cherry Bowl Drive-In are too glued to the screen as a beloved character is chased down, reacting in shouts when she's seized by the killer and shoved onto the table of an industrial bread slicer, so they remain wholly unnoticed.

The lace, now ripped in half, dangles on the tip of the knife when he lifts it away from her, tosses it aside, and presses the button once more to retract the blade. It clatters to the floor, but is in no way forgotten with them resuming in a desperation to keep going until they both satisfy the need clawing at them from the inside. But her sense of need is different from his, and even with the fresh memory of him with the switch blade in mind, she's still somewhere else the whole time.

Her mind is faraway, muted through layers of sadness, anger, and disappointment as he reaches between them to line himself up to her entrance. The sensation of him running his cock, hard and messy with a few drops of precome, through her dripping pussy to coat it in her slick arousal is enough to make her moan pathetically. Yet when he's about to guide himself inside of her, she stops him.

"Wait, wait, wait," she breathes out rapidly, heart pounding so hard she can feel herself pulsating between her thighs, "Condom."

They were so antsy to get to it, they almost forgot.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, and his eyes flicker from where they were trained between their bodies to glance back and forth around the van before it hits him. "I lost my wallet..."

But right when he thinks their public rendezvous in the back of the Drive-In is over due to his unfortunate mistake, she shakes her head and slips away from her perch astride his lap to crawl over to her bag.

She fumbles with the old tote bag and plunges her arm in to sift through the hodge podge of things that are purely Y/N in nature—stickers, glitter pens, a half-eaten bag of candy, etc—for the square foil package she decided to toss in before she left just in case. She usually doesn't keep them on her because he never fails to have one, but, thankfully, she had the random instinct to bring it tonight.

The only thing to bring her out of her cloudy, malevolent storm of feelings when she settles back onto his lap with the condom wrapper ripped open for him is him saying, "So you planned this, huh?" with his mouth tipped in a familiar self-satisfied grin.

She didn't plan it. In fact, she threw herself at him the second she sensed him withdrawing from her and can't stop herself despite the fact that she constantly feels two seconds away from letting a tear slip down her cheek. If that counts as "planning it", then sure.

"Maybe so," she answers, cool, calm, and collected—the antithesis of the truth.

They usually don't lie to each other.

They're thrown right back into it without any other hiccups once he rolls the condom on, and he takes in a shaky breath at her hand wrapping around him to align their bodies up. Before she can do anything, though, he takes chance to swipe the blanket he found a moment ago and wrap it around her back to keep her covered in case they get caught.

Y/N sinks down onto his cock with her lip caught between her teeth to stifle the sound that threatens to escape. JJ, on the other hand, doesn't bother concealing the sound of the groan he makes at the sensation of having her wrapped around him like this. The tension in her entire body from the anticipation and the looming threat of being seen by someone has her squeezing him so tightly, he can't help but be a little louder than he should.

Her soft palm slaps over his mouth with enough pressure to force his groan to quiet itself, and she watches his pretty blue eyes widen in reaction to the dominant action. Who is this girl and what has she done with his sweet, submissive Y/N? Don't get him wrong, he is very turned on by it, but it's unlike her to take the lead this way. He can't figure it out.

"What's wrong, angel?" she asks in a whisper into his ear, her hand over his mouth and her hips starting to slowly rock against him, "Watch the movie."

Once the words leave her mouth, she drops her hand, just in case he wants to stop and can't say anything because she had his mouth covered, and JJ is pretty sure he's died and gone to heaven.

He doesn't watch the movie, not at all, because he's too busy watching her. For someone losing their mind internally, she does not let it show, nor does she let it distract her from what's happening. If anything, the distraction in this situation is the sex, not what's going on inside of her head.

There's a moment of adjustment and going as slowly and gently as possible while waiting for the dull pressure of feeling him inside of her to fade away, but, for the most part, she doesn't waste any time. As soon as she feels comfortable enough with the ache between her thighs giving way to a spark of pleasure when she grinds her clit down on his pubic bone, she starts to ride him at a better pace than the initial slow movements of her hips.

She raises herself up and takes him again inch by inch, enjoying the sense of fullness she gets from having to fit him in spite of the slight discomfort at first, and she could swear that he'll leave bruises in the shape of his handprints with how tightly he clutches her hips. It's all he can do to prevent himself from moaning or saying something, ever the vocal lover she's come to know.

Unless his mouth is preoccupied like it was on the beach yesterday afternoon, JJ is usually impossible to shut up, especially in this context. With him always whispering dirty things to her, whether it be praises, pet names, or plans on what he wants to do to her, she has come to find it breathtakingly hot. He could likely get away with saying something if he wanted to, but he isn't sure he wants to risk it. If he opens his mouth to spew something filthy to her, he won't trust himself not to make a louder, different kind of noise that won't fit in the with background audio the other moviegoers are listening to.

The wet sound of their bodies colliding that fills the space of the van is drowned out by the loud and violent sequence occurring on the screen far ahead of them, and hearing it makes her bounce herself on him a little harder. She's fueled on by it all, and, strangely, what happened before she practically pounced on him is the main contributor.

Similarly to the nature of his intrusive thoughts, the harder she resists the memory of how it felt when he told her he didn't want this to be a date, the more forceful it is in its return. Her eyes trail down to watch where they connect with her forehead pressed to his, then she's thrown back into the feeling of helpless disappointment and insecurity. His head tips back against the window with his bottom lip dropped open and his brows furrowed just enough to create a crease on his forehead, and she's bombarded with the look of relief on his face when he realized he didn't have to be tied down to her with a label.

It makes her want to get rougher, harder, and she doesn't even care if it'll make her sore later on. She presses herself down so far every time she slides down on his cock, her teeth draw blood on her lip with how hard she must bite it to remain quiet. The pain of her hipbones rubbing against his doesn't even matter to either of them at this point. They're both too lost in the pleasure that has begun to take control of them to care about something as minuscule as that, or the burn in her thighs from the repetitive physical strain.

She grabs his wrist and brings his hand between them, flattening hers overtop of it and pressing down on the base of her abdomen in the midst of the increasingly feverish thrusts.

"Feel you here," she murmurs to him through a quiet moan, hoping he can hear it over the movie, and pushes down on his hand for emphasis. And if the way he reacts by cursing under his breath tells her anything, it's that he picked up on it. "JJ..."

He reaches out to grab her by the throat with his free hand and tug her forward to kiss him, as if something inside of him snapped in response to her doing that. The motions of her jolting up and down throws the already messy and uncoordinated kiss off-kilter, but they don't mind. It has them separating every time she lifts up, producing this heady little head rush from from them breathing in each other's air without actually letting their mouths meet in the middle.

Though they're trying their hardest not to alert anyone outside of what's happening, it didn't occur to him until now, when his eyes catch John B's old bandana swinging back and forth where it's secured around the rear view mirror.

They're worried about moaning while the entire fucking Twinkie is rocking with their movements. Well, at least it makes good use of the corny sticker he gifted John B last year as a gag gift. He tried to peel it off after JJ snuck it onto the side window to no avail. So, now Y/N is stuck with a sticker on her car reading, "If the van's a-rockin', come on in, we like orgies," rather than the more common phrase.

It almost makes him start laughing, and he prays no one takes that shit seriously, 'cause he is never intent on sharing this breathtaking girl. Ever.

Y/N isn't anywhere near laughing like he is, in fact, she's finding it difficult to keep herself together. She feels her eyes sting with the promise of tears, and she's never felt so pathetic before. Is she seriously about to cry during sex? Is she really that girl that is so ill-equipped to handle rejection, she can't get through it without tears?

She won't cry. Perhaps if he sees how glossy her eyes have become in a rare moment of good lighting, she can blame it on the hand around her throat putting pressure on the sides of her neck.

The worst part about her being near to crying is the timing of it.

The emotion of what she feels mentally mixes with the swirling, building sensation she feels in the pit of her stomach that tells her she's close to going over the edge, and it's so overwhelming. Was she imagining that their friendship had changed? More importantly, is this all she'll ever be to him? Sex is the only thing she's sure of with him, it's the only thing that doesn't require deeper emotions, and when the ground beneath their fragile relationship felt shaky...

He can feel her starting to unravel, and he knows that he'll come before she does if he doesn't do anything now, so he decides to take control.

JJ pulls the hand he had resting on her abdomen away as though he were burned by it, wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her body against his and using the hand around her neck for leverage to thrust up into her, effectively reducing her to a teary-eyed, moaning mess atop him. They both stopped caring about making noise the second he began to fuck her like this.

She cries out in ecstasy at the sudden change in pace and depth that has him hitting all the right places. Every time he thrusts up into her, just as rough as she wished for, the tip of his cock nudges into that perfect spot inside of her that makes her incapable of silencing her moans. This time, it's JJ that puts his hand over her mouth, letting the one he had around her neck move away to keep her from alerting everyone around them of what's happening.

There's nothing she can do to stop her climax as it barrels through her in its initial sweeping wave of bliss to contrast the venomous doubts in her mind. She's never felt such conflicting, yet powerful feelings before—the intensity of the physical pleasure that makes her whine into the palm of his hand, then the part of her mind replaying every word he said in their conversation before this.

Her body is rigid and tense through it all, squeezing down around his cock with the involuntary spasms of her orgasm, and he can't help himself anymore. All it takes are a few more frantic thrusts for him to bury himself inside of her one last time and spill into the condom, uncovering her mouth so he can drown out his own groans into a kiss.

Their skin sticks to their clothes on the inside with sweat from the exertion of their actions, and he can feel her stomach tremble where it presses up against his with each undulation of her hips that meet his as he rides it out.

But even with the added distraction of the sex, she can't rid herself of the feeling that started plaguing her as soon as things went awry. That was why he was acting weird all night. He must have been so worried about her thinking this was anything more than their typical hangouts that he couldn't bring himself to act normally.

She forces herself to look happy when they pull away from the kiss, panting, and JJ, unaware of what she's been thinking, doesn't notice the small deception.

Tag list: @gabiatthedisco

[yonkimint]

So Show Me, I’ll Show You

Part 28.2

This part has written parts with pictures in between.

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TAGLIST (send me an ask or leave a reply if you want to be added!): @esteemedsalt @halesandy @historicalgigi @seaoffangirling @secretlycrazyhummingbird @kiwimash12 @aviwasabi21 @sehun096rainbow @darkskin-buttercup @rainfallingfromthesky @yoongiofmine @lucedelsole97 @pleasegivemearemedyyy @kim-jias-den @unadulteratedlyunique @thesweetest-peas​ @joyfullyobsessed​ @irishhbamb ​

When you come to, the lights are too bright overhead like someone is shining a laser beam directly into your pupil. You splutter and groan, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. Someone is leaning over you, smoothing hair back from your face and speaking words you don’t understand.

“Don’t,” you moan, “I can’t take it anymore.”

“y/n? My name is Doctor Yang. You’re safe now,” a gentle voice says but it sounds like it’s coming through a tunnel. They keep talking and whoever is stroking your hair moves to pat your cheek. An image of Mark holding a knife flashes against the back of your eyelids.

Somewhere far away, someone starts screaming. The bright light and the pressure of the hand on your hair disappear and you fall back into the safety of the dream they’ve awoken you from. This memory you have shared with no one and it’s, perhaps, the safest one of them all.

The delicate strum of the guitar combined with your already drained emotions has your eyes drifting shut. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remember that Yoongi wants your opinion on this song and you make a mental note to tell him it’s the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard.

You barely register when Yoongi stops playing but you rouse a little when you realize he’s come to sit next to you on the couch. The two of you have never been this close before and you can feel the heat radiating off his skin. 

You have a feeling if you ‘wake up,’ he’ll back off so you keep your eyes closed and wait to see what he’ll do.

He clicks his tongue and sighs almost like he’s scolding himself and you force yourself to keep your face free of emotion. You’d like to know what’s going through his brain but you don’t dare give away that you’re awake.

Soft fingertips brush your cheekbone, tracing the tear swollen skin beneath your eyes, and move to tuck a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t help the gentle sigh that comes from your lips and you hope he attributes it to a dream you’re having.

This feels like a dream.

“Why can’t I get you out of my head?” Yoongi whispers. Your heart leaps into your throat. He’s been thinking about you too?

You almost jump when he wraps his arm around you and pulls you out of the ball you’ve been curled in. This would be the perfect time to pretend you’ve woken up but you still want to know what he’ll do. It’s taking all your best acting skills but you let out an indignant moan and fall against his shoulder.

He laughs, the sound of it making your whole body tingle. “You silly, beautiful girl,” he whispers, turning his face so his lips brush the crown of your head, his breath warm against your scalp.

His palm presses gently against your cheek and his thumb skates the skin beneath your lower lashes again. You squirm a little, taking liberties as if you were asleep, and he must believe you are because he keeps whispering the things he won’t say to you out loud.

“I know I said we can’t be friends…” he trails off. You crack your eyes open just a sliver and peer through your eyelashes as if you will discover what has interrupted his thoughts. He sighs and his hand moves from your face, his fingers curling in your loose hair.

“I know that,” he says again, “but I hope you can tell how badly I am lying.”

You hope he can’t feel the warmth rising in your cheeks.

The press of something warm against your face has you convulsing again. You think you might scream again, anything to stop whatever pain you’ve been roused for, but you find that your fear response has been replaced with anger. How dare he take you away from that dream? How dare he take you away from Yoongi?

How dare Yoongi take himself away from you too?

You are so angry, you try to jerk away but find that you’ve been strapped down, every limb suspended in place and your head locked. Hot, fat tears well in your eyes and spill down from the corners to drench your hair. Vainly, you give a thought to how awful you must look in your final moments and that pisses you off too.

“Just get it over with, you asshole,” you spit.

“Baby,” a voice whispers in your ear, so familiar to you and so absolutely not Mark that your eyes snap open. You wince at the bright lights overhead and groan. Yoongi is leaning over you, smoothing your hair back from your forehead and smiling so sweetly that a deep ache fills your chest. You have missed him.

“It’s okay,” he tells you, his free hand coming up to wipe away the flood of salty liquid still dripping from your eyes, “You’re okay. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You blink at him. You aren’t sure how Yoongi got here — or how you got here, honestly — but all the emotions you have been put through today come to a head and you settle on anger once more. You glare at him, this boy who has pushed you away and abandoned you until this very moment when it is almost too late. His smile falters and you can’t say you aren’t happy to see it.

“Oh, you can get it over with too, you asshole,” you spit again, “Jimin said you went all the way to Daegu to get away from me. You didn’t have to come all the way back just because I almost died. A breakup text would have been fine.”

They’ve given you painkiller and you can tell because you’re starting to ramble but you can’t stop. You desperately wish you could fall back into your dream where Yoongi would hold you and whisper the sweet things. You don’t want to be awake for this part.

“y/n, I know you’re mad—”

“MAD?” you screech, “Mad is an understatement. How are you gonna abandon me when that’s the ONE THING you were so afraid I was gonna do to you? Mad, tch! Why did you even come back? How did you get in here?”

“Do you…?” he trails off, looking very uncertain and suddenly very boyish. Your heart thumps uncomfortably in response. He’s making that little pout that has had girls swooning for a decade and suddenly you notice the cut across his cheekbone and the bruise blossoming across the bridge of his nose.

You jerk against your restraints to grab his face but you are securely locked in place. He presses his lips together and finishes his question, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you nearly shout, “What happened to your face?”

His hand springs back from your face and he goes to touch a cut at the corner of his mouth that you failed to notice. He must see the frantic look in your eyes because he is quick to shrug it off, “It’s nothing. I got into a little confrontation on my way up here. I’m fine. Honestly, you should look in the mirror because you really look like shit.”

He’s deflecting. You’ll allow it for the moment because the longer you are out of your delusions, the more you realize you actually are safe, and now you have other questions that need answering.

“Gee, thanks, pretty sure my psycho ex-manager just tried to kill me so I would expect nothing less,” you tell him sardonically, “You wouldn’t happen to know how I got out of that mess, would you?”

He smiles, relief flooding his features that you aren’t pressing him about his own injuries, and says, “Well, I was on the train back from Daegu when the girls found you missing. They thought one of the boys had tried to break you out of jail but they were secretly trying to keep you here too until I could get here—”

You cut him off, “What do you mean until you got there? Is that why Jimin was taking so long? You were really coming back to break up with me?”

You can’t help it. The tears are welling up in your eyes again. His eyes bug out and his hands are suddenly aflutter around your face as if there’s some secret button hidden there that he can push to stop you from crying. He wipes at your eyes and then carefully presses both palms to either side of your face, making you look at him.

“Are you stupid?” he asks. Your despair shifts back into rage but he doesn’t give you time to speak, “I was coming back for you. Because I was stupid to have ever left you in the first place and I was coming to beg you for your forgiveness and to promise you that I would never leave you again unless you wanted me to go. And to tell you that I love you.”

You squirm, trying to alleviate the sudden soaring of butterflies in your core, but it disturbs your injuries which suddenly light up in flames of pain. Yoongi sighs, peeling one hand from your face to press his palm flat against your stomach so you’ll stop moving. It doesn’t stop the butterflies from their maddening dance.

“You are a terrible boyfriend,” you mumble. He nods in agreement.

“The absolute worst. I’m so, so sorry, y/n. I should have been here with you. I should never have left your side from the moment I dropped you off from the arcade. Then you wouldn’t be like… this.”

You see the glassy look come into his eyes and the lump bobbing in his throat and you realize he’s about to start crying too. He’s been blaming himself for this awful chain of events ever since that night and he never gave you the chance to tell him it was always inevitable.

You wish you could lift your arms and pull him down against you. That you could stroke your fingers through his hair and calm the ache that must be tearing through his chest. You frown at him and ask, “Are you stupid?”

“What?!”

“You cannot blame yourself for anything that Mark does. If you had been there that night, that guy could’ve killed you. If you had been here at the hospital, Mark still would have come. He still would have waited until I was all alone and he would have taken me. This wouldn’t have turned out any different so stop blaming yourself. 

“It’s probably not even your fault that Mark found me in the first place. If he had Lauren’s twitter and Lauren’s phone number, that means he probably found me months ago. He’s probably known all along. He was just waiting for the perfect moment, okay? There was nothing you could have done,” you tell him.

He takes a moment to consider this and then lets out a long sigh, “I should have been here.”

“You should have,” you agree, “Speaking of my would be murderer, what happened?”

“Oh,” Yoongi says as if he has completely forgotten about that asshole, Mark, and then he scowls, “Well, the police arrested him and I actually caught him in the elevator on my way up to you… which is why my face looks like this.”

“Yoongi!!” you cry.

He throws his head back and laughs, “It was worth it! Honestly, y/n, you should see his face. These are actually from one of the police officers trying to get me off of him. Mark looks a lot worse!”

“He’s gonna sue you for assault,” you scold him, wishing more than ever that you could reach for his face and erase the marks left there.

“That’s fine,” Yoongi says with a shrug, “I’m rich, remember? And nobody is going to be upset with me for throttling a man who tried to murder my girlfriend. I won’t even get negative press over this, okay? And it made me feel a lot better knowing he was hurting after what he did to you. He’ll never hurt you again.”

His nostrils are flared and there is hatred in his dark eyes. You sigh, upset that he risked getting hurt for you but so overwhelmed by the fact that he cares enough for you to have done it in the first place.

“I love you, Yoongi” you whisper.

Your words catch him off guard and he stares down at you blankly for a long moment. You wait, patient for the first time in your life, for your words to register and when they do, he breaks out in his wide, gummy grin.

“I know you’re still mad at me,” he starts, his fingers fiddling the fabric of the hospital gown at your waist. There’s a fire starting down there that makes you want to squirm for relief but you don’t dare move. He presses his lips together, thinking carefully of how to make his request, and asks, “Do you think I could start making it up to you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I suppose that would be acceptable.”

He leans down, the one hand still pressed to your stomach, the other gently caressing your face, and presses his lips softly to yours. He’s kissed you before. Shy kisses in his bed the night you finally confessed your feelings to each other and more frenzied makeouts in dark corners of loud arcade rooms. Coffee laced kisses on early mornings. Lazy kisses in his studio that you’ve mentioned to no one.

But you are determined that this one should top all the others.

You open your mouth to let his tongue tangle with yours and sigh when his fingers move to loop not so gentle knots in your hair. Your fingers curl, aching to hold him but secured firmly at your sides, and you break the kiss briefly to whine at him about the straps holding you down.

He laughs a husky, breathless chuckle that catches in his throat. It’s not fair that he holds all the power in this exchange though, and you demand to be freed. Kissing the tip of your nose affectionately, he loosens the strap around your torso just enough for you to slip your arms free.

You do, snaking them around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the base of his neck as you pull him as close to you as you can manage. It is a mixture of pain and pleasure as the weight of him jostles your injuries but you don’t want him anywhere else.

Your lips meet again hungrily and you don’t waste time parting them. Your tongues dance as if they’re meeting for the first time and a low moan hums in your throat. Yoongi pulls back, his dark eyes fiery with his desire for you.

“Oh god, y/n,” he gasps, “You can’t make noises like that when you’re injured like this. I’m going to get carried away and forget to be gentle with you.”

You only laugh and coax his lips back down to yours. You’d like to trace your lips across his jaw… and down his neck… and lower… and lower… but you settle for letting him explore your mouth instead. His hand, splayed across your stomach, begins to explore too and the fire in your core grows almost too intense.

You gently bite at his lip, a warning to cool it when you both know you can’t go much farther than this in the condition you’re in. He pulls back, whispering an apology against your lips, and you decide to offer him a promise in return, “I heal fast, sir. And when I do, I don’t want you to be gentle with me at all.”

He whimpers and it’s all the satisfaction you need.

[still-a-morosexual-help]

ehehehe i've read that one fic you linked to me and left a comment (tl;dr i loved it so much)

ahh also yes the kiss! that one ALMOST happened. they were 👌 (this) close but Levi -love him though- broke away the moment. i imagine that was the start of Seline's realization but they weren't so sure yet so they didn't act on it further. they needed alone time to actually sit with their feelings. that 'almost moment' played again and again in their head when they went back to the Human World. then small moments also popped in their head involving Mammon — so the suspicion began that this might be more than just a Really Strong Friendship. which confirmed it for her that she noticed herself being overly ecstatic when it was his turn to call

if the kiss DID happen, however, i don't think she would have realized fully what it meant to Mammon. they would have felt the butterflies in their stomach but they would have been also very confused about it. this is also angst potential because she would say: "oh, um, sorry, i didn't mean it to happen". i think this would kinda break Mammon's heart on the spot??? like surely. imagine finally kissing your big fat crush then they say: "sorry it was a mistake".

look, i love angst but i won't hurt him with this in their main story line but also new fic ideaaa👀

!!! I'll go check it out and reply!

Nooo, I mean I love mutual pining but mutual pining across long distances always feels bittersweet specially because at that point we didn't really know when or if MC would be able to see the brothers. Would Seline have had the same problem? The 'we live in different worlds and what if I lost my chance'?

Hey, wow, okay? Way to break my heart too wtf🥲 no but the angst that man's gonna sulk till it's clarified but because he's the least forceful person ever when it comes to actual romantic situations he probably wouldn't make a move to get it cleared up and I'm okay🥲

Oh definitely, I need all of Mammon's hurt to be smoothed out as soon as possible and oh! so there's this thing in the main storyline that really hurts and you may have seen it already but;

You know how sometimes MC kisses one of the brothers in front of the others and they don't react? (Ex: MC kissing Mammon in front of their entire class in RAD & MC being able to kiss all of the brothers at the end of S3 in front of the others). So I didn't pick this option but someone sent me screenshots some time back:

When Lucifer loses his memory in S2 and he & MC go to the amusement park and the others secretly follow them. MC gets the chance to kiss Lucifer on the ferris wheel. Immediately after they kiss the shot moves to Mammon who's staring at them from the ground and just like whenever Mammon gets truly upset he doesn't say anything and he just watches and that just breaks my heart. Cause;

1.) This was the same amusement park that he went to on the date with MC and maybe he's remembering that and wondering what he could have done different during that time to make them choose him

2.) Imagine Mammon feeling like he'll always be second to Lucifer and it was stupid of him to even hope they would choose him when Lucifer was there

3.) The fact that this 100% makes me believe that if MC genuinely and seriously chose one of the brothers Mammon would just step aside. He'd still grumble and groan about them needing to spend time him cause he's their first man but he'd never push for a romantic relationship or even bring up his own feelings. He'd just keeping loving them in silence

[tenspontaneite]

Across Shared Skin (Chapter 1/?)

When Callum was born, Sarai pored over every inch of his skin by candlelight until she found it: a tiny, diminutive patch of discoloured skin on the back of his tiny, diminutive left hand.

(Second of two pieces written for @falling-for-you-a-rayllum-zine) (Soulmate AU. For the ‘AU’ chapter. Only this instalment was written for the zine; future chapters are all new. Piece length: 7k. Ao3 link)

---

 It was an interesting skin tone. Pale and purplish, almost, plainly evident against the ruddy colour of his newborn body. She wondered if, across whatever distance separated them, her son’s soulmate had noticed the corresponding shift on their own hand. She wondered how much older they were. She wondered many things that, in the end, only the passage of years would be able to answer. But for now, there were observances to meet.

She fetched a pen, and in the tiniest script she could manage, drew lines of ink carefully across the back of her son’s hand. Callum, she wrote, and left it at that.

Others might include a birth-date, or kingdom of residence, or the names of the parents. But Sarai was wary, and wrote only what custom dictated. The name.

She wasn’t expecting a response right away. For all the prominence of the mark’s location, it was late, and whoever waited on the other end might well be asleep. She had expected more to be waiting until morning, at the very least. But, mere minutes later—

Clear and careful, a name unfolded on her son’s skin, directly beneath the one she’d written.

Rayla, it said, and nothing else.

Sarai mulled the name over. It was unusual. Foreign, certainly, though that didn’t guarantee anything about how far away the girl might live. In the end, she nodded, and committed the name to her memory. It might be years until Callum could communicate with his soulmate himself, but until then, he deserved to know her name.

She left both names on Callum’s hand, and set him gently down to sleep.

 ---

 “He might not be a human.” Lain attempted, yet again, looking down for what seemed like the hundredth time at the name on his daughter’s hand. “Elves use the common script, too. And the name—it’s not unusual. It would fit in well with any of the communities that use Draconic more than we do.”

Tiadrin sighed, and eased the glove once again onto Rayla’s squirming fingers. It wasn’t proper to have one’s mark visible in public, but children so often disliked restrictive coverings. “They didn’t write the primal.” She said, flatly, and that was a tired statement too. “What elf wouldn’t write the symbol of the primal their child was born to? It’s tradition.”

The name and the symbol were obligatory. All else—birthdate, location, family—was optional. But there should have been a symbol. Moon, or Sun, or Sky, or Earth—even Ocean—there should have been a symbol. But there wasn’t, and in its absence, they’d omitted Rayla’s moon. If her soulmate was a human, it would keep him safer. It didn’t seem prudent to declare arcanum to a human audience of unknown prejudices.

Lain was quiet, watching as she covered up the damning ink of the unaccompanied names. “He might not be a human.” He repeated, more softly. “Perhaps they omitted his primal for security reasons. Perhaps he’s the son of someone important.” His brow furrowed. “Perhaps he’s a Startouch elf.”

She snorted. “Fat chance of that. And even royalty declare their children’s primal.” She bent down to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “No, Lain. Our daughter has a human soulmate, and we’ll just have to live with that.”

He frowned, resignation and concern written more clearly on him than the names on Rayla’s hand. “…We can’t let anyone find out.” He said, eventually, defeat weighing on his every word. “She’d never be able to do anything without someone questioning her loyalties. She’d be shunned. We can’t let that happen to her.”

Tiadrin nodded. It went without saying, really. “We’ll tell Runaan and Ethari. Everyone else…” She mulled the name over. Callum. It could mean ‘hard-skinned’. It could also, if derived from Columba, mean ‘dove’. Either way, it was a plainly Draconic name, and Moonshadow elves didn’t tend to name their children for Draconic. Others, though… “We’ll say he’s a Skywing elf.” She decided, and her husband hummed approvingly.

“What about Rayla?” He asked, then. “What will we tell her?”

She went quiet. “…I can’t lie to my own daughter about her soulmate, Lain.” She admitted. “We’ll just…have to impress on her the importance of discretion. Children aren’t always the best at keeping secrets, but…”

He held silent for a moment, then smiled. “She’s a Moonshadow elf. She’ll be fine.” He said, and she wished she could share his confidence.

“We’ll see.” Tiadrin said, noncommittal, and left it to that.

 ---

 Once or twice in his early years, Callum experienced little hints of the shared skin between himself and his soulmate. Here and there, he felt phantom fingertips against the back of his hand, the weight of unfamiliar cloth, and—once—the sharp sting of a scratch from some sort of animal across the skin. It healed quickly, as all blemishes on soulmarks did, but he’d gone crying to his mother from the unexpected pain anyway.

People were circumspect about their soulmarks, and that was part of the background hum of culture that he was raised to. He wasn’t to show his soulmark in public. He wasn’t even to say where it was. He wore fingerless gloves, on both hands, to disguise it—and, at least until he was able to talk to her, he wasn’t even supposed to tell anyone her name.

He did, though.

He finger-spelled it out to Aunt Amaya, albeit clumsily. “Her name is Rayla,” he said, almost solemnly, with the motions of his hands. She smiled at him indulgently and raised a finger to her lips in a ‘hush’ motion.

She wasn’t the only person he told. He told the officer of the Standing Battalion who was watching his mother and Amaya’s latest sparring match. He told the baker that they went to buy sweets from. He told near everyone he met, when he was going through the typical three-year-old’s phase of desperate interest in the phenomenon of a soulmate, and his mother sighed at him for it every time.

Again and again, he asked her to write something to Rayla. To ask questions, to find out something more about her, anything. He had a soulmate, and he wanted to know more about her than her name and skin colour.

“It wouldn’t be right, Callum.” She told him, patiently. “Only soulmates should speak through their skin. You’ll just have to wait until you can write to her yourself.”

Callum scowled, and set back into learning his alphabet very vehemently indeed. Because that was the thing:

It wasn’t proper for someone else to write to your soulmate for you. It wasn’t even proper to be walked through spelling out an introduction. When you first wrote to your soulmate, you were supposed to do it yourself. And you were supposed to wait until you were good enough to manage basic conversation, too.

Callum didn’t want to wait until he had words to communicate with. So, one evening, in abject defiance of custom and propriety, he took off his glove and doodled a little flower on the back of his hand. He fell asleep feeling particularly pleased with himself, and somehow, didn’t consider that writing upon shared skin might garner a response.

He woke to a tiny, clumsy flower-doodle scrawled beside his own.

 ---

 Rayla was something of a lonely child. She didn’t have friends her age, having never meshed well with the other children. She didn’t play like the other children did, preferring instead to train with Runaan, or go off sneaking into the forest alone. She didn’t socialise and the closest thing she had to friends were the adoraburrs she brought home by the armful. So, really, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that she became so taken with her soulmate.

It started when, one day, Rayla ran up to them with her expression so bright it was impossible not to smile back at her. And then they saw what was on her hand, and Tiadrin had to restrain a surprised laugh at the neat little flower doodled on her daughter’s hand. “Oh, well,” She managed, and shared a glance with Lain. “That’s…” She remembered, for a moment, that this was a human, but… “That’s incredibly cute.” She sighed in the end, because it was, and Rayla was so charmingly pleased with the tiny drawing. “Congratulations, Rayla.”

“It’s only a flower,” said their rambunctious, headstrong little girl, but there was no hiding how delighted she was. “He didn’t even write anything.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know how, yet.” Tiadrin said, while she tried to remember how old Rayla’s soulmate was. “He’s not quite four, and that’s very young for writing.” She shook her head. “Well, I suppose we’d best get you your skin-inks, if you’re going to be talking now. Or drawing.” Suddenly, she levelled her daughter with a penetrating look. “Remind me what you know about talking to your soulmate, Rayla.”

She stilled for a second, and fell from her childish delight into the more bullheaded determination that accompanied her through her training. “Nothing ‘bout elves, or Xadia, or where we live, or anyone’s names, or magic, or assassins.”

Lain reached out and ruffled her hair. “Good girl.” He praised, and she beamed at him. When she was older, no doubt, she’d chafe against those restrictions. They’d make it very hard to talk to one’s soulmate about anything of substance, after all. But for now, she was content.

Rayla puffed up. “I’m gonna draw him an adoraburr!” She announced, and both of her parents made despairing noises.

“Rayla, honey, adoraburrs are magic.” Tiadrin explained, patiently, and her daughter’s face fell. Evidently, this might be more challenging than they’d thought.

(Rayla drew the adoraburr anyway. Adoraburrs were everywhere, after all. What could it hurt?)

 *

 Callum kept up a clandestine exchange of doodles with his soulmate for months before his mother found out. Rayla always used some sort of weird ink that washed off his skin really easily, while his ink lingered in faded outlines for days after he scrubbed it off. It was that which caught him, in the end.

“Callum,” his mother sighed, a little despairingly, at the evidence of many successive generations of doodles on the skin of his hand. “You’re supposed to wait until you can write.”

He made a face at her from the side of the bath, where he really should have expected he’d be caught. “It’s not hurting anyone.” He muttered, chagrined. “We’re just drawing.”

She pursed her lips, reluctantly curious. “She draws back? Or does she write?”

“She draws.” He admitted. “She got this weird ink that washes off easy.”

After a brief correction to his grammar, she shook her head. “Skin-ink. It’s made to wash off. I’ll have to get you some, I suppose.” She watched him almost tiredly for several long moments, then said “I’ll not stop you from drawing to each other, Callum. But this means we’ll need to have your security lessons earlier than normal. There are things you’re not supposed to talk to soulmates about—things that could hurt the kingdom. Do you understand?”

He didn’t. But he pretended he did, to make her happy.

In the end, she held the skin-inks hostage until he could dutifully rattle off the list of things he wasn’t supposed to talk about. This included: local governance, anything about how much food people had or where the food or water was kept, anything about the military (this being especially relevant, considering his mother and aunt), anything about the nobility, and a laundry list of other things.

When he was older, he’d understand the rationale behind it; that the careless words of children to their soulmates could reach the ears of adults who knew how to use them. A complaint about always being hungry might not mean much to the soulmate—but to an adult, it might indicate famine in a neighbouring kingdom. It might indicate weakness. And there were many such ways to damn one’s nation.

Of course, by the time he understood, he was himself a member of the nobility—a prince of Katolis. The damage an unwary prince might do with spilled secrets was potentially catastrophic, and so the lessons were drummed into his head until he almost felt wary to so much as touch the nib of his pen to the back of his hand. It would be so easy to give something away.

But, for now, he was only a child, and the ink on his skin held no secrets. He drew flowers, and birds, and cats, and dogs, and horses. His soulmate drew flowers, and weird circles with eyes, and animals that either had spikes on their heads or extra ears, and occasionally she attempted birds too. She wasn’t very good, but the drawings were from her, so he treasured them anyway.

He just wished he could write already, and talk to her properly.

 ---

 Callum tugged on his mother’s sleeve and requested a writing test every week. And, every time, she looked over whatever she’d told him to write, praised his progress, and said, “Not yet.”

Not yet, every time. It meant ‘you are not yet at the level appropriate for talking to a soulmate’, and Callum thought it was an exceptionally annoying standard to hold someone to. It wasn’t like he and Rayla weren’t already sort-of talking, with their pictures. What did it matter if his spelling was bad or his handwriting messy or his letters extremely slow to form? But his mother was adamant.

Time passed, and in the wake of the great upheavals in his life, Callum wished more than ever before that he could talk to his soulmate. His mother married royalty, and she was crowned Queen, and Callum named prince, and in the overwhelming confusion of trying to adapt to life in the castle he desperately wished he could talk to Rayla about it. He didn’t have anyone to talk to, really. The only kids at the castle were Lord Viren’s children, and he didn’t know them well enough to confide in. But Rayla was his soulmate. He should be able to talk to her, right?

…But then, he realised, when his mother started to hesitate a little before saying “not yet,” he wouldn’t be able to talk to Rayla about this, anyway. His mother marrying a King, and him moving into a castle…that was big, important stuff. The sort of stuff soulmates weren’t meant to talk about, if they didn’t know for sure which kingdom they were loyal to.

That realisation left him sour and solemn for days. Still, he wanted to be able to talk to her about some things, even if not the big stuff that he wasn’t allowed to mention. He thought he was getting close to being pronounced ready, but…

In the end, Rayla lost patience before he did.

When Callum felt the scrawl of pen on his skin, it was an automatic reflex to duck away to somewhere secluded to peel off his glove and watch. This time, though, the scrawl just…kept going, as he headed for a secluded spot among a few trees, and he thought she must be drawing something unusually large and elaborate.

He just about fell over when he removed the glove to find words there.

The handwriting was messy, and slow to form. He was slow to read it. But it was unmistakably words.

Are you ever gonna write? Rayla asked, through their shared skin, and he stared at the back of his hand with his heart beating so hard it made his head feel weird and dizzy and hot. She was talking to him! Really talking!

After a moment, she underlined ‘ever’.

He panicked for several long minutes about what he should do. Mom said he shouldn’t. She said ‘not yet’. But that was about him making contact. The younger soulmate was supposed to do it first, after all.

He hesitated, rummaged for his pen and inks, and finally wrote Sorry. Mom won’t let me yet. It took him a long time. The letters were huge and messy and barely fit on the shared skin. For the first time in his life, he felt embarrassed for his handwriting, and suddenly understood why his mother might be saying ‘not yet’.

There was a pause as she wiped off her skin-inks and both sets of words vacated his skin. In her impatience, she left a vague inky smear behind. But you just wrote now, she pointed out, and – and his face burned, he felt unbearably shy and unbearably excited and nervous all at once…was this how people normally felt when they talked to their soulmates for the first time?

He ducked his head, flushed, and scrawled You did it first. He accidentally wrote over some of her letters in the process.

She washed off the inks again. Yeah, cause you were taking forever!! She paused, then added a few more exclamation marks for emphasis. I was so bored waiting.

After a brief pause where he carefully sounded out the word ‘waiting’ to figure out what it said, he wrote Me too.

Waiting had been annoying, and senseless, and stupid. Maybe it was a bit embarrassing to put bad handwriting on someone else’s skin, but…shouldn’t that be up to them to decide? If she still wanted to talk even though his writing was bad…then wasn’t it okay?

She had contacted him. He couldn’t be blamed for that, right?

…And it wasn’t like he hadn’t already broken tradition by drawing, anyway.

As soon as she washed their ink off, he started writing again. But we’re writing now, so I guess it’s okay?

Finally! Rayla wrote, in a quick and victorious scrawl, and also drew a little smiley face next to it. It was fairly delightful.

I’m Callum, he offered, a little shyly, after a moment. This, at least, he had practiced a lot.

I know. She wrote, the letters blocky and cheerful. I’m Rayla.

I know, he scrawled back, and imagined that on the other side of their connection, she was smiling too.

 ---

 Callum learned a lot of things about his soulmate, in the weeks after she opened contact.

He learned that she liked to go exploring in the woods, which her town was inside. She wouldn’t say much about her town, but he got the idea it was pretty small.

He learned that she spent most of her time ‘training’, and while she wouldn’t say what she was training for, he gathered that it involved weapons and fighting and—apparently—being able to jump and flip around a lot.

He learned that she loved her parents and had two sort-of uncles who were married to each other, and one of those uncles was the one who trained her.

He learned that she absolutely detested water, and was terrified of it, and even the prospect of a bath was completely awful to her.

He learned that she was stubborn, and determined, and occasionally so blunt it was kind of rude. He learned that she didn’t really have friends, and while she put on a good show of not caring about that…

We’re friends, though, he pointed out to her, and felt the warmth of her fingertips lingering beneath the words for several minutes before she replied.

Yeah, she said, and that was all.

 ---

 Rayla learned many things about her soulmate, in turn.

He was kind of shy, and got nervous easily, and wasn’t very good at talking to the kids where he lived. He had moved towns not all that long ago, and really wasn’t used to it yet, and found the new place kind of big and scary. He loved his mother an insane amount, and…didn’t seem to have a father. His mother had remarried, though, and had a baby on the way. He was cautiously excited about that.

He wasn’t good at fighting, and though he’d started sword lessons, he hated it and wished he didn’t have to do it. He took a lot of lessons—with tutors, instead of at a school—and wasn’t terribly keen on those, either. What he did like was drawing, and even though they could write now, he kept drawing things for her. Because he wanted to.

I want to draw stuff for you, he wrote, very firmly, and Rayla’s heart fluttered too much for her to think of objecting.

In all, he was really nice, considering he was a human.

...Maybe he wouldn’t be so nice, though, if he knew that she was an elf.

 ---

 Callum was a shy and often tongue-tied boy out in the halls and grounds of the castle. In private, though, he never seemed to stop talking. And, unsurprisingly, one of his absolute favourite topics was his soulmate. As such, Sarai found out very rapidly when they’d started writing, and honestly wasn’t surprised by it at all. Only a little exasperated.

Time passed and Callum chattered, and Sarai grew to know a lot about her son’s soulmate. But there were things about her that she didn’t know. That she hadn’t even guessed about. Until…

“She spells things weirdly.” Callum confided, one day, while she was brushing his hair. “I tried telling her she was spelling stuff wrong but she just said that I’m spelling stuff wrong. Like ‘color’. She puts a ‘u’ in it. And she spells ‘mom’ with a ‘u’ too. It’s so weird.”

Sarai paused, brush stilling in his hair for a second, before she made herself complete the stroke. “Oh?” She said, lightly, allowing no trace of her unease into her voice. “That is odd. Does she spell any other words like that?”

Callum thought for a while. “She uses ‘s’ instead of ‘z’ a lot?” He ventured. “Like…she’ll spell ‘realize’ with an ‘s’. And sometimes she uses different words for things too. She calls pants ‘trousers’. I think maybe she’s from a kingdom where they say stuff different?”

“The common tongue does change a little, depending on where it’s spoken.” Sarai agreed, by all appearances unbothered. “So more likely than not, your Rayla speaks and writes with her regional dialect.” She paused, and carefully, she asked “Did she ever say where she was from?”

She could almost hear Callum’s face scrunching up. “No,” he admitted. “I guess she’s had security lessons too. I know she lives somewhere in a huge forest, though. She talks about it a lot.”

Sarai hummed, with the usual fond interest, and didn’t ask him to tell her more. He would, in time; he loved talking about his soulmate. If she asked, it would only make him suspicious. He was a bright boy. He’d notice. “Maybe one day she can give you tree-climbing lessons.” She suggested, and then that was all he could talk about for the next hour.

She listened more closely, after that. And, slowly, day by day, the clues started adding up.

“She says she lives inside a tree!” Callum declared one day, absolutely astonished and absolutely delighted and wanting her to know all about it. “A tree big enough that they could carve a house inside it! That must be so cool!”

Sarai agreed easily that it was very cool, and did not mention that there were no trees so large within the Pentarchy.

“I still draw her stuff, even though we can write now.” Her son said cheerfully, maybe a few weeks after the treehouse revelation. “She draws back sometimes, but she doesn’t like doing it because she doesn’t think she’s very good at it.”

“What does she draw?” Sarai inquired, and was presented with his hand, the skin-ink a little smudged around the shape of a fuzzy ball with a cute little face.

“Mostly these round fuzzy things.” He confided. “Sometimes she draws them stacked on each other.”

For a moment, she couldn’t answer. She stared, silent, at what was unmistakably an adoraburr, one of those creatures so common and omnipresent in Xadia that sometimes their charred fuzzy bodies were found fallen into the crevices of the Breach. Viren frequently received shipments of them. Apparently they were useful in some spells.

“Cute.” She commented, in the end, and knew by her son’s abrupt quietness that she hadn’t quite managed to hide her reaction.

She went to Harrow, almost as soon as she let Callum go out to play.

“I think Callum’s soulmate is an elf.” She said to him, without preamble, as soon as they were in private. He froze, and studied her, and watched her with wide eyes as he exhaled. He reached out and took her hand.

“Tell me everything.” He said, and she did. She explained the dialect, and the treehouse, and the adoraburrs, and every other clue her son had cheerfully rattled off at her over the months.

They brought Viren in. He agreed, from his acquaintance with stolen Xadian texts, that the dialect matched. He mentioned that there were enormous forests in Xadia not all that far from the border, and that they were home to a number of communities of Moonshadow elves. There might be other great forests elsewhere, of course. But that was the one he knew of.

From there on, she started noting down everything. The vague idea of ‘maybe she’s a Moonshadow elf’ went from ‘possible’ to ‘very likely’ when Sarai relayed the soulmate’s enthusiasm for a monthly community dance that—when she checked—turned out to fall on the full moon, every month. (Coincidentally, Callum had stopped complaining about his ballroom dancing lessons. She’d have found this much cuter if not for the circumstances.)

“The history texts I have say that Moonshadow elf tradition places a lot of emphasis on dancing.” Viren told her, almost apologetically, when she came back with this latest report.

“There’s no sense denying it any more, is there.” Sarai said, wearily, rubbing at her aching temples. Her son’s soulmate was an elf. Perhaps a Moonshadow elf, even, and those were some of the deadliest and most vicious elves there were. Combined with all of Callum’s mentions of his soulmate’s training…

Harrow laid his hand on her arm in warm, wordless reassurance. “What do you want to do?” he asked, quiet, and she sighed.

“I don’t know.” She admitted. In the end, it took a long talk with her sister before she made up her mind, and even then…it was hard to know what to do. How to react.

“He should know.” Was Amaya’s brusque opinion, expression laced with sympathy as she signed. “He’s a prince now, and he needs to know to watch his words around this soulmate of his. It’s a shame, but he’s hardly the first person to have an enemy for a soulmate.”

“There’s that.” Sarai agreed, glumly, and tried to stop worrying about what it meant for her son’s future, that his soulmate was an elf.

It was hard, telling him. Hard to sit him down and inform him, very seriously, that she was near certain that his soulmate was an elf. It was hard to watch the way his expression went…blank, almost. Closed-off, for a few seconds before it became confused and vulnerable instead.

“…What does this mean?” He asked, quiet, and she wasn’t sure what to tell him.

“It means that you need to be very, very careful what you tell her.” She said, in the end, because that was what she knew. “Her people are at war with ours, Callum. I won’t tell you to cut contact with her—she’s your soulmate. You couldn’t. But…” She exhaled, and shook her head. “I’ll get you some reading.”

She sent him off with a number of historical accounts about the tragedies of loyalty and heartbreak that could come from soulbonds divided by war, and wished that fate had been kinder.

 ---

 Callum was quiet for days, after he learned the truth. He read through the books his mother gave him, even though they were long with tiny script and big words that he didn’t know, and felt more and more upset at the possibilities they implied for his future.

His soulmate…was an enemy. An elf. One of the people Aunt Amaya called bloodthirsty monsters.

He was short and brusque in his replies to her, for a while. He looked at the almost purplish hue of the shared skin with new eyes, and wondered what she looked like. Did she have horns? Pointy ears? The wrong number of fingers and toes? He’d wondered what she looked like before, of course, but…never in terms of how inhuman she might look.

She caught on to his strange behaviour very quickly. Did something happen? She asked him, through their skin, her handwriting its familiar blocky scrawl. You’ve been all quiet.

He wasn’t sure what to say. Wasn’t sure how to reconcile his feelings towards Rayla, his closest friend and his soulmate, with the knowledge that she was an elf. Kind of, he wrote, in the end, heart heavy. He wished his mother hadn’t told him. He wished he didn’t know. I found some stuff out, and I don’t know what to think.

There was a pause while she washed the ink off. And then: Do you want to talk about it?

He didn’t. Not then. So he passed the following weeks, reading her usual reports of daily life, and wondering what exactly she was training for, day after day after day. Why such long hours, when she was so young? Who exactly was she planning on using those combat skills against?

They were heavy thoughts for a child as young as he was, but there was hardly any escaping them. He tried to focus on happier things, like his mother’s pregnancy, and the nigh arrival of his younger sibling. He tried to think of how Claudia was pretty and friendly and fun to talk to, and definitely wasn’t an elf. He tried to think of a lot of things that weren’t his soulmate, and failed fairly thoroughly.

In the end, after weeks of stilted conversation, he couldn’t take it anymore, and sat down with skin-ink and pen to write: You’re an elf, aren’t you.

She didn’t reply for a long time. But eventually, he felt the tickle of a pen-nib at the back of his hand, and retreated into private to peel off the glove. Yeah, she’d written, and nothing else. Not for a few minutes. Then: You’re a human.

It wasn’t a question. He hesitated, wiped off the ink, and wrote You knew?

Yeah, she said again, and then haltingly explained. Apparently, elves wrote their children’s names to their soulmates just like humans did, except they always included some sort of magic symbol, so her parents had known he was human the second his name came through without it.

He asked what hers was. He probably shouldn’t have, and she probably shouldn’t have answered, but she did. She drew a little symbol, and he took it carefully to his mother.

“Moonshadow elf,” she concluded, with honest sympathy, like someone offering condolences. “Like we thought. I’m sorry, Callum.”

‘I’m sorry’, like it was a death-sentence.

He sighed, and put his glove back on. “I’ll be careful.” He promised, quiet, and left to be alone.

 ---

 Both of them were quieter, after that. There was less idle chatter. Less writing about their days, their experiences, the things that annoyed them and the things they enjoyed. He still wrote—he didn’t think he could have stopped himself if he tried. But there was a wariness between them now that he hated.

Still. There were at least some advantages to having an elf on the other end of his soulbond. Investigating rumours, for one. My friend says elves drink blood, he wrote, one day, with a sort of morbid interest. Is that true?

What?? No!! She wrote, furiously, and then underlined it twice and circled it for good measure.

She reciprocated, sometimes.

Is it true humans have extra fingers? She asked, and he responded by drawing his hand onto the back of his hand. Weird, was her response to that, and despite everything, he couldn’t help but smile.

 ---

 I heard that in Xadia everything is magic, he wrote, one day. Is that true? What’s it like?

She hesitated a long while, then wrote I’m not supposed to talk about magic. Or Xadia.

It hurt, a little. But in the end, they both had their security lessons, and their people were still at war. There was nothing to be done.

Eventually, he wrote what had been on his mind for months, now. I wonder how we’ll meet, he said, with a twist of emotion that was half unease and half interest. It was on his mother’s mind, he knew, and it was certainly a thought he kept coming back to, for good reason.

Soulmates always met eventually, whether or not they contrived to. Even if they tried to avoid it…it would happen someday. His mother was worried about it. The circumstances under which a Prince of Katolis might meet an elf were almost exclusively unpleasant, after all. But he entertained childish thoughts of peace treaties and reconciliation, and clung to them, as unlikely as they might be.

I have no idea, Rayla answered him eventually, and he wondered if she was worried, too.

 ---

 The next year or so was eventful for both of them. Callum’s little brother was born, and he instantly became utterly enchanted with him. He wrote to Rayla at considerable length about how tiny his fingers and toes were, how fuzzy his hair was, how he didn’t have a soulmark yet at all. He never wrote his name, because names were forbidden, but Rayla seemed entertained enough by the stories anyway.

Some time later, Rayla went quiet for a while, and was plainly subdued by something. Eventually, she admitted that her parents had agreed to taking a job that meant they had to go away. She wouldn’t see them more than once a year now, if that. Whatever job it was, it was supposedly an honour; but that didn’t help how much she missed them. She was living with her uncles, now.

You can write letters to them, maybe? He suggested. It wasn’t as good as the real-time writing between soulmates, but it was better than nothing.

I guess, she said, but didn’t seem very enthusiastic about it. Her life changed, but Callum’s went on.

 ---

 And then Callum’s life shattered around him.

He shut himself in his room and cried for hours, burying his face in his hands, until tears were streaming between his fingers and his chest hurt and everything felt so awful he had no idea how to cope. How could he? She was gone.

Not much could carry across shared skin. But evidently, enough of the salt-water managed it for Rayla to be alarmed. By the time he checked what she’d written, the tears had smeared and diluted the inks, but the words were still recognisable. Is something wrong? She’d asked, hurried enough that it looked alarmed. Are you crying?

He nearly collapsed, when he went to get the inks. Could hardly see through tears when he wrote, lopsided and awful, My mom is dead. Writing it was terrible. An admission that it was real, it had happened, she was dead.

Rayla didn’t know what to say to that, and he could tell. She wrote I’m so sorry, Callum, and asked if there was anything she could do, if he wanted to talk about anything. But there wasn’t, and he didn’t. Mom was dead. What was there to talk about?

Eventually, perhaps for lack of anything else to try, Rayla drew him a little flower. She’d done it to try to make him feel better, and—and somehow, that made him start sobbing all over again.

A long way down the line, she asked him how it had happened. He couldn’t answer. Of course he couldn’t. That the Dragon King had killed her would reveal too much.

But saying ‘I can’t talk about that’ was revealing in its own way, too.

 ---

 Years passed them by. Callum slowly pieced his life back together around the hole his mother had left, and learned to cope with the loneliness of being without her. His brother grew, and started talking, and swiftly became the dearest person in Callum’s life…except, perhaps, for the elf on the other end of his soulbond.

In many ways, things stayed the same. Callum hated his training and Rayla loved hers. He loved drawing—and became very good at it—and Rayla continued to hate water. She remained as stubborn and headstrong as ever, and she remained his friend.

Sometimes, he had no idea what he’d do without her. Soren was kind of an unpleasant friend, most of the time, and Claudia was always too occupied with her books or lessons or brother to answer his attempts to socialise. He had Ezran, of course, but without Rayla…he could only imagine how lonely he’d have been.

Sometimes he remembered all over again that she was an elf, and felt weird about how much he depended on her.

He still wondered how they’d meet.

 ---

 King Harrow and Lord Viren, with very little warning, departed Katolis and rode into Xadia. There, they killed the Dragon King, and his son the Dragon Prince, and returned covered in a glory that Harrow’s bearing didn’t reflect. Callum wondered if the revenge had felt as hollow to enact as he felt to receive it. The one who killed mom is dead now, he thought, and didn’t feel vindicated. Didn’t feel happy. He just felt…empty. What was the use of it, so many years after her death? She was still dead.

He wished he could talk to Rayla about it. But if names were a forbidden topic, then revealing that his step-father had ridden into Xadia and killed their King…that was plainly out of the question. So he told her nothing.

He wondered if it was his imagination, that she’d grown quieter anyway. When she wrote, she seemed unhappy. Preoccupied, too.

Weeks passed, and she admitted that she was going to be travelling soon. She didn’t say why, or to where, or what for—all of that was proscribed. But she gave it as warning, anyway, that she’d be able to talk less while en route.

In the month that followed, the brevity of their contact left him lonelier than ever.

 ---

 “You must be careful, Rayla.” Runaan said to her, in private, where the other assassins couldn’t hear. “For the first time, you are venturing into the human kingdoms. You must take particular care to avoid meeting your soulmate.”

“Everyone meets their soulmate eventually.” She muttered back to him, fingers resting reflexively over the guard on her left hand.

He was unmoved. “Yes. But, with luck, you can avoid it taking place on this mission.”

It was, in fairness, a very important mission. She sighed. “I’ll do my best.” She promised, though it wasn’t exactly within her control.

When the Full Moon was nigh, and the bindings tight around her wrists, Rayla broke into Katolis Castle and went looking for her quarry.

The first non-soldier she found was a young human boy, maybe around her age. She didn’t know how old Prince Ezran was, but she knew he wasn’t an adult, and…according to what she’d been taught, this boy was wearing pretty high-quality clothes. If he wasn’t Ezran, he should at least know who was.

She chased him. She cornered him. He said, “I am Prince Ezran,” and looked up at her with a resolve and solemnity that didn’t quite manage to mask his fear.

It hit her, then, looking down the length of her blade towards the face of this human boy waiting to die. It hit her that—that he was afraid, that he didn’t want to die, that he was a person, as much as she was, as much as her soulmate was, he was a human just like Callum and she was here to kill him—

But…she had to do it. She had to. She’d bound herself, it was her mission, it was the justice that the Dragon Prince deserved. She had to.

It was in the midst of trying to talk herself into it, and him trying to talk her out of it, that a child’s voice emerged from behind a painting.

It said, “Callum”, and she only had a moment for her blood to freeze before, at her feet, the terrified human boy, the boy who had claimed to be Prince Ezran, the boy she’d been about to kill—

He answered. He responded. It was his name.

What were the chances that she’d meet someone named Callum—the correct age, the correct species, everything—and it wouldn’t be her soulmate?

The painting edged open, revealing a younger human boy with some sort of weird pet. A pet she’d heard descriptions of, held in the arms of a child she’d been hearing about since he was born, looking worriedly between her and the boy she had at swordpoint—

She realised she’d been frozen for too long. She realised that, one way or another, she had to be sure. She reached over, and hit herself hard on the back of her left hand.

The human, in an instant and involuntary motion, flinched and gripped the back of his own left hand. Her heart thudded, and— it only took him a second to realise—

His eyes went wide. He glanced wildly between her and his hand, undoubtedly registering that she was a Moonshadow elf, that she was the right age, that she was—

“Rayla?” He squeaked, and if she hadn’t already known for certain, that would have told her.

She lowered her sword, utterly struck by how much of a disaster this was.

“Shit.” She said, succinctly, and stared at the astounded face of her soulmate.

What in Xadia’s name was she supposed to do now?

 ---

 Notes:

I’ve adored this piece ever since I wrote it in Whenever, Early 2020. Really, really thrilled to be able to share it with everyone at last. As you can tell, it ends on a pretty rude cliffhanger. It’s always invited follow-up, and I think I knew from the moment I finished it that I’d be continuing it someday. And so I did! Eventually!!

According to my discord message history, I began writing chapter 2 in February this year, 2021. I probably wrote the following two chapters within a mad haze in the same week or two, knowing me. The chapters are uncharacteristically short, considering my usual habits, but it felt right for the story. I’ve completed up to the end of chapter 4, and have nothing written after that yet.

Minor edits have been made from the zine version, including some formatting, but nothing drastic. Writing this piece in general was a challenge. There was so much I wanted to include – about the differences in Callum’s life, about Ezran’s soulmate – that I had to cut out because of the word count restriction. Ultimately I opted not to edit that back in for the online version, and simply fill it in organically through the rest of the story. There’s some really interesting stuff, and the story as a whole is going to be wildly canon-divergent.

Some worldbuilding details: - platonic soulmates are considerably more common than romantic ones - there’s some cool weird soulmate metaphysics re: magic

I think I’ll keep it vague and let everyone discover how I’m doing soulmates for themselves, though. Hope everyone enjoyed! Would really love comments on this one; I’ve been waiting so long to share it and I’m so excited.

(also I’m fully aware that the fic’s acronym is ASS, and I’ve decided to embrace this)

[aurora077]

The Value of Recognition Chapter 2

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13934252/2/The-Value-of-Recognition

Chapter 2 - Who’s your shufu!????

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah” cried mini jiujiu.

“Ahhh please jiujiu, don’t cry!” said a distraught Jin Ling.

“A-niang….a-die” sobbed the baby.

Jin Ling was now close to tears himself.

“Young Master Jiang,” cooed Healer Zhang, “Look what I have here. If you stop crying, you can have some.”

She waved a sweet-cake in front of him.

He paused his crying, peeking at the Healer tentatively. At the same moment his stomach rumbled. He looked very much like he wanted the cake. But then he shook his head and said, “Jiejie said A-Cheng mustn't take food fwom stwangers.” He sniffled miserably. “A-Cheng wants jiejie,” his eyes started watering again. This time Jin Ling’s eyes were watering too.

“It seems like Jiang-zongzhu has not retained his memories,” concluded Healer Zhang, “So it’s not just his body but his mind as well that has reverted.”

Jin Ling nodded in understanding. It would hurt but he couldn’t lie to his jiujiu about this. Though he couldn’t quite say the truth either. “Jiejie isn't here,” he ended up saying. The others were watching quietly and felt their own hearts hurt for the both of them.

“No. Want jiejie. Jiejie won’t leave A-Cheng,” he sniffled, big baby eyes staring accusingly at them as if to say ‘you’re lying’.

No, they were not tearing up. They weren’t!

“Hey look who’s here!” said Ouyang Zizhen, bursting into the room with Wei Wuxian following behind him. The infirmary was now very crowded.

They all turned to look at him, and he stopped short in his tracks upon seeing the somber looks on their faces. “Oh no! What happened? Is Sect Leader Jiang okay?”

“Where’s Jiang Cheng?” said Wei Wuxian, abnormally serious.

“He’s right here,” said Jin Ling, lifting the baby slightly.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. “A-Yuan.. Did you maybe... forget to mention something?”

“No! He wasn’t like this yesterday!” Sizhui defended.

“Huh, well how did this happen then?”

But before anyone could answer him the baby gave a short cry, his eyes lighting up at the sight of Wei Wuxian. He struggled in Jin Ling’s arms stretching out his own towards Wei Wuxian in the universal baby gesture for ‘pick me up’.

“I thought he didn’t remember anything?” said Lan Jingyi.

Healer Zhang looked just as confused as they did, “He shouldn’t… from what we’ve heard so far.”

“But he seems to recognise Senior Wei though.”

“I mean to be fair he might just think Senior Wei looks the least intimidating or something, cuz that’s not usually how he looks when Senior Wei is around,” said Zizhen. To be frank, none of them had ever seen Sect Leader Jiang looking openly happy to see anyone.

Xiao Jiang Cheng seemed to get fed-up of waiting on Wei Wuxian to come get him though and with a burst of strength he pulled away from Jin Ling and tried to hop off the bed to go to him himself.

He seemed to be at an age where he could come off of the bed by himself but he wasn’t wearing clothes in his size, he was merely wrapped in adult-him’s inner robe, which tripped him up and he would have face-planted if not for Jin Ling’s good reflexes.

Seeing as he was thwarted, his eyes began to water again. Raising his arms once more he looked pleadingly towards Wei Wuxian, “Shufu!”

Wei Wuxian choked on his own spit. “Shu… who???”

Seeing fat tears start to drip down Xiao Cheng’s chubby cheeks he hurried over and picked him up. “Alright. It’s okay. You’re okay,” he soothed, as the baby snuggled into him.

His tears petered out and he looked up at Wei Wuxian hopefully. “Wei-Shufu, whewe’s A-die an A-niang? Flower-gege (Lan Jingyi snickered in the background “Flower-gege hehe” “Shut up idiot” “But it suits you”) said jiejie is not hewe. It’s not twue, wight shufu?” he frowned.

Oh. Oh no.

For some reason, Jiang Cheng was calling him uncle and seemed to be okay with his presence, unlike all the other people in the room. But...how was he supposed to answer that question. The guilt hit him acutely because if only this child remembered that it was thanks to saving him that his jiejie was no longer around, he would hate him once more.

But how could he tell this child that his parents and sister were dead?

He couldn’t.

“A-Cheng, do you know why Wei-shufu is here? It’s because your A-die, A-niang, and jiejie had to go on a trip. So Uncle Wei is here to keep A-Cheng company. And all of these friends are here too.”

“Twip? Witout A-Cheng?” And oh no how could a baby look so heartbroken? He’d made a grave mistake.

Jin Ling glared at Wei Wuxian. “They left A-Cheng here because A-Cheng is going to be Sect Leader one day. Do you remember what a Sect Leader does?” he said hastily, trying to fix his colossal screw up.

“The Sect Weader has to pwotect the Sect,” said A-Cheng, as if he had memorised that fact.

“That’s right. And who is the Sect Leader” “A-die!”

“Mhm. But when A-die and A-niang are not here, who will protect the sect?”

“A-Cheng?” he said questioningly.

“That’s right! A-die trusts A-Cheng to watch over the sect when he is not here. And A-niang trusted Uncle Wei to watch over A-Cheng.” Well, that was entirely the truth and way too bittersweet. He pushed down the feeling to focus on the child in front of him, “So will A-Cheng allow Uncle Wei and these friends to help him?” He set his little face determinedly and nodded seriously. An expression that was so Jiang Cheng that he couldn’t help but pinch his little cheeks in response, making the child squirm and pout at him.

His movements made the big robe that was wrapped around him loosen slightly and halfway fall off. Wei Wuxian fixed it but decided they would need a plan of action, especially as the child’s stomach rumbled once more and he blushed, hiding his face in his Uncle Wei’s chest.

“Alright, so here’s what we’re going to do,” he said decisively.

“A-Ling, if I know anything about Jiang Cheng, it’s that he’s really a big sap, and I assume he still has some of your baby clothes lying around here somewhere. See if you can find any. If you can’t, use that nice Lanling gold of yours to go to the tailor’s and order some. We don’t know how long he will be like this and we can’t keep wrapping him in these *he indicated to the huge robe* things. He needs proper clothes.” Normally Jin Ling would protest being given an order by Wei Wuxian, but this was for jiujiu and he didn’t want anyone else poking through his uncle’s things anyway, so he left right away to find some of his old baby robes.

“Have you all had breakfast yet? “No Senior Wei.”

“Okay, right, next order of business is breakfast. This little one is hungry. By now the kitchens must be busy. Lotus Pier has breakfast ready by 6:00am so we don’t have to wait very long. Though I don’t know if A-Cheng can wait, maybe we need to find something for him until then.”

“I offered him a green bean cake,” said Healer Zhang, “But his jiejie rightfully taught him not to eat from strangers. Maybe he will eat it from his Uncle Wei though, to tide him over until breakfast is served.”

“Hmm A-Cheng, do you want the cake?”

He nodded shyly.

(“This is so weird,” said Lan Jingyi. “Yeah… I never thought Sandu Shengshou would have been such a cute child,” said Ouyang Zizhen gleefully. He’d been aching to pinch those cheeks since Senior Wei did it and drew his attention to them. So. Cute. Zizhen was gonna die.)

Healer Zhang held out the cake to him and he took it, bowing halfway from Wei Wuxian’s arms and saying a quiet Thank You.

Zizhen was having cuteness overload. “He’s so polite.” *sniffs*

“Now while the Young Master eats that cake, I’d like to do a checkup,” said Healer Zhang seriously.

“Yes, I was about to suggest it myself. A-Cheng, will you let Healer Zhang do her job? I promise it will be okay, Healer Zhang is a doctor and you can trust her.”

A-Cheng looked sceptical but he nodded and Wei Wuxian handed him off to her. “Uncle Wei is right here, A-Cheng, don’t worry.”

He turned back to the juniors while Healer Zhang did her inspection, “A-Yuan, your message said that he was only unconscious. How did he become this way instead?”

“We don’t know Senior Wei, Jingyi and I were woken up by a baby’s cry. When we came to check on Sect Leader Jiang, we found out the baby was him! Senior Wen and Jin Ling spent the night with him so maybe they will know. We didn’t get a chance to ask before you came because Sect Leader Jiang was very upset. He only really stopped crying when he saw you.”

“Wen Ning?” “Yes Master Wei?” “Aiya stop it with that Master Wei I told you.” Wen Ning blushed, as much as a fierce corpse could blush, he’d gotten better at not calling him master but it was a habit and those were hard to break. “What happened last night?”

“Nothing much at all, but this morning just before 5am Sect Leader Jin woke up and said Sect Leader Jiang felt hot like he had a fever, and he asked me to get Healer Zhang. When I came back with Healer Zhang, we just walked in and there was a huge flash of light and where Sect Leader Jiang was, there was a baby.”

“Huh. I haven’t heard of anything like it. We’ll have to do some research but if it’s related to the night hunt you went on maybe.. Hmm.. A-Yuan after breakfast, if you’re up for it you can play Inquiry and see what the spirit has to say. If we don’t solve this soon I might have to ask Lan Zhan to do it because they can’t lie to him.”

“How come Hanguang-Jun didn’t come with you, Senior Wei?” questioned Lan Jingyi.

“Ah well you know Lan Zhan and I just got back from travelling. Since old man Lan has been doing all of the sect leader duties it’s Lan Zhan’s turn. He couldn’t just leave again, it would be unfair. My core is strong enough now to make the trip from Gusu to Lotus Pier so I told him not to worry about me, I’ll be fine. I should probably shoot him a letter though, he’s probably going to worry until he hears from me.”

“I don’t care if you’re writing to Hanguang-Jun, but Wei Wuxian, this news better not be spread outside of Lotus Pier, or else,” threatened Jin Ling, walking back in with a few robes bundled in his hands. It would be a prime opportunity for jiujiu’s detractors to try and kill him as a defenceless baby.

Wei Wuxian raised his hands in surrender, “I know, I know. I won’t even put what the problem is in the letter. I’ll just say he’s been cursed.”

“Good.”

Jin Ling dumped the robes on Wei Wuxian’s lap. “You can dress him since he seems to like you the most.” He was not salty at all.

Wei Wuxian laughed sheepishly; it wasn’t like he could help that! Not that he wasn’t enjoying it of course, baby Jiang Cheng was adorable and looked even more fun to tease than big Jiang Cheng.

“Right,” said Healer Zhang, garnering their attention. Wei Wuxian’s levity fell away. “What have you determined?”

“Sect Leader is a healthy toddler.” Said toddler was already reaching out for Wei Wuxian, who cooed and cuddled him close.

“He seems about three at the moment. His memories of course, are of the three-year old him. He does not have a core at the moment so it’s likely that the curse actually transformed him to how he was exactly at that age, memories and all. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with him, other than the obvious of course. The issue here is that we don’t know if this is permanent or not. I can’t say if this will wear off or if he will have to grow up once more.”

Jin Ling made a wounded noise. As cute as xiao jiujiu was, he wanted his normal jiujiu back.

“We’ll find a solution,” said Wei Wuxian resolutely. “Yeah if anyone can find it it would be you Senior Wei!” said Zizhen supportively.

“Don’t worry so much Young Mistress,” Jingyi poked at Jin Ling’s furrowed brow, “Your pretty face will get premature wrinkles.” Jin Ling turned red and batted away his hand, scowling just like his uncle.

“Alright, breakfast should be ready by now. Let’s go kiddos. We’ll need to eat to keep up our strength. We have lots of work to do,” said Wei Wuxian.

Healer Zhang cleared her throat, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Eh?”

The robe slipped further down the baby.

“Ah hehe, oops. A-Cheng, be good and let Uncle Wei dress you.”

But the toddler took one look at Wei Wuxian’s disheveled robes (in his defense he’d come straight to the infirmary after flying to Lotus Pier okay, he didn’t have time to freshen up!) and screwed up his cute little face.

“Flower-gege help A-Cheng,” he said decisively.

Jin Ling, of course, was impeccable despite being in yesterday’s robes. Wei Wuxian pouted. “Figures he’d want the peacock’s son to dress him,” he mumbled.

Jin Ling was quietly delighted.

“Xiao-jiujiu, you have good taste,” he said, promptly taking the baby away to have a bath and get dressed.

“Well,” he said, overcoming his disappointment, “We should probably find whoever’s in charge while Jiang Cheng is away and brief them on the situation.” There was a twinge of hurt when he realised he didn’t know who that was. He and Lan Zhan had travelled for a while, only stopping for brief periods in Cloud Recesses as things were still a bit uncomfortable for him. The rule against interacting with him was still carved into the stone after all. It was easier to just...not remain there, and since Lan Zhan was known for going where the chaos was, it wasn’t unusual that he himself wasn’t often there. But with Lan Xichen’s seclusion, Master Lan had been running the sect once more. Since at the moment Lan Zhan was the heir, it really should have fallen to him if the Sect Leader was indisposed. As much as Master Lan was upset at his nephew’s choice of partner, he still gave him the freedom to wander about. Master Lan had fallen ill recently, nothing major but still, Lan Zhan had realised how much leeway his uncle was allowing him by taking on all the duties himself and had asked if Wei Ying would go back with him. They hadn’t expected that Wei Ying would be leaving on another trip on his own this time, to face the demons of his past (or in Lan Wangji’s eyes, demon). Lan Zhan couldn’t come with him no matter how much he’d wanted to. It would have been supremely unfair to Master Lan now that he’d accepted the responsibility of acting sect leader, to just up and leave again. But being here on his own really reminded him that this was no longer the Lotus Pier that he knew. Once upon a time he would have been the one who would be in charge if the Sect Leader was indisposed. He would have been Jiang Cheng’s right hand man. But he’s also the one who stuffed it all up so he had no right to feel bitter. It was his idea to defect. Jiang Cheng hadn’t wanted him to. He’d been doing his best to put the past in the past like he’d told Jiang Cheng to do, but he wouldn’t be able to escape it, would he? Jiang Cheng was now quite literally in the past….and Wei Wuxian would never be able to abandon him again. He didn’t want to. He’d find a way to restore Jiang Cheng, and failing that, he’d take care of him as much as possible.

“Indeed. I’ll get our Second-in-Command to speak to you. You should follow me, Sect Leader Jin will know where to find us for breakfast.” Healer Zhang’s voice brought him back to reality.

He nodded and they all followed, the juniors behind him like a row of ducklings.

Healer Zhang arranged for them to meet with the Second-in-Command, who introduced himself as Pan An. “Hehe rhymes with Lan An,” Jingyi joked quietly behind them. Wen Ning wanted to excuse himself since he didn’t need to eat and Pan An was staring at him rather intensely, but they insisted he was needed for the discussion and so he sat down reluctantly.

Luckily, breakfast was set out in a private room so that they could discuss matters freely and keep the mini sect leader with them. “I have already briefed the disciples on the importance of staying silent about Sect Leader’s indisposition,” said Pan An, “However, now Healer Zhang has said there is another problem?”

The aforementioned problem finally arrived and he was looking cute enough to eat in his mini Yunmeng Jiang robes, walking in on his own now, holding Jin Ling’s hand. Both uncle and nephew had taken a bath and Jin Ling had thoroughly enjoyed seeing xiao-jiujiu playing and laughing in the tub like he had no cares in the world. It was bittersweet because as much as he liked it he wished his jiujiu would be able to smile like that as an adult. It hurt his heart to think that this innocent little boy would have to go through so much pain in the future.

“Ah yes, here’s our problem now,” said Wei Wuxian, smiling at the toddler.

Pan An’s eyes widened. “I..is that who I think it is?”

“Yup,” said Lan Jingyi cheekily, “There’s the fearsome Sandu Shengshou in the flesh.”

“Jingyi..” reprimanded Sizhui.

“What,” he grinned, “It’s true. Children can be terrifying.” He shuddered thinking about the baby’s ear-piercing cries. A crying child was almost as scary as a ghost.

Wide-eyed, A-Cheng looked at the stranger and hid slightly behind his Flower-gege’s leg.

Jin Ling pat his head and picked him up. “Don’t be afraid, this is Pan An. Pan An is here to be your second-in-command while A-Die’s gone. You know that Sect Leaders have second-in-commands right?”

Xiao jiujiu nodded.

“Of course he does. A-Cheng’s a smart boy,” praised Wei Wuxian. The tot blushed and hid his face in Jin Ling’s robes. Jin Ling carried him over to the table and set him down in between himself and Wei Wuxian who began teasing the child immediately, squishing his cheeks to see his cute expressions of annoyance.

The juniors looked on in envy; the toddler had not warmed to them yet.

“We’ll debrief you after breakfast,” said Jin Ling, “Xiao jiujiu’s hungry. The rundown is that he’s been cursed and is now a three year old with no memories beyond that time.”

“And Pan-qianbei…” Jin Ling looked at him sharply, “Young Master Jiang’s family is currently on a trip. They have, of course, left him in charge because someone needs to protect the sect while they’re gone. We are all here to assist him.”

“Understood Sect Leader Jin.” The man was quick to catch on, after all Jiang Cheng would not leave just anyone in charge of his sect. Pan An was also secretly proud of the young boy in front of him. He was handling this situation well and sounded every inch the Sect Leader. His jiujiu would be proud, though he would mask it with grumbling if he wasn’t… three.

They all set about eating though Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian both fought to outdo the other when feeding mini Jiang Cheng. One would be spooning congee and the other breaking up buns to feed him...until-- “A-Cheng is big boy. A-Cheng eat like shufu and gege!” And what do you know, he really could eat by himself. That put a stop to their competition and they both pouted. Lan Jingyi didn’t even make fun of Jin Ling for it because...he got it.

Pan An could cry. Who knew his tsundere sect leader was so precious as a child?

Wei Wuxian sighed in pleasure. Yunmeng’s food was the best! It had been so long since he last ate at Lotus Pier.

“Wei-shufu like spicy?” asked A-Cheng, upon seeing him reach for the chilli to add to his already spicy dish.

“Mm. Wei-shufu likes spicy very much. A-Cheng is a good host. The food he serves his guests tastes the best! Wei-shufu has to visit more often.”

Mini Jiang Cheng nodded seriously at this. “Wei-shufu must bwing A-Ying an Aunty ‘angse. Wei-shufu pwomised to bwing A-Ying to play with A-Cheng next time. But now is next time an no A-Ying. A-Cheng want to meet A-Ying.”

And all of a sudden, he felt as if he’d taken a hit from Zidian. Wei Wuxian was struck dumb. Because he’d simply been going along with Xiao Cheng, thinking that some part of the child’s subconscious memory must have remained. But that wasn’t what it was, was it?

Because it was now obvious that Jiang Cheng thought...

Jiang Cheng thought he was Wei Changze.

[weirdfetishes123]

'Why is my Dick Blue' and other Pressing Questions - deviantart

Did your dom leave you with a blue stain that just won’t go away? Are you now waddling around even after hours in the juicing room? Are you now a giant blue ball that hasn’t seen the sun in months and wondering what a cute technician is doing putting this pamphlet in your face? If you answered yes to the first two questions there’s no need to worry, and if you answered yes to the last question, congratulations! You can still read! In this short guide you will find all the answers to your questions on becoming a Permaberry!

There are five levels of Permaberry. They are, in order of severity: Stained, Bloated, City, Chameleon, and Barrel. The first two are the most common and tend to happen on accident. These can occur when a caretaker waits too long to juice his berry, or they can be a planned result in order to “mark” a sub. Depending on the severity they may be able to leave the Studio, or they may be required to stay. City Permaberries are the rarest of the five. These men swell up randomly once a month or even just once a year. This used to require them to stay at the Studio, but now they can lead a normal life with some new lifestyle changes. Chameleon and Barrel Permaberries are only found at Studio 71 or at its other properties. While both are available to everyone, they carry a heavy cost in one way or another. Whichever way you choose to go, know that each Permaberry is only as permanent as you choose to be.

1) Stained.

What it is: This is the most common Permaberry. It is caused when a caretaker waits too long to juice their berry. The time frame, however, varies from person to person. Some have been juiced only after a couple of hours after swelling and have blue stains on their body, while others can wait up to a week to be juiced and come out completely clear.

What to look for: I hoped this would be self explanatory, but in case you didn’t catch on you’re looking for one (1) blue stain on you or your fuck boy’s body. The most common area to look is the groin, ass, and belly. Other places this may appear are the feet, chest, nose, or hands, although these are less common.

How it’s cured:

Well this may be hard for the affected party, but in order to get rid of the stain the affected has to remain celibate for up week at a time. This will allow the residual juices to be concentrated in the semen and make the stain disappear within a week or two. A chastity can be used here to great effect, and in fact this is usually why doms choose to make their subs Stained in the first place. If you didn’t go this route because you’re just an eighteen year old college freshman freaking out because this is the closest thing you have to ever gotten to an STI don’t worry. Even if you orgasm three times a day the stain always goes away on its own, but that would take months rather than weeks. There are no long term effects so calm down you gushy bottom.

2) Bloated

What it is: This is what happens when you leave your berry swollen for over a week. The juice becomes slightly congealed and pools in one part of the body. They may be completely blue, or just the swollen body part may be colored. In either case it’s gonna take a while to get rid of it. This is the second most common Permaberry and they almost always have to stay at the studio

What to look for: You’re looking for stained skin and large parts of the body that slosh when you touch them, other then the ones you’ve paid to see. It normally pools in the ass and belly, but it can also cause the genitals, face, and feet to swell as well. Here's the thing, if you or your date are still blue and sloshing after a 2 hour juicing session that was supposed to be 30 minutes that's a good sign that they or you are now Bloated.

How it’s cured: Buckle-up bucker-roo because you’re in for the long haul. It could take up to a month to get the swelling down. See the thing about a Bloated Berry’s juice is that is more like Jello than fruit juice. It's very stubborn, but it can be diluted with a lot water. And I mean a lot of water. Think ten gallons a day. Basically if you always feel you’re about to piss yourself that means it's working. Now that it is somewhat fluid it can be coaxed out with some basic yoga poses. Studio 71 does offer some classes that are filled with bloated berries so you’ll never be short of company. Don’t worry, the classrooms have plenty of drains on the floor. Everyone after a month or so makes a full recovery, but some lucky bastards get to keep a berry’s legendary flexibility.

3) City

What it is: Are you busy man on the go? Need a vacation? Do you feel so stressed you can just burst? Do you have a strange masochistic desire to make your God Awful existence an oddly sexual nightmare? Then you might, might, become a City Berry. This is the rarest of all the Permaberries and it only affects a baker's dozen around the globe. They have earned their name due to the fact that all of them came from major metropolitan areas before the Studio and continue to reside there. They lead average lives and being a Permaberry doesn’t affect their professional or private life at all. However, about once a month, their stomach starts to gurgle, turn blue and they start to grow. Once that happens they have about an hour to rush home to their Juicing Kit or risk being stuck as a blue ball in public.

What to look for: City Berries look just like anyone else really. There is no way to really separate them from the crowd. However in private, if you’re comfortable with violating their privacy you can look for their juicer, but this isn’t recommend as there is only 14 or so people in the whole world have them. Anyway if they were a City Berry they probably wouldn’t date someone who’s rummaging through their closest like a cracked out raccoon. Come to think of it that is just the response you should expect for everyone who has a working brain stem. Anyway at full size they aren’t any different from the berries at Studio 71. Their juice is slightly more potent however, and while a regular Studio berry might make you shade or so paler, a City Berries juice will definitely turn you blue. In the off chance you find yourself in this situation juice yourself as soon as you can to avoid becoming Stained.

How it’s cured: As of now there is no cure. Some City Berries have had this condition for years, but it hasn’t affected their life terribly. If you do find yourself in this situation you have no need to be nervous or scared.

4) Chameleon

What it is: This is it. The most Exclusive Berry drink at Studio 71. One shot can make you a berry indefinitely, but that's not all. One shot of Studio Elite gives you full control of you transformation. Do you want to be buff? Round? Blueberry? Cherry? A mix of all four? Go for it Champ! A Chameleon can change what shape and color they are at will. It is the ultimate experience of berry inflation, and most are willing to work at the studio for a year just to pay the $10,000 price tag for one shot. As it is nearly all of the staff at Studio 71 are Chameleon’s and are paying back their debt. However there are some lucky sons of bitches who win a monthly drawing to get it for free.

What to look for: Honestly anything. They could be short, tall, skinny, fat, and any color of the rainbow. Just assume that everyone who works at the Studio is one and you’re good to go. Observant guests can even spy one changing from one fruit to another if the pay attention.

How it’s cured: Asking a Chameleon if they want to be cured is like asking a lottery winner if they want to work at McDonald’s. Most don’t want it to end, but if it must there is a drinkable cure which remove the effects. What follows is a standard juicing practice and they are back to normal. As of now there has only been a couple who willingly ended to move on with their life, but more have had the privilege removed for punitive reasons.

5) Barrel

What it is: This is it. The Ride or Die Berry. The drink that turns you into a Barrel is only $20, but the price is in reality much steeper. Like the Chameleon Berry this one comes with its own separate contract. If buy this drink you have to remain in the studio for a minimum of six months. And no that can’t be negotiated down. If you drink the Barrel potion it will change your life forever, and maybe not for the best.

What to look for: You’re gonna look for a giant blue ball that has no idea where it is. That’s because barrels aren’t your run of the mill berry. Oh no, they are the closest to being permanent. See the human body isn’t exactly designed to carry two tons of fluid inside it, so the potion makes some changes. It actually weakens the skeleton in order to get the resources needed to form a cartilage sphere under the berries skin. This new flexible shell now carries the weight. This process removes most human characteristics from the berry’s skin. Their nipples, genitals, and body hair are all removed, in some cases even their hands and feet are absorbed into the body. What’s left is smooth, shiny surface that almost looks like latex. Once the juice passes the blood brain barrier it starts to effect the berry’s mind. First they lose all track of time. If you leave them alone in a room and come back an hour later they will think you only just left. Then comes amnesia. The won’t remember anything from their life before being a berry. Lastly the long term memory process shuts down. Now they believe their entire existence is what is going on around them, nothing more.

Due to the extremity of the treatment paying customers are limited to six months of this treatment. Rule breakers are another story. This is the fate of anyone who breaks Studio 71’s security or the privacy of the guests. They will be a barrel for at least a year, possible many more.

WARNING! All berries CAN and WILL become Barrels if they aren’t juiced in two weeks time! Remember to juice your Berry Boys before the two week mark or you will be forced to join them for their extended visit!

How it’s cured: One word: Juicing. Lots and lots of juicing. There is special machines made for it at Studio 71 that specialize in juicing as Barrels need a long slow juicing process. This ensures a gentle and painless process in which the cartilage sphere its dissolved by the action and the skeleton can reform. The entire process can take weeks, regardless of how long they were a Barrel. Out of all of the Permaberries only half return completely to normal. The rest have permanently stained skin and might even always carry juice in there bodies. The lest common side effects affect the brain. While 90% of all return to their normal selves, 5% gain significant intelligence, while the other 5% never fully recover from the ordeal. If you choose to go down this path think carefully. You may not come out the other end the same.

Well that's it berry boy. Feel better? No? Honestly that sounds like a “you” problem. Look there isn’t really a need to panic about a blue spot or a swollen gut, so sit down, shut up, and I hope you enjoy your stay at Studio 71. Stay Juicy!

[guessimwritingficsagain]

Not-a-Jedi (1/?)

Pairing : Din Djarin x reader

Summary : Since Grogu kept having nightmares about his father, you were sent to reunite them both. But nothing goes according to plan.

Warning : violence, sexy thoughts and yearnings.

Author's note : This was supposed to be a one shot but it's not.

When Master Luke had come to you with Grogu, you hadn’t thought much of it. The kid had been restless, he’d explained, visions of his father plaguing his mind every night.

‘I think he is meant to see him. His father might be in danger. Grogu won’t rest until he can help.’

You were no Jedi, but you could fly a ship, fire a blaster, kill, even, and Luke knew you and trusted you so he’d given you Grogu, and the name Nevarro to start with. Lured by the idea of leaving the little shop you worked at, after years of trying to settle down, live a quiet life, and knowing that grumpy boss of yours would take you back when your mission was over, you’d agreed to take Grogu to his father.

Now, though, with a blaster pointed at your head and a Mandalorian at the other end of it, you weren’t so sure. Screw Luke Skywalker and his sweet smiles.

‘Where did you get the kid ?’

You swallowed, your heartbeat picking up. As you were struggling for an answer, Grogu just cooed and his hands shot up towards the Mandalorian.

Luke hadn’t updated the very Mandalorian father about the whereabouts of his kid, you were slowly understanding. And now there was a blaster, pointed directly to your head - that deserved to be emphasized.

You tried to explain, hating how you were struggling, stumbling on your words like a new-born babe on an uneven sidewalk. When you were done, the Mandalorian stood so still you blessed whatever god you didn’t believe in because death was sure to be quick and painless. But it never came.

Instead, you felt Grogu’s weight being lifted from your arms as you heard the Mandalorian whisper :

‘Miss me, kid ?’

The baby cooed, while a lady you hadn’t noticed at first lowered her rifle, tapped the baby on the forehead.

‘Nice to meet you, Jedi. I’m Cara Dune.’

You shook her offered hand and corrected her :

‘Not a Jedi.’

You gave her your name, but she playfully smiled and answered :

‘Nice to meet you, Not-a-Jedi.’

The Mandalorian had turned away, already walking back into town. Cara motioned you to follow. You looked around as you walked. So much sand. You could feel it slipping in your boots, too. Not a fan of that, you decided. It was hot, and your weapon of choice was heavy against your back. Cara was talking to the Mandalorian, though you couldn’t make up her words. You’d rather trail behind, unsure of what to do next. Luke’s words hadn’t been specific. Stay with them or don’t, but if you don’t, know that a time will come when you need to get Grogu back here. When, though, I don’t know.

You liked Luke, really, but the cryptic wizard bullshit was getting old. You briefly wondered how you had been so fascinated by the whole thing in the first place.

Once you were sat at a table in the local cantina, a drink in front of you, Cara casually asked :

‘So, Not-a-Jedi, how come the Jedi trusted you with the kid ?’

She was leaned back on her chair, legs spears apart, but somehow you could tell she was ready to break you in half. And maybe, she could. You might have had five whole teenage, foolish years of something akin to street-fighting behind you, but she was huge and clearly military-trained. And there was a Mandalorian sitting next to her. You weren’t about to take that chance, not after many years of keeping to yourself, the hard muscles softening with a bit of fat here and there, not with the slight softening of your belly. The street-fighting had been about adrenaline. You’d been too young, too cocooned by parents scared of the world, and you’d wanted out. You’d liked the danger of it, back then, the very idea that one wrong move could leave you with a broken spine turning you on, but never scary enough to dwell on it. You’d felt invincible, back then. Fights had been foreplay to encounters in a dark street, quiet fucks to release a tension you shouldn’t have felt. You’d had a family, a roof. You were privileged, but it was boring. A spoiled brat. You still were, in a way. Spoiled brats don’t fight military-trained huge lady, and they surely don’t fight Mandalorians.

‘The Temple needs supplies. Luke gets them from me - from us. I work at a small shop in a town not far from the Temple.’

She nodded, while the Mandalorian kept quiet, visor trained on the kid who was happily downing his food like you hadn’t fed him since you’d departed.

‘Slow down, kid.’ You muttered without thinking and raised a hand to stop him. The stare of the Mandalorian stilled your movement, though, and you brought your hand back to your own cup.

‘You must be tired’, Cara continued. ‘Long journey ?’

Your hands gripped the cup harder at that, the words out of your mouth before you thought better of it.

‘Can’t tell you that.’

She leaned in.

‘Why not ?’

You swallowed, and met her stare.

‘The Temple’s location is secret. If I tell you how long we’ve been travelling for, that’s a piece of information. I can’t do that.’

‘Not even to the kid’s dad ?’ She quipped back, gesturing the unmoving warrior. There was a slight simmer of tension in the air. They don’t know you, they have every right to be suspicious, you reminded yourself. But you didn’t know them either.

‘He’s not the one asking. I don’t know who you are. This is the kind of information I could give to him, but not with you here.’

‘Yes, you can.’ A modulated voice interrupted. ‘I trust Cara with my life. She was there when the Jedi took the Child.’

It wasn’t so much the sentence itself that moved you, but the way Cara’s body slightly turned towards the kid and his father, the way her face grew grave.

‘A week or so.’ You quietly admitted, after a beat.

The Mandalorian hummed in answer and silence fell over you all. You were starting to feel uncomfortable when he spoke again, his voice harsh and cold as the Beskar he was wearing :

‘You’re gonna spend the day and the night here, but tomorrow morning, you’re both gone. It’s too dangerous.’

That, you hadn’t expected.

‘That’s- That’s not what Luke said-‘

‘If I’m in danger, then you both need to leave as soon as possible.’

———

The kid was screaming. You’d figured it would go down that way, with the Mandalorian intent on having you go back to the Temple. Then, a three-fingered hand landed on your cheek and everything went elsewhere.

The Mandalorian was on the floor of a ship you didn’t recognize, chest heaving up and down, and blood everywhere.

‘Stay with me’, you heard yourself say. ‘Come on, stay with me. I’m here, I’m gonna patch you uo. It’s going to be okay. Grogu- Grogu can do it too.’

When you came to, you were on the floor of your own ship, and Grogu was softly crying in the arms of the Mandalorian.

‘We can’t leave’ you choked, as Cara was helping you up. ‘We can’t leave.’

You took a few steps, and you threw up.

When you woke up, you were in a bed and a doctor was checking your vitals. She probed, and asked too many questions, but couldn’t find a single thing wrong with you. You weren’t about to tell her that a fifty-year-old kid had shown you a vision of yourself trying to save his father, so you let it be.

Instead, you used your best bed-ridden voice to convince the Mandalorian that you both should stay with him because you might just die if the kid pulled that kind of stunt again - and maybe you were right, because Grogu meant well but you felt like that time you’d had one week of sexy times with a nice Zeltron lady. You couldn’t walk properly, and your mind was elsewhere, though this time, the elsewhere was definitely not as nice as it had been back then.

Which is how you ended up on Mando’s ship, the Galactica, strapping up for a journey through memory lane. Apparently, since he was stuck with the two of you, Mando wanted to take the kid back to people who mattered to him.

Next stop : Tatooine.

And the welcome on that planet was something else. You liked Peli the moment you met her, with the way she gave shit to Mando just because she could. She took to you, too, and when, your nerves vibrating with excitement, you asked her where you could see a good fight, she pointed right where you needed to be and added, for good mesure :

‘Keeping the kid will cost you extra, but I can take care of him if you want.’

This was the Mandalorian’s money you were playing with, but you figured that if you bet some and won some, that wouldn’t be an issue. You agreed, and went on your merry way while Mando was out shopping for rations.

Except, when you got there, the thrill of it all got to you. Your skin itched to go up there, on the ring. To knock somebody out. You hadn’t felt that way in years. Maybe it was the thrill of the adventure. Maybe it was the Mandalorian, and his cold front. Maybe it was the Mandalorian, but for other reasons : you were supposed to save his life, you’d seen it. Maybe you could prevent this from ever happening if you went back in there.

No matter the reason, you did it. You watched the winner, raised your hand, and got up.

———

It had been easy. Easier than when you were younger. You’d been stuck on the Galactica for a while, and you’d needed release.

You won, fair and square, and went back to the ship, covered in blood but the weight of the ten thousand credits comforting at your side. You went to pay Peli but her answer surprised you :

‘Did you win ?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you ended that idiot ? The blond one ? I can never remember his name but he’s a pain. So smug.’

‘Yes, I did.’

Peli looked at you, and smiled.

‘Free of charge, then. I hope Mando is smart enough to keep you around.’

Mando himself said nothing about the bruises and the cuts on your body, but he let you heal yourself. You figured, then, he knew you could take care of yourself.

You spent a while with Peli, time passing like a blur, the days almost all the same. Mando didn’t seem in a hurry to see you leave anymore, indulging in the selfish feeling of joy to have the kid back. You kept going back to the cantina to fight. Kept winning, and the grin you wore every time you got back must have intrigued Mando because he came to see you fight, one night.

The moment you spotted him in the crowd both threw you off and cleared your mind to a point of concentration you’d never reached before. You didn’t stop to try and understand the feeling, not with the way you could hear every cheer, not with that visor looking right at you, not with that beast suddenly clawing at your belly with new ferocity. You didn’t stop and understand the feeling, because suddenly you were fighting him. Your faceless opponent became Mando in your mind, and as you threw punches with renewed ferocity, images - fantasies - spilled in your mind, of him taking you in a dark alley, both of you still sweaty and dirty from the fight. Even better was the fact that you knew you could never beat him. Would you yield, though ? Would you get on your knees and beg for mercy ? Or would your pride take over your lust and lead you to fight until he had you pinned down and unable to breathe ?

It was amazing, you’d reflect later, how one’s body could move on pure instinct, before for the rest of that fight, your mind was elsewhere but you were moving with a deadly precision, ready to strike, ready to hurt, ready to win. And win, you did.

He wasn’t in the cantina anymore when you came back in after collecting your winnings. The fire in your belly went out suddenly at that, an empty feeling replacing that burning sensation, your fingers no longer tingling but heavy with ache. Your opponent - you still hadn’t caught his name - offered you a drink you accepted, but drank too fast for it to lead to anything more. The urge to get out of there was only made stronger when the man in front of you asked, innocently enough :

‘You travellin’ with the Mandalorian ? You guys showed up here at the same time and he only ever shows up when you fight.’

So he’d come here before, was your first thought. The second, though, was much more unpleasant : the kid.

You were drawing too much attention to yourself. You left the cantina eager to get to the Battlestar, only to be stopped by an iron grip on your arm. Your reflexes kicked in and you landed a hard punch on - something very hard. The pain was so intense it travelled through your whole body and made you shiver, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes as your body curled onto itself.

‘It’s me.’ You heard, the modulated voice now familiar. And then, as an afterthought : ‘Sorry.’

‘A little warning, next time. That’d be nice.’ You all but wheezed, the pain in your hand burning you whole.

‘Sorry.’ The helmet repeated, even though the hand on you was not easing its grip.

You had some bruises on you, the morning after. A split lip, too, and an almost nasty wound on your left eyebrow. The biggest bruise of all, though, was the one on the hand that had struck the Mandalorian, a huge ugly shape, purple and green and blue. You couldn’t flex your left hand without tears coming to your eyes. You wondered how sick you were, because you couldn’t look at it without being turned on. It was a good thing that you were right-handed, too : you weren’t that incapacitated, and you could also keep touching yourself in a very capable way. Small blessings.

———

That grip thing, Mando squeezing your arm to lead you wherever, that iron grip to stabilize you, became a thing. And you were quickly getting that what he represented, that sense of danger about him, turned you on almost all the fucking time. The rest of the time, well, he was being a very good dad and that-

Fuck.

Let’s just say you had it bad.

You left for Mos Pelgo a week later, after Mando asked you why you didn’t go fighting anymore and you revealed your worries about being too much in the spotlight, and how afraid you were that it could affect the safety of the kid. After that conversation, he set course immediately for your next destination, leaving you just enough time to say goodbye to Peli.

‘Thanks for teaching that boy a lesson.’

You thought back on your first fight and answered, your grin predatory :

‘Oh, him ? He was too cocky, but not that good of a fighter, really.’

Peli laughed.

‘Not that boy. The other one. The one with a bucket on his head. Stubborn ass who won’t think for a second about what is good for him. You got him to relax, enjoy his time with the kid and remember people who care about them.’

You could tell it was a lot for her to admit that she cared about the Mandalorian himself so you just shrugged. You watched as she bid her goodbyes to the kid and his father, before she turned to you and added :

‘Hope I’ll see you again, Korra.’

‘Korra ?’ You asked.

It was her turn to shrug as she explained :

‘A silly story my parents used to tell me. In a galaxy far far away, there was a woman who could manipulate fire, earth, air, and water. But she was also very strong. Kicked everybody’s ass. You remind me of that story.’

It wasn’t until later, on the speeder, that Mando said : ‘Korra, I like that.’ With the wind blowing, you thought you’d imagined it. But then, he started calling you that.

Cobb was friendly, funny, a bit too cocky. A few years back, you would have gone for a man like him. The thought that you could, still, and that he might not be opposed to it was nice but not enticing enough for you to act on it. Still, the two of you fell into a rhythm of harmless banter, and flirting. What could have been fun became a game of pushing and pulling : the Marshal would make you laugh and Mando would just grab your arm, the feeling of his grip now familiar to you, something to ground you, even. You entertained the fantasy, for a moment, that he wanted you the way you wanted him.

And maybe, maybe, you were not wrong.

Here you were, a few days after landing, joking with the Marshal as you felt Mando’s hand grab your arm. Tight, like that time after the fight. That shouldn’t have made you restless but it dit, your knees bouncing with excitement at the idea to take on the Mandalorian himself. So when everybody started to go to bed, he grabbed your arm, again, and led you to the Battlestar. Once you were alone, the kid asleep, he dropped all the Beskar except for the helmet, and whispered, a challenge :

‘Come on, Korra, come at me.’

You did as you were asked, a nice obedient girl even though you were feral. He won, though. Of course he did. Your back was hurting against the floor as one of his hands kept you there, easily. He was looking at you, you felt, above you as one hand tied yours together, and the other on your ribs, right below your heart.

‘Din.’ He said.

Din, you understood, as your mind went back to that fight, that fantasy.

Din, you thought after he let you laying there, chest heaving, while he entered new coordinates.

------

If you want to be tagged just say the word.

[maxineswritingcenter]

You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 22

-----------

As I parked in the driveway, I tried to think of a way to talk to Uncle Noah. It really just came down to my approach. And if he pulls a gun on me or not. I don’t believe that he would pull a gun on me just from the texts and voicemails I was getting. 

Getting out of the car was the next part of my plan. Alright, getting out of the car... Right now... Getting out... Of the car... Now. 

Finally, I willed myself out of the car and walked up the driveway to the front door. Should I knock or ring the doorbell? No, walking in seemed more casual, I need to be formal. Or maybe it would be better to walk in-

The front door opening interrupted my inner monologue. Uncle Noah stood in the doorway. He was in uniform, looking like he was heading into the station. We stared at each other for a while, not sure how to go forward with this. Maybe I should just start speaking? Yeah, because that worked out so well before. 

“Hey, uh... I just wanted to say...” My voice cut out before I could say what I wanted. The worst part was that he just kept staring at me, “Um, I wanted to say that I’m sorry for what happened at the station and I’m sorry for... What I am-” 

I was cut off by Uncle Noah pulling me into his arms and hugging me tightly. After the shock subsided, I hugged him back, gripping onto his shirt to ground myself. He was hugging me just like he would before he saw me as a werewolf. 

“Don’t ever apologize for who you are, sweetheart.” His voice was strained, “Nothing that happened was your fault. I know you would never do anything to hurt anyone of your own volition.” He kissed the top of my head, pulling away and looking me in the eyes. 

“You aren’t scared of me?” My voice was trembling.

“What? No, no, no. I’m not scared of you. I’m just worried about you. You’re still (Y/N).” He pushed some hair out of my face, wiping away some tears as well. Uncle Noah was someone who loved no matter what. All he wanted was for his loved ones to be safe and happy and that was what I loved so much about him. 

“We’re gonna figure this out. Being a...a”

“A werewolf.”

“Being a werewolf isn’t easy and we’re gonna figure out how it happened.” I smiled at him weakly. 

“There’s a lot I need to tell you.” 

We went inside, sitting in the living room. I was finally able to reveal everything and it was all from my memory. I could finally tell my story the way I remembered it. Uncle Noah listened to all of it, even if he didn’t understand all of it, he still listened. At the end, he sat back against the couch and blew out air. 

“That... That’s a lot, kid.” I nodded, sitting back beside him. He sat back up again when his phone started going off. 

“Crap.” He said, looking at the caller ID, “I gotta go to work.” He stood up, looking back at me, “You staying here tonight?” 

“Yeah, I’m making dinner.” 

“Great, I’ll see you tonight, maybe, hopefully.” He opened his phone and made his way out. 

-

Stiles and I were in the kitchen making dinner. It wasn’t often that the Stilinski’s had a home cooked meal, with Uncle Noah being at the station, it was quick or microwave meals that saved dinner. But tonight it was going to be lasagna, I had noticed that Stiles asked for a lot of pasta dishes. Probably for the carbs since he played lacrosse and had the metabolism of a giant. The kid could eat. As I was pulling the lasagna out of the oven, the doorbell rang. 

“That’s Derek.” I smiled, taking off the oven mitts and setting them on the counter, “Could you get the door?” Stiles took a deep breath but walked to the door and opened it. Derek stood there in nicer attire than usual. He had swapped out the leather jacket for a nice burgundy sweater, he had flowers in his hand. So I’m assuming when he saw Stiles, he was very confused. 

“Aw, you shouldn’t have.” Stiles fake-gushed. Derek’s jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. 

“(Y/N).” He called. Looking out at him, I grinned and wiped my hands on the apron I was wearing. 

“Hey!” I said cheerfully, taking the flowers. Roses and baby’s-breath, “How lovely.” I inhaled the sweet scent, ushering Derek inside. 

“(Y/N), can I speak with you privately?” Derek said through his teeth. After putting the flowers in a vase, I raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Yes~?” I fluttered my eyelashes at him. 

He titled his head to the side, “When you invited me to dinner at your house, I thought we would be eating. Alone.”

I smiled, “Why would I invite you over to my house when there’s a sixteen year old who actively lives here?” I poked his chest, “You were supposed to make the romantic dinner, remember?”

“That’s a little deceiving, isn’t it?”

“Oh?” I wiggled my eyebrows, “Were you expecting something a little spicier than lasagna?”

Derek gave me a sly smile, “Maybe-”

“Okay, enough of whatever you guys are doing.” Stiles butted in, “I’m hungry so can we eat now?” I was about to answer when the door opened. All of our eyes widened, and so did Uncle Noah’s. 

“Hey...” Stiles said casually, “Thought you uh... weren’t gonna be home for dinner.”

“I uh, I asked for the night off so we could have dinner together as a family.” He looked at Derek, then me, then Derek again, “Derek, are you uh... Like her?” 

“A werewolf? Yes, sir.” 

“Oh, oh, okay.” Uncle Noah smiled a little, “That’s okay. I fully support being werewolves. Just as long as you’re safe.” He said this awkwardly, but very sincerely. 

“So food’s done.” I smiled. 

-

The dinner was kind of awkward, just a little tense. An ex con eats dinner with the sheriff? It was like the start a of very bad joke. But everything went over well and now it was just Derek and I in my room - with the door open per Uncle Noah’s request- playing music softly and cuddling on the bed. My head was on his chest playing with his fingers. Derek had one arm around me, his fingertips dipping under my shirt hem. 

“I love this.” I hummed, “I never want it to end.” I looked up at him, “I had a question.” 

“Yes?” He kissed the top of my head. 

“When all of this started... Why were you so distant with me? Why wouldn’t you tell me about us knowing each other when I came to your house.” 

“Well,” He shifted so he sat up a little on the pillows, “I was respecting your father’s wishes.” 

“As if.” I smirked.

He chuckled, “You’re right.” He looked down at me, “But I thought it would hurt more for you if I expected something from you that you couldn’t give me.” He held my hand that was fiddling with his, bringing it up to his lips, “Those times when you were wanting to get close to me, I wanted to tell you. I wanted to try and break the spell but I didn’t know if I could or even if it would work.” 

“Derek...You suffered alone, I’m so sorry.” I ran my fingertips over his cheek. He nuzzled his cheek into my hand.

“I suppose, but it was like I got to meet you for the first time. Fall in love with you.” It was strange seeing this side of him. His heart was open and he was telling me everything. 

“You love me, huh?” I said, “Even with how stubborn I am?” 

He smiled, “Even with how stubborn you are. You never gave up on me. Ever.” 

Leaning forward, I pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, “I love you too.” There was love in his eyes, but there was something else. Something I couldn’t ignore, even though the nagging feeling in my stomach was telling me it was going to ruin the moment. 

“What is it?” I sighed, “Just tell me.”

“I can’t hide anything from you, can I?” 

“After last night? Definitely not.” 

“The alpha pack is here.” He paused and breathed out, “And I was hoping you would go to Scotland until this all blows over.” I sat up and stared down at him. 

“You want me to go to Scotland. With Michael. To the people who probably agreed to have my memories taken away. While you fight the alphas by yourself?” I scoffed, “Yeah, fat chance.” I got out of bed. Derek sighed, leaning his head back. 

“(Y/N), you don’t understand-”

“I understand everything perfectly actually. For the first time in six years, I can see everything. I remember the alpha pack and I remember what they did to Paige.” I stood in front of the bed and looked down at him, “I’m an alpha with two alpha sparks and I can fight just as well as you can...If a little out of practice.” 

Derek sat up, “I know, that’s why I want you to go. You’re an easy target to take the alpha sparks from and you know how they will take it.” I crossed my arms over my chest, tapping my foot on the floor. He was right, as much as I hate to admit it. 

“I know I’m right.” Derek said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to face me.

“Hey! Get out of my head.” 

Derek pried my arms from their crossed position and held my hands, “I know you want to be here to protect your people. I do too. But I would never forgive myself if they took you away from me, away from your uncle, away from Stiles.” He stood up and pulled me into his arms. 

“I can’t lose you.” 

“And I can’t lose you either.” My breath was shaky.

“You won’t.” 

“You can’t promise me that. You have been on death’s door so many times, it’s only a matter of time before he answers.” 

Derek pressed a kiss to my forehead, “I’m not alone anymore. I’m stronger than ever.” I knew that he would keep those I loved safe. But he had the hero complex, willing to do what was right no matter the cost. 

“Fine. But if I feel something happen, I’m on the next flight back and I’m gonna kick your ass.” I swallowed thickly, “And if you’re dead... I’m bringing you back and kicking your ass.” 

“I know you will.” He gave me a small smile.

-

I had barely been out of Beacon Hills before. Every once in a while there was an away game for lacrosse, but never out of state. I had never even been to the airport. Airports were weird. You get there like four hours early, sit for hours, then you get in a metal tube that flies in the sky. 

Stiles and I were sitting at the end of a row of chairs, Uncle Noah and Michael were talking across the room. Michael had dyed his blond hair dark brown and had been wearing brown contacts to disguise himself from getting caught by any cops who were still looking for him. 

"What do you think they're talking about?" I leaned over and whispered into Stiles’ ear. This was really just a way of getting him to talk to me. Stiles had been quiet the whole ride to the airport. 

“Probably his shitty dye job.” He said, hanging one arm over the back of his seat. 

I chuckled, resting my head on his shoulder, looking around. Derek hadn’t come with us to the airport. He thought it would draw attention to me and the alpha pack would follow. But it didn’t hurt any less. I knew that he was right. I would have liked to have seen him before I left though. 

“Are you mad at me?”

“No..” He sighed, “Last thing I need is to lose you to a bunch of werewolves with a god complex killing you for your alpha mojo.” 

“Alpha sparks. Plural.” 

“Yeah yeah. Just...” He looked down at him, “Let me know when you’re coming back.” 

“Hey, I’ll Skype you as much as I can.” 

NOAH

After feeling more comfortable talking with Michael, Noah had agreed to let Michael escort (Y/N) to Scotland as a part of the Lunar Circle. Michael had been nervous the entire time, hadn’t looked him in the eyes. Michael was rubbing the back of his neck. 

Noah narrowed his eyes at him, “What is it, you got somethin’ you’re not telling me?”

“N-No. I’ve told you everything.” His voice was shaking. 

"Slow down, breathe." Noah held a hand out. 

Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I just want her to trust me and I don’t want to hurt her again. I need to make up for all the crap that I did, I gotta make things right.” 

Noah nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. While he would rather throw Michael in a jail and leave him there to rot, he didn’t understand the entire situation with mind control and werewolves, so he figured that (Y/N) could handle herself. 

“Listen, kid, she is gonna be a mess for the next few days. Since everything happened and all the responsibility on her shoulders, she hasn’t had time to properly mourn her parents. She won’t process that everyone is practically a world away until later - Derek and Stiles especially.” He looked over at (Y/N) and Stiles. Those were his kids. And he hated that one of them was going to be out of his sight and reach for however long. But at least she would be safe, “Her and Derek have their connection thing. But her and Stiles? They... I’ve never seen two kids love and care about each other so much in my entire life. With her powers, the safest thing for you and her would be to take her to a safe place and lock her up for the night. She might as well be a ticking time bomb. 

“Yes, sir.” 

(Y/N)

"Now boarding all passengers on flight two-nine-o-six to Edinburgh International." A woman’s voice called over the intercom. Michael and Uncle Noah came back over as I stood up and grabbed my carry on bag. 

“Well, that’s us-” I was cut off by a bone crushing hug from Stiles. And here comes the tears. Wrapping my arms tightly around him, I breathed out then pressed my lips tightly together. 

“I love you.” He said into my shoulder. 

“I love you too.” I sniffled and pulled away, rubbing the top of his head where his hair was starting to grow out from his buzz cut. Uncle Noah almost had to pry Stiles off to get to me then pulling me into his own arms. 

“I just want you to know that I’m proud of you.” He kissed the side of my head, “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” I pulled away, looking around, probably just to make myself even more sad. Derek wasn’t gonna come. 

Michael led me onto the plane and to my surprise, the Lunar Circle had paid for first class tickets. I would hope so since this was a thirteen hours flight with two stops. I put my headphones in and looked out the window. We were off to some new and possibly magical place - the ancestral homeland - to meet with a bunch of people that I kind of wanted to give a piece of my mind. 

I would rather be taking this trip with Derek where it would be atleast a little romantic but instead I was running from some crazy alphas. I wanted to start my life with him, a life that was significantly less crazy than it was now. I wanted to start a family. I thought Derek did too, he came from a large family. 

Maybe that plan was already in motion.

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

Read part 23 here!

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[luzarya]

To Hunt A Creature

twst x Yuu

Summary: Yuu, as all know, came from another world. Not a word about their past however.

Until something from their world arrives, and Yuu deals with it alone.

Ao3 link: here

warnings and tags: some violence, mention of blood, not beta read

word count: 1,910

--

If it was something that Yuu desperately wanted to leave behind, it was their past. So far, they never once had to explain it, keeping it locked away.

But today was different.

Yuu felt something was amiss in the morning, feeling something that they thought they wouldn’t have felt in this world. It was odd, but it brought a sense of panic to Yuu.

“Grim,” Yuu called out to the sleeping feline, “Hey, Grim.”

Grim mumbled something in his sleep, then finally opened up his eyes, “Eh, what is it?”

Yuu gave a small smile, “I’ll be a bit late to class today, so on without me.”

“Eh? But it’s pretty early? Why are ya gonna be late?”

“I want to shower,” Yuu lied, “I forgot to take one last night and it’s bothering me.”

“Sheesh,” Grim huffed, “You and your long showers. Well…” He paused, “I guess it’s fine, as long as I get some tuna!”

“Of course!”

Yuu never attended class.

It was the afternoon, and it has been a few slow hours tracking down the creature in the forest, the creature that was the cause of it all. It was only because of Yuu’s previous experiences did Yuu ever notice, really.

If the creature isn’t taken down, then it would only grow stronger and stronger, until it no longer can be contained, destroying its surroundings in the process.

Yuu wanted to get rid of it while the creature was young, or at least, before anyone noticed that anything was amiss.

It was calming, to say the least.

Perhaps it was because this life was all that Yuu had known, or perhaps it was because their body sorely needed something like this. Yuu often didn’t get a chance to show their skills, lest anyone would question their entire identity.

Yuu walked slowly, careful to keep quiet. A glance told them that the creature was nearby, fresh prints in the mud. It didn’t take much for Yuu to realize that the creature was likely a little too nearby, faintly able to pick up the breathing of the creature.

It was calm, sounding just like any other animal to anyone else, though to Yuu, they could pick up the slight raggedness of it, too atypical to be that of a normal animal.

Yuu turned ever so slightly, their eyes meeting the figure of the beast that they had been tracking. It startled them for a brief moment, but they quickly calmed. The creature, without a doubt, was from their world.

The creature turned its head, now spotting Yuu. It bellowed out a roar, and then lunged towards them. But Yuu’s muscle memory kicked into action, allowing them to dodge the creature’s attack.

Your movements flowed smoothly, as if you weren’t inactive as a hunter for months on end. Yet, despite this, you could already feel the ache of your muscles, but that feeling was also familiar; thus your body continued despite its protests.

You pulled out a dagger, feeling the cold metal in your hand. With a thrust, you plunged your dagger into the creature’s flesh, blood splattering out and landing on your person.

Thus, a dance began.

The creature would lunge forward, and you would dodge. It would swipe at you, but you were quick enough to go to the side, out of it’s reach, landing another attack on it. This continued, your lungs burning, the creature persistent with its assaults. Few times did the creature managed to wound you, but you didn’t care- you were just. So. Close.

You don’t know how long it lasted, nor did you keep track of the number of times you landed a hit on the creature, and vice versa. But by the time the creature’s body landed on the ground with a loud thud.

But Yuu didn’t rest, no, they instead pulled something from their pouch. It was a vial of holy water, something of which Yuu had to make themselves. They also took out a pair of ear plugs, putting them in, then pouring the holy water onto the creature.

The creature let out an ear-shattering howl, and despite the earplugs, Yuu’s ear still hurt. Yuu took a step back as they saw the holy water melt the creature’s flesh, the creature crawling with much effort, but to no avail. Slowly, it made its way towards Yuu, and by the time it managed to crawl right in front of Yuu, who merely stared at it, the beast let out one last pitiful screech, before its head slumped against Yuu’s shoes, its body no longer moving.

It took only a few minutes for the body to dissolve into nothing but dust, of which was when Yuu knelt, taking out the earplugs and putting them away, clasping their hands together, closing their eyes, whispering out a prayer.

Blades of light appeared, striking down the dust. Somehow, it managed to get all of the dust, completely removing any evidence that the creature ever lived, with a small exception.

A small purple stone remained, glowing brightly, as if asking to be taken.

And Yuu complied, wordlessly picking up the stone, albeit carefully, then standing up. The stone shook in their grasp, puffs of black smoke swirling around Yuu’s arm, but never harming them. Eventually, it shook more and more, as if angry, but after a few minutes of absolutely nothing happening, the stone became still- signifying that it had given up.

Smiling, Yuu pulled out a pouch littered with faded runes and sigils, placing the stone within.

“Heh, guess I still have it in me, huh?” Yuu laughed, putting away the stone.

It was then when Yuu’s actions finally caught up with them.

Yuu’s legs gave out, causing Yuu to fall harshly against the forest floor. Yuu let out a yelp, followed by a string of curses.

It was only lunch, judging by the position of the sun, as far as Yuu could tell, which meant that there was a chance that someone would find them- but Yuu knew that it was unlikely. Grim probably assumed that they were skipping school- which admittedly was technically true.

Yuu quietly cursed again, trying to move their arms. Yuu managed to move them, but not without feeling the pain from all the gashes and wounds they’ve endured from the fight.

A thought came to Yuu.

Weakly, Yuu took out a knife, pulling out the blade. They pressed the tip onto the dirt, and began making an intricate design. They had spent only a few minutes on it, and once they were done, Yuu shifted their arm, the wound parallel to the ground. Yuu then used their free hand and pressed against the wound, forcing the once closing wound to open up, the stream of blood regaining life.

Drops of blood spilt onto the ground, as Yuu began muttering phrases.

It became dark, until it became too dark that Yuu couldn’t see a thing. Yuu became silent, moving their arms so that they laid at their sides. At this point, Yuu could feel the consequences of losing all the blood, and for a moment, Yuu regretted not eating prior to the fight.

Through the midst of the heavy air and silence, a voice rang out.

“So, you’ve called, at last, my dear?”

The darkness dissipated, the forest and its surrounding returning within Yuu’s line of sight- with a new addition.

The owner of the voice stood quite the distance away from Yuu, looking down at them.

“Just come and help me,” Yuu seethed, glaring at the figure, “I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t desperate.”

“I know,” the demoness replied, “I’m just surprised, is all. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

“Yep. Now, help me.”

“Heh, fine. Just for old time’s sake.”

The demoness, who was dressed in a red suit, the jacket hanging on their shoulders, walked slowly over to Yuu. Once the demoness was just a foot away, they just gave Yuu a glance, stroking their chin.

Then, with a snap of the demoness’ fingers, all of Yuu’s wounds healed. It wasn’t a painless process, however, as Yuu slumped over into the ground, the demoness letting out a small yelp as they jumped back out of Yuu’s way.

It took a moment for Yuu’s wounds to completely heal, and even then, they were still weak.

“Perhaps, it’s been too long,” the demoness muttered, as they went over to Yuu and picked them up, “Now, my darling, show me the way to your new home.”

“It’s over there…”

“Thank you.~”

The demoness then began walking. It would have been more convenient to fly over the forest, and be ‘home’ in an instant, but this was a different land. Unknown. Unseen.

And the demoness didn’t want to take chances in a world in which they were ignorant of its customs and culture- who knows how it would react to someone like her.

So it took a while. By the time the demoness had arrived at the place that Yuu had called ‘home’, there were three figures, from what she could sense. Yuu, at this point, was fast asleep.

Quietly, as they could, they walked over, careful to not be seen. Gently, they propped the sleeping Yuu against the wall. The demoness glanced around- the figures hadn’t noticed yet.

Good.

The demoness then walked away, and once she had deemed that there was enough distance between her and everyone else, she threw a rock.

And another.

And another.

Until one of the figures had the brains to investigate.

“The heck? Where are these rocks coming from?”

The demoness hide within the bushes.

Within the demoness’ line of vision, they saw two boys, one with red hair while the other with blue, and a fat dark cat with flames.

“Eh, is that Yuu?” The fat cat grumbles.

“Oh Great Seven,” the blue haired kid exclaimed, “It is!”

The demoness watched as the blue haired boy ran over to Yuu, picking them up with great ease. Naturally, this woke up Yuu, who began to immediately struggle in the boy’s grasp until the boy said something.

Whatever the boy had said, it was enough to calm Yuu down.

“Oh… It’s you, Deuce,” Yuu sighed.

“Geez,” the red haired kid scoffs, “Where were you? All the teachers gave that look of disapproval, y’know.”

“Yea!” The cat replies, “You left me all alone! You said you were just gonna be late! What’s the deal? Why are you wearing different clothes? Why do you smell like blood, huh?”

“Blood? Oh, that’s-”

“Eh?!” Deuce gave Yuu a look-over, “You were bleeding!? We need to get your insides!”

“Deuce, I’m fine-”

“How are you not dead?”

“Ace-”

At this point, the demoness was getting annoyed. A look from Yuu indicated that they felt their annoyance, which didn’t go unchecked by their friends.

“What are ya lookin’ at?” The cat turned to the demoness’ direction. “Is there somethin’ there, eh?”

“No, Grim-”

The demoness let out a sigh, and then revealed themselves. The two boys, Ace and Deuce, and the fat cat named Grim, stared at the demoness.

For a good moment, all was quiet, until someone broke the silence.

“So. This is Aristomache…. But she goes by Mache for short ...” Yuu said, letting out a nervous laugh.

At this, Mache smiled at the teenagers, lifting up her hand, open for a handshake. “Hello, friends of my darling, it’s a pleasure.”

Silence….

…

…

…

“...Yuu, what the heck…”

“Oh, shut up.”

[milkywaygg]

Baby Don’t Go (Chapter 7)

After he had gotten home late that night, Miguel went straight to bed, with Yolonda sleeping right beside him for once. He tossed and turned, grateful that Yolonda was a heavy sleeper, as his nausea and guilt wrangled him around like a chew toy. He knew he and his wife have had some miscommunications throughout their 20,000 years of marriage, but at the end of the day, Miguel didn’t have a doubt that he still loved Yolonda. Finally giving up on sleeping, Miguel sat upright, staring at the bulge in his stomach with a slight disgust.

Miguel couldn’t honestly say he blamed the baby for everything that had happened. After all, it was the result of shitty actions, not the cause, but the longer he stared, the more he wished it would just disappear out of existence. It felt as if an entire stranger was inside of him, not another one of his kin. Despite those resentful feelings brewing however, Miguel admitted to himself that he at least felt somewhat bad for the baby. Nora’s attitude when Miguel said he was pregnant seemed far more estranged that he had let on himself, so there was no possibly way that she loved it even more than he did. Oh, how he could kill her right about now.

A few hours passed, Miguel was merely able to get a blinks worth of sleep before Yolonda shuffled around on her side of the bed, opening and closing various drawers and closets to beautify herself with, throwing on her usually plum dress and curling her hair up after a nice, warm shower, before flying to the kitchen to begin breakfast. Woken up from all the noise, Miguel sat himself up right once more and took his phone off the nightstand, reading a missed message from Nora.

Hey ; ). Can’t stop thinking about you

Snarling as the offensive message, Miguel texted her back.

Yeah, I can’t either. Having your damn baby in my stomach’s really reinforced my memory of you. What do you want?

Look, I’m sorry about what I said last night. Linnie’s complaining last night made me realize that I need someone like you in my life, not him.

Fat chance Nora. We fucked up, and now we gotta own up to it. I’m not going to lie to you, I wish I never would have talked to you in that sleazy ass bar.

Wait, hold on. Are you actually crawling back to your wife? Don’t you think you’re in a bit too big of a shall we say…conflict right now to consider that?

Yes I know, and that’s why they need to know, Nora. I’m sorry, but I can’t go on knowing that I’ve betrayed her, and keeping it from her. Yolonda’s, and I’m sure Linnie is as well, a good person, despite her faults, and despite all the shit we had put ourselves through, and everything I told you about her, I think I still love her. I’m sorry your relationship is a dead-end, from how you talk about your husband, but I don’t want to keep doing this anymore.

But…why? God….you men are all the same. Why in the world would you pick someone that doesn’t give you the time of day over me? Am I not enough for you?

Oh really? And have you made any conscious effort to leave Linnie for me? Didn’t think so, so stop the BS. Look, we need to talk to them as soon as possible. They’re gonna find out anyways. Pregnancies aren’t something you can just hide, and it’s clear to me that you don’t give a rat’s ass about the people you hurt, so I don’t know why you’re so concerned anyways.

Well I mean it’d be nice if you’d show me the same appreciation as you do a woman that barely seems to know your existence. What about the night we sat outside my force and drank beer together, talking for hours on end?

Nora..I really don’t know how to explain this better to you. I thought I needed you…but I don’t. I have a wife that I’m still in love with, and anything that you believed happened between you and I meant nothing. The only thing we have between us is unprotected sex, and a mistake as the result. Now, if you wanna dump Linnie, that’s all fine and dandy, but my wife deserved to know to truth. I would have considered being friends with you at least Nora, but lately, it seems like all you care about is covering your own damn self, so once this whole baby bs is over, I want nothing more to do with you unless it’s an emergency. Got it? I’m sorry but you’re not the woman I love. You’re just the woman I thought I needed.

Miguel stared at the three dots on his phone for what seemed like hours, the thought bubble constantly appearing and disappearing, making Miguel somewhat nervous.

Fine…. If this’ll make you happy. How are we going to tell them, and have you decided on what to do with the fetus?

Yeah. I’m gonna set up an appointment to get screened for an abortion. See if I qualify and what not.

I mean, the fetus isn’t that big, right? Shouldn’t be a problem

Nah, but you know how those fancy, healthcare professionals are. How would you feel about dinner over at our place, probably around 7 or 8?

Depends. Where do you live.

Down Goldeen St., where that one city center is near downtown Fairy World?

Wait, so you live on one of those fancy ass houses? Well shiit, sign me up.

Good. I’m gonna tell Yolonda that I invited some people over to congratulate her on her new job, so if you can wait until we’re all sitting down to wait and talk to Linnie, that’d be great.

Fine Fine. Send me the address and we’ll be there around 7.

Good. Wear something nice if you wouldn’t mind.

Tired of reading Nora’s messages, Miguel finally decided to get up, and join his wife in the kitchen, smelling the fresh aroma of eggs and bacon, something he hadn’t smelt from her in a long time. With the events in mind, Miguel snuck his wand behind his back and waved it around, conjuring up a black dress around Yolonda’s size, with matching pearls and amethyst earrings, forcing the outfit to hide on their couch in the living room.  Upon noticing his arrival, Yolonda smiled.

“Good morning.”, she said, fetching some crystal plates for the food, “How’d you sleep?”

“Ehh..”, was all Miguel could mutter out. Yolonda frowned with concern.

“Still not feeling well? Did you ever get those pills? You were gone a while last night.”

“Nah, couldn’t find them. I decided to just go for a drive instead.”, Miguel shrugged, though Yolonda still didn’t seem convinced.

“Miguel…are you mad at me?”

“What? Of course not, sugar plum. Why would I be?”

“Well…I thought you’d be happy I’ve taken this job. You did say that you wanted me to act more responsibly, so I don’t understand why you’ve been acting so weird around me.”

“Yolonda, I’m not acting weird. My stomach’s just been killing me lately, that’s all, and it doesn’t really help that I’ve also been getting these non-stop headaches either.”, Miguel complained, as Yolonda handed him his breakfast. He ate is slowly, “Yolonda, I’m sorry. I am happy that you’ve gotten this job, a-and I really want to celebrate this accomplishment with you. I really do. It’s just…I hadn’t felt this bad in a long time.”

“Do I need to take you to the hospital? I mean, you’re really starting to worry me Miguel. This had gone on for a about a week now, and it doesn’t seem like you’re getting any better.”

“Uh…no. I don’t think so. I still need to try that medicine.”

“Are you sure Miguel, because if there’s something wrong with you, the doctors need to be able to catch it early. We can’t just keep putting this off.”

“I know sugar plum, it’s just….I know what I’m doing, ok? I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself. Just let me try the medicine, and we’ll go from there, ok? Trust m?”

“If you’re sure, but swear to god, you’re going to the hospital if this doesn’t clear up soon. I’m not playing around, Miguel.”

“Alright alright, yes boss.”, Miguel chuckled slightly, forcing Yolonda’s stern glare to melt slightly, “I do have a surprise for you though.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve invited a couple of work friends of mine over for dinner, and I told them about you starting that position at the jewelry company. Figured this might be a way to grow your network, if you will.”

“Ok Miguel. It’s not THAT serious.”

“Hey, you never know. It’s a big world out there, Yolonda, and if you want to be successful, sometimes you gotta put yourself out there.”, Miguel shrugged, “That’s what my mama always told me before she passed her company to me. Oh, and by the way, I’ve got something in the living room for you.”

Unable to contain her excitement, Yolonda got up from her seat and flew straight towards the living room, screaming with delight as she saw the black dress, grabbing it and holding it up to her shoulders.

“Oh my gosh! It’s so pretty, and it’s a perfect fit! I love it Miguel! Thank you!”, she cheered, kissing him on the cheek, “I don’t deserve you.”

Miguel didn’t say anything, but rather let out a slightly nervous chuckle, one single thought haunting him as he waited for tonight.

I’m the one that doesn’t deserve you.

 The sun began to set and the street lights began to shine the roads as 7 o’clock approached, Miguel busying himself in the kitchen, preparing a lobster roast with 4 glasses of champaign placed elegantly on their dining room table. Miguel started to sweat nervously, as guilt began to overwhelm him once more. Looking down, the bulge in his stomach seemed to be slightly bigger than the last few days, but not quite obvious yet. Miguel pinched the side of his hips, hoping this was all a dream, only to wake up to the now strawberry sized baby bump.

“Hey baby.”, Yolonda’s voice purred as she strolled up behind him, kissing his neck, “How are the lobsters.”

“Uhhh…great. They’re almost ready.”, Miguel responded, turning around to look at Yolonda. Her earrings made her eyes sparkle while the black dress and pearls complimented her curvy, broad body almost perfectly, as if the dress was solely made for her. Her hair, though her bands and the tips kept its traditional swirl, was straightened out, and flowing towards her back, past her shoulders. “Wow…you look beautiful.”

“Well, aren’t you a dear?”, Yolonda giggled, “Maybe you should change too, before your little friends get here. I can deal with the lobsters.”

Miguel nodded as he flew towards their bedroom to change into one of his black business suits, while Yolonda busied herself setting the table and getting the lobsters placed on a plate. She finalized the table by placing the bottle of expensive, white champaign in the middle, before the doorbell rang, prompting her to open the door, revealing Nora and Linnie. Nora also had her hair straightened slightly, but hers seemed to be in more of a choppy, short style that Yolonda’s. Her dress was a non-form fitting. navy blue, and wore while pearls to compliment them. The male behind her, Linnie, seemed to not be quite as masculine as Miguel was, opting for a light green turtleneck sweater instead of a dress shirt and tie. Over it, he also wore a velvet, tan suit jacket, and black pants, paired with high-heeled dress boots that Yolonda found were somewhat adorable.

“Hey there! Come on in! We’ve got everything set up for you. I’m Yolonda, Miguel’s wife.”, she said, smiling and holding out her hand. Nora shoved her away while Linnie flew up, shaking Yolonda’s hand gently.

“H-hello there. I’m Linnie.”, he said softly, giving her a gentle smile, “I-I’m sorry about her. She’s been acting really odd these last couple of days.”

“Oh really? So’s my husband.”, Yolonda said, “He’s been having some stomach troubles…Well anyways, why don’t you make yourself comfortable? We’ve got dinner just about ready.”

Leaving the bedroom, Miguel felt his heart drop as he noticed Linnie and Nora taking their seats, Nora casting a knowing glare in his direction. Forcing himself from gulping, Miguel took a seat across Linnie, who was busy crossing his legs gently. Yolonda began pouring champaign into everyone’s cups before being gently stopped by Linnie.

“Oh uhm…I-I’m really sorry, but would it be a bother if I had some water instead please? I-I’m not really much of a drinker.”, he said, nervously, while Nora nudged him.

“God Linnie, have some manners. You drink whatever they give you.”

“Oh no, it’s not a problem. Uhm, we’ve got some water bottles in the fridge, sweetheart.”, Yolonda smiled at Linnie, who smiled back gently as he got up and walked towards the fridge, his heels clicking against the tile floor. “Actually, maybe you should have some water as well, dear. Might help with your stomach.”

Miguel simply nodded as Linnie passed him a bottle, muttering a thank you as Yolonda began to pass out the lobsters. As the four ate, Yolonda seemed to sense a sort of tense aura coming from the other fairies. Linnie was constantly squirming, either crossing his legs or trying to close them, his heels making a constant clicking noise, while Nora and Miguel seemed awfully interested in each other, exchanged glances whenever they were chewing simultaneously. Desperate to break the ice, Yolonda cleared her throat.

“So…how long have you guys worked with Miguel?”

“Worked? Oh no dear..”, Linnie said gently, unknowing of what’s going on, “I don’t work with him. I work at a nursery. I-I think I recognized him though from the gynocologist’s. I accidentally ran into him and he dropped his-“

“Papers! Yeah, you made me drop my prescription papers! Nice one.”, Miguel interrupted, before Linnie could rat him out. Linnie shrunk in his seat while Nora rolled her eyes.

“We’ve known him for about several years now, remember Linnie? He would come take out trash out for us?”

“Wait hold on.”, Yolonda said, “I thought you two and Miguel worked together? He said you guys were work buddies.”

“I mean uh…”, Nora stuttered, “I mean, technically we are…uh….I’m just more of an office person while Miguel would do the garbage work.”

“Really? Last time I checked, Miguel rarely did garbage truck work.”, Yolonda said, glancing slightly at her husband, “How long have you guys been working together.”

“Uh…about 7 years now.”

“Wait…Nora honey, we’ve only moved here about 4 years ago..”, Linnie squeaked, before Nora slammed her foot on his, making his jump.

“Ok, what the hell is going on? Why is everyone acting so weird?”, Yolonda asked suddenly, slamming her hands slightly on the table, starling everyone. Linnie looked around confused, while Nora and Miguel paled, both unsure of what to say. Yolonda glared at Miguel, “I thought you said these were work buddies?”

“They are!”

“So why the fuck are you all telling me different stories, huh? How is it that one of your little work buddies works in a nursery instead of part of your garbage company huh? What am I supposed to believe? And why have you two been staring at each other the entire night? Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Nora and Miguel both continued to stare at each other, both of them praying that the other would spit it out. But the longer they waited, the more impatient Yolonda got, tapping her foot and crossing her arms. Linnie squirmed a bit more as he tried to look away nervously, before finally, Miguel finally cracked.

“I’m pregnant….and…..it’s not yours.”

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Sweet Pandemonium - Gally (The Maze Runner) Part 11 of 16

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it! Basically some fluff that doesn’t further the plot. and maybe some spiciness. 

“Like she kinda spicy, but not too spicy. She’s mild” - Bretman Rock

🎄

~~~~~~~~~~

( not my gif :) )

Thomas didn’t want to tear you and Gally apart, but if the group was going to save Minho, he needed your help. “Y/N-” Thomas walked up to you.

“Back off, Greenie.” Gally interrupted angrily, tightening his arms around you.

“Gally-”

Gally let go of you to get in Thomas’ face. “No. Thomas. I wanna save Minho too, but I just got Y/N back. Give us some time.” Gally’s face softened. “Please.”

Thomas looked back and forth at the both of you, and sighed. “Okay...okay.”

Gally turned back to you with a shy smile. “Follow me?”

You nodded eagerly, still in shock of everything, but you still followed after him into a separate room from the main church hall.

As soon as the door closed, you were enveloped in another almost bone crushing hug. “I missed you so much.” Gally said softly.

“I think we’ve both made that pretty clear.” You tried to chuckle.

“I could never express it enough.” He pulled away to look at you, and you staring back at him. You thought he still looked as handsome as ever, any baby fat was gone and his jawline was well-defined and shaped perfectly. You couldn’t help the tears that came to your eyes as you admired him. “Hey, hey...it’s okay. Please don’t cry.” Gally caressed your face.

“Sorry, I just-” You sniffled. “I just still can’t believe you’re here. How? How did you survive?”

Gally weakly smiled, bringing you over to some abandoned couch and sat you down. “I was almost dead...but then the Right Arm found me. Saved my life.”

“The Right Arm, we were at one of their camps.” You frowned. “Until Teresa betrayed us.”

Gally shook his head angrily. “Fry told me about that, he also told me about you and her. She was supposed to be your family...”

“Yeah...she thought she was doing the right thing.” You said bitterly, then there was a slight lapse of conversation, the two of you just sitting together in silence. “I never wanted to leave you, Gally...”

“I know.” He took your hand.

“Do you remember anything? From that day?” You asked awkwardly, suddenly remembering what he told you that say, and what he did.

Gally’s face fell, and you wished you hadn’t asked. “No...but I know what I did...I killed Chuck.” He said solemnly. “I don’t remember...but I know.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling the painful memories of that loss resurface. “You were stung, Gal...it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was though!” He snapped. “...I killed him, Y/N.”

You sighed quietly. “W.C.K.D. killed Chuck.” You frowned when he shook his head. “He wouldn’t blame you, you know? And neither do I.”

Gally stared at you in shock, thick tears brimming his eyes and spilling over. “I see his face...every time I close my eyes. I never wanted him to die.” He cried.

You quickly wrapped your arms around his shoulders in a side hug, gently shushing and letting him cry. “I know...I know.”

A few minutes after, Gally settled down, and you wanted to bring up what you’ve been wanting to know for awhile. Maybe it wasn’t the right time. Maybe you’d regret asking. But you had to know. “You told me something that day.” You voiced, gaining his undivided attention. “You told me that...you loved me.”

Gally’s eyes widened, blushing a vibrant red and casting his gaze towards the floor. “I did?” He stuttered.

You smiled nervously. “Yeah, you did.” You took a deep breath. “Did you mean it?”

Gally snapped his gaze back to you, still blushing furiously and his mouth agape. “I, uh, well.” Gally quickly shut his mouth when all he could do was stutter, but he took a deep breath and tried to compose himself while you frowned, thinking that you had gotten your answer.

“It’s okay, Gally. I get it if you don’t feel that way anymore, if you ever did. It has been a while, I suppose.”

Gally shook his head. “No!” He voiced suddenly, causing you to recoil slightly. “Sorry, I-” He huffed. “I’m just no good at this.” He chuckled nervously.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully. “Geez, Gal, just spit it out.” You half joked.

“I love you.” Gally deadpanned, the bluntness of the statement causing your jaw to hang loosely in shock. “I meant it, I might not remember saying it, but I meant it. Hundred percent. And I still love you, I do. I never stopped.”

You blushed at the proclamation, not knowing how to act or respond.

“I just wished I could’ve told you when I was in control...”

You lifted your hand up to your face, your fingers delicately brushing over your lips as you remembered Gally’s lips on yours that day. “You also kissed me.” You grinned goofily.

“Well, I would say I couldn’t help myself because of the venom, but I probably would’ve done it anyway.” He smirked, but he suddenly turned shy again. “Did you...say it back?”

“No...” You said softly, causing Gally to nod and frown. “I never got the chance to. It all happened to fast, I...but I would’ve. I would’ve said it back.”

Gally lifted one of his brows, his smirk finding its way back onto his face. “You can now.”

Your blush came back, and you giggled while trying to hide your face in your hands. Gally quickly reached up and removed your hands, holding onto your wrists as you had nowhere else to look but him.

You smiled softly, looking into his eyes. “I love you, Gally.”

Gally’s smirk dropped, his playfulness making a full stop, his gaze on you turning serious but soft. “Say it again.”

“I love you.” You repeated.

Gally leaned in suddenly, keeping a tight grip on your wrists as he placed his soft lips onto yours with so much passion you nearly saw stars. Now that he was healed from that spear wound, you could feel how much he had to hold back that day.

Gally let go of your wrists only to place one of his hands at the back of your neck, the other at your hip to bring you as close as humanly possible. “I love so much.” Gally whispered in between kisses.

You tried to stifle a moan when Gally slightly bit down on your bottom lip as he pulled away, moving his mouth down your jaw to your neck, nibbling and sucking on the sensitive skin gently.

You had never experienced something like that before. You remembered having a couple partners in the past, but none ever felt as good as Gally felt.

You pulled away a little just to catch a breath. “Gal, the others are literally right outside.”

“So, what? Let them hear.” He leaned back in, but you gently pushed him away. “What’s wrong?” He asked, his face quickly turning from bliss to concern.

“Nothing! I, uh,” You nervously chuckled. “This is gonna sound silly, but, I don’t want to...you know. I’m, I’m not ready to go so far.”

Gally’s eyes softened, offering a kind smile and placed his hand in yours. “It’s not silly. It’s okay. I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Your love for Gally only smiled to increase just from that sentence. “Thank you, Captain.”  

~~~~~~~~~~

Kinda wanted to write smut...but I don’t think it would fit in with the story. Sorry my fellow h*rny folks 💁🏻‍♀️

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Tiny Lights, @hananene-zine! I wanted to do a little ‘spirited-away’ au (it works so well for the ship!) The amazing @blue-mooned made a beautiful piece to go with it, check it out!

Summary: Radish Legs didn’t like the butterflies she was getting from Hanako. Didn’t like how he teased her even as he helped her reclaim her name and her life. He was a spirit, a ghost, and she definitely wasn’t starting to like like him.

…

…

…

…

Over the past couple of weeks, Radish Legs had gotten used to many things, the least of which was her name change. She wasn’t sure what was more insulting about it: the fact that people thought her legs were fat or the notion that no one could come up with a better nickname. How could anyone look at her and not come up with a more beautiful name? She was gorgeous, damnit.

Maybe the guy who’d stolen her name was blind. Tsukasa Yugi was a spirit, after all, and there was no accounting for taste with them. Especially one as evil with him. Not only had he stolen her name, but he’d also turned her best friend into a pig. Well, actually, if she were honest, it was mostly her fault that Aoi had turned into a pig. It had been a little suspicious when they’d found those empty stalls filled with food, and Aoi had been right when she’d wanted to go back. If she hadn’t convinced her to eat, maybe they’d be home right now.

Instead, Aoi was in a pig pen and Radish Legs was sitting on a furry rabbit-like thing as she flew hundreds of miles over the earth. Clutching the fur tightly, she leaned over and peeked at the ground below. The houses looked like ants from this height, and she swallowed as she sat straight once more. If she fell, they’d have to call her Pancake Girl. “You sure this is safe?”

On her right, Hanako shrugged. He was the exact mirror image of Tsukasa, though while the short hair gave his twin an eviller look, Hanako looked more boyish. As usual, there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he asked, “Is anything safe, really?”

“Hanako,” she warned, not in the mood for another one of his jokes. However cute he was (and boy was he cute, Radish Girl had to remind herself that even if he looked like he was her age, he was a spirit and was probably a zillion years older than her), his attitude was barely tolerable when they had the solid ground beneath them. Soaring high in the sky, she refused to play along. “I don’t want to die.”

“Would it really be that bad?” He reached out, placing a hand on hers and squeezing it lightly. For a spirit, his skin was warm, and she blushed. “We could hang out even longer.”

“Hanako,” she growled, glaring at him. She didn’t move her hand, however.

“Don’t worry so much.” Laughing, he leaned back and stared at the sky. She missed his touch immediately. “Mokka are a reliable transport. It’ll get us back on time.”

“Right, the test.” Radish Legs rubbed her arms, remembering now just why they were in such a rush to get back to the bathhouse. This was perhaps her only chance to escape all this madness and get home. “Your brother…what do you think the test’ll be?”

“Mmm, well, it’s going to be something really tricky, because he’s sneaky like that.” Hanako tapped his chin, considering the question seriously. She wondered if he realized he was just as sly as his brother. At least Hanako wasn’t as malicious. “You remember your name, right?”

Radish Legs nodded, patting her chest. Tucked inside an inner pocket was her birthday card from Aoi, her name carefully scrawled across the cover. Nene. The name felt foreign now, after weeks of Radish Legs, and she resisted the urge to say it aloud, to remind herself how it sounded, how it tasted. Until she defeated Tsukasa’s test, her name had to remain a secret.

“Good.” Hanako smiled, and his expression is genuine now. He took her hand again, this time tenderly. Intertwining their fingers, he continued. “Then all you have to do is save your friend and you’ll get home.” His thumb stroked her skin and he lowered his eyes. Wistfully, he asked, “You could stay, you know. Save your friend and then stay here.”

“I…” Radish Legs swallowed. He wasn’t her type, she reminded herself. She was into dashing princes, the ones so handsome you couldn’t believe they were real. Not the all too close boy-next-door, the kind of guy that grew on her until she couldn’t remember what it was like without him. His eyes were so big, she could see her reflection in them. Biting her lip, Radish Legs stared at their clasped hands. It was strange, she had a feeling they’d held hands like this before. Long ago, when spirits were still just silly stories.

Before she could sort herself out, Hanako laughed and let go. “I’m just teasing. You can’t stay here. After the mess you made cleaning, Tsukasa’s gonna kick you out himself.”

“Jeez, stop making fun of me,” Radish Legs pouted, ignoring the way her heart sank. No, scratch that, her heart didn’t sink at all. She didn’t care about him in the least. She was a stone, she was a rock, and she was going to grab Aoi and leave the second she could.

“It was a parting gift. I can’t do it anymore after you leave, after all.” Shielding his eyes, he squinted as he stared into the distance. It wasn’t long before he broke into a smile. “We’re almost there!”

“That was so quick!” Incredulous, Radish Legs leaned forward, eyes narrowing until she could barely make out the shape of Tsukasa’s bathhouse. It would never be home, but she felt a sense of relief as they got closer. The spirit world was vast, and this was the one small part she knew. “I should have just taken a Mokke when I left.”

Hanako snorted. Patting her back, he stated bluntly, “You would have crashed.”

“I…” She couldn’t entirely deny it. It wasn’t like her time in the spirit world had been smooth in the least. Even the simplest of jobs, cleaning a tub, had gone awry because of some pesky spirits. Actually, almost every task she’d been given had gone wrong one way or another. “I could have managed,” she mumbled lamely.

Chuckling, Hanako took her hand again. He was so touchy feely like that, constantly liking having some contact with her. Hand holding was easier for her heart than his hugging, at least, but that didn’t make her pulse race any slower. “Alright, ready?”

And again, this sensation was familiar. Someone had held her hand like this before, guiding her. She had been younger then, much younger, and wandering around a shrine at night. No, that wasn’t right. Nene frowned, her nose scrunching as she forced herself to remember. It had felt like a shrine, but it had happened at a school. A fourth step she shouldn’t have stepped on.

She turned to ask Hanako but froze as she stared at the seal on his cheek. Suddenly, he wasn’t wearing a white haori but instead black school clothes. Her own pink outfit faded away into her elementary uniform. His hand held hers tightly as they navigated through a shrine filled with dolls.

You shouldn’t have stepped on that fourth step, he muttered, giving her a wry smile. But I guess you couldn’t help it with those radish legs of yours.

“Radish Legs?”

“Radish Legs? Hello?”

“I don’t have fat legs!” Radish Legs roared, pulling herself out of her memory and into the present.

Hanako blinked, eyes wide as he let go of her hand. He was wearing his white haori again, just as she was her high school self again. Rubbing the back of his head, he muttered, “Damn, you’re scary.”

She should be angrier at that, but Radish Legs discarded her rage and instead grabbed his shoulders. “I know who you are!”

“It’d be a problem if you got amnesia now,” Hanako joked, his expression bemused.

“No, not that—your name is Amane Yugi!” Radish Legs announced triumphantly. All this time, she’d had a strange feeling that they’d met before and now she knew why. “You died at my school and now you’re Hanako, the toilet ghost. You saved me one time when I got trapped in a school mystery.”

“Huh? I…” Hanako’s eyes widened as he processed her words. “Amane?” Something must have clicked in him somewhere because he started to repeat the word, saying his name over and over again. “I’m Amane. Amane. I…” He smiled brightly. “I’m a school mystery!”

As soon as he announced it, the Mokke shrank and they were no longer flying but falling. It was so sudden that Radish Legs didn’t even have a chance to scream before gravity yanked her down. Her hands were still on Hanako’s—no Amane’s shoulders and he grabbed her waist, keeping her close. “Nene! You did it!”

“Nene?” It had been so long since she’d heard it, but that was her name. Not Radish Legs, but Nene. “That’s me!”

“And I’m Amane!” He laughed as they plummeted. “I have my name back! And you…you might be bigger now but you’re just as clumsy, huh?”

Indignant, she bit out, “Hey! Who saved you? ME!”

“That’s true. I guess you paid me back, huh?” He pulled her closer, until they touched foreheads. For a ghost, he felt all too real. “Thanks, Nene.”

Flustered, she could only nod. He was close, far too close, and smiling like that was unfair. If Amane asked for anything now, she could only say yes.

Luckily, he didn’t realize it. Instead, he slowed down their fall and hugged her tight. Before she could protest, he started flying them back to the bathhouse. And if she nestled his arms a little, buried her head into his chest, well, he didn’t say anything about it.

Suddenly, she wished they’d taken the train back to the bathhouse. It might have been long enough for her to figure out how to say goodbye.

[bakulova]

Asshole

“Present! Carol Denning x Reader

Hope You Enjoy!

At this point I think the world is torturing me. This ugly orange jumpsuit. Forcing myself to eat the disgusting food. Sleeping on a rock hard bed instead of the lovely memory foam that sucks you right in. 

“Keep it moving inmate” The guard shouts and pushes your forward. You sigh and keep trudging forward “Can’t believed they moved me fucking assholes...” you whisper as you look around your new home. “I can’t believe it too,  your very annoying” the guard from earlier says. “ I wasn’t talking to you” he gives you a stank look and moves to the front of the group and starts naming rooms and shit. “L/N, room C205″ You nod and walk away quickly wanting to do nothing but sleep. But remember the world hates you right now. 

A chick with horribly done hair steps in-front of you and takes your toothbrush. “Put it back” she shakes her head “Hmmmm how ‘bout no?” she waves your toothbrush around while laughing at a group of women sitting at a table watching this happen. You stand there and deadpan her “What’s wrong cookie am I hitting your buttons?” You smirk “No but in a few seconds I may hit you in your face.” She tilts her head to the side “Hm I don’t know about that cookie.” she looks at the table and so do you. “And? What about them?” you shake your head “Need people to fight battles you start?” “No.” She throws your toothbrush back on your bag. 

You scoff and start to walk away when suddenly someone pushes you down from behind your knee. You land hard “Fucking cunt bag” you gather your things and put them on a table and turn towards that bitch. “What are you? A toddler? Where’s your mommy?” she walks up to you gets all up in your face “You better watch it bitch.” you scoff and push her away “unless you’re my girlfriend don’t get in my face.” She gets close again “or what...cookie?” You look around to see everyone looking, you get close to her ear and whisper “I’m gonna whoop your fat ass” You back away and smile. “What’s you name anyway? Jessie? you look like a Jessie or OH maybe Bailey?” She rolls her eyes “Badison.” You stop and look her up and down. Tears starting to well up you purse your lips. “Are...are you serious?” you take a deep breathe trying to stop yourself from laughing She nods “yeah you got a problem cookie” she says mockingly “Honey don’t try me if your name is Badison” You say in a horrible southern accent. You gather you bad and toothbrush and leave to your room. 

Carol had watch that all go down. Oh now she was very interested in you. “Madison go get her” Madison nodded “yes Carol” She hurries and chances after you not wanting to disappoint her boss. Once Madison gets you back down to her, she pauses her bridge game. “sit please” she signals for one of the ladies to move. You stare at her for a second then nod and sit down. “So who are you?” Carol ask looking at you from behind her cards “L/N” you tell her. Carol nods. “Did you need something from me?” Carol looks up again “No... unless you have something for me?” You shake your head. After a few minutes of watching her play bridge you get bored “All right well you guys have fun playing your game” You get up and walk away ignoring the looks you got from other inmates.

After a couple of days you decide to take a shower for once. You grab your soap,shampoo and towel leaving for the fantastic bathroom not noticing the pair of eyes following you. You put your towel there and understand wrapping your clothes up and putting it up too. You start showering not caring about the pair of footsteps walking into the showers. “Hey” you turn around seeing the lady from earlier. “Oh um... hi?” she looks you up and down and smirks. What is your name?” She scoffs “you haven’t figured it out form others?” you shake your head “Carol” She goes and sits down “are you gonna shower?” she shakes her head “The heat ruins my hair” you tilt your head “So why are you in here if it can ruin your hair?” She shrugs “I wanted to know you more I guess” You nods and finish up and get out walking towards her.

 She keeps her eyes on you the entire time not once leaving your body. You wrap yourself up and sit next to her “So do you always stare at women like that in the shower?” Carol chuckles “No. So be happy I am” you throw your hands up “I’m very flattered” You both look down or somewhere else “Are you like... the boss lady or the leader of some gang because that’s the vibe I’m getting.” She chuckles “sure” you nod and get up “I need to go but see ya around boss lady” You didn’t get far before a pair of hands slammed you against the wall. 

“Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easy for the 2nd time now” you look up just in time for her to start kissing you roughly. You moan and pull her closer by her waist while she starts grabbing your breast and ass , putting her knee in between your legs making you push on it making you moan louder. “I didn’t imagine this...” you quickly say before she goes in again. “we’re not done either. I’m making a transfer” You grin and nod “hmm ok” she squeezes your ass and pulls away smirking down at your body. “I can’t wait to explore this a little more” She leans in close and whispers “Bye asshole” and walks away. “wow...” was all you could say. 

[winetae]

wall to wall (m.) 01

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

⇁ female reader x hoseok 

⇁ smut, porn star!au

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

⇁ 22.5k

. . .

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

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

part 01 | part 02 | part 03

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you seen who you’re dating?”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?!”

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

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

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

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

Yes, that would explain it.

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

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

A muscle in your jaw ticks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this?”

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

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

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

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

Everything around you stills.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s specialized in particular—“

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

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

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

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

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Well I said no,” you insist stubbornly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why, thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, no, but I still fail to—”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s fine! I kept myself busy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was that about?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

Jimin treats you to dinner that night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughs quietly, cheeks flushed a pretty pink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jimin likes you for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” asks Jimin, noticing the crease that burrows your brow. “The food alright?”

You blink several times, belatedly realizing you had zoned out. Guilt and embarrassment well up within you.

“M’yeah,” you swallow down the spoonful of stew stuffed in your mouth. “Sorry.”

Jimin chews his bottom lip. Finally, he settles with, “Tell me if I’m boring you.”

“No, no! You’re not.” His evident doubt does nothing to alleviate the sudden nausea swarming your lower belly. “I’m serious, Jimin. I’m - Sorry if I gave off that impression. I just - I have a lot on my mind but you’re lovely. I’d tell you if you were - you know. Promise.”

“Would you? Sometimes I think you’re too nice.” It’s not delivered as an insult, but it doesn’t exactly sound like praise, either. 

You force out a snort. “Heh. Wish you’d tell Seokjin that.”

“He’s not too cross with me, is he?” Jimin’s expression looks awkward, like he’s forcing his facial muscles to stay relaxed and mien nonchalant.

“Wh- oh, you mean because of earlier? He isn’t. That’s not him being angry. It’s not even you. It’s me. We just have - a slight difference in opinions, I suppose. If you can even call it that.”

“He doesn’t want you to date me,” concludes Jimin.

The frustrations you’d repressed earlier in the day come back. Why does Seokjin’s opinion matter? You huff, putting your spoon down.

“He’s not my dad. And even if he was, I’m grown. I can make my own decisions.” You roll your eyes. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll get over it... It’s not like it’s any of his business in the first place.”

“Still...” Jimin says, unsure. “He’s your agent. I wouldn’t want the relation between you to sour because of me.”

“Honestly, I’m convinced it’s not even you he has a problem with. We talked about it today and I think he’s getting antsy because, um, you know, I haven’t accepted any big offers lately. Like, I’m staying too much in my comfort zone or something. He says that in the long run that can be detrimental to my career.”

It’s a bit strange, discussing your work with Jimin. You both work in the same industry, Jimin as a second camera assistant and you as an adult entertainer, but outside of filming sets, you rarely acknowledge what the other person does for a living.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He wants me to branch out and try new things.”

“What, you mean anal? Gangbangs?”

“Um, yeah. All that, probably...” You have to blink several times because of the shock of hearing Jimin say that so casually. “...Is that okay?”

“Huh?” Jimin in turn blinks at you, like your question doesn’t properly register. “Oh, yeah, sure. I’m fine with it. You said it’ll be good for your career?”

“Apparently.”

“Then, yeah.” He shrugs like he isn’t bothered by the news at all. “Of course that’s okay.”

A part of you wants to push the issue, ask him why he’d be fine with his girlfriend filming intense sex scenes with random men, but that inner voice is snuffed out before the poisonous thought has time to take root.

Isn’t this what you always wanted? A boyfriend who is accepting and understanding of your profession?

You wash down your worries with a gulp or two of soju, determined not to let your own insecurities ruin the rest of your night.

.

.

Less than 24 hours after you’ve agreed to work on a worthwhile project of Seokjin’s choosing, a slew of texts blow up your phone. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s your agent. A quick scroll through your phone reveals that your agent has left you with no less than 15 messages, 1 voicemail, and 3 e-mails.

It’s...a lot. You’ve grown to expect that kind of fanfare with him. Like any man who deals with legally binding contracts on a daily basis, Seokjin ensures that you keep your word. He can be extremely persuasive when he sets his mind to it. You’ve seen men and women alike succumb to the force of his magnetism. Back when your filmography had solely consisted of amateur sex tapes shot in bad lighting with low-grade filming equipment, Seokjin's charms alone had been sufficient to win over lukewarm casting directors and book you jobs.

SEOKJIN : hey!!!!!!!!

SEOKJIN : ???

SEOKJIN : wow. you’re leaving me on read.........the audacity. 

SEOKJIN : i raised you on my back and this is how you repay me?

SEOKJIN : do you not respect your elders in your household?

SEOKJIN : i swear if you’re blowing me off for jimmy instead of answering your calls .........

SEOKJIN : or blowing jimmy. either one.

SEOKJIN : ok it’s been 10 min. i’m chill but not that chill.

SEOKJIN : can you please stop sucking dick and read your emails. it’s important.

YOU : ever heard of multitasking? god gave us two hands for a reason

SEOKJIN : oh. nasty.

SEOKJIN : way to ruin my lunch.

SEOKJIN : well. suck down that nut sauce asap

SEOKJIN : cos what i sent you needs your undivided attention

YOU : i’m nasty?? me????

YOU : you don’t hear me saying nUT SAUCE you freak

SEOKJIN : nutté sauce

SEOKJIN : there. fixed it.

YOU : ...that’s not even a thing

SEOKJIN : well it should be!

SEOKJIN : adding accents makes it instantly classier, don’t you think? nutté sauce. has a nice ring to it.

SEOKJIN : honestly. sounds like some fancy four star french starter now.

YOU : ???? it absolutely doesn’t but ok

SEOKJIN : imagine. during a scene you just yell out

SEOKJIN : “i’d like a serving of your nutté sauce to go”

YOU : dicks would shrivel up on the spot

SEOKJIN : what? i think it’s brilliant!

SEOKJIN : my talent is wasted as an agent. should’ve been a scriptwriter instead.

YOU : yes i’m sure the oscars are weeping over the missed opportunity

He takes your sarcasm at face value, feeding you more ridiculous variants of faux french cum lingo—that which you very wisely choose not to reply to. Instead of humoring him, you open the .pdf file he’s sent your way, ignoring the near-constant buzzing of your phone as he’s no doubt pestering you for an immediate answer.

Had it not been necessary for business, you’d have blocked his number ages ago. In fact, after that nut sauce comment you’re seriously reconsidering, business obligations be damned. 

To his credit, the film project he suggests you work on doesn't sound half-bad despite its questionable title. Why anyone would choose to name it THE SPERMINATOR is beyond you.

As you read through the proposition, you’re surprised to find it’s tamer than the initial imaginary scenario you’d played out in your head. Expecting to read through a long list of unnameable kinks and dicks, the scene description is rather domestic all things considered.

Your shoulders sag in relief. You enjoy sex as much as the next person, but even you have limits you’re not willing or eager to cross. You’re a human being, first and foremost, and, contrary to popular belief, not competing in the sex olympics.

From what you’ve read so far, nothing in Seokjin’s offer seems too strenuous or perverse. The scene in question is centered around a young, newly married couple trying to conceive for the first time and the sex acts are described as “romantic insemination” - whatever the fuck that means. The only complication you can think of is that you’ve never played the part of a married couple before. None of your previous films specifically target couples or women. Is romance something you can sell accordingly?

You’re quick to shake the concern off once you remember that no one cares if your acting is shit or not. All you probably have to do is yell out ‘Daddy’ a few times mid-thrust and call it a day.

Honestly, you’re a bit disappointed in Seokjin for choosing such a safe, no-risk project - especially since he constantly advocates the risk-return trade off as the way to live by. But you’re not about to start complaining. You’d rather shoot this type of innocuous scenario than ridiculous, hentai-like scenes involving freakish get-ups and toys of monster proportions not realistically made to fit in a vagina.

The deal is perfect. Almost too perfect.

Subconsciously, you must realize something is wrong. Maybe Seokjin’s many lessons have finally rubbed off on you because there’s a persistent voice in your ear warning you that the film proposition is a trap, one that you’ve unfortunately walked straight into.

Your wariness increases when he refuses to send you the script upon request. Alarm bells ring off but by then it’s too late.

“The thing is... Director Ryu wants to try a new type of project," Seokjin says over the phone once you call him up for answers. "He thinks he’s going to pioneer a new genre of porn and revolutionize the industry - his words, not mine.”

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“How do I explain this without you getting the wrong idea..."

“Is this meant to reassure me?!” Dread drips from your tone. You should’ve suspected something was off from the very moment Seokjin suggested to shoot vanilla porn as your next big project. What a joke.

“Calm down, it's not as bad as - whatever you're thinking.” Too bad that his attempts to calm you down have the opposite effect. “He’s been wanting to try out a new improvisation format for his porn movies.”

“Come again?”

A beat of uncomfortable quiet passes. Reluctantly, Seokjin explains, “Which means - there isn’t an actual script to go off of. That’s why I couldn’t send it to you - because there is none. He wants it to be as realistic and natural as possible so he’s looking for actors who can go with their gut and create their own scenario instead of ones who need to be directed.”

Your resounding silence speaks for itself.

Sure, sometimes they provide scripts to act as guidelines, roughly giving the actor an idea of how the scene will unfold, but no one is expected to follow it word for word. Most porn films rely on improvisation rather than scripts because of how notoriously bad porn stars are at acting and memorizing more than a few lines at a time, and the introduction scene never lasts very long anyway for it to make a noticeable difference. Besides, after filming a handful of movies, you’ve noticed the dialogue is more or less all the same.

What bothers you is that this director wants you to carry out a movie that relies heavily on improvised dialogue. Convincingly.

“C’mon,” Seokjin tries when you refuse to deign him with an answer. “It’ll be fun. You like acting, right?”

“Seokjin...” You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to keep your composure in check. “How do I break this down for you? I think you’re forgetting the most crucial detail here - I can’t act! The closest I've ever gotten to acting is faking an orgasm and I’m pretty certain that doesn’t count."

“And you do that very well!" says Seokjin encouragingly. "You'll be fine. Don’t stress over it. Your scenes with Min Yoongi last time were perfectly acceptable!”

“That’s the thing.” Stress makes your voice raise a half-step. “He did, like, 90% of the acting! Back then, all I had to do was moan and act like a slut! Which hardly counts - I was being myself. Whatever this - thing - you’re attempting to rope me into - I’m not qualified for it.”

“Sweetheart, we’re not aiming for the fucking Oscars here.” When he laughs, it’s practiced enough to sound sincere. “At the end of the day, it’s still porn. Nobody’s expecting you to be the next Meryl. And besides,” he presses on, clearly refusing to change his mind. “This is exactly what you need right now. Something fresh, something new. If you pull this off, you’ll gain exposure.”

“If I pull it off. Big if."

“I know it sounds like a gamble. I get it, I do. But remember what I always say? High risk—”

“Yes, yes. High reward. I get it.” Your frown deepens. “There’s no way to know this will work, though.”

“A good co-star already guarantees you half of the success. And luckily for you, the guy they signed on seems like the real deal. He’s hot, you’re hot. People will pay money to see you two fuck regardless of how good or bad the acting is.”

“Well. That’s reassuring,” you say, voice as flat as a board. “Although I suppose watching porn on mute is always an option if it comes to that.”

“It was a joke!” What worries you is that it doesn’t sound like it is. “You have nothing to worry about. I’ve seen some of your co-star’s tapes. He’s got a mouth on him, if you know what I mean. Just let him lead and it’ll go swimmingly.”

“It’s one thing to follow someone’s lead during sex but you want me to - to improvise for God knows how long! That’s just asking for a disaster to happen.”

“You said you were up for a challenge!” Seokjin throws your words back at you, his tone accusing.

“And you said this would be beneficial for my career! How is making a fool out of myself going to help me any? I don’t want to be remembered as the girl who can’t act to save her life.” You want to cry in frustration. If you had wanted to act you would’ve chosen that as your major in college. “I don’t - I can’t do this. I’m not - this isn’t what I signed up for! How do you expect me to convince viewers what they’re watching is real...”

“Just—” Exasperated, he takes a deep breath. Exhales. “Trust me. When have I ever been wrong about film projects.”

Is putting your career at risk really worth it? You’re not sure anymore.

On the bright side, it’ll finally get Seokjin off your back, you reason, trying to remain positive. That in itself is worth celebrating, right?

Fine. You’ll agree to it out of pettiness. Once Seokjin realizes what a terrible idea this entire ordeal is, you won’t hesitate to rub it back in his face. He’ll never hear the end of it.

"Who am I working with, anyway?”

"Ah, hm, well." Hesitation creeps up his voice for the first time, putting you instantly on edge. "...You won't know him. He's new to the scene - got started a month or two ago, I forget."

"Great. Not only am I being used as a lab rat for this director to experiment on but you're also pairing me with a fucking rookie. Jesus.”

"He’s not half bad! He’s not bad at all, actually. I wouldn't be insisting if I didn't trust him not to blow his load early."

"Aren’t I lucky,” you deadpan. “So I don't have to worry about him busting a nut before the director gives the signal?"

“All you’ll have to do is act like a married couple with baby fever,” he talks over you, ignoring your overflowing sarcasm. “And how hard can that be? You’ve been loved up with Jumin for a month now - that’s plenty enough practice if you ask me. I know you’ll be able to sell that romantic shit to the public without too much trouble.”

“It’s Jimin,” you correct from force of habit.

You’re promptly ignored — not that you expected anything less from him.

"Just give it a thought? And get back to me when you make up your mind. The sooner the better. The offer won't stay on the table forever." Even over the line, you can picture Seokjin raising his eyebrows at you, expectant. “If you’re serious about this job, you know what you have to do.”

You both know that you’ll accept the offer. Seokjin’s got you all figured out. As much as you don’t like being pushed around, the need to prove yourself is your main driving factor. The acquaintances who sneer at you, the family members who’ve shun you, the peers who expect you to burn out after the five month mark—you’d rather roll over and die than prove their misconceptions right.

It’s a matter of pride when you sniff and reply, “I’ll think about it.”

But the decision is already made before the call ends.

.

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SCENE 02 - THE SPERMINATOR. TAKE 02. ROLL B. 

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Eight days later you find yourself squeezed into a brazenly short dress that zips in the front, more fit for a night out in a club than a dinner at home. It’s so ridiculously tight, you feel like a prey being swallowed down by a snake. There’s no room to breathe. You can’t wait for the scene to start, if only so you can dispose of the piece of fabric and never wear it again.

Unfortunately, your outfit gets worse because thrown over the clubbing attire is a frilly apron with small hearts embroidered along the hem. The mismatch is jarring. You’re not sure what look the stylist is going for but the end result is very...peculiar.

You comfort yourself with the knowledge that it could always be worse.

A quick glance at the digital clock on your phone confirms that you’re running on time. Good. After your last gig, the last thing you want is to spend hours waiting for the personnel to set up the cameras and sound equipment correctly.

Thankfully, today’s team works like a well-oiled machine. All that’s left are the last-minute preparations before the shoot begins.

Your false eyelashes are still drying when Seokjin elbows you sharply in the ribs. You crack open an eye to glare at him. “Ouch - ah, seriously? What is it now?”

“That’s him, that’s him!” Seokjin whispers under his breath, his gaze glued to a point somewhere beyond your shoulder. “Wooow. Aren’t you a lucky bitch? I’d gargle his nutté sauce for breakfast, if you get what I mean. He looks way better in person, damn.”

“Firstly - please never say that out loud again.” You fake a gag. “How do I buy myself a new set of ears?”

Seokjin ignores your dramatics. He shoots you a look. “You let that last guy draw a starfish on your face with his crème de la nut but did you hear me go sick?”

“That’s not the same and you know it!” Your jaw drops in indignation. “And can you stop trying to make nut cream a thing for the love of—”

“What’s this about nut cream?”

You whip your head around, mortification already etched onto your features. Your mouth opens, defense at the ready, only for your throat to clamp up.

“Oh.” You blink up in surprise because - well, Seokjin’s earlier assessment isn’t embellished. The guy is fit as fuck.

You’d seen photos in passing, had even googled his name out of curiosity, but the two-dimensional version of him pales to his real life physique. There’s a sharpness to his features that the camera fails to pick up on, a vibrancy that gets lost in the medium. 

“Hey. I’m Hoseok.” His grip is firm, assertive, and your eyes naturally wander over his form. The loose muscle tee he’s thrown on puts his toned arms on display and makes it easier to admire the seemingly endless expanse of sun-kissed skin. He’s neither too thick nor too spindly, his muscles lean and firm instead of bulging. Strong but not intimidating. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise.” You swallow, mouth dry.

You expect him to leave it at that like most of your past co-stars usually do. Or worse - for him to abandon all pretenses and cross lines that aren’t meant to be crossed. As someone who has experienced it all - from standoffish to creepy and vile - nothing surprises you anymore.

But unlike your, admittedly low, expectations, his gaze is warm and friendly. He speaks smoothly, leaving no time for an awkward silence to instill itself.

“Yeah, I know who you are! I saw a video or two of yours before - you were featured on the agency’s main page last month, right? Fuckin’ genius, by the way. Best stuff I’ve seen in a long ass time.” An easy grin sits on his face, nothing about it fake or contrived. “I hope we get along today. I haven’t done much work myself - yet anyway - but I hope this can be a good experience for the both of us.”

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seokjin assures, patting your shoulder like a proud parent. “_____ here is the best talent I’ve signed on.”

“That I can believe,” Hoseok chimes, his smile never waning. “I’ve heard good stuff about you. I won’t lie - it reassured me a fuck ton when I heard I’d be working with you. The stuff we’re doing is, well, it’s a bit of a gamble at this point, but I’m sure it’ll go well because I’ll be working with you.”

For a brief, embarrassing moment, you’re robbed of words, unable to respond to his flattery. From experience, you know to be wary of guys like him. Whenever someone lays it on thick they always have an ulterior motive. But what could possibly be his?

“Seokjin’s saying that because I’m the only one who can stand his nagging,” you finally say, your shoulders stiff. Maybe it’s because you’ve just met, but it’s hard to figure him out and it doesn’t help that you’re naturally wary of strangers.

“Oh hush. You love me.” Sensing how guarded you’ve become, Seokjin mercifully offers you an out. “It was nice meeting you, Hoseok. Wish we could stay and chat but she has to get ready to film the pre-interview portion.”

“Oh yeah, that’s cool. Catch you later.”

You offer a quick smile he returns tenfold, its brightness momentarily dazzling you.

Slightly dazed from the intensity of it, you stagger behind Seokjin, sun spots dotting your vision. Your surroundings blur together as your mind tries to recover from the interaction.

“Sooooooooo?” Seokjin sing-songs once you’ve walked far enough to be out of earshot. His brows are raised knowingly, an infuriating type of smugness clinging to his features. “What did I tell you! He’s hot enough to single-highhandedly melt a glacier, huh?”

You scoff, not willing to admit anything. “He’s okay.”

“Oh c’mon. He’s baby daddy material for sure. Which works out well for you since he’s gonna pump one into you later.”

For once the grimace that crosses your face isn’t exaggerated. “Please. Stop. Talking. I’m this close to heaving out my lunch.”

You’re not even joking with that one. Attractive as Hoseok may be, any talk of baby-making is enough to dissipate any smidgens of lust.

The reminder of what the upcoming scene entails and the expectations people carry crash down on you like a pile of bricks. Although you’ve done your best to ignore the fact you’ll be acting today, the meeting with Hoseok yanks you harshly back to reality.

You’re going to act. As a married couple. Trying to conceive a baby.

Three things that have never, ever been on your bucket list are now about to be crossed out in the span of the same afternoon. To that you can only say - what the fuck is my life.

Like a mounting wave before the inevitable crash, panic crests within you. You feel it gradually build and build, flooding your lungs and every crevice of your body with overwhelming anxiety.

Seokjin sighs. “How are you going to make it through today? The whole point of the sex scene is to get you pregnant. Or fake pregnant. You know what I mean.”

“Um...” You try to laugh but it comes out shaky. Seokjin shoots you a concerned look. “I’ll be fine! Really! I can do it. It’s just acting like you said, right? It’s not like he’s actually gonna knock me up in real life. So. Totally fine. It’s fine. Perfect.”

Seokjin’s concern grows. His eyebrows pinch together and his expression turns serious. He asks with no trace of mockery, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay!” you reply. It’s too rushed of an answer to convince him. Your palms feel clammy and you wipe them off your damned apron. “Just. Nervous. Y’know.”

His steps slow to a halt and he places a warm, heavy hand on your shoulder. The weight, familiar and comforting, grounds you to reality. “Hey. What’s there to be nervous about? You got this.”

“Yeah.” You nod. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll trick yourself into believing it. “I’ve got this.”

“Look. Let me be honest for a second. I’ve been an agent for eight years now and I’ve seen a lot of talents come and go. No pun intended.” You smile back at him weakly. “You’ve got something...extra a lot of them lacked. I knew the moment I saw you on film you’d go far. The energy you bring onscreen is insane. I know today might seem new and strange - but so was your first ever professionally shot film, right? And you got through that fine. You’ll do great. I know it. And, not to toot my own horn, but I’m always right.”

That earns him a laugh. The nerves are still there but thanks to his pep talk it’s easier to breathe.

Despite being a big pain in the ass, Seokjin is exemplary at his job. Without him, you’re acutely aware you wouldn’t have gotten half as far as you have. Having him by your side is a reassurance in itself.

Someone calls your name, pulling you from your thoughts. When you turn around, you’re face to face with the round, bespectacled face of Director Ryu. You reckon he’s in his early forties but he acts younger than his age. It’s your first time working with him but so far he’s been nice enough, if a little full of himself. Not that you’re unaccustomed with working alongside conceited colleagues.

“Oh good, you’re back. You can get seated for the interview bit.” He points over to a chair placed in front of a pale yellow wall. From close up, you can see a paint job is in order, the old coat chipping off in several places. “Alright, this won’t last long - just need you to answer some questions on tape and we’ll be good to go.”

“Sure thing.” You nod and follow his directions, sitting still while the hair and make-up artist steps up to give your lips a final touch-up.

Strictly speaking, the before and after interviews aren’t a necessity. In your experience, directors mostly film the short question-and-answer sequence when you’re set to film hardcore sex scenes as a way to show viewers everything is consensual and that you thoroughly enjoyed the experience despite whatever might have transpired on screen.

You reckon the director wants to film you today to document the process behind his “groundbreaking film project”. Cue roll of eyes.

Somebody needs to tell him he isn’t inventing anything, you think while watching him fiddle with the camera until he’s completely satisfied with the angle. All he’s done so far is add unnecessary pressure on you. You hope Hoseok is faring better because the amount of performance anxiety you’re experiencing is an instant boner killer.

“You nervous?” the director asks once he’s done adjusting the camera lens.

While by some standards you’re still considered a newbie in the industry, you’ve done this enough times to fall into a routine. Wake-up, breakfast, get ready, arrive before call time, fill out all the paperwork and get ready to shoot your solo stills. It’s familiar enough that you’ve long stopped getting pre-performance jitters.

Today’s rush of anxiety is as surprising as it is unwelcome. They don’t want to hear that particular truth though, so you keep your reply sweet and bubbly.

“Nah,” you grin, wide and easy. “I’m super excited to film today!”

“Oh yeah? Is it perhaps because of your co-star?”

Your smile freezes for a second. Somewhere over the director’s shoulder you can see Seokjin nodding enthusiastically while giving you the double thumbs up. “Hoseok? He’s hot, sure.”

“Ooh. Already on a first name basis?”

“Hm?” you let out a noise of polite confusion, only belatedly realizing that his viewers know him better as his porn alias, J-Hope. But there’s no way in hell you’re going to yell that out loud while he’s fucking an orgasm out of you. Not only does it sound ridiculous but it’ll shatter whatever carefully crafted illusion you manage to build. “Um, yes. We’re getting to know each other. He’s very friendly.”

“I’m sure he is.” And there’s an implication there that doesn’t sit too well with you but thankfully Director Ryu chooses to move on and put that particular subject to rest.

“You ever shoot an insemination scene before?”

“Not yet.” You make sure to keep the smile on your face even if your cheeks are beginning to hurt. “I can’t wait to get to it. It’s a fantasy I’ve always had but never tried out for myself. I’m excited to film a first on camera!”

The director has yet to call you out for your bullshit so you slowly start to relax. Acting is a bit like lying, isn’t it? Maybe you can get through today after all.

You breeze through the rest of the questions, forcing out practiced laughs here and there all whilst keeping your voice syrupy sweet. It’s quick work, especially when you know what to expect. Before you know it, it’s already time to film the pièce de résistance. Everyone that’s allowed on set during filming filters into the kitchen, conversations between crew members dying down as they use their last recreational moments to check their phones.

The director’s filming style exempts you from shooting the customary pre-shoot sex stills which are essentially promotional pictures of you and and your partner in every sex position that you’ll be filming for real later on. You’re thankful for that, at least. Even with all of your on-camera experience, staying perfectly silent and still with someone’s dick inside you is no easy feat. It’s worse when you have to keep eye contact with your co-star and fake sexual gratification because the shot calls for it.

Hoseok waves at you from the other side of the room, the hair and makeup artist dusting some powder across the slope of his nose.

How can he look so relaxed?! You’re barely holding your lunch down. Honestly, it’s a miracle you’re able to now tat the butterflies are back in full force, making a mess of your stomach.

You feel queasy but try not to make it too obvious even as Seokjin comes around to check up on you. The last thing you want to do is make a scene, especially when your onscreen counterpart's demeanor is making you look amateurish in comparison.

Maybe Hoseok is a better actor than you’re able to give most porn stars credit for because try as you might, you fail to detect any nervous undercurrent in his tone. For someone who is supposedly starring in his first major project, he doesn’t seem all too bothered about how it might play out.

How does he do it?! In all honesty, if Seokjin hadn’t informed you of his rookie status, you would be none the wiser.

There’s an ease with which he carries himself, a fluidity in his movements that belies no anxiety or awkwardness. Even from this distance you can tell that there’s never a hint of hesitation in his movements or speech; he doesn’t seem self-conscious in the least. He talks and moves with the assurance of someone who has been in the industry for months, not weeks.

In that moment you envy him. You’re so nervous about the upcoming scene that it’s hard to feign an air of professional detachment.

His boisterous laugh is loud enough to carry across the room and interrupt your line of thought. When you look over at him again, you find him folded in half, hands clutching his sides, and wearing a grin so bright it eclipses the entirety of his face.

“He seems nice.”

You jump, startled by Jimin’s sudden appearance. You hadn’t even heard him draw near. With a sheepish expression, you turn to look up at him only to find him already staring off into the distance. There’s a strange look painting his face, and a small crease in his brow that usually isn’t present. When you follow his line of sight, you’re met with the image of Hoseok talking animatedly to the the small crowd that’s flocked around him.

“Yeah.” You aren’t sure what else to say. Although there’s no sarcasm attached to his words, you can’t help but find Jimin unnaturally tense.

Which makes sense, you concede guiltily. A mere stranger is minutes away from dicking down his girlfriend. You’re not sure how you’d feel if you were to stand in his shoes.

You breathe in deep, silently willing away the knot of distress in your belly. There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing. It’s just a job. A profession that Jimin has always been fully aware of, even before you’d begun dating.

Even as you remind yourself of the facts, it does little to dispel the lingering feelings of doubt and guilt.

“Hey.” Jimin frowns at you in concern. “You alright?”

“Yep!” you say then immediately sigh, knowing that lying to your boyfriend is pointless. “I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Nervous?” Jimin’s worry grows, the crease in his brow deepening. “What about?”

“Just—” You gesture around with your hands. “All of this.”

“Oh.” He looks genuinely surprised. “But you don’t usually get nervous... Is it the impregnation thing you’ll have to do? I know you’ve said you’re not a big fan of that. Or... Is it something else?”

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. It’s a bit of everything yet at the same time nothing you can clearly pinpoint and put a finger on. In all logic, you know that you’re feeling disproportionately stressed out but you can’t stop yourself from feeling how you feel. “It’s not that I don’t want to film. I just - I’m worried I won’t do well.”

Jimin takes your hand between his, running a thumb in soothing circles across the surface of your skin. He repeats the motion several times until your heartbeat is completely synced to his touch.

“You’ll do great. You always do.” The lines of his mouth bend into a smile. “I’ll be on the sidelines cheering you on.”

“My very own cheerleader.” You allow yourself to relax and and smile back fondly.

As much as you worry about Jimin being upset with you filming sex scenes with other actors, he’s never been anything less than the supporting boyfriend you’ve always dreamed of. Seokjin calls Jimin’s constant presence on set maddening, but you’re thankful that your boyfriend sticks by your side while others might flee or shame you.

Suddenly, you’re overcome with emotion. Maybe it’s the stress, or maybe today you’re more hormonal than usual, but your eyes threaten to well up as you grip his palm tightly in your own. “Jimin, I—”

“Okay, lovebirds!” Seokjin claps his hands once, effectively ruining your moment. “Hand-holding time is over. We’re moving onto the more R-rated stuff.”

“Seokjin!” you hiss, upset over his horrible timing.

“It’s fine.” Jimin shakes his head. “He’s right, shoot’s about to start anytime soon. I need to get ready, too.”

“Right.”

Reluctantly, you let go of Jimin’s hand.

“Don’t pout.” He laughs and presses a quick, chaste kiss to your mouth. “I’ll wait for you after filming and we can go grab dinner. Italian sound fine?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” You bob your head eagerly. “I’m literally dying for carbs. Italian sounds more than perfect.”

“Good.” 

You can’t resist sneaking in one last peck before Jimin retreats behind the cameras and you’re pulled to stand in front of a granite kitchen tabletop. Director Ryu is waiting for you, Hoseok already by his side.

From close-up, your co-star looks even more striking. The make-up artist’s work highlights his features without going overboard. The lines of his face are sharp, like every single one has been meticulously drawn. What usually would give someone a hostile and unapproachable impression is balanced out by the liveliness that lights up his eyes and his wide smile that looks almost too big for his face.

“It’ll start in the kitchen and then we’ll work out way to the bedroom.” Director Ryu points down the hallway. “I was thinking of keeping it all in the bedroom but nothing screams domesticity more than kitchen scenes, right?”

“Uh-huh.” You give a polite nod. Next to you, Hoseok coughs into his fist.

“Depending on how this goes we might have to take several takes - just keep that in mind.”

That’s nothing out of the ordinary. Sex scenes are never filmed in one take. There’s always one thing or another - a smoke break, a flaccid dick, a lighting fixture that needs to be changed. A 45 minute porn movie is the result of the editing team that painstakingly goes through, cuts and assembles hours of footage.

“Remember,” Director Ryu instructs, one hand cocked on his hips. “You’re still stuck in that honeymoon phase. All the two of you want to do is fuck like horny bunnies but your husband’s been away all day. Both of you have been waiting for this reunion for hours and hours. I want to feel that level of tension, got it?”

Hoseok nods like a dutiful student, his expression comically serious. You’d laugh if it wasn’t so inappropriate.

“Yep. Ok. Got it.”

You just want the director to stop talking so that you can get this over with quickly. The monologue is just delaying the inevitable.

Director Ryu spends extra minutes setting up the scene, emphasizing how in love and passionate the two of you should behave, describing how long you’ve been wanting to try for a baby, going into explicit detail about what the sex scenes should convey to the viewers. He just goes on and on and on with no end it sight.

At this point even Hoseok is growing restless. His feet refuse to stay still and his eyes dart around the room as if his attention is drawn elsewhere. It’s Hoseok’s constant fidgeting that draws Director Ryu out of his monologue. He finally senses that there’s a unanimous decision to start filming and retires behind the camera to settle himself in his appointed chair.

Hoseok shares a long look with you. “Is he always like that?”

“God, I hope not.” You lower your voice to whisper, “Seokjin - my agent - he says apparently Director Ryu wanted to make a career off of documentaries once he graduated from film school but quickly switched genres once he saw how little filming the mating habits of koalas was earning him.”

“Ah,” Hoseok nods conspiratorially before his features shift into something more serious. “Hey. Before we start, is there anything you’re not comfortable with? I know this scene is supposed to lean towards vanilla but you never know... I’d rather make sure. Just in case.”

You blink, taken aback. Hard limits aren’t really discussed outside of hardcore scenes. Sure, everyone is given a safeword before shoots begin but even screaming out “STOP!” or “Can we take a break from filming?” is enough to put the filmed scene on hold.

“Ah... No. I’m okay. But thanks for asking.” A moment passes and you add, “Is there - are there any words or kinks that bother you?”

Hoseok shakes his head. “Not for this one. Just - if there’s anything you’d rather me not say or do, don’t hesitate.”

You nod in reply, not sure of what else to say. Unfortunately your past experiences with men have made you suspicious of any form of flattery or kindness.

Soon, though, you relax. What reason is there for Hoseok to deceive you? Maybe he still has that rookie mindset. You can relate to the eagerness and the desire to do well you’d had in your early days of filming.

“Alright. Good luck, Hoseok.”

His smile is so bright that it erases your previous doubts. Surely someone with ill-intentions wouldn’t be able to smile like that, right? You return a tentative smile of your own. Something akin to understanding seems to pass between you. Although you don’t know Hoseok and he doesn’t know you, you trust him enough for this scene.

The moment is broken when Director Ryu directs Hoseok to wait outside the camera’s line of vision and you’re left alone in front of the kitchen stove.

Any moment now, you think. A telltale silence falls over the staff members as they all anticipate the director’s signal for the scene to start.

The first few seconds are always tricky. You’re no actress. There’s no switch inside of you that flips on and off as soon as the director commands “ACTION!” and “CUT!”. The world around you doesn’t fade out, your ‘porn star persona’ doesn’t claw its way out from within you and lunge for the nearest available dick. Sometimes, if you’re not attracted to your onscreen partner, you find your mind drifting off, making an inventory of your fridge and wondering what you’ll be able to cook up for dinner with two eggs and leftover rice.

When Director Ryu shouts “ACTION!” and slams down the plate, you freeze up. Usually you have an idea of what to say or do, but the words and actions won’t come to you this time.

Someone behind the cameras lets out a light cough. Oh right, you blink down at the simmering pot of water in front of you. The cameras are recording you making an utter fool out of yourself.

The spike of humiliation forces you into action. You’re more professional than this, damn it. You give the water a tentative stir, movements wooden and stiff. It’s hard to concentrate. All you can do is watch as the water simmers to a boil, the sound of bubbling water like a roaring current in your ears.

A door creaks open, signalling your onscreen husband’s return home.

To your horror, you find that you’re unable to move, as if your limbs had forgotten their primary function.

Before the scene had started, you had envisioned yourself throwing yourself into the arms of your loving husband and welcoming him home with a shower of kisses and words of affection. You had internally rehearsed it, had even thought of what you could say to him between pecks, but the reality is far removed from what you had practiced.

“Darling?” Hoseok’s voice is soft but loud enough for you to hear him over the angry sounds of boiling water. The vowels he uses are rounded, different from the bright pep in his tone from earlier. 

You want to respond but your tongue feels like lead, too heavy in your mouth to articulate and form the proper reply. What are you supposed to call him, anyway? Honey? Hoseok? A nickname derived from his name? What do newlywed spouses call each other? Why couldn’t you give this more thought before the cameras began rolling?

Panic balloons inside you, threatening to burst. For a terrifying and mortifying second, you think that you’ve gone and ruined everything. The muscles in your shoulders bunch up and you half-expect the director to shout ‘CUT!’, give you a public scolding for missing your cue and berate you for your overall ineptitude.

Hoseok’s arms wrap around your middle before you have time to agonize any further. Just as you suspected, his arms are strong, the lean muscles flexing as he readjusts his hold around your waist. What you don’t expect, however, is the unadulterated warmth he radiates. His body burns hot; even through the layers of clothing separating the two of you, his warmth seeps through. But it’s strangely comfortable, not unlike basking in the afternoon sun during the last days of summer. You let yourself melt into his embrace.

“You’re not even going to say hi?”

With your back turned to him, you can’t be sure, but you imagine the pout playing at his lips. He tucks his chin in the crook of your shoulder. If he feels any awkwardness, he doesn’t let it show.

Miraculously, your mouth seems to be in working order again. It takes you a few seconds too long to find the appropriate answer, but it finally comes before the director can cut in to make any remarks.

“If I turn around right now, I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you,” you explain. “And - I don’t want to ruin our dinner.”

Just to keep up the pretense, you add a handful of spaghetti into the pot of water.

Hoseok lets out a hum from behind you. He’s standing close enough for you to feel the vibrations low in his throat.

“I hate it,” he says after a stretch of silence.

You pout. “What? My cooking? What’s wrong with it?”

“No, silly. I hate -” he sighs, buries his face in your neck before looking back up so the camera can capture his expression. “I hate not being with you. I missed this.”

He hugs you from behind before kissing your neck. It starts off innocuous - his lips pressing short, chaste kisses down the column of your throat. Quickly, however, his mouth lingers on your skin.

“Ah - don’t. I’m cooking!” you shriek when his teeth scrape over a sensitive spot under your jaw. Your protests are half-hearted and go by unacknowledged. The pot of pasta could overflow right now and no one would care, least of all you.

Hoseok noses your neck while he tightening his grip around your waist, the movement bringing his hips flush against your lower back. You give the pot in front of you a very unenthusiastic stir, attention focused instead on the way his lips tenderly skim the surface of your skin, testing and teasing. The sensation feels nice - and keeps your mind off of the several cameras directed your way.

“But I went all day missing my princess,” he sighs, open mouthed against your neck. “Spent all day thinking about you.”

“Y-you did?”

“Mhm.” He gives your exposed shoulder a peck. Then another. “Thought about your cute little laugh.”

His line catches you off guard. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out.

Porn is often crude and to the point. You’re used to men complimenting your body parts or praising your skills in bed. You’d never minded, either. But Hoseok’s choice of words make you eager in a different way.

“What else?”

“Well, your cooking, for sure. Without you I’d be eating out of ramyeon packets for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

You let out a snort.

“That’s true. Your cooking is so horrible it’s offensive.”

“Hey now. Don’t be mean.” He pokes your cheek before pinching your chin to turn your head towards him. “I can cook a decent omelet.”

Hoseok’s a good few inches taller than you so you have to strain your neck to be able to look him in the eyes. The slight discomfort barely registers. You’re too transfixed by the way he stares at you. It’s hard to place the expression because you’ve never seen it on a fellow actor before. Normally, the men you work with stare you down with hungry and lustful intent, but there’s none of that in Hoseok’s gaze.

The expression on his face cannot be described as innocent, either. He licks his lips, drawing your attention to the pretty lines of his mouth delicately curved into a smile.

“I missed the way you feel in my arms.” His voice sounds deeper, this time. “I missed holding you close to me. Kissing you. Reminding you how much I love you. I missed the look in your eyes when - “

“When?”

He smirks. “You sure you want to hear it? What if you can’t keep your hands off of me after? I don’t want to be held responsible for soggy pasta.”

“Hoseok,” you whine, one of your hands reaching down to slap at the hold around your stomach. 

He tightens his hold around you and your breath hitches, suddenly all too aware of how firm his body feels behind you. The smirk on his face widens as he leans forward to confess his next words.

“I was thinking about how I miss the look on your face whenever I make your pussy sloppy with my cum.”

“Hoseok!”

One moment he’s crooning sweet words of affection, the next he’s spitting out filth. The quick back-and-forth gives you whiplash but you can’t say you dislike it. Unlike the tired and overused clichéd porn scenarios you’ve filmed in the past, Hoseok’s unpredictable behavior has the advantage of keeping you on your toes.

“You missed it too, hm?” He kisses your neck, lips soft and warm. “Kept thinking about how pretty you sound. So, so pretty. Especially when I give you what you want.”

“How would you know what I want?” You turn your head forwards so you can pretend to check up on the cooking pasta. “You were away all day.”

Hoseok’s eyes flash dangerously.

“How would I know?” he parrots back, his tone sweet and mocking. Something about it sends tingles down your spine and has you standing up straighter. “I always know what my pretty wife wants. I know because your body can’t lie to me.”

His hands wander, one of them inching up the material of your frilly apron to reach between your breasts. The movement is slow enough for a camera to zoom in and follow its trail. Hoseok rests his hand on your left breast and gives it a squeeze.

“See?” He repeats the action. “Your heart’s racing like crazy.”

You swallow audibly, finding it hard to come up with a witty riposte.

He continues with a chuckle, “You can’t deny it, can you? Your body’s too honest for your own good. It’s okay. You don’t have to say you missed me. I know.”

His self-assured way of talking makes it easier for you to react. This - the cockiness, the playfulness - you’re familiar with.

You roll your eyes and continue to give the pot in front of you a few additional stirs only for your breath to hitch when he starts to grind his hips against your lower back in time with your stirs.

Fuck is your only coherent thought. He rolls his hips so well it’s impossible not to imagine them doing something else. Your bottom lip grows numb from how hard you bite it.

“Of course I missed you.” You keep your tone as light as possible, determined not to show that his words and actions affect you.

Hoseok’s eyes narrow. He removes his hands from around you but keeps his front pressed against your back. He smiles again, dimples poking through.

“You don’t sound convinced... That’s fine.” It sounds like the beginning of a challenge and you soon learn why.

His nimble fingers play with the knot of your apron and you tense, expecting him to make quick work of your clothes and dive straight into dessert, so to speak. Once again, he surprises you by leaving the apron alone, hands falling to his sides.

His knees hit the floor, the noise startling you. Before you have the chance to truly react, he’s quick to pull your hips backwards until your back is arched. The sudden change in position forces you to adjust your stance so as to keep your balance.

“Hoseok?” you start to question but he cuts you off with a tut and light smack to your ass.

“You just keep your eye on dinner like you were doing before.” His fingers play with the hem of your short dress, stretching the fabric until it bunches up around your hips and leaves your lacy thong on display. “You can do that, right?”

Flustered by the position he’s maneuvered you into, with your hips thrust back obscenely, legs splayed wide and pussy on show, you grip the wooden spoon in your hand with more force than necessary. “It’s just pasta. I can manage.”

Maybe you sound less indifferent than intended because Hoseok seems more amused than offended by your feinted nonchalance. He barks out a laugh, his hands spreading the meat of your cheeks aside to get a better view of your lace-covered bits.

Privately, you wish you could witness his reaction. If there’s anything that turns you on, it’s knowing how much someone else wants you. If feels good to know that you’re wanted and desired. Even if fucking is part of your job description, the act needs to be mutually enjoyable for you to be completely satisfied.

“Sure.” The lilt in his voice is so sweet that it borders on condescending. “While you do that, I think I’ll have my appetizer.”

It’s corny, overused and a little degrading - exactly the type of one-liner you’d ordinarily find in porn - but he gives you no time to call him out for it. As soon as he’s done talking, he wags his tongue out and drags it across the red lace, and the repeated up and down motions quickly dampen your panties.

You notice with great frustration that he takes care to avoid your clit, focusing instead on licking broad stripes over slit and, to your surprise, around your rim.  He doesn’t stop until your underwear drips with the accumulation of your essence and his saliva. The soaked lace rubs against you, the rough texture adding pressure to your most sensitive zones, until you can’t tell if the extra sensation is a blessing or a curse. Your hips jerk forward every so often, unsure if you’d rather lean into or escape his torturous games. Because as amazing as Hoseok’s tongue feels, you know your body well enough to be able to tell that this particular tempo won’t bring you to your peak.

An appetizer, he had called it. That’s exactly what the teasing ministrations feel like - a small sampling before the main course. It’s satisfying and maddening in its own way. Good, but not enough to satisfy your ravenous appetite.

He unearths himself from your dripping core, chin shiny with your juices.

“Keep focus,” he instructs as he slots two fingers inside of you. You’re wet enough that they slide in without too much difficulty, the stretch making your stomach clench. “I thought you said you knew how to cook pasta.”

Against your will, you force yourself to focus on the bubbling water in front of you. As much as you want to push your hips back and ride his fingers until you’re pushed over the edge, you can’t take the humiliation of messing up pasta - even if it is for the sake of a porn scenario.

It’s fucking pasta! You have to be seriously inept to mess up such a simple dish...

But what should have been an effortless task becomes more challenging than expected. Hoseok refuses to go easy on you. If anything, your stubborn silence is all the motivation he needs to thrust his fingers inside of you harder, curving them at an angle that makes your knees wobble. You struggle to keep any incriminating noises at bay but despite your best efforts, several muffled moans slip out one after the other.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the logical side of you points out how dangerous all of this is. What if, during your impending orgasm, your body seizes up and knocks the boiling water everywhere during the process? You quickly switch off the gas stove at the thought. Better be safe than sorry.

Just then, Hoseok adds his tongue to the mix, his fingers relentless in their pursuit of your pleasure. You bite back a curse as the wooden spoon slips from your hold and clatters to the floor.

“Ah fu - Oh God,” you stutter, hands holding on to the edge of the counter for dear life.

You’ve been eaten out God knows how many times in your life, but not many have instinctively known what really gets you going. Hoseok laps at your core, tongue collecting the moisture that seeps through the fabric of your ruined panties, while his fingers scissor you open for his cock.

Your stomach clenches as you imagine how well he’d fill you up. Who the hell would ever want pasta for dinner when Hoseok could feed you his cock instead? Definitely not you, that’s for sure.

It’s easy to picture it. All he’d need to do is stand up, unzip his pants and spear you open with a practiced roll of his hips. Maybe he’d make you toss a salad while he fucks you from behind, slapping your ass whenever you forget to keep stirring the ingredients together. Or perhaps he’d let you ride his dick on the kitchen floor, too impatient to make it to a more comfortable surface.

Your imagination knows no bounds. Once you start, you can’t stop thinking of more lascivious scenarios, each one more daring and debauched than the last. The heat between your legs becomes unbearable and still, you ache for more.

Hoseok pulls away from the apex of your thighs and snorts, the sound pulling you out of your depraved thoughts. The pace of his thrusting slows down without stopping completely, his fingers still pressed deep within you. Your arms tremble as they try to keep you upright, knuckles white from the strength of your grip around the counter’s edge. You exhale shakily.

A whine works its way into your voice. “Why - why’d you stop?”

Ignoring your protests, he pops his fingers out of you and indulges in one last lick of your swollen pussy, before gathering to his feet. He rolls down your dress back over your bum and peers over your shoulder, acting as nothing had ever happened.

“Thought you said you’d take care of dinner, hm?” Hoseok has the gall to hum in disappointment.

Your mouth opens in outrage. “You!”

Hoseok pouts. “I thought we said you wouldn’t blame me for any soggy pasta.”

“You’re impossible,” you say without any real heat to your words.

“But you love me that way.”

He smiles as he leans in to kiss you, lips sticky and warm. You follow the pace he sets as best you can, unaccustomed to the way he takes his time - like you’re a delicacy that demands to be savored and not gulped down. On-screen kisses are usually rushed, messy, with too much tongue. They’re a scripted affair, more for show than out of real affection. When men tuck back your hair behind your ear or palm your cheek, it’s only to better angle your face for the camera.

There is something intimate about the way he holds you, the way he looks at you. Inwardly, you can't help but admire his acting skills. There’s something tender about the way he handles you that’s distinctly different from any of your previous onscreen partners. Sure, you’ve shot vanilla sex scenes before, but never of this variety. None of the male actors’ performances have made you wish, even fleetingly, foolishly, that the scene was real.

Hoseok pulls up for air before your mind can wander off completely, his panting mouth a hairsbreadth away. Lips touching but not quite.

Blearily, you blink your eyes open. You’re close enough that your noses brush against one another, your breaths mingling together. Hoseok’s eyes remain closed throughout, like he doesn’t want the moment to end. He looks so content that you can’t bring yourself to do anything else but melt further into his embrace, gaze drinking in the minute details of his face - like the tiny moles dotting his cheekbone and upper lip and the pretty curve of his eyes.

“And cut!”

You both jump away from each other, startled. For a second there, the storyline you’d been instructed to follow had slipped from your mind. You’re unsure if the lapse in judgement is good or bad but you don’t let the question linger in your thoughts. You’ll have plenty of time to dissect your performance at a later time.

“Good, good. That wasn’t what I was expecting but I don’t think anyone has any objections?” Director Ryu claps his hands. “Fifteen minute break sound good everyone? Then we’ll relocate to the bedroom to shoot the next part.”

There’s a general hum of agreement from the crew members. Chairs and various other equipment scrape the floor as the personnel prepare to migrate to the other room for filming. Jimin’s gaze meets yours briefly but all he can do is smile weakly in your direction before he’s ordered to help push some of the equipment down the hall.

Someone comes up to you with a bottle of water while another steps closer to blot the beads of sweat near your hairline and reapply a layer of lipstick. The make-up artist knits her brows in concentration until she’s satisfied with the touch-ups. She then moves on to Hoseok, make-up palette and brush at the ready, and grumbles loudly about the sticky residue covering his face. You hear Hoseok bellow a laugh, the sound so infectious that even the make-up artist joins in. 

You sip your water through a straw, careful not to smudge your freshly applied lipstick, and check your phone for any missed messages.

“Was all of that okay?”

“Hm?” You look up and are surprised to see Hoseok stare at you expectantly. “I, uh, know some girls aren’t into ass play. I’m sorry. I should’ve asked before jumping the gun but I figured - since you said there wasn’t anything major you were adverse to filming...”

His voice trails off.

“I liked it.” The admission is an easy one. “It did take me by surprise, but - I don’t have any complaints.”

“Ah, really?” Hoseok’s mouth corners upturn in relief. “That’s good to know. I was thinking - for the next scene - what if - I mean, are you okay with calling me Daddy?”

You tilt your head as you mull over the proposition.

“Daddy?”

“It’s not - you don’t have to. But listening to Director Ryu go on earlier made me think of something we could do. I think it fits well with the general idea. What do you think?”

“I’m fine with it.” Using the title doesn’t make you squeamish so you shrug in compliance. It’s not the first you’ve had to incorporate a daddy kink into the scene and it likely won’t be the last. You don’t see why you wouldn’t or shouldn’t do it with Hoseok. “I’ll follow your lead like I’ve been doing.”

It’s only as you’re following him towards the bedroom that you recall that you’ve yet to get to the crux of the scene - the damned impregnation kink. Even though you’re considerably less nervous than you’d been an hour or two ago, the thought of begging someone you barely know for something so intimate makes your stomach flip-flop. You don’t even have unprotected sex with Jimin and he’s your boyfriend.

Speaking of Jimin, you try to sneak in a peck or two before filming but Director Ryu intercepts you before you can make a beeline to where Jimin’s stationed behind a camera.

“How are you feeling?” The overhead light reflects off his round glasses and makes it impossible to hold eye contact unless you want to become semi-permanently blind.

“Good---”

“Wonderful. Well, we’ve positioned cameras here, here, and over there. There’ll be another camera man who’ll film with a handheld camera for closeups. Just keep that in mind. I know we’re giving you free-range to do what you feel is best and most natural but I’d hate to ask you to re-shoot because the camera couldn’t capture the both of you properly.”

You nod and he continues, “Also - please remember that you’re acting as a horny young married couple. I remember at that age I was up for anything, you get what I’m saying? People think just because you put a ring on your finger the sex automatically becomes stale. Fuck that. Show people married couples are freaks in the sheet.”

“Uh... Alright. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He claps a hand over your shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”

Freaks in the sheet? What did he expect you to do? Try out all the sex positions in the Kama Sutra?

“What did he want now?” Hoseok leans over to whisper once you’re seated comfortably on the bed. You’re hoping the mics don’t pick up the conversation but would rather not take the risk of being overheard bad-mouthing the director.

Shrugging, you say, “Just that this scene should be spicier.”

Hoseok raises his brow, lips quirking into a smirk. “That so?”

The same cockiness you’d caught a glimpse of during your escapade in the kitchen is back and the memory you associate it with makes the back of your neck prickle with heat. You clear your throat and avert your eyes.

Thankfully Director Ryu interrupts before Hoseok has the chance to fluster you further. You follow each of the director’s voiced directives until you’re comfortably seated on Hoseok’s lap, dress hitched around your waist because of how far your knees are spread on either side of Hoseok’s thighs. There’s a quick, last minute adjustment as Director Ryu ensures that the camera in the left corner picks up on everything it’s supposed to.

Satisfied, he lets you take the reins from there, then gives the cameras the signal to begin rolling.

You don’t waste a moment, taking his earlier commentary to heart. It’s your turn to pepper kisses all over Hoseok’s golden skin, leaving faint traces of rouge behind like an artist signing their own painting. You stop a few times to admire your work. Lip prints and lavender bite marks color his skin and the sight awakens a possessive streak you didn’t know you had.

Your enthusiasm to mark him up gets a little out of hand.

"Mhm." Hoseok grunts when you lick over a sensitive spot under his jaw. "Slow down, princess. There's no rush. We have all night."

He cups his chin between his hands so you have no choice but to relent and direct your gaze up at him. You’re pleased to see that he’s not completely indifferent to your touch; despite his instructions to take it slow, the smoldering look in his eyes tell a different story.

He runs the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, the pink flesh no doubt swollen. You take the digit in your mouth, unprompted, and run your tongue against its underside, wishing that his cock could fill your mouth instead.

Hoseok makes a noise low in his throat, not quite a growl but close.

"And I intend to take my time with you." The look he levels you with promises a night full of mind-numbing pleasure. Ribbons of heat curl around the base of your spine. "Want to make you feel good."

"You do," you agree, words muffled around the thumb you refuse to let go of.

You take a hold of his wrist and free your mouth, only to quickly replace it with his forefinger and middle finger. The stretch of two digits makes you moan lewdly.

Hoseok’s eyes darken. He lets you play for a few more seconds before he takes back control, his fingers pushing deeper into your mouth until they hit the back of your throat. You swallow down a gag, but his fingers don’t let you rest for long. He drags them over the flat of your tongue, watching as spit dribbles down past the sides of your mouth, and repeats the motion, pumping into your mouth steadily like he would a cock.

As nice as it feels to be filled with his fingers, whether in your cunt or mouth, you’re ready for more. Subconsciously, your hips grind down in his lap, shifting this way and that until you’re perfectly seated over his hardened length.

Drool is pushed out of your mouth as Hoseok squeezes a third fingers in with the other two. You suck harder, hoping that all your efforts will spur Hoseok into finally fucking you. The knowledge that he has to, at one point or another, keeps you from whining and begging pathetically for his cock. You can exercise patience if you put your mind to it; you’re sure of it. 

Your on-screen husband decides to test that resolve.

His other hand starts to wander south, his fingers toying with the short hem of your dress that’s been rucked up even higher with all your rocking and grinding. The movement of your hips slow, your brain unable to keep up with the stimuli coming in all directions.

A crack resounds in the room, the sharp sound startling you more than the sting that accompanies it. Hoseok’s palm rubs over the heated area, only inflaming it further.

“And who told you you could stop?”

The second slap is notably harsher than the first, and your hips automatically lurch forward hoping perhaps to lessen the impact of the sting.

You know he doesn’t expect a verbal answer; his second hand keeps your mouth plugged up, making any attempt at talking unintelligible. It doesn’t stop you from trying, only because you know the muffled protest are greatly appreciated amongst viewers. And if the way Hoseok’s digs his fingers into your smarting ass cheek is any indicator, you’re confident that he also enjoys your squirming and messy display.

“Keep moving, princess. I need both your holes nice and wet.”

The way his voice dips an octave makes your stomach twist in arousal. You long to tell him that you’re sufficiently wet enough for him to slide his cock inside right away but all you manage are pitiful garbled words.

He raises an eyebrow at your delayed response and your hips move before he can smack the globes of your ass for a third time. You have an inkling he’ll only hit harder with the intention of leaving marks of his own all over your skin.

It’s a careful balancing act, but you figure it out as you go. Bounce too fast and the fingers in your mouth will make you gag. Move too slowly for his liking and he won’t hesitate to add to the collection of handprints on your ass.

You lose track of how long he makes you play this game. Your mind focuses on sucking while keeping your jaw slack enough to accomadate the width of three digits. Drool pools down your chin, and you’re certain whatever the make-up artist had done to your lips is now ruined. Worse off are your panties. At the stage they’re at now, you’ll have no choice but to throw them out. Hoseok’s pants might need be as unsalveagable as your thong, you think inwardly, judging by the large, dark wet spot you’re currently sitting on.

“Mmh, good girl.” 

He gently slides his fingers out, strings of saliva attached. He hums in satisfaction at the lewd sight and rubs his fingers across your swollen lips and shiny chin, spreading the fluids and what’s left of your lipstick over your mouth. You swallow, mouth sore from being used roughly for so long.

“This hole is sufficiently wet, I think,” he appraises, eyelashes fluttering before he casts a long look down your body until it reaches where you’re seated on his clothed erection. “Let’s check this one too.”

The way he smirks at you but makes no move to check himself lets you know that he expects you to do the work.

You let your hands trail down your body slowly, cupping your breasts as you do, enjoying his hooded gaze and the way his cock twitches beneath you a bit too much. When you reach the hem of your dress, you lift your hips up to pull the fabric up to your navel giving an unobstructed view of your lace-covered pussy.

Hoseok stare intensifies but you don’t feel any embarrassment from the scrutiny. “Well you certainly look ripe.”

His fingers toy with the delicate string of lace around your hips. He lets the material snap against your skin a few times before he grows bored or impatient with his own game and gives the lace a harsh yank. It tears easily and the leftover scraps fall into his lap.

“... But just to be sure -” His hands grip your waist and manhandle you onto your hands and knees. Your head spins from how suddenly he’s moved you around to his liking that your arms give out and you fall face first into the clean smelling bed sheets. “Gotta give my favorite hole of yours a better look.”

His hands hoist your hips at a higher angle so that your soaked center is visible for the cameras to pan onto. Hoseok slides in two fingers easily, then a third. Loud, obscene noises echo in the otherwise quiet room, noises that are quickly joined by your unabashed moans of pleasure.

Your core is on fire. Hoseok’s fingers are just as good as you remember them to be. No, better. The three fingers pump into you in measured strokes, the drag slow enough to keep you dangling over the edge without pushing you over.

Hoseok spanks your ass, hissing between his teeth as you clench around his fingers, no doubt imagining your inner walls hugging his cock instead. 

“Christ. You’re always such a soft, wet little thing down here,” he croons in dulcet tones. “I could play with you all day.”

You thrust your hips back, shameless.

“Please! Please Daddy, I’ll be so good, I just - please - I nuh, need it. Need your cock fucking me full. I’ll take it so good, you know I will. Want you to - please! Daddy, I need your cum.”

“Shit.”

He fumbles in his haste to flip you onto your back. He crawls over your body, and you watch fascinated as he dives down to kiss you like a man starved. He looks almost feral, pupils so dilated the brown of his eyes is almost gone.

Heat blooms in your stomach as he kisses you deeply. The press of his lips against yours renders you a little less coherent as time ticks on, every brush of his tongue making you a little more dizzy with want.

Everything about him burns. It feels like being kissed by the sun itself. Every caress, every lick and nip leaves you feverish all over, like your drunk off his touch.

"Let me," he says, pinching the zipper of your dress between his thumb and index finger.

You wrap your hand around his and guide his movements. His gaze never leaves yours and it makes shivers run down your back. Even though you're the one controlling his movements for the time being, the look in his eyes makes it abundantly clear that the control you wield is only temporary.

When your dress finally falls open, you try not to preen too much under the reverent look that falls over Hoseok’s face. Your back arches a little off the bed, pert breasts thrust towards him - an appealing offer he doesn’t dare refuse.

Hoseok circles a thumb around your nipple, rubbing and flicking until it hardens into a stiff peak.

You wonder, distantly, how this looks like from the outside looking in. The man in front of you is a stranger in all senses of the word. Yet the way he touches you - like there are years of built-up affection behind every gesture - makes you second guess everything you know.

"Fuckin' love your tits.” He sighs, awe reflected in the dark of his eyes. "Love playing with them. Love how wet it gets you, how hungry your little pussy gets."

"Please,” you mewl, his words igniting a new wave of heat. It rolls over your body, leaving no extremity untouched. You burn from the inside out with raw desire.

You squeeze your own breasts in a bid to get him to touch you more. Hoseok merely chuckles, finding your desperation entertaining. One of his hands reach down between you to play with the wetness that clings to your core like a second skin and it takes everything inside of you not to rub yourself against him like a bitch in heat.

"What is it, princess?" His lips quirk into a smirk like he already knows the answer. "You're looking quite needy. How did you manage to hold it in all this time?"

“Stop teasing,” you growl, the lack of friction making you irritable. "I need your cock. And why - why do you have so many fucking clothes on?”

He chuckles, chest vibrating in amusement.

“Take them off,” you insist. Then, you grudgingly tack on a “Please” for good measure.

As hot as Hoseok looks like in his “work clothes”, he looks infinitely better naked, you decide as he chucks off his button-down shirt and gets started on his leather belt. With each new piece of clothing that gets discarded, the anticipation building inside of you skyrockets.

You take a moment to soak in his lithe figure, not bothering to hide how affected you are by the view. He’s nicely sculpted; you can tell right away that he takes care of himself. Swimming or dancing maybe? You hesitate between the two. His muscles are lean, nothing like the bulging biceps and thick forearms typical of the stereotypical gym rat.

Hoseok’s dick is, unsurprisingly, as pretty as the rest of him. It’s long and curved, a prominent vein running along its underside. The thatch of pubic hair that rests above his dick is neatly trimmed, the dark hair contrasting with the tan skin of his abdomen and the rosy hue of his erect length. Your eyes swoop down his thighs, licking your lips unwittingly at the alluring sight presented to you.

“Daddy,” you say, the whine in your voice unmistakable. “Want your cock.”

For a brief moment you’re tricked into believing he’s given in to your demand, but find yourself disappointed when he contents himself with rubbing his hardened member between your thighs, the glide slippery thanks to the copious amount of your essence that’s pooled there.

“Like this?” Hoseok asks, tone too sweet to be anything but mocking. The head of his cock bumps into your swollen bundle of nerves one, two, three times. You keen, your hips canting upwards in a bid to get more friction. “Want to rut against me until you get nice and creamy?”

He uses his right hand to spread your slick lower lips so that he can nestle his cock snuggly between them. He rolls his hips, the undulations fluid and dirty, and smirks at how you moan brokenly beneath him.

Your stomach clenches. “Need it in me."

"You'll get it," he promises after kissing you sloppily, lips sucking on your tongue. His breath is ragged but his voice steady, firm. "I'll give you everything you need. Make you cum so many times you know who owns this sweet pussy."

He speaks so surely, carries himself with so much confidence, that in the moment you can't help but believe him. The line between staged and reality blurs and you find yourself nodding eagerly, begging him as best you can to give you what you want.

The first tentative push of his dick wipes you clean of coherency. He slowly eases himself into you, reaching forward to lace his fingers with yours. It’s - more intimate than you expected. He squeezes your hand tightly in his when he finally manages to bury his entire length inside of you.

“Perfect.” He kisses the side of your temple before drawing back, his hard cock dragging deliciously against you. With a fluid hip thrust, he slides back in and you feel the stretch moreso this time around. The curvature of his cock has him pressing up against your walls in a way that robs you of breath.

"Daddy! Hh - ah, oh God. You're too b-big."

"Mhm, that's right. Daddy's fat cock is splitting you open. I'll plug you up with it later so none of my cum will leak out."

Every time he pulls back, your pussy clamps down tightly around him, unwilling to be empty even for a second.

Hoseok’s nostrils flare in arousal. He grabs your left tit and squeezes, using it as a hold to better fuck into you. With his body hovering above yours, his hand staking claim of your breast, and his cock drilling into you, you have nowhere to go. Pinned to the bed and unable to do anything but take everything he delivers, you wrap your legs around his waist and moan.

"Daddy's gonna fuck some babies into you,” he rasps, his eyes dark pools of lust. "Gonna breed your sweet pussy over and over. You'll be so full of my cum that you'll be pregnant with my babies for sure."

“Oh fuck. Yes, yes - oh my nhhg.” You sob as Hoseok drives his cock into you with more force. While the piston of his hips isn’t rushed, he pulls out to the tip only to slam back in to the hilt every time. The stretch burns in a good way and the sound of your moans are rivaled only by the wet, obscene sounds from your coupling.

"Fuck. Your cunt just - shit." He cracks down a hand against your ass and you shriek, not expecting it. "You're so tight, holy shit."

"Want it. Want you to fuck me good."

"I will," he says lowly, the promise reverberating deep in his chest. "I'll fuck you until you're begging me to stop. Fill you up so much, you'll be bloated with it."

And it should freak you out, the imagery he paints with his words, but the thought of laying there and him fucking you so well that you won't be able to feel your legs has you gushing out more wetness.

"Mmmh.” Maybe he can feel how soaked you are because he comments, “This is my favorite hole of yours, princess. Always so fuckin' drenched. I bet we’ll have to throw out the sheets again." He chuckles. "You must be hungry for it, right? I made you wait so long. No wonder your pussy is clenching like that. It needs a big, fat cock to milk dry."

“I missed it,” you cry, body skidding a little higher up the duvet each time he fucks into you. Your eyelashes flutter, lids heavy. It’s hard to concentrate, let alone form words, when your brain feels like complete mush. “I - I need your cum. Daddy, please.”

"Don't worry, gorgeous. I've got you. Daddy will feed your cute pussy his cock."

"Th-thank you, Daddy."

"Love you," he murmurs. It’s a quiet confession, lost somewhere in between the mattress creaks, the loud slaps of Hoseok’s hips slamming against yours, and the string of whimpers and groans pulled from your throat. It’s quiet but you hear it.

One of your hands reach up to pull him down by the neck so that your lips meet. He kisses you open-mouthed. It’s a filthy kiss, one that makes you moan into his mouth. You’re certain that if you had been standing your knees would have wobbled.

When you let up for air, Hoseok’s staring you down, his red-bitten lips plump and shiny.

"Love this pussy. So sweet and wet for me. Always for fucking swollen, like it's waiting to get a pounding. Love that. Love how eager you are to be bred by my thick cock."

The impregnation kink is - a bit much. You've never really imagined having kids, at least not anytime soon. You can’t even keep your plants alive for fuck’s sake.

But the way he suggests it is nothing like what you had imagined. His suggestions are - vulgar and primal. Like the urge to fuck you full of his cum is biological and he can’t smother it.

For a moment, you let yourself entertain the thought of being his breeding bitch - of laying on your back and letting him fuck load after load of cum inside you until your pussy physically can't accommodate any more. Of not having any other worries or thoughts but take his cock every moment of the day.

"You just got tighter.” He curses under his breath, voice thick with arousal.  "Such a warm little hole. Taking everything I give it. You'd take anything if it meant getting bred by me, right?"

“Yes, yes,” you chant, pleasure coiling inside of you. “Give me more! I need it."

"Shit. You can't handle more, princess," he tries to reason. "Daddy needs to be gentle with you. Your hole is so small, it'll hurt if I go harder."

"Daddy promised to fuck me.” You whine, uncaring if you sound too bratty and demanding. "B- Breed my hole. It's yours. Puh-please use me."

"God." Hoseok groans, his features twisting in what looks to be pain or pleasure. With tremendous effort he pulls himself out of you and your eyes widen in panic.

“What? Daddy why? I thought—”

He shushes you, reaching somewhere overhead to grab a fluffy pillow. "Just wait a sec, okay? There you go.”

The pillow is placed underneath your hips, keeping them elevated. When Hoseok takes his glistening cock in hand and directs it back in, you both moan in unison.

"Oh fuck, I’m gonna, ah,” you gasp as your mind goes blank with pleasure. The new angle is heaven on earth. It’s almost too much, too quick, but Hoseok’s firm grip on your hips prevents you from alleviating the pressure.

"Take it." He grunts, brows knit together. Every powerful snap of his hips makes your breasts bounce, your breath hitch. Without his hands keeping you pinned down, your head would have collided with the headboard by now. "Be a good princess and take your fucking."

He gains momentum, the new angle facilitating the slide of his cock. He drags the flat of his palm down your thigh and takes a hold of your knee before hoisting it up over your shoulder. The stretch burns the back of your calves but you’re so fucked out, you can’t even find the words to complain.

When you glance up, it’s to fall upon the sight of Hoseok brushing his sweaty fringe out of his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, his skin dewy from the film of perspiration wrapped around his body. Beads of sweat trickle down his heaving chest but he chooses to forgo a quick break. On the contrary, he pushes in deeper like he’s determined to carve out a permanent space for his cock.

"Just gonna keep you here,” he huffs, his eyes the shade of cloudless night sky. “Everyday I'll fuck my cum back inside of you so that you'll always stay full. Want to fuck you forever. Don't want this to end."

"Want it too," you sob, orgasm hovering just on the periphery. "Want you to keep me full forever. Ugh - oh fuck! Hoseok- I'm—"

"You gonna cum around my cock, princess?" He angles his hips downwards, relishing in the wanton cry it elicits. "Gonna give me everything?"

"I'm yours," you profess, jaw slack with pleasure.

It doesn’t take much more for the orgasm to crash over you, Hoseok fucks you through it, groaning as your inner walls spasm around him. He breathes out curses, lip drawn tight between his lips, and doesn’t wait for the last waves of your orgasm to abate to chase after his own end.

In the throes of your pleasure, it doesn’t register then that Hoseok has been holding back all this time. If you thought he had been fucking you hard before, it’s nothing compared to now. He growls and bends forward, forcing your leg to stretch even more, and pushes in and out of you at a pace that makes you scream.

You don’t even have time to come down from your first high that you’re already thrown towards your second. Hoseok plugs your mouth up using two digits, his fingers a firm pressure against your tongue. Your eyes roll back, too overwhelmed from the feeling of being stuffed on both ends.

“God, I could fuck your holes all fucking day.” His rhythm begins to falter as the pressure inside of him grows, his movements frantic and less controlled than they’ve ever been. “How about that? I’ll fuck my princess’ mouth properly next time, stretch it out nicely. Then you’ll let me have your ass, hm?”

Shit, shit, you whimper around his fingers, spit bubbling down the sides on your mouth. It’s scary knowing you have no way to stop the oncoming destruction.

“Yeah, I can tell you love that. You’re gonna cream my dick again, aren’t you?” You can’t tell if the sound he makes is a laugh or a grunt. All you know is that you feel like you’re about to burst. “C’mon, be a good girl and milk my cum out. You better get every last drop.”

There’s an underlying threat in his command. You do your best to obey his words, not wanting to disappoint.

Hoseok pushes his cock in as deep as it can go and grinds his hips into yours. His cock reaches so deep that you swear he might hit your cervix. And considering the nature of the scene you’re portraying, maybe that’s what he intends.

He swipes his fingers through the mess of your cunt, zeroing in on your sensitive clit. He swirls some of your fluids over it before giving it a sharp pinch that makes you cry out. Your hips fly off the pillow but Hoseok is quick to pin you back down. The never-ending drag of his cock along your walls paired with the rough ministrations to your clit is all you need for the pressure inside you to snap.

Above you, Hoseok moans, low and throaty, as he finally dumps rope after rope of warm cum inside of you. He throws his head back, exposing the collar of purplish bruises you sucked onto his skin earlier. Something about the view satisfies you immensely - not that you’d dare voice these thoughts out loud.

Hoseok’s strength gives out and he sags onto your body, his breath warm against your skin. He feels hot, like a furnace, but strangely it’s not uncomfortable. It’s almost like having a personal heating pad; the soreness of your muscles melts away with each passing moment.

Much to your displeasure, your post-coital bliss doesn’t last forever. He's given the signal to pull out and obeys, careful to keep your hips propped up so that his load of cum won’t slosh out. He’s still got a role to play, after all, and the end goal is to get you pregnant.

A cameraman walks forward to zoom in on your swollen and used pussy - physical proof of your exploits. The haze lifts. You become more aware of the people standing on the outskirts of your vision, lighting or sound equipment in hand.

“And that’s a wrap!” Director Ryu calls, his cheeks stretched to accommodate the width of his grin. “Good job everybody!”

You breathe out a sigh, glad your day is finally over. Seokjin walks up to you with a robe for you to throw on and you nod in thanks, slipping the satin gown over your sweaty body.

Around you, the staff start milling about, putting the equipment away and gathering their belongings. You pay them no heed, your attention focused on getting changing into showering and changing into comfortable clothes. You’re in the middle of taming your messy hair when your stomach erupts into growls, reminding you of your hungry state. What you’d do for a big slice of piz—

You remember your date with Jimin and speed up, not wanting to make him wait around for you any longer. It’s not hard to spot him - he’s waiting outside of your dressing room, can of coke in hand.

Something about his smile feels off.

Maybe it’s the way his eye corners don’t crease or the slight strain the curve of his mouth that betray him.

Your expression falls. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing - it’s nothing, don’t worry,” he says after a short, tense moment of silence. The look on your face must have reflected your feelings of doubt because he proceeds by reaching out and pulling you tight against him. Pressed up against his shirt, you can smell the faintest trace of the fabric softener he uses and its scent, familiar and sweet, mollifies you somewhat. “You did amazing today, baby. As usual.”

The compliment you’ve been waiting for makes the sides of your lips rise automatically. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Almost too well.” He hums, one of his hands stroking the back of your head.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit, “ you admit. “The results wouldn’t have been half as good if Hoseok hadn’t been my partner. He’s new in the game but he doesn’t act like it, does he?”

“He doesn’t, no.” Jimin agrees. “He’s... he’s something, alright.”

Your grin widens. All your worrying had been for nothing, in the end. The shoot had gone without a hitch, all of the set members coming up to you with praises of a job well done. You can’t recall the last time any of your performances had elicited such a response post-filming. Even Director Ryu looks particularly pleased, a permanent grin etched onto his features as he reviews the tapes. The knowledge that you’ve done well fills you with a pleasant giddiness that warms your insides and makes your cheeks hurt from how wide your smile stretches.

“Oh good, you’re still here.” Hoseok beams. A damp towel hangs around his neck and the ends of his hair are wet like he’s just gone and doused his head under the bathroom faucet. “I was worried you had left. I just - thanks for earlier. I had a lot of fun! If the chance presents itself, I hope we can work together again.”

“Thank you.” You want to praise him too, know that his performance deserves it, but your next words are cut off before they have the chance to form. Jimin steps closer to you, his grip on your hip tightening suddenly.

When you glance up to check on your boyfriend, he’s sporting a serious expression that you’ve rarely seen before. He doesn’t look angry, but it’s clear as day that he isn’t too pleased with the present situation. His face is closed off, cold, unwelcoming - so drastically different from the usual cherubic sweetness you’re accustomed to seeing.

You’re at a loss for words, unsure of who to address first. What’s going on?

Hoseok senses the sudden change in atmosphere and chooses to tactfully retreat.

“Good work, man.” He nods at Jimin and then shoots you a wave. “See you around sometime, ______ !”

Your eyes follow his exit before you turn to face Jimin again, hoping the smile on your face masks the worry you feel bubbling on the inside.

“Jimin what - I mean, are you sure you're okay?”

Jimin returns a strained smile of his own. “I’m fine.”

Your gaze lands on his right hand that’s still squeezing your waist. It borders on uncomfortable but you try not to let it show. You must not do a very good job at schooling your features because Jimin quickly apologizes for his behavior.

“Sorry.” Jimin lets you go once he notices your discomfort. “I just - I don’t know. You’re right, I’m not acting like myself. I think...seeing you say that stuff and act that way just - I’m not sure why, I guess - Since usually the sex isn’t like that, it caught me off guard.”

“You didn’t like that I acted like I was in love with him.”

“Would anyone?” he shoots back, smile sardonic. “It just looked so convincing in the moment. I guess it got me worked up.”

Sure, Hoseok is hot. If you had to work with him again, you would in a heartbeat. It’s not often you land a colleague you’re so sexually compatible with, who also happens to be so well-mannered and good-looking. It’s like hitting the jackpot, really.

But - just because you’d fuck him again for professional reasons, doesn’t mean that you’re interested in him beyond that.

“Jimin. I don’t want to be with anybody else but you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” The muscles in his face relax. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

.

.

It’s not until later, as he fucks you uncharacteristically hard in the backseat of his car parked in the back lot of the film studio, that you begin to wonder if things really are as idyllic as you believe them to be.

.

.

.