#sorry I just wanted to stick up for my arts industry friends!

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

I know it’s been said so many times before by people more experienced and insightful than me, but I don’t think it’s inherently taking jobs last minute that was the issue, because that’s the nature of jobs in their respective industries and they both understood that. Like, it sucks to have your partner leave for months at a time but you can’t begrudge them that especially when they’re still establishing themselves.

But it’s what happened at home that I would bet was ultimately their undoing. Because it’s one thing to take a job last minute and be like “sorry babe I’m going to miss x” but then still show up in other ways (communicative eg on the phone, showing up at home when you’re there, supporting your partner’s dreams and ambitions, etc.). But it’s another to a) keep chasing your own ambitions (fair, needed, healthy) but b) resent your partner for chasing theirs or belittle the things they find important.

I doubt Taylor expected Joe to follow her around everywhere and it wasn’t (just) the physical absence that hurt. It was the emotional absence that stung and made things untenable. (Based off songs like YLM and even Hits Different and just, you know, ~vibes~.) It’s the whole making time to make things work thing — it just seems like one person was making all the time and the other wasn’t in recent years. There could be a million reasons why and we may find out in TTPD.

Seeing how supportive Taylor is in general, I have no doubt she empathized with his need to work and encouraged him to do so. I just feel like what we’re seeing and going to learn about is that when the roles were reversed, that same support wasn’t extended (or not as unconditionally) and that was what started to make her feel smaller and smaller. And I have a feeling that same lack of support may have extended to personal plans as well.

[captaincapsicle83]

The Little Pests

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary- Sam’s friend, an IT worker for Stark Industries turned new recruit, has a crush on an avenger. Being a good wingman (hehe, get it?) does everything he can to get the reader and Bucky closer, even enlisting the help of other avengers.

It’s almost obnoxious actually.

Pairings: Bucky x Reader (main romance, rest platonic), Sam Wilson x reader, Clint Barton x reader, avengers x reader

TW: Cursing, Sam and Clint being silly, “suicide” but like, it’s a bobs burgers reference (you’ll see)

A/N: I was bored, so I pushed aside EVERY OTHER WIP I should be working on (about eight separate ones), left all my drafts open, completely ignored my old, geriatric ideas, and wrote something off a whim

Behold, my capricious work of art

“And, this is our kitchen, that’s our toaster. The toaster is always broken don’t try to use it,” Sam says. His right arm is on your shoulder, the left gesturing around the room, showing you around he compound.

“Why doesn’t it-” You’re cut off by a man with light brown hair swatting the toaster with his fist.

“You whore! I want my poptart!” He grunts.

“He’s why,” Sam shakes his head, and rolls his eyes. Clint Barton; Hawkeye, Destroyer of toasters.

Clint whips around, disgust evident on his face, “Oh, no, no, no, Sir. Don’t act like I’m suddenly the only one to blame here. Take a look at Mr. Banner and his anger issues, the cyborg, or, better yet Sammy, look in the fucking mirror.”

You decided right then and there that you liked Clint. “Sammy” scowled at Barton, before motioning for you to sit at the table. He had already shown you around the rest of the compound, including your room, making the kitchen your last stop.

As Sam rummaged through the cupboards, Clint sat in a chair across from you, groaning and huffing like an old dad with aching joints (Clint couldn’t be more than in his thirties or fourties’).

“Are you here to fix the toaster?” He asks you, his voice sad and his eyes even sadder. He was like those little animals with big eyes of pleading in Disney films.

“No, I’m sorry. I could try,” you suggest the last part, and he perks up. He sits up straight in his chair, rather than sprawling, and shifted to drumming his hands on the table.

“Met anybody else yet?” He asks, Sam still looking for food with not much luck.

“Nada, just you and Sam,” You say, truthfully. You had honestly expected more traffic, but were just the same grateful to be mostly undisturbed.

“Oh, good, you’re lucky. After us, it all goes down hill,” He “tsk-tsk”’s. “Let’s give you a run down. There’s Bruce and Tony, they’re our brains. They don’t sleep. They’re, like, tier two after Sam and I. Also tier 2, we got Natasha and Wanda. They’re scary. I will not elaborate. Tier 3, Vision, Thor, Rhodes, Spider-Kid. Mostly uneventful around the compound, Visions here the most, other three not as much. Then there’s our senior citizens in the bottom tier. Steve and Bucket. If they were a spice, they’d be flour.”

The way Clint was talking, it felt like the scene in mean girls where Janice and Damien find Cary in the bathroom. You were giggly at his little hand motions and theatrical way of painting the scene.

“What makes you and Sam tier 1?” You ask, Sam coming over with two jars of peanut butter, spoons sticking out of them.

“Birds!” They both yell to each other. When you make a face at Sam’s offer of a jar of peanut butter, Clint takes it right away. You watch in wonder as the two bicker with each other, getting the feeling they were the only ones who found themselves to be “tier 1.”

***

You had been with the avengers for, say, about 7 months, finding it easy to make friends and have fun between missions and SHIELD duties.

“Well,” Clint was saying to you and Sam, the three of you sitting at the compounds dining table, coloring with crayons on printer paper. “I’m glad you two are having fun, because I am going to kill myself.”

He holds up a poorly manufactured picture of a duck. You all convulge into a set of late night giggles.

It was four am, and you had all just returned early from a mission. After a mission, especially one where you could sleep on the way back, you sometimes found it nice to unwind with your teammates.

As you all tried to compose yourselves, you didn’t even notice someone else enter the kitchen part of the kitchen, not until Sam called out to them that is.

“Hey, Buck, what’s up?”

“Hmm? Nothing. Coffee,” He looked startled, then straight back to basically being dead tired. The bags under his eyes looked like they just took a trip to Costco.

He looks reluctant, and like his mind has to do a lot of mental gymnastics to convince himself to do so, but ultimately he sits down at your table.

You’re drawing a picture of some birds (well, what was supposed to look like birds) in a little bird house. Your heart was beating about 10 decibels faster, and your hands became more unsteady.

Clint and Sam both privately took note of your change in demeanor. The way instead of using circle motions either your crayons, as you had been, you were pressing harder and going up and down. And how you simply just layer them on the table rather than back in the box. And the short sweet glances sent to one new person at the table….

***

Private messages between Sam Wilson and Clint Barton that you should never have seen, had you not been playing candy crush on Clint’s phone one Saturday morning. You’re a snooper, you snoop, it’s what you do.

Wednesday 5:36 am

Clint: Are you sleeping bbb

Sam: that best better not stand for what I think it does…

Clint: Y/n left me after you and Bucky did. Think the girl needed time to fantasize

Sam: YOU NOTICED TOO

Clint: I see everything, always

Sam: ominous

Sam: Clinton have you ever watched the bachorlette

Clint: I loveeee where this is going

Sam: I think she has a little crush

Sam: we should set them up

Clint: I can already see the kids

Clint: they’ll be names Sam and Clint of course

Clint: after us

Saturday, 9:29 am

Unread

Sam: did you destroy my fucking coin master village 17 times???

Sam: Barton, your ass is grass and I’m gonna mow it

***

Dead. You promised Clint and Sam they were dead.

At first, you thought it was just a joke. Until the advancements started.

It was Thursday, the team gathering for a dinner, as they did every once in awhile. As soon as you entered the room, you saw Clint and Sam basically playing musical chairs to keep an empty seat open next to Bucky Barnes.

“Are…Are you two okay?” Steve asked, genuine fear and concern on his face.

“Totally.”

“One-hundred percent.”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“You’re acting weird captain.”

Steve sits, slack jawed, at a loss for a response. As you walk towards the table, your shoulders are grabbed by Clint, who is saying in a sickeningly sweet and chipper voice, “Y/n! Goodness, great to see you! Sit here! There’s a spot next to Bucky! You know Bucky! You love Bucky!”

You were a *mess* the entire dinner, unable to completely focus on anything but breathing patterns.

As the evening was coming to a close and others were dismissing themselves, you made cold hard eye contact with Clint, seated directly across from you. His hands were folded on the table like an innocent school child.

“Barton,” you said, your voice stern. “Wanna play Chinese Checkers?”

He shakes his head violently, but says, “Sam does too.”

Sam gets up from the table, so fast, his chair knocks over and silverware clatters.

You quickly jump up, chasing him down the hall. Clint follows, brandishing a phone camera, a will, and a way.

The rest of the group was frozen now, looking in bewilderment at what was going on. Or rather, their lack of knowledge of what the hell was going on?

“Anybody have input?” Tony asks after a long silence. Everyone looks equally lost.

They all look when a thud sounds in the direction your trio went.

***

Bucky and Steve are walking track to their rooms, later that evening. Steve had mission reports to do, and Bucky had thoughts to process and a diary to write in.

“So, what do you think of the new girl?” Steve pokes the bear, hoping to get a rise out of his friend.

“Hmm, oh. I dunno. She’s nice, I guess,” Bucky shrugs, and Steve’s goofy little smile grows like the grinch’s heart.

“Really? Because you look liked you were having an awful lot of thoughts tonight at dinner. And, you know, you stare at her long enough every other day…”

“Do not.”

“Do so.”

Bucky stares at Steve, unknowing of what to do in this situation. He shrugs again.

“So what?”

“So? So you should, oh, I don’t know, have a real conversation with her instead of just breathing into each others general directions. It’s nauseating having to watch Sam and Clint push you guys into the same space.”

Tonight may have been the first time you noticed, but in truth that kind thing happened in many many scenarios. Even before Clint and Sam connected that dots that you liked him.

They wanted their ship to sail.

***

“You took a shower!?” Clint says to Bucky, in a low and shocked voice. He held an incredulous look on his face, one Bucky wanted to smack right off.

“Yeah, try it sometime,” Bucky quipped.

“Y/n’s in her room,” Clint took a sip of his coffee. She has loads of paperwork. Probably will be in there all day.”

Bucky’s mouth opens and then shuts, not wanting to know why Clint was helping him. In truth, he wasn’t. Clint was helping you.

Within minutes, Bucky was outside your door, giving himself the cutest, peppiest of peptalks. Albeit, in his head because he could not handle the embarrassment of the e door opening to you seeing him babbling like a madman.

So when you did open the door, he tried flashing a warm smile. At the sight of it, you thought you would simply just faint. Right there, thud on the floor.

While your brain was debating whether you would prefer internal or external bleeding of the skull (internal, you decided, wouldn’t mess up your hair) Bucky cleared his throat.

You looked into his blinding blue eyes, the way a deer looks into headlights (meaning any minute you would get hit by the car…)

“Hi,” Bucky breathes out.

“Hi,” you say, your voice cracking.

You wanted to choke yourself out.

“I have something to tell you,” he starts. “Or- or I wanna talk to you.”

“…oh…” FUCKING CHRIST! Oh?? That was the best you had???

“Look, y/n I’ve sorta…I like you, quite a lot. And I’ve been nervous to talk to you or tell you about it, because I really don’t like opening up about my feelings. But-”

You cut him off by pouring out, “Ilikeyoutoo!”

“You- oh…Well…this wasn’t as bad as I had thought then.”

You let out an awkward chuckle, “Yeah, guess not.”

He doesn’t say anything, the two of you staring into each others eyes. He starts to lean in, his perfect face getting closer to yours. The action feels magnetic as you lean closer.

You take in his features. His brow, his chiseled jawline. The symmetrical two sides to his face, like if you took a meat clever down the center, you’d have matching halves.

Just as you can feel his breathe on your lips, right before the two of you can make contact, you both jolt apart at the sound.

Clint falls from your ceiling, Sam landing on top of him. The metal grate that filtrated the air in your room was below them, broken ceiling tiles, pink insulation and regret strewn about your flooring.

“I’m gonna kill you.”

[twilightmalachite]

PORTRAIT - Ah, still delay—thou art so ■■■ 3

Author: Akira

Characters: Akiomi, Makoto

Translator: Mika Enstars

"Yes. My name is Yuuki Makoto. I’ll do my very best."

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Season: Winter

Location: Downtown

That night…

Akiomi: (Sigh… I’m so exhausted today.)

(I bet there’s plenty of other people who can do the job out there, but the industry more or less concentrates all their work on their fan favorites.)

(So all the work went to just me—Well, although that’s something that’d make anyone shriek in delight.)

(All sorts of people would invite me out to dinner or something, trying to gain momentum appealing with the youths. And, well, it’s a great way to save money on food, but…)

(It’s not like those I work with are friends or family, so…)

(I have to keep busy thinking how to keep them entertained, so I don’t let my guard down and so I can get the job. It’s really tough.)

(I’m completely worn out… And I couldn’t concentrate because I was worried about those strange, little kids.)

(I dunno, I feel I’m kind of a scattered mess today.)

(Sena-kun, Yuuki-kun, Narukami-kun…)

(We come from different generations, so I don’t typically do much with them…)

(So because of that, I don’t really know all the details, but…)

(According to Narukami-kun, Sena-kun and Yuuki-kun seem to be having a problem.)

(I don’t really know the specifics of the situation, but… It seems that Sena’s parents are monster parents[1], or rather, they’re pretty troublesome people—)

(Even today, they stormed in angrily and forced their son—Sena-kun, to go home with them.)

(Apparently he didn’t have any work to do today, and just came in just to see Yuuki-kun.)

(It seems they threw a strange fuss over it, and I think Sena-kun’s parents had even got the police to look for him.)

(Things were a little odd with Yuuki-kun, too. A child at that age should typically have a parent or guardian accompanying them…)

(But in the end, nothing like a parent or anything had shown up for Yuuki-kun until the end of the day.)

(It’s like Sena-kun was like a substitute for his parents, sticking close to him and taking care of him and the like.)

(But, Sena-kun is just a child. I feel like something’s not right here.)

(Well, this is someone else’s family, so as Narukami-kun advised—I guess it’d be best to not get involved.)

Makoto: ……♪

Akiomi: …? Hmm?

Huh? Wha, Yuuki-kun…?

Makoto: Good eve…ning?

Akiomi: Ah, yes, good evening… Hey, what are you doing in a place like this so late at night?

I had wondered about this during the day too—Are your parents not with you?

Makoto: Mom isn’t feeling well.

Dad’s fine, but… Maybe his heads’s not well?[2] Possibly?

Akiomi: Huh… So your parents aren’t feeling well, huh. That’s why they weren’t with you today.

Still, I can’t believe they’d leave such a small child unattended, whatever the reason—

Makoto: ? ? ?

Akiomi: Ahh, I’m sorry. I used a difficult word there, umm, Yuuki-kun… Yuuki Makoto-kun?

Makoto: Yes. My name is Yuuki Makoto.

I’ll do my very best.

Akiomi: (What the? Hmm, it’s like he was taught to say things like that when meeting adults, so he’s just doing what he was told without any thought to it… it seems?)

Umm, Yuuki-kun, do you have any business with me? I mean, umm, did you want to talk to me, or is there something you wanted?

(Agh! Now even I’m getting influenced by these kids, my Japanese came out all broken! It’s so hard dealing with kids!)

Makoto: I came to see Onii-chan!

Akiomi: Onii-chan?

Makoto: Yes. Sena Izumi-oniichan.

Akiomi: Oh, that kid. You must be close, given you call him Onii-chan.

Makoto: He’s nice. So he’s Onii-chan. Hehehe.

Akiomi: (Ah, so he can laugh, too… He looks like an ordinary child for his age when he does.)

So anyways, what do you mean you’re coming to see Sena-kun? The only thing at the end of this alley is my modeling agency, you know…

Makoto: Mhm. This is where Onii-chan will be working from now on.

Akiomi: Huh? Did the agency ask him to do some work at our agency? Or do you mean, he’s switching agencies…?

Makoto: I dunno. But he gave me this map and told me to come see him if I needed anything.

I don’t really need anything, but, I came to see him. Hehehe.

Akiomi: (Hmm… I still don’t get it, even with Yuuki-kun telling me. I wish I had someone, like an adult who knows what’s going on or something, to explain things to me…)

(But first and foremost, I can’t just let a child walk around at night like this, can I?)

Yuuki-kun, if you need something with agency, let me go with you. Here, it’ll be really bad if you tripped, so Onii-san will hold your hand, okay?

(Wait, didn’t that sound a little creepy? Ugh~, I don’t know how I’m supposed to treat children!)

Makoto: Thank you very much. I’m always indebted to you.

Akiomi: I’m not usually helping you out, though…?

Akiomi: (I dunno about all this… I was getting tired of my day-to-day monotonous life of going to middle school and working as a model, but…)

(Who would want to get caught up in an incomprehensible mess like this?)

[ ☆ ]

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A term to describe a type of irrational parenting that’s typically a mix of strict authoritarianism with over-protectiveness. A bit similar to tiger parents, but tiger parents are more fixated on the success of their child, and have less of the “overprotective” aspect that monster parents have. It’s similar to if a helicopter parent was mixed with harsh authoritarianism.

“体が悪い” (karada ga warui) means “to not feel well”. Makoto remarks his father may “心が悪い” (kokoro ga warui)—An unwell or bad heart/mind. It’s possible that Makoto didn’t know exactly these words meant.

[afro-elf]

fine, i’ll elaborate on my thoughts about tylor sift but they will be disorganized

disclaimer: i know a few people will read this and be like “op is a hozier fan can she really talk about the cultural obsession with mediocre white art?” and the answer is yes because a) i’m black and i have an english degree so can do whatever i fucking want, b) hozier is a better artist than taylor objectively, like his mediocre tracks would be considered her great ones, and c) the comparison of taylor to hozier is part of the problem Genuinely because i don’t even think white people like half the music they listen to, they just don’t wanna be left behind, we’ll get into this later. i’m sorry to everyone who is tired of hearing about him but hozier will be returning later in this post jsfglsjlgldsjlfd

second note: read this

i don’t just dislike taylor because she’s white. i don’t dislike taylor because she’s a woman. i don’t dislike her because she writes mean and petty lyrics about past relationships and people who wronged her. i don’t dislike taylor because her public circle of friends is almost exclusively blonde white celebrities with their own laundry lists of issues that includes ryan reynolds and blake lively who are poster children for white privilege and pseudo-excellence if i’ve ever seen them. i dislike taylor because the amalgamation of all of those things is so exemplary of a huge problem i have with the music industry in general but also like american society

fuck it, numbered list!

1. taylor swift consistently releases the same mediocre album but in different colors. every album is the same lyrically and tonally. her body of work rarely goes very far above “good for taylor swift”. folklore as both title and musical aesthetic is irrelevant to the actual content of the album, which is just every taylor swift album except set to folk pop and with a bit more cussing, congrats for baby’s first swear. i’ve seen folklore compared to much better bodies of work and even propped up by stans as album of the year, a distinction that rina sawayama and chloe x halle will be battling it out for if there is any justice in the world at all. the fact that she is allowed to do this and still be considered great when this is something that even white male artists are butchered critically for... astounds me. like we all know how well received all of coldplay’s similar sounding albums are.... Come on. 

2. i don’t think taylor or her work is particularly feminist and yet for some reason every time she frowns an army of white women brings her kleenex. i’m not saying taylor’s anger has always been unjustified, but her feminism to me has always felt like “i can do whatever a man can do” feminism, which is utterly fucking useless to me as a black woman. it’s only useful to her because as a wealthy, white, straight, cis white woman her ONLY obstacle in life is her gender. and if she just didn’t have that tricky little bitch then maybe people would take her seriously. like, just think about her music video for the man... what was the thesis of that? what was the point of that? with all of her privileges she’d just be gaining a single extra privilege. she’s a blonde blue eyed thin white girl, the world kisses her feet. i have no interest in proving myself any better or any worse than white men, they are not the standard for how a person should be treated, they’re cautionary tales, and white women are too. i think taylor capitalizes off of white woman victimhood, and it’s all over her writing style. even when she’s trying to be empowered, like in mad woman for example, there is this tone to it of victimization, poking the bear, unleashing the beast if you will. she invokes the imagery of salem witches and even more boldly chooses a noose to write about in the song which is..... surely going to be a white tumblr staple for many gifsets to come but holy shit is it hollow. she also tends to come back to teenage memories in her music and she’s thirty. i don’t think about being seventeen unless i’m being held at gunpoint but she seems to think about it All The Time. and part of this is to keep herself young, at least in her music, which only further ingrains this image of fragile teeny bopper taylor into the mind of the listener, fueling her victim image. this imagery and language means nothing because the world always rallies around taylor. even when she was the butt of jokes for not being beyonce (which she is not and never can be) and writing about her exes (which she does), she was largely supported by the industry and by critics. look at how many fucking awards she has!

3. folk and indie and alternative music is in a moment of transition, where musicians of color are getting the chance to really speak about how they’ve been treated in these overwhelmingly white circles and create their own standards and their own voices. and for taylor swift to swoop in with aaron dessner and jack antonoff fantano and almost reassert that mid-2010s indie sound as The Sound of folk pop in the popular consciousness.... it makes me violent! it! makes! me! violent! 

4. back to hozier! finally, i wanna talk about white standom, fandom, bandom, and womandom. i often see these very superficial comparisons between hozier and taylor (and hozier and florence and hozier and stevie nicks and hozier and whatever other white woman in fashion) and they frustrate me for more than one reason. i know that hozier has met taylor and said she’s cool, which is nice of him and he’s a nice man, but i’m not a nice man so i’m going to just say it: none of the people who have made those posts have listened to more than four hozier songs and it shows. the reason why this matters is because these posts catch on and create an image and preconception of hozier’s music that is divorced from reality and divorced from his influences and most importantly divorced from the deliberate and reverent blackness of his musical style. hozier has his white male privilege in the industry for sure but he’s not as towering of a giant as taylor and taylor’s music is an unsalted chicken, plain oatmeal, white paint drying on a white wall, a stick of unflavored gum. her music is so white it told me that its dad is a cop. i am, as a black hozier fan, exhausted with having to share space with white women who don’t know why hozier’s music kicks me in my lungs sometimes and think that taylor mentioning a tree ONCE in her 3 minute acoustic guitar slog about whatever suburb is the same when it simply is not. i swear some of you are pretending to love taylor because your friends love her and you don’t wanna be left out of the hot new musical discourse but she’s only the hot new musical discourse CONSTANTLY because she’s a white woman, she’s almost the Perfect white woman. like if someone asked me to describe a white woman, it would be taylor swift. her position at the top of the musical pyramid among people who eclipse her musically, vocally, and lyrically is only allowed because she’s The Perfect White Woman. she’s an ideal. white girls relate to her immediately because of it and now we have this unshakable mob of unbearable white women who think that the world has wronged someone who literally wrote fanfiction about the rich oil heiress white woman who owned her rhode island mansion before her aklghlghdhlgs it drives me fucking NUTS 

anyway that’s all. if you made it this far, listen to adia victoria, kaia kater, samantha crain, valerie june, kelsey lu, corinne bailey rae, brittany howard, kimya dawson, japanese breakfast, cold specks, left at london, rhiannon giddens, aisha badru, shea diamond, nadine shah, xenia rubinos, karen o, mirel wagner.... Anyone

[iwadori]

hello! I love your works so much! Can I request an angst to comfort scenario for #21 on your prompt list?

“It’s my fault for trusting you”

Feel free to use whichever character(s) you like!!

When the haikyu boys neglect you for another girl PT 3

Part One Part Two Part Three Part four Part Five

Word Count: 2.7K

Genre: angst,fluff

masterlist

Akaashi

You and Akaashi were beautiful people

Probably the most attractive pair of young adults that anyone can find

You were both top tier models in the industry

You always had a little rivalry between you but you always promised each other to never let it affect your ‘relationship’

“Beautiful darling, your beautiful” praised your photographer as you finished your shoot giving you air kisses on your cheeks. You thanked him and the rest of the staff and entered your dressing room sighing.

“Rough day?” Asked a voice, startling you a bit. You looked up to see your boyfriend, Akaashi Keiji sitting in the corner of your dressing room on a love seat.  

“Gosh Keiji you scared me” clutching your chest dramatically “But yes, the day has been tiring Fabio has really been overworking me lately” you complained. Akaashi walks towards you and gave you a peck on the cheek “Aww poor baby” he cooed mockingly, “but don’t worry ‘bout it Y/N your sucess will be all be worth it eventually” he says making you smile.

“and besides, you’ve got a shoot with me soon anyways” he winks, making you chuckle. You finished removing your make-up as Akaashi tells you about his shoot today and Bokuto’s (your fellow model friend) antics.  

You and Akaashi first laid eyes on eachother when you were both up and coming models, you both are under the same company. At first, both of your agents decided to make you spend time with each other to push the narrative of you being a couple anyways. However, since you and Akaashi had great natural chemistry it made your relationship great and made for a great photo too.  

As much as the public loved your relationship and the saucy photos you tend to make together, they also thrived of the slight rivalry you guys had together or the times when you guys bother shot with other people (since it was easy for a fan to make a new ship off of two people literally standing next to each other.)

You spent the next day having what you and Akaashi called a ‘rest day,’ you both specifically clear your schedules for every 2nd and 4th saturday of each month to not do any work-related for the day and just bask in each other’s companies (as you were both busy and barely got enough time to see one another.)

You watched multiple movies, made your own homemade cookies and dinner, had pillow fights, built forts. You both were having so much fun, until you both got a call...Just then, the vibe changed you went from your free-spirited fun selfs back into work mode.

Your agent told you that two brands *Insert big fashion designer brand here* and *Insert another big fashion designer brand here* were having some form of standoff. To be honest, you didn’t really care about the context of the shoot(s) in this case, as your agents call ruined your day. They wanted you and Tsukishima Kei, to do some competing shoots and promotional videos for their brand against the other designer.

After getting all your information from your agent, you go back into the living and see Akaashi sitting down thinking deeply about something. “What was your call about?” you inquire sitting down next to him.

“Oh just some silly designer brand competition thing.” he mindlessly replies, still thinking deeply.

“Yeah same. So what’s got you thinking all deeply then?” you ask

“My fellow model is going to be Kiyoko Shimuzu” he sighed, making you blink repeatedly before immediately saying “You can’t do the shoot”

Kiyoko Shimuzu was japans beauty. Everybody loved her, she’s been a model since she was a child everyone wanting a grasp on her looks. The guys wanted her, the girls wanted to be here. Kiyoko Shimuzu was a force to be reckon with.

The real problem at hand wasn’t her stunning looks, popularity and fame. It was her connection with Akaashi. Before Akaashi went big and met you, he was Kiyoko’s boyfriend (well ex-boyfriend now) and they broke up because of long-distance or something like that.

However, to you, Kiyoko’s feelings for your boyfriend have never went away. Whenever you guys bumped into each other at red carpet events or runway shows, she always seemed to linger a bit too long around your boyfriend, which definitely wasn’t to your liking.

Akaashi lifted up his head from inside his palms and looked at you as if you had grown another head. “What do you mean, ‘I can’t do the shoot’” he asked in disbelief

“I mean, you can’t do the shoot” you reiterated not understanding why he didn’t understand.  

Akaashi sighs before putting his face back in his hands to think, “Well I know you got to the shoot aswell Y/N who’s yours with.”

“Tsukki” You said nonchalantly say as if it was nothing, making Akaashi look at you again as if you were fully crazy before he had a chance to speak you cut him off saying “Don’t even start Akaashi.”

You and Tsukishima Kei, have best friends since you were kids. You weren’t romantic in any way shape or form, well at least you weren’t. Akaashi always claimed that that Tsukishima was in love with you, that you and Tsukishima were the perfect example of every ‘childhood friends-lovers trope’ ever, which to you wasn’t true. Everything between you and Tsukishima was and still is completely platonic which you can’t say the same for Akaashi and Kiyoko.

“You’re not doing the shoot” he says firmly as if he was your father.  

“Oh so you can do your shoot with your literally EX GIRLFRIEND, but I can’t do mine with my best friend... yeah make sense” you say standing up, astounded.

“Y/N chill, If you’re so adamant about me not doing it with Shi- Kiyoko, then I wont” he says pulling your arm down making you land on him “and you better not do it with ‘Tsukki’” he mocked.

“Okay so none of us are doing the shoots?” you ask looking up at him  

“Yup” he says  

“Pinky promise,” you joked sticking out your pinky in his face.

“Pinky promise” he agreed hooking his finger around yours.

For the next month it seemed you were booked busy, you barely got to see your boyfriend as his agent had him running around all of Japan and even had him booked in some places in Europe for this month. Of course, you missed him, but you understand how busy it can be doing your line of work. You’ve been quite busy too, doing the usual shoots and runways.

Although he was busy, Akaashi basically went radio silent on you. You still expected him to reply to some of your messages or at least call once or twice when he had the chance, since he must have 10 minutes of break time and that's the bare minimum.

It’s been two weeks since you last saw Akaashi (and that was on your saturday rest day) and you were expecting him to come over today so you could have another. Since of course, Saturday ‘rest days’ were basically a tradition for you and Akaashi before you even started dating.

You had no text from Akaashi explaining his lateness/absense, so you just figured he wasn’t coming putting a damper on your day. You spent the day lounging around and shoving your face with your favourite snacks and food.

You get a text from Tsukishima which read:

Tsukishima: 1 Image Attached  

Tsukishima: Looks whose boyfriend stumbled on set...

You didn’t respond as you were shocked at the sight you saw, the image was a picture of Akaashi and Kiyoko on set doing shots for the *insert the other rich designer brand* the shoot that you both agreed you wouldn’t do, which was also a LINGERE brand.  

You felt betrayed, you both agreed to not do the shoot and it’s not like you did do yours. You made sure to turn it down the day you made your agreement. And he skipped on your traditional saturday ‘rest day’ without even giving you any word of him not planning on arriving.

You didn’t know what to do, do you confront him about it? Or do you wait for him to approach you? Since he would plan on telling you about this right? You eventually messaged Tsukishima a ‘thanks’ and you decided how you were going to handle the situation. Pop up on Akaashi and Kiyoko at the photoshoot.

You knew where it was at, since you had the address already from when your agent first offered you the idea. You drove to the place in a breakneck speed, strutting in there like a woman on a mission (which you technically were.) You decided to wait in Akaashi’s dressing room, not wanting to cause a scene at the shoot which would be bad for yours, Akaashi’s and Kiyoko’s image and would be a waste of the time of the staff and photographer there.

Akaashi finally finished the shoot and entered his room with a sigh not realising that you were sitting in the corner of his room. “Did you have a rough time?” you ask mockingly making him jump and his eyes widen as you were the last person he expected to be there. “Why so shocked, you weren’t expecting me?” you still keep the same mocking tone in your speech.

“Y/N I-” He started  

“Y/N what?” You interrupted “Y/N I’m sorry for basically ghosting you for a month? I'm sorry for doing a shoot with someone who I know is still in love with me? I’m sorry for lying to you? I’m sorry for skipping out on our rest day with no explanation on where I am?” you stare at him as he stares back speechless.

“Oh, am I missing something?” you continue “Oh yes ‘Y/n I’m sorry for doing the shoot that we both agreed that we weren’t doing’” you sit down and wait for him to reply.

Akaashi puts his head down in shame, not really knowing what to say. Because of his silence, you roll your eyes and get up fed up with his lack of explanation. Before you fully leave Akaashi blocks your way with slight tears in his eyes “I had no other choice Y/N, I had to do all those shoots and travel other places with Kiyoko because sh-”

“Wait, that’s where you were?” you shout “Gallivanting around the country with HER!” you extend your arm pointing outside the door before you turn trying to leave again.

“N-No No Y/N you’ve got to listen to me” he said putting your hands on my shoulder “She has something, on me and I-I couldn’t I can’t get out of it. It’s deeper than just a simple shoot.” You were confused but you were so upset you just didn’t want to hear it so instead of listening to your boyfriend you decided to say “you’re so full of shit Akaashi” making him gasp at your coldness and the use of his last name. “ but hey I guess thats my fault for trusting you”

You finally left the room and went to go get a breather for a second with tears sparking in your eyes. You leaned against the wall and whispered “fuck” frustrated with the whole situation. Making you jump, Tsukishima said “you should go talk to him you know.”  

“What do you know Tsukki” he cringed at the nickname

“I know more than you Y/N, just go talk to him.” he said making you squint your eyes at him wondering what information he held.

When you walked back to Akaashi’s dressing room practicing an apology in your head. But you paused your arrival hearing Akaashi talking to the one and only, Kiyoko Shimuzu in his room.

“Let’s face it Akaashi, now that I’ve got this sex tape of us, I basically own you.” she said to him making your eyes widen.  

You decided the smartest thing to do was to pull out your phone and record as much as the conversation as you possibly could. Because you could already tell Akaashi was in a bind.

“The next thing I want you to do is...” she continued acting as if she was thinking “break it with Y/N!”

“No certainly not Kiyoko, you’re going too far.” he said making you smile internally that he still defended your relationship. “Me and Y/N are definitely NOT breaking up.”

“Akaashi are you forgetting that I have something over you.” she pulls out her phone and she plays a video, which you can only assume is the sex tape. You can hear a bunch of moans and groans which made your stomache ache.

Tired of hearing this, you burst into the room and say “What the fuck are you doing Kiyoko”  

“Oh Y/N how lovely for you to join us...” she said with a smile, “I was just discussing with your ‘boyfriend’ plans for our next shoots.”

“I always knew you were a bitch.” you say shocking your head at her.

“What do you mean Y/N?” she says with a fake smile, not knowing that you were listening in on your conversation “Actually Akaashi was telling me something he had to tell you... isn’t that right Akaashi.” you both looked over at him and he was scared and speechless.

“Oh you mean how you’ve been blackmailing him for the past two weeks...” you accuse  

“You have no proof of that.” She taunted  

“Oh do I..” you rebuttal then pressing play on the recording you just took watching as both Kiyoko and Akaashi look shocked. Kiyoko scurries out the room knowing she’s been caught leaving you with a triumphant smile.

You sit down, gesturing Akaashi to sit next to you. “Akaashi, I’m so sorry for not listening to you earlier I felt so betrayed thinking that you went agaisnt out agreement, but I guess I was just being a self-obsessed bitch” you say with you now looking down in shame.

“Y/N” he says with you still not meeting his eye “Y/N look at me” he lifted your chin up so you met his eye “It’s fine, It’s completely fine you didn’t know of course you didn’t know, how would you know of sex tape I unknowingly did back when I was 16!” he exclaims “Its fine, we’re good” he pulls you into a hug and kisses you on the forehead.

After you both calm down, Akaashi explains how Kiyoko started to blackmail him and how the agency loved the idea of them two being together (not the blackmailing) as it created a jealousy storyline between you and her and how every time they met she kept proposing ridiculous demands.

“Also, how did you know I ended doing the shoot?” he asks

“Oh a little bird told me” you tease  

“You mean a 6ft2 bird with blonde hair and a shit personality.” he retorts making you laugh  

“Heyy don’t be so mean, if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t of came to save the day.”

“True, I’d give him that.”

Eventually, you and Akaashi go to your agency and present all your evidence and claims that Kiyoko was blackmailing Akaashi. Although they were upset, that Akaashi did partake in a sex tape they knew that they’d be an even bigger scandal if you presented your news that Japans sweetheart Kiyoko Shimuzu was blackmailing Akaashi Keiji. So the agency thought it was in everyones best interest if they got Kiyoko to sign an NDA saying that she will never bring forth or share the Sex Tape to anyone and she’ll agree to be dropped from the agency.

Your life was great now, with Kiyoko off your back and Akaashi being back to his usual self you couldn’t wish for anything more. You ended up doing the shoot persuading the design brand person (whatever the name for it is) to agree to let you do the shoot together instead of with other people. Both brands let you, because who wouldn’t want Akaashi Keiji and L/N Y/N to do a shoot together?

AUTHORS NOTE: this is the longest work ive written for a single character and i am TIRED lol..I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed my other works so I hope you enjoy this one.. to be honest I think with my works I start off strong and end shitly :// However I wanted to do something different today by making them models instead of students so I hope you like it. Now im off to read some fanfic so you guys have a good day!! <3 

[watchmegetobsessed]

Never Have I Ever - Harry Styles (part 2)

i quite liked this story and thought it totally had potential for more, so i’ve cooked up a part 2, continuing the idea. i have no clear plan with this, just enjoyed taking the story further, but i might turn it into a proper series if you guys are enjoying the concept!

pairing:  Harry x actress!reader

word count: ~3.2k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

The car comes to a halt and you look up from your phone after being so occupied with texts you’ve been ignoring all afternoon.

“We’ve arrived, Miss,” The driver, Lawrence informs you in his usual, polite manner, looking at you through the mirror.

“Oh, thank you so much,” you breathe out grabbing your purse from the seat next to you. “I don’t think I’ll take too long, I’m not really in the mood to party,” you let him know, quickly running your hand through your hair before getting out, already knowing paparazzi is waiting for all guests at the entrance probably.

“Had a long day?” he asks with a soft smile.

“Kind of,” you sigh nodding. “I’ll text you when I’ll feel like heading home soon, alright?”

“Perfect. Have a great night, Miss,” Lawrence nods.

“Thank you,” you nod at him before opening the door and getting out of the car. Strategically, Lawrence stopped just a few buildings away from the club, so you wouldn’t be attacked right away, emerging from the car. This gives you enough time to fix your dress and avoid your private parts to end up on the tabloids. Not something you want to include in your career, if you’re being honest.

Shutting the door closed you head towards the club that has quite a long line of people waiting outside, though you have no idea why. If they are not on the list, there’s no way they’ll get inside, it’s a private party.

As you approach the entrance, people start to recognize you quite quickly and you hear your name coming from all direction, but you just flash a smile in their way, continuing to walk with the intention of getting inside as fast as possible.

Just as you expected, paparazzi are already waiting at the entrance and they start flashing their cameras in your way right away, throwing all kinds of questions at you that are left completely ignored.

The bouncer checks your name on the list and lets you inside without a fuss and you’re happy to leave the madness behind and mingle in the crowd of familiar faces.

Tonight is the celebration of the birthday of a good friend, a quite old friend of yours. Florence and you met quite some years ago, when both of you were only trying your luck in the industry, working hard to make yourselves a name. Now you are both are in the inner circle of Hollywood, piling iconic roles on your resumes together. So much has changed, people keep coming and going in your life, but the two of you managed to stay close and keep each other grounded when it was needed.

You keep saying hello to the people you know as you make your way through the guests, hugging a few guests, asking if they have seen Florence and they all point towards the bar. Unsurprisingly, you find the birthday girl right there, with a group of people circling around her as the bartender places a row of shots to the counter and her eyes light up at the sight of all the alcohol.

“Not even surprised you are already plastered,” you grin at her and she squeals upon seeing you join the little circle. Throwing her arms around you she jumps at you mumbling her greeting.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” she breathes out, clearly over a few drinks at this point. “I feel like we haven’t seen each other in ages!”

“It happens when we are both working on a movie at the same time, in different cities,” you chuckle giving her a look.

This past month has been rather busy, you were in Atlanta finishing up filming your latest movie while Florence was in Palm Springs, working on Don’t Worry Darling, she barely made it back to the city to her own birthday party, apparently they wrapped filming just two days ago so it was a close call.

“You have to take a shot with me!” she urges, already grabbing two shots from the bar and handing you one of them, not even waiting for your answer.

“Cheers to the birthday girl!” you hold your glass up after everyone else grabbed a shot, everyone around wishes her a happy birthday again before sending down the alcohol.

You can’t help the grimace that pulls on your face as the liquor burns down your throat. It’s been a while since the last time you had anything other than a few glasses of wine, it’ll take some time to get used to the stomach churning taste.

As the host of the party and the birthday girl, Florence’s presence is in high demand, so you don’t get to spend too much time with her, but you don’t blame her. Ordering a longer drink for you, sticking with some tequila based cocktail as you mingle in the crowd of guests.

Luckily, there are quite a lot familiar faces and you don’t have to linger around the club on your own. You move to a booth at the side with Sydney, a producer you and Florence both worked together previously. She is pretty new in the world of films, but she surely is a talent and you can’t wait for everyone to realize what a blessing she and her art is. You’re joined by her girlfriend, Emma and the three of you are deep in conversation, sharing the funniest stories that happened to you lately and surprisingly, you are genuinely having a good time. You really weren’t in the mood for a party after such a long and frustrating day, having scrunched in three auditions to one day because your manager messed the dates up. When you finished with the third ones, you wanted nothing else than to just sink into a nice bath, have a glass of wine and go to bed early, making your friends’ point of you being a grandma quite valid. However you didn’t have the heart to cancel on Florence, but now that you’ve had some alcohol buzzing in your system and some good company, you don’t regret coming at all.

Once you get to the end of your drink you head back to the bar to have another one, not feeling like leaving just yet. Pushing your way through the people, some keep saying hi to you and you greet everyone back with an instinct, even if you don’t know them. Something you’ve grown to do over your years being in the spotlight.

Standing in line, just like everyone else, you patiently wait to get to the front, when you feel someone bump against you from behind.

“Excuse me—Oh! If it isn’t my favorite Never Have I Ever game partner!”

Your eyes are met with a pair of green ones and a dimpled smile, you can’t help but chuckle as you turn to greet Harry.

“Hi there! Long time no see!” you smile as he pulls you into a side-hug and stands with you in the line.

“You know, maybe you would’ve seen me earlier if you actually gave me your number,” he comments with a sly smile and you have nothing to defend yourself with, he is completely right.

That day the two of you met on The Ellen Show you were actually planning to give him your number, but once your part of the filming ended your manager called you about something urgent and you couldn’t wait for him to finish as well, leaving the studio without ever giving him the chance to even ask for your number. You felt guilty and a little disappointed, but thought your paths would sooner or later cross somehow and it seems like you were right.

“I’m sorry about that. I had some papers to sign before the office closed, I had to leave,” you apologize truthfully and he nods understanding.

“S’alright. I was a little bummed, but I get it.”

“So what are you doing here?” you ask, moving forward in the line, getting closer to the front. Harry gives you a quick look that you can’t quite read before answering.

“I uhh—Florence and I filmed together last month.”

That’s when it clicks. She told you and you read about it, but you tend to forget these kind of things, not having enough capacity to keep everything in mind, only restricting it to the most important stuff.

“Oh, right! Yeah, sorry. Totally slipped my mind. Sorry, I sounded like I live under a rock,” you awkwardly chuckle, feeling a little ashamed that you didn’t remember, when Florence even mentioned it herself before she travelled to Palm Springs, but you were running on caffeine and protein bars between takes, it’s a luck you didn’t even forget your own name after those busy weeks.

“No, s’alright. Nice to know not everyone is drowning in the content that’s been put out of me lately,” he chuckles lowly. “You look lovely, by the way,” he nods at you, eyes running down your body quickly, before they return to your gaze.

“Oh, thank you,” you breathe out looking down at yourself, as if you forgot what you were wearing. It’s a little, black Gucci dress, quite vintage with some embroidered floral patterns along the slightly daring neckline. “It’s Gucci,” you tell him with a knowing smirk.

“Oh!”

“Know you are obsessed with it,” you add with a chuckle, seemingly surprising him with your knowledge about him.

“Someone did some research about me then?”

“I’ll admit, I might have searched your name one of those nights after I had a nice glass of wine.”

“And what else did you find out about me?” he arches an eyebrow at you, making your cheeks heating up. You shouldn’t have admitted that you searched him, he’ll think you’re some kind of stalker, which you are not, you just like to catch up on things sometimes. Though you are clearly a fan of his music and you know about his career vaguely, you haven’t been keeping an eye on him that closely lately, only because you didn’t have the time. However after meeting him at the taping, he was stuck on your mind for days before you gave in and checked out what he’s been up to lately and went through some in-depth articles about him from the past years, closing the line with his latest Vogue issue.

“Nothing shocking,” you simply answer and luckily, you are next up at the bar. You ask for another cocktail and Harry chimes in, adding a beer to the order.

“I hope you know I won’t let you leave until you give me your number this time,” he smirks at you cheekily, making you chuckle.

“I never said I would give it to you.” Wanting to play a little you shrug innocently, earning a stunned look.

“Making me work for it? Alright,” he nods, trying his best to hold his grin back.

The bartender comes back with the drinks and Harry is quick to whip his card out and pay for yours as well. You’re not surprised when he follows you back to the booth to Sydney and Emma. They both greet you with bright smiles upon arriving with Harry.

“This is Sydney and Emma. Syd and I worked together a while ago. Ladies, this is—“ You start the introduction, but Sydney cuts you off quickly.

“Harry Styles. You don’t have to introduce him to us,” she chuckles shaking hand with the fourth guest at the table. “I was a big One Direction fan,” she adds with a chuckle and that’s a new information. As a former fan girl, she is holding herself quite alright in the presence of her idol.

“Oh, nice!” Harry beams, genuinely looking delighted at the information.

“Her playlists have at least one One Direction song on them still this day,” Emma laughs shaking her head, while Syd just shrugs innocently.

The four of you are quick to engage in a conversation about music, mostly about what you listened to when you were teenagers and you are having some laughs at the odd taste you all used to have.

“I think my most played song was Crazy by Britney Spears. I was obsessed with that song,” you admit and Emma groans throwing her hands in the air.

“I loved that song! Even learned the choreography!” she shares, making everyone laugh around the table.

“I bet you did too,” Harry grins in your way over his half empty beer.

“Totally did not,” you scoff with a pretentious grimace that makes it clear that you in fact did.

“I would give an arm to see you dance to that song,” he sighs with an amused grin and you just chuckle, taking another sip from your drink.

At one point Florence joins the booth, buzzing from all the birthday shots she’s been constantly taking, but making sure you all are having a good time.

“I see you guys met again!” she beams looking at you and Harry sitting next to each other. “Y/N, wanna hear something funny?” she smirks at you with glistening eyes.

“Always,” you chuckle softly.

“Once on set, I caught Harry stalking your Instagram.” The man in talk almost chokes on his beer as Florence starts laughing, clearly enjoying how she just busted her co-star, but you are having a blast at how nervous her comment got him and you find the story quite flattering.

“Flo, I think you had enough to drink,” Harry tells her, urging her to leave the booth, but she is way too caught up in getting him into trouble.

“Are you ashamed she now knows you were checking out her sexy photos for that perfume campaign she did last year?” she continues, giving away even more details. Your eyebrows run up as you look at Harry, who is desperately trying to avoid your burning gaze.

“Oh, so you’re a fond of my pictures?” you tease him, his cheeks turning redder with each passing moment.

“I mean… You looked really good.”

“And quite half naked, only covering myself with a huge perfume bottle,” you add chuckling, enjoying it probably a little too much than you should, but Harry has been so confident, flirting with you, it’s funny to see him so flustered all of a sudden.

Harry lets out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck while Florence taps his shoulder, saying something that sounded like ‘good luck, man’ before she moves over to the next group of people.

“I wasn’t stalking, your profile just popped up and—“

“Harry,” you stop him with a chuckle. “It’s fine, I was just messing with you.”

“Way to make me a wreck, Y/N,” he shoots you a narrow-eyed look, but you can see the smirk pulling on his lips.

“If it makes you feel better I checked your profile a few times too,” you admit and once again, he seems surprised.

“It does make me feel better,” he nods, his sly smirk growing wider with each passing moment he spends staring at you.

Though you’ve been enjoying the night so far you are running low on energy, so when you see it’s already past midnight you send a text to Lawrence letting him know you are planning to leave soon.

Luckily, Florence is at one of the booths near yours, so you excuse yourself from your table, walking over to her to say your goodbye.

“Leaving already?” she pouts, returning your hug.

“I’ve had a long day, I wouldn’t want to be the grumpy guest to ruin others’ night,” you tell her with an apologetic smile and she nods understanding.

“I’m happy I saw you. We need to do something sometime soon!”

“Sure thing. I’ll have a looser schedule in the upcoming months. Call me whenever you are around and free,” you tell her kissing her cheek and giving her hand a soft squeeze. “Happy birthday once more.” “Thank you babe!” she cheers as you let go of each other.

Walking back to your booth you say goodbye to Sydney and Emma, making the same promise to meet up with them sometime soon. When you turn to Harry he is already up on his feet and offers to walk you out.

“Just to the exit. There are a shit ton of paparazzi outside,” you tell him and he nods, placing a hand to your lower back, ushering you through the crowd. The two of you stop near the exit since Lawrence hasn’t replied to you that he has arrived and you definitely don’t want to wait outside.

“So, are you gonna leave without giving me your number this time as well?” he asks tilting his head to the side as he hides his hands in his pockets lazily.

“Maybe I’m just trying to see if fate is gonna throw you in my way again,” you tease him, but reach for your phone in your purse. “Send yourself a text,” you tell him handing him the device.

He doesn’t try to hide the satisfied grin as he types his number in and sends a quick text to himself so he has your number. Handing it back you just take it and check if Lawrence has texted you. Right at that moment the screen lights up with a short ‘I’ve arrived, Miss’ text and you slide the phone back into your purse.

“Well, it’s been nice seeing you again, Harry,” you say your goodbye and stepping closer you engage in a short, but tight hug.

“You too, Y/N,” he smiles down at you. “Never have I ever had the number of an Emmy nominated actress’ number,” he smirks making you laugh.

“Drink up, Styles,” you tell him cheekily before you walk away, out of the club.

Lawrence is parked right in front of the building and you try to shield your vision from all the flashes as you get into the back seat as fast as possible.

“Hello, Lawrence!” you greet the man in a very delighted mood and he senses the change in you.

“Had a great evening, Miss?” he asks as he leaves from the club and heads to your apartment’s building.

“I did,” you nod biting into your bottom lip. Reaching into your purse you pull your phone out to check the text Harry sent himself.

You can’t help the chuckle that leaves your mouth when you see the short message he sent to his contact that he just saved under Harry S.

“I promise I won’t ghost you.” That’s what the text reads and as you are looking at the conversation you see the bubble popping up that signals that he is typing right now.

“So nice of you. Please keep that promise!” His text appears on the screen and you chuckle under your breath.

“Cheeky.” You write back.

“Maybe, but now I have evidence. Don’t even try to put me on your ghosted list!”

“Will think about it…” you write back with a sly smile before you lock the phone and put it away, letting your head rest against the back of the seat, eyes closing as you can’t wipe the smile off your face.

PREVIOUS PART

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[charming-mage]

The Search For Marinette Dupain-Cheng

This is my take on my prompt The Search For Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

You know, I always wondered about Marinette taking care of Akumas while overseas. If she takes too long, she’ll scare her loved ones half to death. Can’t rush too much or else she risks losing her miraculous because of it. Since no one is aware of her identity, she doesn’t have anyone to cover for her.  Friends who are unaware of the truth will cover her for so long before they have to fess up.

In salt fics, the class usually doesn’t care where Marinette is on Gotham trips. Here, they give a shit.

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In which Lila messes with some signs and Marinette gets lost when she comes back late (via Kaalki) after dealing with an Akuma attack in France. 

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The two week school field trip in Tokyo was supposed to be an enjoyable experience. There’s booked reservations at classy restaurants, a fancy hotel with a big pool, shows, and tours throughout Tokyo. Lila is most looking forward to the fashion expo. If she doesn’t do something soon, it looks like she’ll miss out on that too. Marinette been missing for two days and Lila is already sick of it. 

All because she miscalculated in a spur of the moment plan.

“Marinetteeee! Where are you,” shouts a crying Alya. The girl spots a few tourists and shoves a flier in their faces. Nino joins in with his own fliers. “Have you seen my friend Marinette Dupain-Cheng? Cutest French girl you’ve ever seen with a heart of gold. So kind she’d innocently help a stranger, unaware they’re a bad guy.” The tourists each give a half hearted ‘no’ before speed walking away.

“Walk faster Lila! Marinette can be anywhere.”

Lila puts on a concerned mask. “Of course.”

All this time wasted just because she moved some signs. 

She hadn’t meant for Marinette to go missing. Only to buy some time so she can guilt trip Adrien to be her partner for the fashion expo. 

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The day before, the class went to a big nature park. It’s notable for its many trails. The deeper you went into the park, the denser the trees are. They all partnered up and to her dismay she got Nathaniel instead of Adrien. The best thing about the artist is that he gets so into drawing the sights he doesn’t notice when she wanders off. It gave her more time to plot how to switch partners with the least amount of fuss.

During one of her secret plotting sessions, she heard a very loud conversation farther down the trail she’s on. Rose shouts for Marinette to not split up, and Marinette screams back a blatant lie about wanting to see a moose in the Relaxation Trial. Also to not expect her for forty minutes. Total hypocrite this girl is. ‘We can only be friends if you stop lying.’ Sure, and it’s okay for only Marinette to lie. Everyone else who does so is bad. Can’t even tell Rose you honestly want to ditch her.

When Lila noticed the Relaxation Trail sign nearby, an idea formed in her head. She ducked into a bush to hide. When Marinette ran into the trail and her map fell out of her bag Lila burst into action. 

It took a little adjustment to the multiple sign post. It wasn’t too hard as the signs on the pole were already a little loose. Just needed to switch the sign that led back to the meetup with the Reflection Trial sign. According to the map, the Reflection one is a winding trial leading to a dead end. Marinette would be forced to walk all the back as the park employees told them it’s easy to get lost if you go off the trial. Aside from putting some sticks on the map, it was left mostly alone as she wanted her rival to use it to get back to base. She may not have liked Marinette, but she didn’t want anything horrible to happen to her.

By the time it got dark, Marinette still hadn’t gotten back to the meetup point. Forty minutes had already flown by. Lila hadn’t noticed as she was trying to convince Adrien to switch partners and tell everyone it was his idea. If Marinette was here the noisy girl would have interfered. 

Rose’s cry of alarm got the others to find out Marinette was missing. The goodie two shoes wasn’t answering Rose’s calls. A quick check near the Relaxation Trial sign revealed Marinette’s map had flown into a bush.

The field trip went downhill from there. 

The police were called. Afterwards, it’s discovered the cameras in that area were down much to Lila’s relief. Even though she feels a bit responsible, she’s not admitting to anything. Even if she did confess, it’s not like it’ll help the police. Doing so will get her in huge trouble and gain scrutiny in her actions from then on. How will telling what she did help find Marinette? It’d be for nothing.

When it comes down to it, Lila’s self preservation is above Marinette’s well being.

Some good fun will keep her mind from unpleasant things. Too bad no one besides Lila is interested in the scheduled events. This is a vacation, so going to a few events is a must. The class just want to spend time searching for Marinette. The transfer student wouldn’t have minded hanging up missing posters or spreading the word. This class takes it to another level.

Every waking moment is spent looking for Marinette. Breaks become a treasured time. They walk many miles each day. Max posts missing posters in Japanese forums. Alya bothers the police for updates. Adrien even got Chole (who stayed in Paris) to pull some strings to get more attention in the local news.

Because of Marinette’s disappearance, they have to stay in groups of at least three. No exceptions. So if Lila wants to do anything, she needs to convince any group she’s in to go with her.

It’s more challenging than expected.

Day 5

"Hey guys, why don’t we take our break inside the museum we were supposed to go to? It has air conditioning and we can look at some stuff for a bit while we’re sitting down.”

“Sorry Lila, I’m not in the mood to admire art.”

“I agree with Nathaniel. Just doesn’t feel right.”

Day 8

“Let’s go on the sightseeing tour. We can look for Marinette while we’re on it.”

“No thanks.”

“Nah, a taxi is better as we can choose where to drive.”

Day 10

“.....my leg injury is acting up. It’s okay to leave me here. I don’t mind.”

“No way Lila. We’re not leaving you alone on a bench outside Universal Studios. What if we lose you too?”

“.............”

Day 11

Lila has had it with these people. Reservations and events have been canceled. Solemn, awkward moping. Refusal to do anything but looking for Marinette. The only event left is the one she’s been most looking forward to: the fashion expo. Through some maneuvering and sneakiness, no one remembered to cancel the expo tickets.

There’s no way in hell she wants to miss this event: a lecture by Edna Mode herself. There’s rumors circling the fashion industry the famous designer is going to explore a new clothing line. Along with finding a muse for it.

The previous class activities can be let go without much struggle. Not this one, though. This could be the golden ticket to a very prestigious job. Even more than being a Gabriel model.

There’s a chance things might go right this time. The group is filled by pushovers Adrien, Rose, and Juleka. As long as she stays firm, they’ll go along with her plan.

With the directions in mind, Lila manages to slyly maneuver the group to walk outside Tokyo Big Sight. The sight of the Edna Mode banners hanging outside the arena fills her with excitement.

Lila coughs for their attention. “Guys, it’s time for our lunch break. We need the energy to keep this up.”

Rose reluctantly says, “Oh you’re right Lila. Can you pass out our lunches please?” 

“Sure thing.” She reaches into the bag and whoops. There’s conveniently no lunch bags in there. “Oh no guys, there’s only water bottles in here.”

“It’s okay Lila, we can buy some food nearby.” Rose digs out her phone. “Hmm... I think there’s a cheap fast food place nearby.”

“There’s no need to look far. We can just go into the expo. They have to have some food near the entrance.”

There’s silence at her words.

Juleka narrows her eyes. “Why do I feel you just want to go to the expo?”

Lila is surprised Juleka of all people is calling her out. “No, no. It’s just, why walk more when there’s food right here.”

“Lila, do you not care about finding Marinette?,” a sad Rose asks.

“How could you say that? Of course I do! We worked so hard and we deserve a break. Marinette would understand.”

Rose snaps. “Understand? Every minute counts! We might never see Marinette ever again. She could be injured and alone, kidnapped, or worse! If one of us was missing, she wouldn’t give up.”

The fire in Rose’s eyes startles Lila. Never thought she’d see the bubbly girl break her happy persona. 

“No one said anything about giving up. Besides, the police are looking-”

“That doesn’t mean we should sit by and do nothing.” Rose tears up. “It’s my fault Marinette is gone. If I didn’t let her run off on her own, she would still be here.”

Juleka gives a comforting hug to Rose. 

Adrien speaks up. “I know you don’t like Marinette, but I never thought you would sink so low. It’s one thing if you’re not interested in helping. It’s another to actively interfere in something our friends care about.”

“I d-d-o care. We can pick up search after we eat.” It’s not like Lila wanted to prevent them from searching for Marinette. Ms. Bustier has forbidden anyone from being on their own. So she needed someone to be with her in order to do something. 

Lila spent so much time reassuring them, they missed the lecture.

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

“---Breaking News! A French teenager stopped a missile launch by terrorists. Marinette Dupain-Cheng went missing during her class’ field trip. Miraculously, she disabled their base of operations, rescued a Princess, fought against pirates, escaped on the back of a deer, got their leader to surrender to the authorities-”

“That’s our every day Ladybug.” Alya hugs the TV with tears of joy. “Obviously she’d save the day while missing.” The reporter actually hissed when a stranger tried to tell her to stop hogging the TV. No one attempted removing her after that.

Since Ms. Bustier is currently with the police to bring Marinette back, there’s no one to reign in the partying classmates. Alix somehow convinced the hotel to give them a big complementary celebration cake. 

The only person not celebrating is an angry Lila. Glaring at her phone, the headlines riles her up every time she sees it.

Edna Mode’s First Baby Fashion Line

The Inspiration Behind the New Designs

“My godson is my inspiration-”

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

Jack-Jack is Edna’s muse. Lol.

To save you a google search, this park mentioned in this fic is made up. It’s based on a bunch nature parks I’ve been to before. Tokyo does have parks and nature trials, though. In case you missed it, an attack happened in the late afternoon and Marinette got back at night (when it got dark) in Japan Standard Time. Keep in mind there is a 8 hour difference between these countries.

With this completed, I can finish chapter two of Dupont’s Worst Nightmare. :)

[thefanficmonster]

Real Friends

Valkyrae & Reader (Male)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: SMAU, Platonic fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Following an accidental and not very consensual face reveal, Y/N’s dealing the sudden shift of the spotlight on him even more than it was before. Being the big deal he is on social media, the internet has every right to be freaking out. Luckily, he’s got a friend to help him cope with it all.

Requested by @iawaythrown Hii! Thank you so much for your request! I’m so sorry for how long it has taken me to complete your request and post it but here it finally is. I’ve never written a SMAU before so this isn’t the classic SMAU format but I still hope you’ll enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

Imagine you end a toxic relationship of almost a year and go to bed feeling like a ton of bricks has been lifted off you, like you can finally breathe properly and like you’re finally getting a taste of freedom. The very freedom you chose to lose by getting in the toxic relationship in the first place. Of course, I didn’t know it was toxic at the time, probably cause it wasn’t, but it gradually turned into a nightmare.

A nightmare that keeps haunting me even after I thought I had put an end to it.

Apparently, that was wishful thinking cause I woke up this morning to find an unbelievable number of notifications and messages from friends, family and my manager and associates. Being in the music industry as a faceless creator, I keep my circle tight and it only consists of people I can trust so to see them all freaking out at me at once, even the most level-headed ones, freaked me out too. Quickly, I opened the first notification I reflexively tapped on and it opened a post in which someone had tagged me.

A picture taken of me while I was asleep, no doubt one taken by my ex. That being said, I think we can all have a guess at who posted it in the first place. I didn’t listen to my manager when he told me to not allow anyone I trust 1000% into my inner circle. I was foolish and at the peak of my career, feeling on top of the world and feeling invincible which was rare for me. I’ve always been insecure about many things in my life, growing up with a lot of judgy people made me be that way. Not to mention that I didn’t want to be the victim of the internet’s racism either. People turn a blind eye most of the time, but it’s still there, it still exists and looms over all social media platforms, disturbing people’s peace left and right.  You see, I didn’t want people to have an opinion of my art based on my appearance or associations with other creators. I’m pretty good friends with many content creators, especially in the gaming industry, but I’ve never wanted to be put in a box as one of the many friends of someone famous. I made a name for myself without anyone knowing who I am exactly.

And now they all know because of this photo that my ex sent to float down the rivers of hungry social media:

Damn am I gonna get an earful from my manager or what. It’s still rater early though and I’m really not about to deal with this drama on a caffeine-free brain so if there are any calls, emails or messages that need answering - and yes, there are PLENTY of them - they’ll all have to wait until I feel like dealing with them. I’m glad I don’t have to keep up this unbothered charade at home since I live alone cause I seriously don’t feel ok with this. I mean, I could probably report it, but what use would that be when my brand now has a face and a huge chunk of my privacy has already surfaced against my will.

As I sit in my kitchen, sipping my coffee, I finally gather the nerve to at least scroll through the notifications that I’ve received. Fans reaching out, relatives, friends, pissed off people that are there just to exist and try to disturb my peaceful existence but all they’re gonna get is a hard DELETE from me. I have offers on top of offers for modeling pending, waiting on my response. I’ve never considered it, being a faceless creator and all, but my manager will definitely want to milk some cash from this too. That thought makes me sigh in defeat. I have no one to blame but myself for trusting my ex. No one made me do it, no one made me let them in, but I still did, fucking myself over insanely. Just like they’ve now fucked me over.

Amongst the sea of notifications and yet to be opened messages, one in particular stands out and makes me do a double take. It’s a message from my friend Rae - Valkyrae, as she’s known online. She’s one of those gamer friends I mentioned earlier, probably the one I’m closest with. Her and I talk on the regular so seeing a message from her in my inbox is nothing unusual so I wonder why that was the one that stuck out to me. Regardless, that’s the only one I feel like opening and replying to at the moment.

V ~ Hey Y/N, you doing ok? This all must be really hard on you so don’t feel obligated to reply. Do so when you can or want to. I’m here if you wanna talk

Of course Rae would be the one to know how I truly feel in a situation like this. I can act and cover up all I want but she knows exactly what’s underneath the surface of my façade. That third eye friends have for each other, it’s incredible.

Me ~ Doing ok. Wasn’t expecting to wake up to this but now that millions of people know what I look like it feels oddly bittersweet, you know? Like I don’t have to go out of my way to hide anymore but I’m also gonna miss that privacy I had while I was a phantom

Me ~ On the upside: people want me to be a model now XD

My message goes to Seen almost write away, the Typing icon appearing shortly after the messages were read. I wait for Rae’s reply, sipping my slowly cooling coffee with little interest due to how invested I am in our conversation. If there’s a person who can make light of this situation, it’s Rae, no doubt about it.

V ~ I know what you mean. It’s not gonna be easy to adjust to but you will get used to it eventually. I’m sure you’ll even grow to like it. Promise you, it’s not that scary to be exposed, there’s literal millions of people who support you wholeheartedly :) 

V ~ Us, your friends, are here too! Never forget that, we’ve always got your back, Y/N!

V ~ Oh and you really should be a model! Whoever’s saying that has got the right idea. Maybe don’t fear this new change, but embrace it! Take this new turn in your life confidently. Sure, it was out of the blue, but do you really want the person who exposed you to feel the satisfaction of bringing you down? That doesn’t sound like you at all tbh

The epiphany strikes me as soon as Rae’s words sink in as I read them. She’s 100% right. The last thing I want is for my ex to think they’ve won. I refuse to give them the pleasure of tasting victory on the expense of my mental health and career progress. In fact, imma show them just how much they benefited me. But first...

Me ~ Thank you so much, Rae. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for this eye-opener

Me ~ I owe you one <3

I sure as hell owe her one, but for now I have other battles to win.

Rifling through my gallery, I find one more recent picture and without a shred of doubt or hesitation, I go straight to Instagram to post it.

~ “Since y’all were curious...And since y’all wanna see me model, you’re welcome” ~

Within seconds likes and comments start flowing in like a riptide, taking over my phone that, despite being charged all night, is already at half of its battery life.

I refresh the page with the post to look at the new comments that have come through, all supportive and complimenting me, some are real thirsty and some are incredibly kind. And even in that sea, her comment still sticks out to me, making me grin like an idiot.

“That’s what I was talking about! Work it, Y/N!“

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Logical Epilogue

Epilogue to The Logical Progression

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader Rating: Mature Warnings: Cursing; sexual innuendo; Nathan being Nathan Notes: Honestly was kinda stunned that so many people asked for an epilogue 🥺 Sorry it took so long!  Just as a note, the painter mentioned in this piece is entirely fictional Summary: At first, it was exciting.

Berlin worked.

Berlin worked for a while.

You settled into your new position, your new office. Your new boss, Mark’s replacement, was out in California, and the time difference was a little bit of a bitch, but you made it work.

You made it work for a while.

You saw Nathan most weekends, at first. Most, because he got consumed with his work so often, and so did you, sometimes. Truth be told, you couldn’t always take the time out of your schedule to take the two hour flight from Berlin to Oslo, and then the hour long helicopter ride from the airport to the drop zone near the estate, and then the forty five minute hike from the drop zone to Nathan’s house.

At first, you did.

At first, it was exciting. At first you were optimistic, and in love, and brimming with hope because this was a compromise—and sure, it wasn’t something that the two of you had come up with together; it had been your idea, but he had said yes. Yes to your idea, yes to Berlin, yes to your new title – in his company. You had carved out your own place in his company, gotten to where you were by your own merits. You were happy. He was happy.

It worked at first.

After the first few months, though, the bloom was off the rose.

It started with the travel. 

Four hours was a lot one way – and that was four hours if everything was running on time and the weather permitted. It was eight hours all told, round trip. Eight hours every weekend, back and forth, was a bit much. So after a few months, every weekend became every other weekend – and it was still a lot. Of course, any time you mentioned that to Nathan, he was unapologetic at best.

“If you’d just moved in with me like I’d planned, you wouldn’t be tired.”

The first couple of times, you’d laughed. The fifteenth time, it wasn’t so funny anymore. You finally stopped mentioning it to him.

Then, it was the work.

It took you four hours to get to his house. Four. Three flying and an hour of a hike – sometimes through the snow. Silly you, you’d thought the man might stop for more than a kiss and a, “Hey, honey,” when you got there.

At first, the two of you were fucking like rabbits. And then your visits became more infrequent, and even when you were there, Nathan was sometimes too locked in to whatever it was that he was doing to give you the time of day, so much so that you felt like his damn Jackson Pollack: you were around to be looked at occasionally, contemplated, and then left to your own devices.

You’d made the mistake of mentioning that to him, too.

“I’d have more time for you if you were here, honey.”

That had started as a tease, too, but you knew Nathan. Every little joke and jab had a thin layer of saccharine shielding the spike he really wanted to stick you with.

And it stuck.

It didn’t help that your work had felt stagnant since you’d moved. Blue Book was still flourishing; your performance reviews were all positive; the Berlin office was thriving, but… But ever since you moved, you just felt so disconnected.

-- 

“You’re not coming this weekend?”

Nathan’s voice didn’t manage to lose any of its petulance despite how tinny it sounded through your headphones.

“I can’t, we’re going through tissue sessions for the pitch on Monday,” You told him.

“I haven’t seen you in, like, a month.”

“Oh, you noticed that?” There was a pause on Nathan’s end before he dryly asked, “You driving at something, sweetheart?” “Look Nate, I’ve got work to do,” You retorted, “I’ll call you later and try to make it out next weekend, alright?” Nathan let out a scoffed laugh and hung up. No ‘goodbye’, no ‘sure’, no ‘noon will be fine’. Looking back, that should’ve been a warning. With Nathan, there wouldn’t be a goodbye. There would be a drift. The time between your trips to see him became longer and longer, and your countenance in one another’s company became more and more icy, more static. The trips stopped, the calls stopped, and then a box with the things that you left at Nathan’s place showed up at your door. No note, no letter from him, nothing. His Maya console was right at the bottom. He’d finally ripped it out of the fuckin’ wall. Mommy and Daddy had broken up and you got full custody. -- 

The decision to leave Blue Book wasn’t a result of the break up. You’d had other job offers before - Nathan knew that-- No. No, you told yourself to take Nathan out of the equation as you handwrote your resignation letter. Handwrote, because you were still under NDA, and you didn’t want the drafts of this to be caught in one of the regular data audits that Blue Book did. 

You weren’t leaving to join Google, Apple, or IBM, or any of the other companies that had offered you positions with them over the years.  One of the reasons that you had moved up in Blue Book as quickly as you had was your ability to look at a product release and translate the jargon-heavy language into something the average person could understand. You’d done it for a few friends in the tech industry on the side now and again, when they were getting started with their own companies. And as much as you liked Blue Book, you liked the idea of being your own boss more. -- Your last night at Blue Book was no less than a fiasco - you’d been there a long time, so they made an effort, a fuss. They threw a party at a swanky art gallery in Berlin. People had come up to you all evening, asked you what your plans were, if you were excited, what you would miss. You’d told them - you were going to become a freelance writer, focus on technical writing. You already had a number of jobs lined up. You were incredibly excited, but a little nervous. Blue Book had been one big cyber safety net. You’d be alone.

“You hear Bateman was here?” It was a whisper behind you - from one member of the sales team to another, but loud enough for you to hear, loud enough to distract you from the conversation that you’d been in the middle of. There was no way. You hadn’t heard from the man in months - four of them, if you were going to be precise. There was no way he would turn up at your going away party - to do what? Make a fucking splash? All eyes on him? You wondered exactly how much shit you’d get for leaving your own party. You heard the ping of Blue Book’s messaging system on your phone and you pulled it out of your pocket, going cold when you saw the message. N. Bateman: Ferrar room.

No. No, you wouldn’t let him do this. This motherfucker wouldn’t get the chance to just swan back in and sweep you back off of your fucking feet after he was such a shit. -- “So you haven’t plugged Maya in yet.” “...Well between my phone, laptop and the NDA, I’ve kinda already got enough of your spyware in my apartment.”

Nathan chuckled, still wandering around the little back room of the gallery. You’d had to ask an attendant where the Ferrar room even was - but it was full of some of the most vibrant work you’d ever seen. So maybe, for that reason, you’d briefly forgiven Nathan for not even turning to look at you since you’d walked in. And yeah, it had stung, but considering everything that had happened and-- and not happened -- considering the things that the two of you had never said and the fights that you’d never had, and the compromises that he’d never made and every single compromise that you had made, it was no wonder that the man didn’t bother to turn and look at you when there was canvas after canvas after canvas of life in vivid color all around him. “Armel Ferrar,” Nathan said, “French painter, born in Peillon in 1868. Moved to Paris in 1885. Heavily influenced by Seurat and Cézanne -- more Cézanne than Seurat. You can see it in the color use, but… the way he plays with light, that’s all Seurat.” You weren’t looking at the painting that Nathan was looking at. Hell, you weren’t even looking at the paintings. You were just looking at him - at the back of his fucking head. At the back of his fucking head, and the slight tapering that you could see of his beard; at the way his shoulders sloped, and where his hands were tucked into his pockets. Your eyes drifted up his back again, over his neck, his head. The painting he was looking at, whatever painting it was, had bursts of yellow - wheat, maybe, or stars, or the sun, it was difficult for you to tell at that distance. From where you stood, it was as though the man was haloed and framed. Bright and shining and on display, this man that liked to keep to himself and spent his days underground in his office. “Stayed in Paris, too--” He was still talking, of course he was still talking, “Most of his life, or what was left of it. Never married, had one kid outta wedlock… Died in 1891, same year as Seurat. His daughter, Marie-Thérèse, married a military man that moved her to Berlin after the second World War. She brought his paintings with her, that’s how they wound up here.” 

Nathan went quiet for a few moments before, “What do you think?” “...I’m wondering why you had me come back here when you very well could’ve given that TED talk to an empty room. Or better yet to any one of the people out there that are utterly fascinated with you. Either would suit, considering how much you love your own voice.” You had already turned yourself to look at a painting, made yourself distracted by the time you answered, because you’d known that that would get a look from him. You were right, too; you saw him turn to look at you out of your periphery. “Can we skip this part?” That bored tone was back. You dug your nails into the palms of your hands, letting your eyes hone in on the vivid splashes of red on the painting in front of you - petunias. “Which part would that be?” You asked. “The part where you tell me what I did wrong and I pretend that you’re right so that I can say sorry and we can get back to what we were doing.”

You laughed. You actually laughed. Not a fake one, not a haughty one, but a real peal of laughter left you in shock. “Wow,” You sighed once it had passed, “I forgot what a dick you are, you know that? I actually kinda managed to forget.” “Look--” “No,” You turned to face him, holding a hand up to stop whatever he was about to say, “If you came to fake some sincere bullshit, or to tell me that everything would’ve worked if we had done things your way--” “They would’ve--” “Shut the fuck up, Bateman,” You snapped, “You don’t know that, alright? You don’t. I don’t care if you have it in your head that it would’ve all been perfect because you said so.” 

“You really think my way would’ve been worse?” “Well, we’ll never know,” You shrugged, folding your arms over your chest. Nathan was quiet for a single, blessed moment. Then-- “Why are you leaving Blue Book?” “I don’t wanna sound egotistical here, but I kinda refuse to believe that you didn’t read my resignation letter.” “I did.” “Then you know the answer.” “Were those the only reasons?” You looked over his face for a few moments. “... It wasn’t you,” You shook your head, “I don’t know if you wanted it to be, or didn’t, but it wasn’t you.” “Why the fuck would I want it to be?” “Because you think the universe revolves around your beard.” 

He seemed to fight a smile for a moment, and your stomach twisted. You’d seen that look - the way he had to work to pull down the corners of his mouth - in the first video he’d ever sent you, yelling at Maya to remove you as an admin. Maya, which was still sitting in a box in your apartment, because you couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of the damn console. You didn’t want to plug it in, but you couldn’t just fucking throw it out. “...So, this new job,” He approached you slowly, and you were careful to hold your ground - not just because backing or turning away felt like weakness, but because stepping backward would mean knocking into the work of a French artist whose life sounded pretty fucking tragic. “Yes?” “You staying in Berlin?” You were quiet for a few moments before you shook your head. “I don’t know. I can do it from anywhere, so I haven’t really decided what my next move is going to be.” “Anywhere?” Nathan repeated. “Whatever you’re thinking, un-think it.” “Can’t unscramble an egg, honey.” “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “Bateman, I’m serious. You think I’m just gonna crawl back to you?” “Who the fuck is doing the crawling? I’m here!” He snapped. “Oh, look. Nathan did one thing,” You cooed mockingly, “Nathan put on something other than sweatpants and left his estate--” “It’s a four hour trip--” “Oh, you cannot fucking tell me about the travel, Bateman, don’t you dare. I did that for months and you acted like it was nothing, you acted like I was nothing!” 

And then Nathan stopped. Nathan stopped and lowered his chin to his chest for a moment. “You’re not,” He spoke softly - so softly you almost didn’t hear, “You’re not-- You know that. That's your insecurities talking--” “Knowing and feeling are two different things. I’m not a console, I don’t run an OS, I can’t just go in and fix the buggy code that tells me differently,” You had to work to keep your voice steady and get the words out, “What you just did once to get here? I did that for months, Bateman. And that’s after I pulled my whole life up and moved to a new country. That trip, two days a week, every week, and half the time I was there, you acted like I wasn’t. I may as well have not been, so I stopped going.”  “You could’ve talked to me.” “...You know what, I’m not even going near that one, because I really don’t want to yell in here,” You managed through gritted teeth, eyes diverted to another painting. Nathan lifted his head then, looking you over before he stepped forward, muttering, “Stop that.” “What?” “That.” He reached out, taking hold of your hands from where they were crossed under your arms. He ‘tsk’ed softly as he uncrossed your arms and unfolded your hands, running his thumbs over the small half-moon dents that your nails had left in your palms. “... Alright, maybe gatecrashing wasn’t my best idea,” He glanced toward the door to the room before his eyes scanned your face. “I don’t think it even breaks your top five.” “Would you care to list that top five now?” “I would not, at the risk of puffing up your beard.” You heard him chuckle, felt his thumbs continue to smooth over your palms. “...You remember that first Rise of AI, when I told you why I’d pulled you up on stage to give that presentation?” He asked. You frowned, turning to look at him again. He was watching you closely over the top of his glasses, eyes knowing and dark. “You wanted to see what I'd do if you threw me in the deep end.” He nodded. “That was Blue Book, something we both knew. This…” He wrapped his hands around your, gave them a gentle squeeze, “This is new for the both of us. We jumped into the deep end and uh…Starting in the kiddy pool might’ve been better.”  “Did Nathan Bateman just admit defeat?” “No. No,” His gaze went stern, then, “Because kiddy pool or not, you’re still in the fuckin’ water.” You looked down at where his hands were holding yours still. “I want to try again,” Nathan crowded closer to you, “And I know-- I know that I am an asshole and that I fucked up, and you know what, I’m probably going to fuck up again,” He raised one hand to cup your chin, raising your head to meet his eyes, “But I wanna give it another shot. I just… I just need to know if that’s even an option here.” When the box of your things had arrived at your place, you’d told yourself that it wasn’t. You’d told yourself that Nathan was an asshole, and a shitstain, and a dickwad, and a douchecanoe, and a host of other derogatory names that you’d dreamt up in your most frustrated moments. Because, yeah, he could be those things. But that didn’t change the fact that you still had feelings for him. It didn’t change the fact that you’d made mistakes in that relationship, too. “So?” He prompted you as you looked at one another, “How do you think we’d do in the kiddy pool?” You gave him a small smile and murmured, “Swimmingly.” The force of Nathan’s kiss nearly knocked you off of your feet - your head would’ve hit a Ferrar if his hand hadn’t come up to cup the back and cushion it. (The gallery owner saw the two of you and was horrified.) (But Nathan bought that painting and like five others, so they got over it.)

Tag list: @spider-starry​ ; @mylittlelonelyappreciation​ ; @grogu-pascal​ ; @blueeyesatnight​ ; @kid-from-new-zealand​ ; @revolution-starter​ ; @kindablackenedsuperhero

[badapricot]

Sorry this is a sticky question, but new to BL here and I've come across a lot of mewgulf hype. Like they're inescapable. My ig and yt feeds are full of them and I've never actively gone looking for them. I guess once you watch one bl your socials just get sucked into the BL vortex.

Anyway my question is, because I've seen a lot of mewgulf stuff, unintentionally albeit, but I've seen a lot of it, and chemistry wise I do agree they have some professor x level concoction going on. And I read your mewart post on all the drama that went down before mewgulf... Anyway my real question is (god why is it so hard to get to the point for me 🙄)... 🥁 Is there any truth to mewgulf or is it pure fantasy?

Like I don't wanna arm twist you into answering this extremely uncomfortable question, but I'm just really really curious and it's hard to find an unbiased and objective opinion in a circle of shippers. I'm not a real-people shipper, I stick to fictional couples only, but those two are just on a whole different level of fantasy building, they might be deserving of Oscars for how convincing they are. (Oscars are shit tho but they are still considered gold std because of hollywood industrial complex but I digress.)

This is a sticky topic because Waanjais are pretty crazy and intense but I’ll try to answer this the best I can. I was a pretty firm MewGulf “believer” up until December 2020 when a bunch of issues started happening between them.

The vague timeline on when their relationship started going south:

Mew started totally ignoring Gulf on social media.

On the day of Gulf’s GMM BOYFRIEND concert, Mew posted a “Good luck bro” message to Gulf on top of a picture of the flowers he’d gotten him. Not weird at all, but fans were joking about how it seemed like they’d fought because Mew would usually call Gulf the Thai equivalent of darling.

Gulf had an issue where crazy fans were starting rumours that he hooked up with a dancer from his concert just because they had a sexy dance routine together. Mew posted a photo with a sun emoji on IG and Gulf replied with a sunflower comment. This is because they’ve turned sun and sunflower into a shipping brand. Mew replied with a rude emoji and then posted a coded message on his IG story that said “Every time you have problems you use me. It’s not cool at all bro”. It’s not hard to figure out that he was shading Gulf for “using him” to distract from his scandal, especially after he recently called Gulf “bro” which he never has.

Mew and Gulf had a really awkward live in December 2020 where the whole comment section was full of fans pointing out that they were fighting, and they were reading the comments with the MC.

Mew got home and blew up at a MewGulf fan who said he was unprofessional for his behaviour during the live.

Mew ignored Gulf’s New Year’s greetings and thanked everyone under the sun, including their Mom’s, but totally left Gulf out of them (despite Gulf being his partner of two years) and he ended it with a shady comment about “leaving people behind in the New Year”.

Mew deleted 90% of his and Gulf’s couple photos on IG.

Mew and Gulf had a lot of really awkward lives together as soon as 2021 started.

Mew totally ignored the Waanjai MewGulf anniversary even though their fans bought a firework show for them. Meanwhile, Gulf made a video visiting all the fansites and he did a live during the fireworks show where he gave away cookies to fans. When Mew was asked about fireworks in an interview, he pretended that it was a gift just for him and not for him and Gulf.

Mew’s sails had the wind taken out of them after he was nationally clowned for 8 days by NCTzens because his cover MV was accused of plagiarism.

Mew recently unfollowed CH3 right after they posted Gulf’s teaser (Gulf was recently signed under them).

Gulf did an interview with CH3 where he was asked if Mew had congratulated him for joining CH3 and his answer was, “Maybe?”

Mew tried to blame Gulf and CH3 for MewGulf not having a fanmeet in 2021, even though he himself said he’s booked for the next year.

I’m probably missing more details because I’ve left the fandom but since his NCT issue, Mew has generally gone back to being polite to Gulf at least in public, but he’ll still occasionally do or say shady things about Gulf, while Gulf treats him with the expected professional respect.

I don’t know if they dated or if it was just a crush or a work romance, but I do think there was something romantic between them because I’ve “known” Mew for 3+ years and he’s a really emotional and erratic person. He lashed out at Gulf, the exact same way that he lashed out at Art. He wouldn’t have done all those things to Gulf if they weren’t involved in some way, but that’s just my personal opinion.  Mew doesn’t shit where he works, unless he has feelings for his work. I also don’t think either of them are that good at acting. You can genuinely see that they had a lot of love for each other at some points.

As of now? I think they’re living in a friends to lovers to enemies AU and they’ve come to a professional understanding, because Mew can’t handle more scandal at this point, and Gulf doesn’t want any. I think they’ll continue to work together cordially until their couple contracts end, and then they’ll eventually split professionally. I don’t think they’re currently dating and I don’t even think they’re friends.

[blahkugo]

Biggest Fan

DABI x HAWKS x READER

Music! AU inspired by THIS photo set...or, the one in which Dabi, Hawks, & Endeavor are a famous rap group, and the reader gets VIP treatment. 

NSFW begins after the ~~~ for those of you who don’t care for plot! 

Warnings: 18+!, SMUT, cursing, threesome, rough sex (? not sure what your definitions of the word are but they do be slapping you around…), just pure filth basically 

You’ve been squealing into the phone for the past ten minutes. Honestly, you can’t believe the words coming from your best friend’s mouth, even after asking her to repeat them a fourth time. 

“Babe, even if you weren’t my agent, I would have found a way to get you in,” Rumi scoffs into the speaker, unphased by your relentless questioning. Though she’s always been a bit impatient when it comes to your antics, she knows how big of a deal this is to you. “How could I not? You talk my ear off about them.”

“I owe you for the next thirty years!” Your screech turns the heads of a few other customers, and you can feel the irritation radiating off the glare of one particularly peeved woman seated near you. But who cares? You’re too excited for a few middle-aged drags to dampen your mood. 

“Remember what you just said the next time I try to skip out on an interview,” her laugh echoes loudly; she must be at the studio.

“Yes! Whatever you want, Twinkle Toes. It’s yours!” She begins to grumble at the use of the old nickname,

“How many times have I told you not to-” You catch the scowling woman turning towards you.

“Got-to-go-text-me-the-details, love you!” The parting phrase comes out a hurried ramble. Unbothered as you are by a few stares, direct confrontation definitely isn’t worth the trouble. You’re out of the bistro and in your car before anyone can open their mouth. 

The cup of iced coffee you press to your flushed face does nothing to curb the elation threatening to bubble over from inside you. Rumi really has outdone herself this time. Being that she’s both a long-time best friend and client of yours, you know just how hard she’s been working to book a job of this caliber. Images of the two of you icing sore feet after hours of grueling practices spring to mind, making your bad ankle throb. If you could tell your younger selves who they are now— an internationally acclaimed dancer and a talent manager with a novel’s worth of influential clients— they wouldn’t believe it. And the work was paying off in more ways than one. Soon, Rumi will be making her music video debut...and you’ll actually be in the presence of your favorite artists, Suns of Icarus. 

The rap trio’s been all you can talk about forever. No, like really, forever. Even back at arts school, Rumi had to talk you out of choreographing dances to their music practically once a week. You can still hear her promising you that your 70 year-old ballet instructor did not, in fact, want to see you pirouette to a song that's chorus consists of Hawks saying the word “pussy” over and over again. Usually the memory would drown you in embarrassment (especially considering the story is Rumi’s favorite icebreaker), but now even that can’t hamper your mood. You sigh cheerily, pulling into your reserved parking space. Tomorrow, you’ll be surrounded by your idols.

-

“Are you sure I look okay?” You ask for the third time in an hour, tugging at the hem of your silk tank. Though you’re wearing your favorite suit, you can’t help but feel out of place in the large dressing trailer. After all, it’s  not every day that you accompany your clients on their gigs. Your job is getting them the gigs, and usually you prefer it that way.

“(Y/N), quit stressing! If you looked any hotter the guys would have a heart attack,” your best friend bellows loudly. “Doesn’t she look smokin’?” She questions the hairdresser who, apart from a nod and reassuring smile, you can’t quite understand over the sound of the blow dryer. “Who’s the bad bitch that got me this job in the first place? Oh right, that was you,” she pumps a manicured finger towards you to echo the claim, “so woman up!” 

She doesn’t put her finger down until she sees your face soften. It’s not like she’s wrong. “Professional smooth-talker” is basically your job description. In Hollywood people are afraid of you, the woman who can make or break a career. Who are you to let a couple of talents get you riled up? You allow your body to relax in your seat. Even if those talents are the group of boys that you’ve been crushing on since you were 16. Recalling that fact has you scrambling out of the trailer, face beet-red yet again.

“I’m going to grab something from the coffee cart. Be right back!” The door shuts behind you with a loud thud. Rumi should be spending this time going over the routine, not talking you down from the ledge you’re attempting to throw yourself off of over a few stupid guys. Besides, you’ll probably receive a polite greeting at best. The world’s favorite musicians have more important things to do than indulge your fantasies. 

Having iced coffee and a bagel in your hands is all you need to feel the tension in your shoulders dissipate and your smile return; truly a working woman’s comfort meal. The spring in your step is restored as you walk back to the trailer, too entranced by the savory goodness to properly hear the voice that hollers from your right. You do, however, hear the scolding that follows the catcall,

“How many times have I told you not to hit on people that work for us, birdbrain.” Your entire body swings towards the familiar nickname and a piece of bagel nearly falls from your mouth. Not even a few feet away, Dabi holds your favorite vocalist in a one-handed headlock, attempting to ruffle the blonde’s hair while keeping a cigarette balanced between his own fingertips. 

“Not the hair, man! The stylist’s already had to touch it up twice today!” Hawks’ shrieks are muffled beneath the bicep of his counterpart. 

“Go apologize,” The lanky man shoves Hawks towards the spot your feet are now cemented to. Though he’s reprimanding him, you swear you detect a hint of amusement in his tattooed face. “I’m sorry about him, sweetheart,” he calls, lips contorting into a smirk that should be illegal. You feel your thighs press together on their own; the situation isn’t made any better by the pretty boy walking towards you, hands threading through his golden locks in an effort to fix the havoc Dabi wrought. 

“My bad,” he flashes you an award-winning set of teeth you’ve previously only had the pleasure of viewing through your laptop screen; somehow they’re even pearlier in person. The glimmer of a tiny gem catches your eye and you notice one is sealed to his canine, only dazzling you further. “I meant what I said though, you’re gorgeous,” his hand moves from his own hair to twist a piece of yours between his fingertips. The lack of boundaries leaves you feeling stupefied, but he doesn’t let up, going as far as wrapping the lock around his polished index finger. God, even his hands are pretty...What if they were trailing the inside of your thigh and—  Your mind shouts at you to behave, a fruitless undertaking when the object of your adolescent desires is touching you ever-so softly. 

“Um- I- Thank you?” The stuttered phrase comes out confused. Where the hell is the professional smooth-talker side of you when you need her? “I’m Rumi’s agent and uh- I-I’m a big fan!” Heat blazes through your face and chest; you’d slap yourself for the outburst if they weren’t here. 

“Oh, really? She told us all about you!” He waves a hand towards Dabi. “Oi! Matches! She’s not an assistant, she’s Rumi’s manager!” The gloomier man extinguishes his cigarette before making his way towards the two of you, smug expression wavering only when he glances at Hawks. A short wheeze leaves the blonde when his chest is smacked lightly by his partner. 

“I told you not to call me that.” Dabi turns his attention towards you. “(Y/N), right?” He sticks a hand out to shake and you quite literally drop the remains of the bagel to reciprocate the motion, a move that makes you redden and him snicker. “Rumi told us you’re our biggest fan,” his sly grin tells you your loud-mouthed best friend had probably spilled too much information their way. Oh, she’s definitely going to get an earful later. 

He doesn’t drop eye contact the entire time he’s speaking to you, and you find yourself enchanted by the deep sea-blue of his irises. You would literally swim in those pools if given the chance. Only when Hawks clears his throat do you realize you’re still shaking his friend’s inked hand. After dropping it rapidly, you urge yourself into composure out of pure distress. 

“Sorry, I’m honestly a bit starstruck. I’m sure Rumi told you how much I love your music,” you finally sound a bit like your usual self. 

“She didn’t really mention our music, did she Matches?” Hawks chirps, dodging Dabi’s fist this time.

“No, I don’t think she did, dipshit,” he spits the insult through gritted teeth as a final warning. “But I do remember her telling us something about being your first two crushes...or was it your ‘sexual awakening’? I can’t really remember the term she used…” Your knees almost buckle at the obvious teasing, and you silently swear to murder Rumi when she’s done shooting this video. It’s evident that the mockery is highly amusing to them— the glints in their eyes border on ravenous. 

Because you’re not typically someone whose presence is taken lightly, the thought of being toyed with by a few arrogant men has your blood boiling. You’ve already dealt with too many pretentious assholes who don’t believe women, especially younger ones, belong in management; you didn’t claw your way to the top of the industry for all of that hardship to go to waste. Ever the more perceptive of the duo, Dabi seems to realize the shift in your mood. 

“Relax,” he reaches a hand towards you before thinking better of it, choosing instead to tug at the thin, silver piercing adorning his bottom lip. “We’re only teasing. She didn’t say anything like that, obviously.” You stare at him incredulously, arms crossing your chest. “Why don’t we give you a tour?” Though he’s the one who makes the offer, it sounds as though he’d rather be doing anything else. 

“We’re not really assholes, promise,” Hawks jumps in, crossing his fingers over his heart in a show of good faith. “This one just gets too big headed around beautiful women,” he points at the heavily-inked man, who simply rolls his eyes at the accusation. You’d thought the blonde was…well, nothing more than the stereotype his hair color implied, but he’s sharper than he seems. It appears that unlike Dabi, who comes off curt and ungenuine, Hawks’ wit stems from his charm. 

You can’t help but think of how the two of them compliment each other beautifully. That’s probably why their entire fanbase thinks they should be dating. With that ludicrous thought, your exuberance returns. After Hawks assures you they don’t have to be on set any time soon, you find yourself taking them up on their offer. They seem to be a handful, sure, but how long have you dreamt of spending uninterrupted time with your favorite members of the group? Besides, it’s only a tour. What could go wrong?

-

It’s apparent only five minutes into your time together that Hawks (despite his insistence you call him Kiego, it’s difficult after years of referring to him by the stage name) does not know the meaning of personal space. He spends the better part of the tour hooking an arm through yours, touching your hair, or pestering Dabi. While some may take this over-familiarity as a sign of disrespect, it feels more to you as though he’s simply comfortable in his skin. 

Rude or not, his bold actions do nothing but spur your heart to beat out of your chest. Every time he guides you towards an attraction with a cheerful comment, you swear his fingers purposefully dash under your layers of clothing, brushing faintly at the skin of your waist in a way that makes your heart (among other parts) flutter.  

“And as I’m sure you know, we’re filming this music video mid-tour,” his hand flits away as swiftly as it skimmed you, prolonging the torture of wondering whether his movements are purposeful or a figment of your twisted imagination. After showing you most of the fabricated scenery— and even the gorgeous, cherry-red convertible that was rented— for the video, you’ve arrived at the group’s infamous tour bus. You once read that most of their concerts end with the vehicle being mobbed by ruthless fans, one of the sole reasons you’ve never attended a show. Someone as busy as you doesn’t have time for all the horrid traffic the mobs cause. “Wanna see inside? It’s actually pretty roomy.” 

You nod, eyes trailing towards Dabi, who’s busy stomping out the most recent cig he’d been puffing on. Aside from the occasional chuckle at your flustered blunders or annoyed curse thrown towards Hawks, the taller man had kept mostly to himself. His indifference confuses you, makes you wish you hadn’t reacted so bitterly to the loose smile and banter he offered you upon first meeting. At the same time, part of you is irritated by his standoffish personality. From what you’ve seen so far, his remarks serve the single purpose of humiliating others for his own amusement— a stark contrast to the misjudged softy he’s portrayed as on camera. 

You’re guided onto the bus and Dabi follows, cursing under his breath at something or other. Sociable as he is, Hawks begins to chatter again, seeing no issue in being the center of your attention. You realize the space is much roomier than it seems. State of the art technology allows the bunk beds to fold back with a press of the button, leaving room for a decently sized couch. It’s also much cleaner than you would expect three young men living on the road to allow. 

“And the lowest one was my bunk, just in case you’d like to see it again later,” he whispers the sentence as though it’s his best kept secret, wagging his thick brows exaggeratedly to key you in on his joke. “Hey, why are you laughing? I’m totally seriou–” The doors swivel open and your giggles are cut off by heavy footsteps and a booming voice,

“Oi! Keigo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You have to crane your neck to see the pillar of a man’s scrunched, stoic face. Endeavor, the pyrotechnic-obsessed “hype man” and third part of Suns of Icarus’s trio, stands a few feet from you, clearly exasperated by something his bandmate has done. Hawks must know precisely the reason for the bottle-redhead’s tone, because his face pales. 

“Enji, we made a new friend!” He pulls you into his chest in an obvious attempt to shield himself from the giant, but your face heats at the close contact regardless. 

“You were supposed to be on set for your solo scenes ten minutes ago,” he crosses his sculpted arms, “so let’s go.” The lively man is being whisked away by the larger one before he can utter a word of rebuttal. “Nice to meet you,” he calls casually to you over his shoulder. 

“Dabi, keep (Y/N) company! I’ll be back!” Hawks shrieks with a dramatic flare. The man was truly born to be an entertainer. 

An unbearable awkwardness envelops the two of you once you’re alone. Without his best friend around, Dabi drops any semblance of amiability, but it’s not as if he was trying very hard before. He plops down on the couch and pulls out his phone. You sit as far away from him as possible, but realize you don’t have your own device to keep you busy. After a few nervous minutes of twiddling your thumbs, you attempt to break the silence.

“So, Haw– Keigo and Endeavor use stage names, why don’t you?” You spout the first question that comes to mind, hoping it’ll spark an interesting conversation.

“Dabi is my stage name,” he answers curtly, without looking up from his cell. 

“Oh...but– even your bandmates call you by it?” 

“Yep. Don’t care for my real name,” his eye roll sends ice through your veins.

“Excuse me,” you snap, “have I done something to offend you?” The frustration in your tone wins you eye contact, at least. 

“Nope.”

“Unbelievable….I’m going to need your publicist’s information.” 

“Huh?”

“Well, anyone who can make you seem like the world’s most ‘misunderstood heartthrob’ on camera certainly deserves a pay raise, dontcha’ think?” His eyes drop to send a steely glare your way, but you’re too fed up to feel intimidated. You smirk at him, a single eyebrow raised in twisted satisfaction. There’s the bitchy self you know and love. 

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about me,” he sits up, “but I know everything I need to know about you.” 

“Oh? Enlighten me then, sir.” 

~~~

“You may think Keigo likes you, but he likes everyone. You’re, what, thinking you’re special because he’s throwing some attention your way?” Dabi inches closer. “Hoping he’ll get in your panties?” 

“It’s not like that at all–”

“Don’t lie. The idea of being with someone you’ve idolized for years is thrilling, isn’t it?” The heat that rises on your cheeks is enough to confirm his suspicions. “He doesn’t like to see people for who they really are, but I know your type...just another tramp that’ll use him and move onto the next,” his smug expression returns after that little rant. Paired with the tattoos covering most of his face, he appears every bit as wicked as the skeleton his ink emulates— devilish, even. 

“You’re wrong.” You can’t think of a proper argument when he’s so close to you, basically breathing down your neck. 

“Am I?” His hand trails up your clothed thigh, and an unwelcome shiver crawls up your spine. “So you’re going to stop me when I do this, right?” Then, he kisses you. 

It’s not at all soft, or compassionate, or anything resembling your naive teenage fantasies of the artist in the slightest. Rough, slender fingers wrap around your jaw and yank your lips to his. He doesn’t stop at a peck either, choosing instead to assail your mouth with all of his pent-up rage. The cool, hard metal of his lip ring strains against you, a pleasant contrast to the quick heat traveling the rest of your body. You want nothing more than to prove him wrong— to throw him off you, tell him to go straight to hell— but he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and- God, it just feels so good. Your mouth parts in a breathless moan and Dabi takes the reaction as an invitation to swipe his tongue against your teeth. With your bodies melding together violently, the make out feels simply a continuation of the intense argument you were having moments before. 

Pulling you between his lap, he shifts you so that your back is flush across his chest. Nimble fingers make quick work of your clothes. You just barely raise your hips so that he’s able to take your pants off with ease, but you’re sure he notices the eager movement. When you’re left in nothing but your panties, you feel the rumbling of his solid body behind you as he laughs, the sound bitter and pleased all at once.

“Oh you really are a whore,” he chides. “Who’d you wear these for, hm?” He runs his fingers across the band of your red lace thong. 

“Not you,” you bite back, feigning disinterest towards the dangerous position he has you in. The asshole’s not going to get to actually hear you admit defeat so easily. One of his hands kneads your chest and the other grabs your cheeks harshly, pushing them together so that you’re unable to speak.

“Not me? Take a good look at yourself, sweetheart.”  He lifts your head upwards and your breath hitches; the entire ceiling of the bus is covered in a dark, reflective surface. “Who has you naked in their lap right now?” he whispers onto your neck, licking a long stripe upwards until his teeth graze your ear. You watch fervently as he strokes his digits across one of your perked nipples, tweaking the bud roughly. “Who are you being such a slut for?” He’s aware he won’t get a response because his left hand still grips your face, demanding you watch his every move. 

Dabi then snakes his fingers down your midriff tortuously slowly, brushing lightly in a way he hasn’t touched you yet; as if the skin there is delicate, worthy of his valuable adoration. The ink traveling his arms makes him appear so ethereal, so sinister and compelling, that you can’t help but let out a muffled mewl. Once he reaches your panties, his fingers dart beneath the material and the tender moment is lost. An onslaught of pleasure wracks your body when he begins to draw quick circles on your clit. He lets go of your cheeks, now sore and reddened from both pressure and bliss. 

“I’m going to ask one more fucking time,” his fingers glide against your soaked slit, “who are you being such a dirty slut for?” You contemplate not giving him the answer he’s looking for, and part of you is sinfully curious about what may happen if you enrage him further; however, that idea is put to rest immediately when he snaps his head up to look at you through the mirror, blue eyes pooling with lust and a hint of something animalistic. That stare, paired with the relentless strokes across your clit, provokes your moaned answer,

“F-for you, Dabi.” He uses his free hand to insert two, thick digits inside you.

“Say it again.” 

“I’m- fuck– a s-slut for you,” you practically sob out. You press the back of your head into his shoulder harder, squeezing your eyes closed and biting your lip. 

“Not going to keep your eyes open? Fine.”  The fingers are removed from your clit and you’re about to let out an unsatisfied whine, only for him to grab the back of your head and mash your swollen lips to his once again. Then, after another brief caress of your abdomen, he’s back to touching your sensitive bud. All of your moans are silenced by his mouth, and you feel the vibrations of a low groan from his own throat when your ass grinds against his clothed member. When your stomach pulls taut you know you’re seconds away from feeling that all-encompassing pleasure, the tidings of an orgasm so close to washing over you. 

“Oi, Matches! You didn’t throw her out did you?” Hearing Hawks’ voice call out from the front of the bus has you reeling your lips away from Dabi, and though he slows his movements, he doesn’t remove his fingers from your core. Rather than push you away, he takes the other hand off your clit to hold you tightly against him. “(Y/N)? Dab–”

For a few seconds, the only sound you can hear is your own heart beating out of your chest. Takami takes in the scene in front of him— your bare body splayed across his best friend in the lewdest of positions. You know your face is blooming in embarrassment as you wait for a reaction, for his face to drop in disappointment, anger, anything. Instead, he smirks. 

“Starting without me? That’s no fair,” the golden-haired boy actually pouts, but there’s something deeper swimming in his eyes, something almost bloodthirsty. Though this is happening right in front of you, you can’t truly believe it. Dabi relieves the pressure of his arm from your chest.

“Look Kiego, the whore’s fucking drenched for us,” he lifts his fingers towards the beautiful man in front of you proudly, as if showing off a trophy or a new toy. Then he pops the damp fingers in his own mouth, humming at the taste of you. Hawks’ tongue dips out of his mouth, darting across his bottom lip. 

“I want a taste,” he leers at your bright panties, now soaked through. You think you must have died and gone to heaven, what with the two Adonises staring at you as if you’re their last meal. Hawks kneels at the foot of the couch, brings his face right up to your navel, and licks a long, cold swipe. His digits toy at your waist like they were earlier, except this time the movements are decisive and fierce. Just as he’s about to tug your panties down and place his mouth where you want it most, Dabi seizes his jaw and pulls his partner into a long, sloppy kiss. You let out a sigh at the view and— teases that they are— the sound doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“Is watching us turning you on?” Dabi taunts cruelly. 

“Looks like she’s a bit of a pervert, hm?” Hawks retorts, sliding a finger across your clothed slit. The movement causes your entire body to quiver, your senses on high alert. Without another word, he leans down again, shifts your panties to the side, and takes your clit between his lips. The way he laps at you hungrily makes you believe your initial judgment of him was completely inaccurate, and when he inserts two lengthy digits inside you, the thought is confirmed. Hot, white pleasure consumes your body as your core clenches around his digits. He simply cocks an eyebrow at you and chuckles darkly, holding you tightly against him by your waist so that you’re unable to wriggle away. Gone is the lovable persona you were introduced to, replaced now by someone entirely foreign, deviously lewd. 

“Fuck, Hawks,” you whimper, greedy for more. 

“Thought I told you to call me Keigo,” he scolds beneath you, biting the inside of your thigh so that a sharp gasp leaves you. 

“I-I’m sorry, K-Kei–” You’re cut off mid-moan when Dabi kisses you, wrapping one slender hand around your throat and squeezing. His other one threads through your hair and tugs harshly. A painful hiss leaves you but the sound only makes him pull harder, smirking against your lips.

It’s as though they’re competing for your attention. If one of the men evokes a sob or whimper, the other attempts to outdo him— and they have no regard for your body, becoming instead the battleground for their lascivious rivalry. You lose yourself in the intense sensations, unaware of time or its passing, instead focusing solely on the coil tightening in your abdomen. Every gasp, every moan, only pushes them further, and soon your legs are shaking as you feel yourself nearing the delicious edge. 

Just as you’re about to let go, allow yourself the mind-numbing relief of an orgasm, Kiego withdraws his fingers. Rubbing your bruised thighs together is a desperate attempt at friction, but the momentum is completely lost. Your core clenches around nothing, and you cry out, hopelessly bitter at the emptiness between your legs. 

“Sorry, princess,” his hair is sticking up, golden locks tousled from the harsh grip of your fingers. And yet he still looks perfect. He wipes your juices off his chin with a thumb, “but that’s for starting without me.” Despite the apology, he sounds absolutely delighted at your loss. You whine again, hoping it’ll change his mind. “What do you think, Dabi? Should we let her cum?” 

Hearing his name, the tattooed man takes his attention away from your chest and the onslaught of purple marks his lips’ were just peppering on your throat. 

“I don’t think so,” he tweaks at one of your nipples, eliciting a soft groan from you. “I want the bitch begging for it.” Dabi pushes you away from him and stands to unbuckle his belt. “Besides, don’t think she’s done enough to earn it.” You should be outraged at the way they decide your fate as if you’re not even present, but in reality it only thrills you, your clit throbbing at the lack of control. 

“You’re right,” your idol sneers, canines bared and gleaming as he unzips his own pants, “and I wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around me.”

They switch places, shifting you so that your breasts are pinned against the couch between Kiego’s legs. Dabi grinds his hips against your clothed center, and you mewl at the long-awaited friction, hard member straining against his briefs. 

“Get to work, princess,” Kiego calls to you, boxers down to his knees. You can only balk at the sight in front of you. His cock is thick and long, essentially everything you could’ve ever hoped for, but that’s not it. 

Rather, it’s the shiny, silver ball pierced through the shaft and poking out from the top of his head that stops you dead in your tracks. He notices your eyes widen at it, but only snorts, wrapping your hair around his hand and yanking you roughly towards him. 

“Oh, that little thing?” Now he’s shoving you against his length, using your face as nothing more than a means for friction. “Just a drunken dare from Matches.” The nickname provokes the other man into leaving a stinging slap against your behind. And just like that, the angered man drives himself into your cunt. 

“I told you,” slap, “not to,” slap, “call me that.” With each thrust into you, Dabi releases an onslaught of pent-up anger onto your rear, the biting pain causing you to cry out around Kiego’s member. 

“Yeah sweetheart, just like that,” he leans his head back against the couch with a deep groan. “Such a pretty little whore, choking on my cock.” One of his free fingers shoots out to wipe at your tears, hand moving ever-so-lightly to cradle your jaw. The gesture might have been sweet if his other hand wasn’t forcing you down further to swallow him whole. 

“Mmmph–” you scrape carelessly at Kiego’s thighs in an attempt to secure yourself, moans coming out garbled with his cock down your throat. 

“Not done with you yet, slut” Dabi still pounds into you relentlessly. You’re overwhelmed with the feeling of being stuffed from both ends, knees on the verge of giving out until he fastens his hands around your thighs, pulling you into him with even harder plunges. “Fucking take it.” Something hard and cold grinds inside you, and you’re acutely aware of the ridged piercings now pressing against that perfect, spongy spot in your heat.

When he reaches an arm around to rub furiously at your clit, you’re sobbing. Kiego’s deep, golden eyes watching you, Dabi’s unrelenting fingers and thrusts, it’s all too much. 

And then you’re finally letting go. Legs shaking, mind wracked with white as you clench your eyes shut. Your mouth moves away from Kiego’s shaft, only concerned with riding out your high. The tattooed man behind you doesn’t stop his movements either, still pressed deep inside you until your tongue lolls out of your mouth and you’re tapping furiously at his waist. Kiego smiles, taking himself in his hand and slapping his cock against your cheek while he strokes himself. 

“That’s it, baby,” he smooths your hair back, grunting. “You look so pretty when you cum.” He pumps himself a few more times before he finishes, sticky liquid spurting across your lips and into your hair. You reach around to grab at Dabi’s waist again, willing him to stop. He removes himself from inside of you only to flip you around and your cunt clenches at the feeling of emptiness. 

Pulling you into a long, winded kiss, he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip to taste Kiego’s release. Then he’s pushing you to your knees once more, hands threading through your hair roughly.

“Suck,” he scowls down at you. Though you’re breathless, still reeling from your orgasm, the simple command spewed at you has your lips wrapped around him in a second.

He isn’t as girthy as Kiego, but just as long. A trail of piercings go down his length, and your tongue brushes against the cool metal while you wrap your fingers around the area you can’t reach. You stare up at him through thick lashes, piercing blue eyes ogling you as you take him further in. His hand is still perched on your head, but he makes no movement to push you down— instead, basking in your slow seduction. 

You’re sure you look a mess, dried mascara down your cheeks and still covered in Kiego’s cum, but Dabi only revels in the power he has over you, positively thrilled at the way you no longer fight for dominance. He breaks eye contact only when the blonder man tugs him into a kiss, deep and passionate, and the sight only urges you to swallow him deeper. 

“I like her with her mouth so full,” Kiego whispers against Dabi’s lips. 

“Just as long as the bitch isn’t speaking,” the other man groans, rutting into your mouth so that you know he’s close. 

Soon he’s pulling out of you to pump his shaft, your mouth wide open so that the head of his cock brushes against your tongue. Kiego reaches down to move Dabi’s hand, grabbing at his partner’s length so he can stroke it himself. It doesn’t take long after that for the brooding man to cum, head thrown back in a loud grunt while the tantalizing male next to him coaxes him through the orgasm. Kiego angles him so that his hot, white liquid gushes onto both your face and tongue; you suck at Dabi’s head until he forcibly pushes you off him. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, running a hand through his sweaty locks. “Knew you were good for something.” With that final statement, he turns away from you, pulling his pants back on and returning to his spot on the couch as though he wants nothing more to do with you. 

Kiego walks away as well, and you’re sure you’re about to be kicked out now that they’ve had their way with you. A part of you is angered, but a larger part is still processing what just happened, savoring the earth-shattering orgasm the pair blessed you with. 

You look for your discarded clothing, trying to compose yourself so you’re able to get out of their way as quickly as possible. Kiego walks back into the common area, wet rag in hand. He doesn’t speak until he pushes you into the couch, rubbing the clean towel over your face softly.

“So, you’re coming to our concert next week, right?” 

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

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[inkedtae]

bring the pain ⇾ jjk. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ ON!jungkook x dancer!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒 ⇾ requested, s2l, secret lovers, fluff, smut, a dash of angst for good measure

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾  innocent glances and sweet smiles turned into secret meet-ups and dirty desires. you’re in love with the man, not his fame. is this love really worth the hate? 

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 10.3k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ dom!jungkook, bigdick!jungkook, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), slight degradation, dirty talk, bondage, oral (f. receiving), bodyworshipping kink, daddy kink, hair pulling, spanking, pussy slapping, begging, lowkey filth, mentions of threats near the end

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ thank you to the kind anon that requested this; never knew i needed to write ON!jungkook until your ask. i might have gotten carried away with the the smut part… oh well. i might have rewritten the entire plot at the last second.  if you have any requests, please send’em my way. enjoy!

It was the way you pushed yourself, he had told you. The way you didn’t quit when the others thought that you couldn’t keep up. The way that you became the lead dancer within three days despite the otherwise badgering doubts that surrounded you. That’s what drew him to you, what made him curious for more. 

Doubt and hate were two different levels of insecurity, within and without alike. Doubt was a little voice. That voice’s impact was only as effective as your mind would let it be. Hate was different. It was not a nagging of the mind, but a breaking of the heart, reaching for your soul next. Hate consumed and used, battered and beat all affection from an already wounded heart. Hate didn’t smell blood; it drew it. He did not see that yet. But, then again, neither did you. 

The day you met him was the morning of a full dance rehearsal. Management needed to see the full moving picture. They needed proof of progress and what better way to retrieve it than by organizing it themselves. It was a busy morning, filled with three different kinds of production crews: concept creators, filming directors and assistants, and video and sound recorders. The members of Bangtan were said to arrive later, once they had gone through hair and makeup and the rehearsal room was prepped for filming. 

You weren’t very sure why management needed to do a full rehearsal so soon. Usually, these kinds of rehearsals were scheduled three months before scheduled performances. This one had been pushed up to six months. And you knew that management already had a good grasp on how all the background dancers were progressing throughout practises. You had caught one or two managers, who you didn’t really recognize, sitting in one on your early morning or late night practises many times before. They always had masks on and hoods up. They wore clothes that were all too baggy to make out a proper frame and their faces remained too covered to make out proper features of any kind. When you had asked one of the choreographers about it, they just said that it was management’s way of being discreet. You thought it only made them that much more painstakingly obvious, but you didn’t push the topic any further and returned to your place to practise the motions once more. 

“Ow,” Harin muttered under her breath. She scooted closer to you, pulling her legs into her chest as the camera crew got their wires in order. 

You turned to her, assessing the damage on her fingers as she rubbed them. “You alright?” 

She nodded. “That’s the fourth time,” she huffed, glaring at one of the men holding a camera. 

You bit the inside of your cheeks, resisting the urge to tell her that if she had followed the rules the moment they were given, then she wouldn’t have been stepped on at all. Everyone was told to remain around the centre of the room, letting the crews do what they had to on the sidelines. Her failure to comply couldn’t have led to anything less.

“I’m sorry about that,” you mumbled, avoiding her eye. The statement wasn’t a complete lie. You really didn’t want to see her, or anyone for that matter, hurt at all. But all you could hear when you saw her were those backhanded compliments she gave you when you first started rehearsing about three months ago. 

That’s pretty good for a beginner, she told you. Skilled footwork would have played that slip-up off without anyone even noticing, she said as she stared down at you when you had tripped over her slip-up. She helped you up that day, only to push you back down again. 

A loud clap drew you out of your thoughts. You redirected your attention to the front. Mijin stood before all the dancers, gesturing them to stand up. You smiled at her and she returned it while others wrapped up their conversations. You were really for Mijin. Had she not believed in you, you probably would’ve been cut a while ago and replaced. She was the only choreographer that stood up for you when you first started.

“Remember,” Mijin repeated for what felt like the thousandth. “Do not speak unless spoken to. This is not an opportunity to ask for photos or autographs. Please maintain professional conduct at all times.” She’d been telling everyone this for the past week, urging everyone to adhere to the NDA contracts they signed. 

You could feel Harin shiver with excitement beside you. She fixed her hair one last time in the mirror before for trying to calm herself down. You couldn’t really blame her. You were really excited too. You’ve been following Bangtan’s journey for a while, their struggle to be heard and taken seriously resonating with you on levels you couldn’t bear to recall. But, your nerves took over your excitement by a long shot. You were too nervous to expel your excitement like Harin did, or any other dancer for that matter. While they whispered to themselves about the member’s arrival and shifted about in their places, you stood perfectly still. Your entire body stiffened, out of fear or panic, you weren’t really sure. All you knew was that you were probably going to have to stretch again to not risk pulling any muscles during practise. 

The chatter amongst the dancers died out as the members entered. Your breath hitched at their tall, perfectly sculpted figures. You knew they were beautiful, but this was simply another degree of beauty you had ever witnessed. You realized in that moment that not a single camera could properly capture the beauty that was them. Those pictures you had seen, gifs you’ve stared at and videos you’ve replayed so many times you couldn’t count, only held a fraction of them. Looking into their eyes in person was enough to tell you that they were not entirely the same people they advertised themselves to be as well. They were more. They were flawed and flawless all at once, smiles hiding the exhaustion of the industry. You supposed that was the price for reinventing art. 

As you scanned down the line, your eyes caught a doe-like gaze. Jungkook flashed you half a smile that only just met the dazed look in his eye. You felt your cheek heat up a bit as you returned it. You never really had a distinctive bais; they all kind of stuck out to you in their own way. You knew that if you had met them under different circumstances than you might have all been friends. However, that was a fantasy you didn’t dwell on too much. The reality was before you. They are famous; you were not. This was their show; not yours. You were only a moving piece of the puzzle that was this very concept; nothing more, nothing less. 

But Jungkook’s eyes told you a different story. You didn’t regret listening to them, getting lost in the wonders that they were. You didn’t regret anything, besides the consequences of your colliding worlds. 

“Two, three,” Namjoon started before they all joined in, “Hello! We are BTS!”

They bowed and you returned it, just as you were instructed. Mijin wasted no time ushering everyone to their places. She told the members to do as they practised themselves and move around us as they had done without us in their private sessions. 

You took your place in the front, practically centred. From your position, you could still feel Jungkook’s eyes on you. No other member had spared you another glance, here to do their work and carry on with their day. Jungkook, however, hadn’t let himself break away from your figure once. You dared a look over at him through your lashes. He must have interpreted your stolen glance as something more than it was. Maybe he was right and you just didn’t fully process your actions before doing them. Whatever the case may be, he still raised a brow at you and you still blushed. 

The music began and you moved with it, following the beat, remaining in sync, nailing every sharp turn or bang of drum. You were able to ignore his eyes until you looked up, the drum you were holding hovering above your head and Jungkook staring down at you as he danced. And fuck, did he dance well. You already knew this about him, but seeing it in person only further proved his talent. He smiled, not missing a single beat then handed you back the sticks, rough fingers brushing yours.

You had to practise for three hours, going through the same motions over and over again. He would always smile when he caught your eye, brush his hands against yours, and stare at you when he thought you weren’t looking. By the time everyone was allowed a break, you were exhausted. You sat on the floor, chugging down your water and trying to catch your breath. You knew that sitting down after such an intense workout would only stiffen your muscles and make you have to stretch all over again, but you just really felt like you couldn’t stay standing for the life of you. 

Jungkook still had his attention on you, you could tell from his reflection in the mirror. You blushed a bit, growing embarrassed by the fact that you were extremely sweaty to the point that any hair that had fallen on your face, clung to your forehead. In an attempt to fix it, you took your hair out of the high ponytail it was in and began to pull it all back once more. You were so focused on your task that you didn’t notice Jungkook’s reflection make its way to yours.  

“Hi,” he smiled, and bowed. 

You tightened your hair as you looked up at him. Somehow, within the panic coursing through you, you managed a small smile and nodded your head at him. “Hello,” you whispered, dropping your hands down to your lap. 

Jungkook gestured to the floor asking, “can I?” 

His request shocked you a bit. You had thought all this staring was in your head, that maybe he was just zoning out or looking at the cameras behind you. The thought that he actually might be interested in getting to know you at all was flattering, but still extremely confusing. You were simply  some back-up dancer, a common face lost between others in the background. 

His eyes searched yours as you stared up at him. You hadn’t realized you didn’t reply yet until one of his brows shot up. Blinking repeatedly, you pulled yourself back to reality and you nodded. A little blush tinted your cheeks as he beamed at you again. He had the cutest smile, the kind of cute that melted and filled your heart all at once. 

“You’re a great dancer,” he started after seating himself across from you. You opened your mouth to mumble a quiet thank you, but he continued, “I was just talking to some of the guys about it.” The tips of his ears reddened as your brows shot up at him. He opened his lips to speak, but his words seemed to fall short. 

You weren’t really sure what to say. Was he flustered, or hurt? The panicked look in his eyes could be applied to either, only confusing you even more. Why would he be flustered around you though? Yes, you had been exchanging glances the entire time, but that could hold countless meaning. You felt your stomach recoil with disappointment at the thought that he might not be as into you as you were into him. But, you needed to ground yourself, to remind yourself of the reality of the situation; you were just another face in the crowd.

He gaped at you, trying to find his words, as you slightly tilted your head at him. “You okay?” you asked. You tugged your bottom lip with your teeth, nervously chewing on it as his face suddenly lost all readable expressions. You could only assume, based on his relaxed jaw and wide eyes, that he was lost in some sort of trance. 

“Jungkook?” you asked, searching his eyes for an answer. 

A quiet sigh escaped him and he suddenly stood up. “Uh,” he started, glancing back at his friends. 

You leaned over a bit, sneaking a look at Jin and Jimin silently giggling to themselves while looking over at the two of you. Was all this just some sort of joke? Heart slightly shattering, you scolded yourself for indulging in your delusional thoughts about his actions. You looked back up at him, eyes reflecting a disappointment you didn’t have the strength to hide.  

Jungkook must’ve picked up on your thoughts because he suddenly squatted back down to your eye level. You watched him carefully. You wanted to be sure that whatever conclusions you drew from his next words were accurate and not just wishing thinking on your part. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. The sudden urge to lean over and pepper his neck with kisses hit you and you had to remind yourself that you were in a huge room filled with lots of people and that you needed to pull yourself together. 

“I’m sorry. I just- I um, the thing is that I-,”

You never got to hear the rest of that sentence as he was cut off by Mijin. She towered over both your frames, glaring down at you in particular. Fear overtook your mind, your heart beating so loud in your chest, you could hear the pounding in your ears. One look at her was enough to tell you that she won’t believe a thing you have to say about him talking to you first. 

Slowly tearing her warning stare from you, she looked to Jungkook and began to apologize. “I promise you we spoke to all the dancers about not bothering you. I thoroughly apologize for her behaviour.”  

“No, no,” he quickly replied, standing back up to his full height. “I was the one that approached her.”

Mijin raised her brow at you, confirming your thoughts. You weren’t really sure what the consequences were exactly, but knew that they weren’t going to be the best. “Thank you for understanding,” she smiled at Jungkook, all but dismissing him from the conversation. 

You stood up, clasping your hands behind you as Jungkook stared between you and Mijin. He seemed to finally get the hint that he was not needed in this conversation anymore and muttered one last apology to each of you, eyes lingering on you as he backpedaled back to his members. 

Mijin muttered for you to follow her and led you out of the rehearsal space. You walked behind her like the guiltless person you were. You did not technically break any of her rules. She told you not to speak unless spoken to and that was exactly what you did.

She didn’t seem very happy with your attitude when you finally reached the hall. “I didn’t expect this from you, (Y/N),” Mijin whispered, the disappointment clear in her voice. 

You lowered your head down as she spoke, accepting the scolding without a word. You weren’t going to challenge her or correct her knowing how well that attempt worked for Jungkook. You knew the best thing for you to do was silently receive this lecture and promise not to let it happen again.

“You are the last person I thought I’d have this conversation with. Their team is very adamant on not having them be distrubed. I really do not want to have this conversation with you again.” She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed, “look at me.”

You silently met her unimpressed gaze. 

“You’re a valued dancer so I can’t reposition to the back like I’ve done to the others who tried to pull the same thing you did. But, I need to make sure you don’t do this again so you’re in charge of cleaning up the rehearsal room after practise tonight. I’ll have one of the janitors leave you everything you need. The moment everyone is out of there and you’re done changing, I want that room cleaned.”

You supposed she was being as lenient as she could. It wasn't exactly the best outcome, knowing how gross that room gets after a hard rehearsal, but you were thankful that you didn’t get pushed to the back. You had really worked hard and to have it all be taken away from you like that would’ve really been a big blow to your ego. 

“I understand. I’m sorry about it all and I promise it won’t happen again,” you reassured. 

She gave you a close-lipped smile, the same kind your mother gives you when she can’t help but forgive whatever stupid thing you did that set her off. After patting your shoulder, she nodded for you to return back into the room. 

Jungkook continued to watch you all through rehearsal and, though you promised not to interact with him or any of the guys, you still met his eye and shared a smile. Your heart simply couldn’t deny him whatever attention he wanted. 

The practise fully ended three and a half hours later. Your body was completely torn with exhaustion and all you really wanted was to go home and take a long, hot bath to soothe your aching muscles. Your punishment still hung over your head though. Mijin reminded you about getting it done while you were leaving to change. She said that a list of what to clean will be left for you as well. 

You didn’t really take your time changing. You just wanted to go back in there and finish everything you needed to quickly so you could go home and shower the entire practise off. You swapped your sweaty t-shirt and sweatpants for a lavender patterned dress that ended just around your mid-thigh. It hugged your waist nicely, but flowed out beneath it. You found it very breathable and it was one of your favourites. 

The reek of the practise room didn’t really hit you until you reentered it. It was the hearty proof of a whole team’s hard work but it still overwhelmed you. You made your way to the windows position high up on the wall to crack it open and air out the room a bit. Standing on your toes, you reached and reached for the handle to turn it open but continuously fell short. A frustrated sigh escaped you as you began to look around the room for some leverage to stand on. 

“Need some help?” 

Your entire body froze as his sweet voice met your ears. He wouldn’t actually come back, would he? You turned to find Jungkook leaning against the doorframe, wearing an oversized black shirt and some baggy black pants. The sight was nothing short of breathtaking. He seemed more collected now than he did before, smiling lazily at you. 

Your brows came together as you watched him carefully. “Yes, please,” you replied before stepping aside as he made his way over to you. 

Jungkook held your gaze, nodding at you like he was greeting you all over again. You gave him a nod back and resisted the urge to laugh. It was clear he was trying to play it cool, acting indifferent as to whether or not you even gave him your attention. It was only later in your relationship when he told you Jin had given him that advice and even walked him through it a couple of times while waiting for you to finish changing. 

His shirt rode up a bit, making you blush, as he reached for the handle, failing the first time as well. His face briefly tilted to the side as he realized how much of a challenge it really was. He reached up again, able to hold onto the windowsill and hoist himself up just enough that his toes only just brushed the floor. In the quickest motions you’d ever seen, he turned the window open, letting the cool spring breeze air the room out. 

“Thank you so much,” you smiled as he hopped back down. 

He offered only a little shrug as he tongued his cheek. His eyes then fell on the cleaning supplies and all previous nonchalant attitude left him, concern and guilt taking its place instead. “Is that because of me?” He questioned as he walked towards them. 

You followed him, having to somewhat jog just to keep up with his fast strides.“Uh, not exactly,” you said, not really wanting to lie to him but also not wanting him to feel bad about it either. He turned to raise a brow at you before picking up the list of things that need to be done. “It’s really not that big a deal,” you shrugged. 

Jungkook didn’t react to your words. He seemed all too immersed in the list that you questioned if he even heard you. You took a step forward, leaning a bit to meet his gaze but he didn’t acknowledge it, probably still not noticing you had moved at all. You took a quick step back when he suddenly looked up and began to grab a spray and cloth. “I’ll clean the mirrors and you could sweep the floor then we can mop it together later,” he said, making his way to the mirrors before you even had a chance to fully register his words. 

Your eyes followed his frame to the other end of the room as you froze in place. Confusion took over your features and you were slightly concerned by his behaviour. “Um, what are you doing?” You met his gaze in the mirror. 

He gave you a small smile and replied, “Cleaning the mirror like I told you I would.”

“Yes, but why?”

His hands dropped to his side and he turned to face you. “I got you into this mess. It’s only fair I help you out a bit. And I know you’re probably tired from practise anyway so the sooner we get this done, the sooner you can go,” he explained then turned back to the mirror. 

It was clear that he had already made up his mind and, with the innocent look in his eyes, you really couldn’t find it in you to refuse him once more. A sigh escaped you as you took the broom and carried out your punishment. Every so often, you’d look over at him expecting to find him looking at you. His concentration latched onto the task he assigned himself, mouth slightly agape and brow furrowed as he rubbed the mirror clean. It was rather endearing, watching him give his full to such a normal task. It wasn’t like he was asked to build a mirror, yet he cleaned it with the same effort he probably would’ve applied to building it. 

Jungkook met your gaze and you snapped your head down to the ground, sweeping around you once more. A little chuckle echoed in the quiet room. You snuck a glance back up at him to find him still looking, a little smirk playing on his lips now. “You okay?” he asked, the cockiness in his voice not at all lost on you. 

You offered him a little nod, nothing more. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, knowing your voice would betray you. He was a very hard guy to read as he switched between demeanours easily. You weren’t used to that, used to having to figure out guys. Usually, you’d be able to tell if a guy was interested or not within the first two minutes of your interaction. But Jungkook confused you more than you wanted to admit. He’d stutter and fluster then stride with confidence and flash smug smiles only to revert back to his quiet, shy attitude as he simply stared at you. 

You thought that maybe finding out what exactly he wanted to talk to you about might help you figure him out. You had been thinking about his almost-words all day, wondering if he was sent there to mess with you or if he really had something he wanted to share. He squatted down to get the last of the mirror done as you cleared your throat. You wanted to make sure you didn’t sound all breathy and out of it when you spoke to him. His attention snapped back up at you, brows raised as if to ask you what it was you needed.

“Um,” you started, before leaning against the broom. “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

His neck grew a bit pink as he ceased all actions and stared at you. After a moment of silence, he stood up and turned to you, but kept his gaze on the floor. “Oh, that,” he said as he scratched the nape of his neck. He walked towards the cleaning supplies and set the things he was using down as he continued, “well, I wanted to let you know that I think you’re really talented.” 

Your jaw went slack, eyes wide and brows rose in disbelief. “I- really?” you asked, searching for signs of possible lies. 

He nodded, walking back over to you with a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I’ve seen how you’ve improved since the first month and I gotta say that not a lot could really do that. You’re a natural.”

This was all too much at once. You knew you were a pretty good dancer, but coming from Jungkook it all seemed too good to be true. And when had he even seen you dance in the first month to know you had improved. You didn’t remember any cameras being there, documenting the group’s progress. The only people outside of the choreographers who have watched all practised were the few members of upper management. 

Your eyes fell back on his all black outfit, that shirt seeming all too familiar. The growing smile on his face only further confirmed your suspicions.

“You were pretending to be management?” you asked. He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged as he smiled knowingly at you. “I- well, thank you, I guess,” you finally breathed, growing more and more flustered as he looked at you.

He nodded, reverting his gaze to the ground. “And, um, I kind uh, well, here’s the thing,” he restarted, looking back up at you. His eyes met yours but no words followed. He just stared at you with a slightly panicked look in his eye while his mouth remained open. You parted your lips to ask if he was alright when he finally found his voice again. “I was wondering if I could get your number,” he quickly asked. 

“Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

Jungkook looked around the room with a small smile playing on his lips as he nodded again. “Who else would I be talking to?”

You breathed a giggle, rolling your eyes at his words. He redirected his grin to the ground, pleased with himself no doubt. It brought a similiar smile to your lips and you held your hand out to him, silently asking for his phone. 

However, Jungkook completely misinterpreted the gesture. His smile widened and he slipped his large hand into your small one, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. Your breath got caught in your throat by the action, but he didn’t seem to catch onto that either. He swung your joined hands a bit, an innocent grin on his face.

“This is very nice,” you started, “but, I was actually wanting your phone, so I could type in my number.” 

His cheeks redden as he immediately let go of your hand. You giggled a bit at his flustered state. He quickly patted his pockets for his phone. “I’m really sorry,” he laughed a bit with you, before pulling his phone out of his back pocket. He fiddled around with it before handing it to you. 

Your hands brushed as you took it and he redirected his gaze to something behind you. You knew he was just trying to avoid your gaze so you didn’t bother to follow his line of sight. Your mind was way too absorbed by what he had written in the contacts name. He had your initials with a little pink heart beside it, making you blush. You spared him a glance, wondering how the hell he knew your last name when you remembered that he sat in for quite a lot of classes and most likely heard Mijin call on you by it. 

Jungkook met your gaze for a second, nervously shifting in place. It was then that you knew you could really fall for him. And that fact didn’t worry you in the slightest.

“You’re late,” you greeted as you opened the door.

Jungkook smiled widely, hoping it was enough to make up for the fact that he didn’t text or call to tell you so. It was working, but you didn’t want him know to that. You wanted to make him pay a little for making you wait so long. After casting him your best unimpressed expression, you turned around and walked back into the kitchen to check on your ramen. 

“We weren’t allowed to leave until we got the shot right,” he explained after shutting the door and kicking off his shoes. “And you know how the guys get when they’re tired.” He walked into the kitchen to find the spread you promised to make him this time all laid out. An excited smile graced his lips as he took it all in. “Is this a preview of what I’d be coming home to?” he asked. 

You hummed in response, keeping your back to him as you portioned out the noodles. Little kisses peppered the nape of your neck and moved up your jawline as muscular arms wrapped around your body. You blushed, turning your face away from him so he won’t see. It only made him tighten his grip, his body now pressed against yours. A giggle escaped you as you tried to fight off his hold. He laughed into the kisses, keeping you in place without much effort. 

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, finally turning to face him. 

A soft smile greeted you before you were pulled into a sweet kiss. You could never get tired of his kisses, not realizing how much you needed them in your life until you had them. A little whine left you when he pulled away. 

Jungkook leaned his forehead against yours, whispering, “I’m sorry; I should’ve let you know.”

You shrugged, fighting off a smile. “It’s fine, I knew you’d be late so the food’s not that cold anyway.” 

Jungkook tilted his head at you, tightening his grip once more. You laughed as he attacked your neck with kisses again. 

“If you wanted my attention, you should’ve just asked, babe,” he smirked against your jaw. His lips trailed up your chin, placing teasing little pecks around your lips too. 

You tried to fight off a smile and catch his lips with yours but he skillful dodged them, too keen on teasing you. “Jungkook,” you exclaimed in frustration. You parted your lips to tell him off when he finally gave into your request, pressing his lips to yours. His tongue gently nudged yours and you quietly moaned onto the kiss, feeling a blush spread across your chest. 

He pulled away with a smile, those cute teeth on full display. He didn’t say anything for a while, just stood and gazed back. “I love you,” he murmured, brushing the tip of his nose on yours. 

You’ve only been dating for about five months, spending every free second you had together and he’d already confessed his love for you multiple times. You’ve always returned it, mirroring his smile and shy eyes. You knew you loved him, and meant it every time you said it, but this time you felt it with every ounce of your being. Every part of you melted into his frame, drowning in everything that was him. Your lips sweetly latched onto his again, a softer take on the kiss you previously shared. “I love you too,” you smiled. 

“Good,” he smirked. He gave you one last peck before reaching behind you and grabbing the two bowls of noodles. “Now, let’s go eat before the food gets cold.”

You let out a little sigh as you watched him walk away, already missing his warmth. You knew that if you called him back, he’d gladly agree to heat the food up later and humour every one of your desires right now. But, you could tell from the tired look in his eyes, that he was trying hard to fight off, that he really needed to relax. You turned to the rest of the plates instead and took them to the table.

Jungkook had set your plates beside each other rather than across, making you furrow your brows. He usually liked his own space when he was eating to be able to move freely, and you never really took offence to that, knowing that sometimes you wanted that same courtesy. You searched around for him to find his broad back. He was hunched over the bluetooth speaker in the living room, looking between the speaker and his phone to probably try to connect them. You thought that maybe he was excited to put some music on, seeing as he usually always is, and didn’t think to set the plates properly. You took the liberty of doing that yourself, placing the kimchi and beef plates down in the middle and resetting the bowls of noodles across from each other. 

As you walked back into the kitchen, you heard Jungkook call over the music he chose, “Babe!” You grabbed the wine glasses and bottle before walking back to the table, humming your concern. “You don’t wanna sit next to me?” He asked with a playful smile, resetting all the plates so that they were easier to reach from one side of the table.

“You do?” You raised a brow at him as you set down the glasses. 

He took the bottle from you and nodded. “Maybe I missed you today,” he shrugged as he poured some into the glasses. You sat down, taking a sip of your drink as he continued. “Didn't you miss me?” The smug tone in his voice made you roll your eyes at him. 

You kissed his cheek when he sat down beside you, slightly staining his red from the wine. You brushed your thumb over the area, wiping the colour away. He took a bite of his food, groaning out his approval as you pushed his fringe back a bit. A blush coloured your cheeks at his reaction. 

“You’re not overreacting, are you?” you questioned with a smile playing on your lips. 

“Oh my god,” he mumbled around his food. “You can’t fake this,” he insisted, shoving another piece of meat in his mouth. 

You giggled and began digging in as well. “Who’s covering for you this time?” you asked before taking another bite. 

“Jin,” he replied before chugging the last bit of his wine. “I promised to buy him lunch tomorrow in exchange for his help,” he sat back, looking at the wine bottle as if wondering if he should have another glass. 

You chuckled at his spaced out expression, knowing he was serious debating how badly he wanted another glass. He looked at you, a small smile dancing on his lips. “Want another?” he asked, leaning his arm on the back of your chair. You took your last bite before shaking your head at him. He seemed to use that as his own deciding factor, nodding along. 

His hand slid from your chair to your thigh as he smiled fondly at you. “You look so cute with your cheeks filled with food like that,” he laughed, pulling out his phone to take a picture. 

You held your hand up at the camera, trying to chew on your food faster. His hand held yours down easily, repeated the action when you used your other hand to block your face. The way he was able to easily hold down both your hands in one of his own made you blush. You rolled your eyes as he took the phone, making his giggle into his screen. He let go of your hands and began fiddling around with the picture.

You finally finished eating before saying, “you better not be saying that to anyone.” 

He furrowed his brows at you, immediately shaking his head. “Nah, this gem is mine,” he winked at you. 

You nudged his shoulder, laughing at his cuteness. He barely moved, and didn’t make an effort to even fake the effects, all too busy gazing down at his phone. You playfully exaggerated a sigh and began picking up the plates in front of you. “So obsessed,” you said, feigning annoyance in your tone as you walked back to the kitchen. 

“Obsessed?” he questioned behind you. You jumped, dropping the plates in the sink. You hadn’t heard him even stand up, let alone follow you back into the kitchen. You turned around to face him to find his body towering yours. He took a step forward, closing whatever space was left between you as his hand caressed your cheek. “I think I’m just in love, babygirl,” he whispered as he hovered his lips over yours. 

You smiled, leaning up and pressing your lips against his tenderly. Your hands, previously clutching onto the counter’s edge behind you, moving up his sides to his shoulders. “I know you are, daddy,” you replied when he pulled away a bit, watching his smirk widen and eyes darken.

He ran a gentle hand through your hair only to roughly grip onto it. A tiny whine left you but he didn’t pay much mind to it. He pulled your head back, forcing your gaze to lower to get a better look at him. His head lowered a bit as his tongue darted out and swiped a lick over your lips, earning a quiet moan from you. “What did I say about being bratty, babygirl?” he asked, voice dropping an octave. 

You gulped, pressing your thighs together as you felt yourself getting wetter. “Are you saying I’m wrong, daddy? Are you not in lov- Ah!” you gasped as his strong hand came down on your ass. You opened your mouth to apologize but it only earned you another spank, jolting your body against his. 

“Did I or did I not ask a question?” He looked down at you, a smug smirk playing on his lips. He was definitely having too much fun with this and if you weren’t starting to get needy, you probably would’ve kept talking back. 

You bit your lip and nodded, easily complying. He raised a brow, silently ordering you to answer the first question he asked you. It was all part of his game, a lesson you learned the hard way when you two were still exploring the other’s likes and dislikes when it came to the other’s body. He liked seeing you so openly compliant, melting into his every word and touch, as if you didn’t do that already. But when he was in this role, he wanted to see the desperate plea of your eyes, and feel the way you quivered and whined for him. And from the hard bulge pressed against your abdomen, you could tell that he was getting exactly what he wanted. 

“You’ll punish me if I’m bratty, daddy,” you finally answered. He must’ve been satisfied because he released his hold on your hair, patting it down gently. 

He nudged his nose against yours, slightly leaning away from your lips when you’ve puckered them for a kiss. “I don’t think you’ve fully learned that lesson yet, baby,” he said as he curled a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. 

You hummed, the sound somewhere between a moan and chuckle. You were way too eager to see what he had in mind and it was all too clear to him. You could tell by the way his eyes flashed with amusement that he was enjoying seeing you so excited about it. However, he quickly recovered, eyes darkening once again as he gripped your ass with both hands. You gasped, giggling against his neck as your hands slid down to his chest. 

“You’re having way too much fun,” Jungkook laughed, leaning back to look at you. 

You raised a brow, trying to fight off a blush and asked, “And you’re not, daddy?” 

His lips quirked up in a mocking smile before he reached his hands to the back of your dress, tearing it apart in one swift motion. The thin straps fell off your shoulders, his chest against yours the only thing keeping it up. “Kookie,” you whined, reaching a hand back to feel the ripped seams. “This was one of my favourites.”

Jungkook chuckled, smirk widening as he rolled his eyes. Your skin prickled with goosebumps at the sight then from the cold as he moved back enough to let the dress fall. “I’ll buy you another, baby,” he promised, eyes shamelessly wandering down. 

“I don’t another,” you pouted as he gazed at your breasts. You weren’t wearing a bra, the dress not necessarily calling for one so your nipples instantly hardened from the sudden cold. 

He dragged his eyes back up to yours, looking less than impressed. “You walked around all day without a bra, baby?” he questioned before circling around your naked frame. 

You instantly felt small with him somewhere behind you. You could only just feel the faint fan of his breath over your shoulders. He placed both hands on your hips and gently guided you to the counter. You weren’t really sure what he had in mind. Usually, at this point, Jungkook would have carried you somewhere more comfortable, somewhere he could press your face into as he fucked you relentlessly. 

He stopped you the moment your hips were pressed against the edge of the counter. The clatter of his belt filled the room, making you wet with anticipation. He was really drawing this out more than he normally did. Before you could even think to question his actions, both your hands were pulled back behind you. His belt wrapped around them, tightening the restraint to ensure you couldn’t break the hold. 

“Daddy?” you asked, looking back at him over your shoulder. 

Jungkook froze at the tone of your voice. He pushed your hair out of your face, leaning towards you and placing a sweet kiss to your cheek. “You remember the safe word, baby?” he murmured, that loving tone of his returning as he stroked your hair. 

You nodded, replying, “gold.”

He softly smiled and nodded. “Do you wanna use it?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. 

The switch flicked back on, eyes darkening once again. “Then shut the fuck up, babygirl.” He pushed you down over the counter. 

You were on your toes, ass propped up as you whined at the coldness of the marble beneath your naked torso. You squirmed, trying to look over your shoulder at him. He was in the middle of stripping, taking his layers off starting with his plaid shirt then his white t-shirt. You drank in the sight of his chest, pressing your thighs together as a little moan left you. 

He must’ve noticed the action, looking up to meet your helpless gaze with his lust-filled one. He smirked and ran a hand down your spine, making your shiver and nervously giggle. “You’re too fucking sexy,” he sighed. He was most definitely horny, but the sincerity in his voice couldn’t be missed. You leaned your head back on the counter, blushing to yourself like you weren’t naked and bent over, ready for him to fuck and play with. 

His hands rested on your hips, pulling down your panties. He remained on his knees, spreading your cheeks to lick at your pussy. You helped him get better access, spreading your legs for him. His tongue flicked at your clit a few times before his lips latched onto it, sucking and licking all too erotically for you to handle. Your thighs began to tremble and he laughed.

“I barely started, babe. Don’t ruin all my fun,” he teased against your folds then lapped at them. He shook his head between your thighs, lips rubbing against your pussy. 

“Daddy,” you mewled, moving your hips against his face for more. You were so close, voice getting higher as your walls clenched around his tongue, making him laugh again. “Yes, fuck yes, daddy. Ye- fuck!” you cried out getting up to turn around only to have him push you back down. You huffed, pushing your ass back on him in defiance. How the hell did he even get back on his feet that fast? 

He kissed your back, trailing open mouth kisses up and down your spine and around your shoulders. “Were you about to cum without permission, babygirl?” he questioned, smacking your pussy this time. The wet slap echoed in your ears, pulling a pornographic gasp from your lips. He groaned in response, smacking your sensitive pussy again just to hear you whimper, “daddy please.”

“Please what, slut?” he chuckled, his cock now sliding between your pussy lips. When the fuck did he get his pants off? You hadn’t even heard the little thump of his pants hitting the floor. Did he even take them off or did he just pull his cock out, too eager to fuck you to properly undress like he preferred to do? When you felt the warmth of his legs against your thighs, you got your answer. 

You squirmed, rolling your hips to move his cock against your clit. He stood up straight, removing his lips from your back. One of his strong hands held your hips in place while the other slapped his cock up on your pussy. You squealed into the marble surface, moaning his name then correcting it to his role title when he’d smack your ass again. 

“Fuck, just ruin me already,” you begged. “Please daddy, please.” 

He leaned down to bite your shoulder and whispered, “Has my baby learned her lesson?” You nodded immediately, moaning quietly as he licked the shell of your ear. He stood back to his full height, pumping himself a bit before aligning himself to your entrance. He gave in all too quickly, but you figure he was getting pretty needy himself. He slowly pushed in, groaning with his whole chest as he gripped each asscheek of yours. “Shit, baby,” he hissed. 

Your eyes were already rolling to the back of your head. He was so big, like huge, as if he grew further while he was in you even though he was already rock hard. He was stretching your walls so delightfully, it made your mouth water for him to push his cock against the walls of your throat too. 

The moment he bottomed out, he didn’t even wait for you to adjust. He began his harsh thrusts, using the grip he had on your ass as leverage. Your moans stuttered with each snap of his hips, voice catching each time he hit or even brushed your g-spot. It always surprised you how easily he found it, like he already knew the way around your pussy. He really took the idea of ruining you to the next level, your mind already foggy with lust.

“Ah, fuck,” Jungkook whispered, groaning with you every time your moans would peak. “Is this what you wanted, babygirl?” he questioned. 

You didn’t have it in your to reply but he didn’t care, smacking your ass to ensure you’d answer. “Yes, daddy,” you mewled. Little sobs bubbled out of your throat and he bent over your frame while his hips still slammed against your ass. In this new position, you could fully feel his balls smack against your pussy. The weighty sack pounded as harshly against your clit as his cock did to your walls. 

It didn’t help your case at all that Jungkook began to kiss the nape of your neck and your head. “Shit, how the fuck are you this tight?” he whispered, his husky voice tickling your skin. 

Your tears began to surface at the conflicting rough and soft actions, your body unsure what to soak up first. Everything he did just hit you at once. “Look at you, baby,” he whispered. “Look at how good you take me. You know, I honestly believe this tight little hole of yours was made for me, babygirl, don’t you?”

You only cried out in response. He chuckled and stood back up, starting to feel your pussy tighten around him. “Ah, my babygirl wants to cum, hmm?” he moaned, sounding pretty close himself. 

“Y-yes please, da-ddy,” you whimpered through your tears. Fuck, he was way to good at this, ruining more than your pussy. Your heart would tremble every time he called on you as his babygirl or kissed you tenderly. He was fucking with more than just your pussy and knew it all too well, only making him that much more sexy and your mind that much more blown. 

“Fuck, Jungkook just let me cum!” you screamed, when he didn’t answer your pleads. You looked back at him, loose strands of your hair sticking to your tear-stained cheeks. 

Jungkook smiled, pushing your hair back. “Go on, baby,” he winked. You screamed, as you finally let yourself release your high, gushing all over him. Your legs were quaking now, along with your body and you tried to fight the hold of his belt around your wrist but he tightened all too well. The sounds of your pussy got drenched with wet slouches and sploshes of your orgasm. 

He felt himself about to unravel too but knew you still needed to ride out your orgasm, still having lots left to give him. He pulled out as one of his hands reached down to rub your clit. His other hand pumped his cock, aiming to shoot all over your ass. He underestimated the power of his shot, cum flying all over your back and arms instead, reaching as far as the nape of your neck and getting in your hair. “Fuck,” he hissed, hoping you wouldn’t be too mad about it. 

You were too consumed by the ongoing overstimulation as his fingers were still rubbing harshly at your clit. He hadn’t noticed you’ve been crying and squirming, pressing your legs together until he couldn’t move his hand anymore. “Okay, okay,” you sighed desperately. Even knowing his hand was still down there made your body tremble. 

Jungkook pulled his hand away, resting his hands on either side of you as you both tried to catch your breath. “There’s cum in your hair,” he muttered after a while. 

“I know,” you breathed. He fell silently, unclasping the belt around your wrist. You let out a sigh of relief, moving your hands to your sides to push yourself up. 

“Careful,” he whispered, watching his cum drip down your back and to your ass. He smirked to himself as he admired his work. Your pussy was all but throbbing, looking more precious than ever, and your body was covered in sweat, tears or his cum. You were a mess to say the least; a mess he made, his mess.

You turned back to him, face flushed as you reached out to hold onto him. “You okay, baby?” he murmured against your forehead. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he steadied you by placing his hands on your hips. 

“Just fine, kookie,” you smiled. “A bit fucked out, but I’m okay.” You giggled at your own words, making him smile down at you. 

He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, walking your backwards towards the bathroom. “How about we clean you up, then fix the mess we made in there?” he suggested, nodding back to the kitchen. 

“You’re washing the dishes,” you said as you scratched the short hair at the nape of his neck. 

He hummed a half-hearted agreement, rolling his eyes a bit. “We’ll see,” he shrugged. 

“We will,” you insisted as you entered the backroom. “Hey!” you giggled after his hand came down on your ass again. This smack was lighter than the others, made to tease you and nothing more. 

“I love you,” he smiled, all annoyance in your face disappearing. You hated how easily he could fix everything with those three words.

“I love you too.”

The pictures surfaced a month or so after the release of the official music video. Someone had caught you too getting bubble tea late at night. Over fifty photos were taken, each one a different angle of every part of your conversation, capturing flattering and unflattering shots of you alike. 

The first wave of hate was mainly targeted to the way you looked, or didn’t look. “Nothing like his past crushes,” they’d note in multiple different languages, dragging everything you didn’t have through mud with your pride in tow. 

The second wave of hate was dedicated to how unfit you were for someone like Jungkook, as if they knew him like you did. He didn’t put much of a persona in front of the cameras, but there was a small part of him reserved for you, the guys, and his family. They talked about him like he belonged to them only and you simply didn’t fit the equation because you didn’t know him like they did. 

The first two waves were bearable. Hard to manage, but bearable. The third wave was the most nerve-wracking. You were too scared to leave your house, missing dance practises at other companies because of all the messages you’ve got sent to your address. You didn’t tell Jungkook about it at first, wanting to handle it on your own. Management told you this would be a risk, but you didn’t want to believe that anyone could hate a stranger that much. 

You spent the first month after receiving the letters not making any unnecessary trips out, like attending parties or lunch dates. You asked Jungkook to meet you at your house and would fake feeling sick to get him to agree to stay in. The next couple of months were all too scary to even think about leaving the house at all, even to go to work. You’d only leave every now and then to stock up on massive amounts of ramen. You talked to your agent for hours on end, explaining that you wanted to take a semi-hiatus from all practises and events as you weren’t feeling well. She pushed you on it for a while, asking if there was anything else going on behind the scenes that you weren’t sharing. You always denied it, regretting it now. 

“I just want to go out tonight,” Jungkook shrugged. “I thought you didn’t mind too much about going public after the photos.” He stroked your hair back as you rested your head on his chest. “I wanna treat you to the date you deserve.”

The smile on his face broke your heart. He looked so in love, entranced by whatever beauty he saw in you. It made him that much more ignorant to your pain and fear, to the erratic thumping of your heart at just the thought of going out. 

You avoided his gaze, nuzzling against his chest. “I rather just stay in,” you muttered. 

He huffed, ceasing all affectionate actions. His hand fell off your body, somewhere behind you as his other tucked under his head. You looked up to find him glaring at the ceiling, a scowl taking over his features. 

“Are you embarrassed to be seen with him or something?” he asked after a moment of you staring at him. He met your gaze, the hurt so evident in his eyes it was enough to swell tears in your own. He furrowed his brows, sitting up and pulling you with him. “What is it?”

You turned away from him, giving him your back as you wiped your tears away. “Nothing,” you squeaked, internally cursing at the tone of your voice. His hand rubbed up and down your back soothingly. You knew it was meant to calm you down, but it only made you want to cry even more. 

He shifted closer to you upon hearing your sniffles and wrapped his arms around your waist. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“Maybe I don’t want your help,” you snapped, pushing yourself out of his grasp.

Jungkook held onto your wrist, pulling you back to him. You turned back, regretting meeting his gaze because the confusion and pain mixed within his doe-like eyes completely shattered you. You began sobbing uncontrollably. He gasped, crawling over to you and pulling you into a strong embrace. Your body shook as more sobs left you and he rubbed your back, whispering reassurances that you couldn’t quite fully register since his voice was much deeper in a whisper than his normal tone and volume. 

“You’re really scaring me, (Y/N),” he confessed, voice slightly breaking too. “Just please tell me what’s wrong, baby.” He was practically begging you for an answer, any answer would do just as long as you talked to him about it. 

After a few more minutes of crying and him lulling you back to stuttered hiccups and ragged breathing, you finally confessed everything. You pulled the letters out, showing them to him and explained all that you have done to keep yourself safe and why you felt like you never wanted to leave your house again. You even had to switch on your privacy settings for all your social media accounts a few months back. You hadn’t been on them in months though so you weren’t really sure how that was going over.

Jungkook read through each one silently, pausing every so often to sigh or run a hand through his hair. “Why didn't you tell me earlier?” he asked. He couldn’t even meet your gaze, too disappointed with himself for not noticing all this before. “I could’ve protected you.”

“I don’t know,” you confessed, leaning back against the headboard. “I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

He furrowed his brows. “You never bother me, you know that. I told you that I don’t care what they say. They’re not the real fans, (Y/N). You’ve been so focused on all the bullshit you haven’t once looked at any of the support.”

“What support? Do you not see what’s in your hand?” You questioned. “I’m being threatened daily, Jungkook.” 

He shook his head at you. You scoffed, tears pooling once more. You couldn’t believe he was brushing you off like this. 

Jungkook looked down at the notes again, muttering, “If you had told me sooner, none of this would’ve happened. We have the best guards. I would’ve personally paid for twenty-four hour surveillance.” He tossed the notes to the side, looking back at you. He wiped your tears as he continued, “If you had logged in like I've been telling you to do for weeks, you would’ve known that all your social media accounts have filtered out all the hate. You would’ve seen the overwhelming support that I do. You have no idea who the true fans even are anymore, do you?”

You sighed, pulling your legs into your chest. You couldn’t believe how fucking stupid you were being. Everything just happened so fast, the initial leak of one of your dates already feeling like a violation of privacy. You took every cruel word to heart, deeming it the epitome of a fandom you, yourself were a part of. Why you tried to seek comfort in the hate all the trolls offered was just as backwards to you as it was to Jungkook. 

“I’m so sorry,” you croaked, trying to blink back another round of tears. “I was just scared.” You let him pull you into his lap, crawling over his legs to seat yourself comfortable. 

Jungkook hugged you tightly, scattering tiny kisses on your head. “I’m sorry I didn’t see all this sooner. I’m gonna fix this, baby,” he promised, already going to reach for his phone. 

You looked up at him through the tears as he frantically texted his manager all the details of your last few months. Your hand covered his phone, pushing it out of his view. He shot you a confused gaze. You didn’t explain, only leaned up to press your lips against his. “You already did,” you whispered. 

 “I love you,” Jungkook smiled, “and so do they.”

You nodded. “I love you,” you pecked his lips once more, “and I’m starting to love them too.”

----

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[zalrin]

Dream SMP x Detroit: Become Human AU

DSMP x DBH AU Part 2

Background Information: I was inspired to do this after watching Tubbo's play-through of Detroit: Become Human. At first, I was planning on posting art with descriptions, but I'm over flowing with ideas and not enough artistic talent to hurry along...

Author's Note: Okay, I'm going to be completely honest. Both part 1 and part 2 are pretty much posted on impulse. I should be going to sleep because I have work in the morning, and I started on this post early with that thought in mind, but for some reason my computer is glitching... I've written this out almost three times T-T Everything was deleted at one point, with NOTHING SAVED, so I was nearly about to rage quit... Pray for me. My patience is not unlimited.

Aside from all that, please enjoy! I worked REALLY hard on this (even excluding all the technical issues) so I really do hope you enjoy!

Character Plots:

1. Technoblade

Technoblade, notoriously known as the rogue deviant, was always a mystery due to the fact that no one, not even CyberLife, knew what model android he was. This was due to the fact that Techno was actually not even an android, but a human. This all began at a young age of thirteen, when Techno started to question the set rules of society and how he fit into its rigid hierarchy. Although it was just a budding curiosity, one he didn’t expect to go anywhere, it soon took a drastic turn. After pretending to be an android, just for fun, he was appalled by how he was treated by his fellow humans. More so than the random civilians, he was more disgusted by the inaction of the police. As an act of rebellion for the present corruption of authority, he committed small acts of violence and destruction of public property. He promoted equality and spoke out against the tyrannical attitude of those in power. Due to him indiscriminately acting out against both humans and androids alike, fighting against anyone in power who became physical and bullied those weaker than them, public opinion slowly began to shift. He eventually went from a crazy anarchist to a modern-day robin hood, much to the government’s dismay. Even those that flocked to his side, joining his cause, were a good mix of both androids and humans. His growing popularity began to raise the urgency of his capture, making his name slowly climb up the Most Wanted list. Eventually, while on his many brushes and runs from the police, he met with Detective Kristin (before she was promoted to Lieutenant) and her android partner, Philza. After many encounters, Techno and Phil surprisingly became close friends. In fact, they became so inseparable that their relationship was more akin to family than just friends. Though Phil didn’t particularly condone Techno’s more violent methods, he still supported his cause from behind. Willing to dirty his hands and become the mole, Phil secretly fed Techno intel from classified files as well as supplying Techno with android fuel, aka. Blue Blood. It was only later that Techno revealed to Phil his human identity, Phil being the only one he ever disclosed that information to, but Phil swore to never reveal his secret. Besides, the fuel was necessary for Techno’s growing followers, eventually taking on the name of The Syndicate. Techno understood the reason Phil never openly supported him, even though the android was more than willing to. It was to protect his loved one, Kristin, who would eventually become his wife. Techno understood, even supported Phil, and worked harder to never be a burden to his closest friend. Suddenly, Techno’s reputation exploded when a video clip of him went viral on social media. Though the government tried to spin the story in their favor, the video captured the full extent of the event. Techno had fought off several CyberLife security officers and police forces, exhibiting exceptional fighting prowess, while also making off with a ton of android fuel. He and his team had tried to hijack the vehicle loaded with the goods mid-route but was caught and almost apprehended. However, the thing that raised his public opinion to his favor was not just his fighting capabilities, but also how little he endangered the civilians around him. Instead, it was the government officials who had unintentionally dragged innocent people into this chaotic fight, suspecting them to be on Techno’s side. Then, not long after his growing popularity, Techno and Dream teamed up, officially marking Technoblade’s name as number one on the FBI’s Most Wanted Fugitives list.

2. Dream

Clay, or better known as Dream, was once a star employee at CyberLife. He was actually one of the many brilliant minds that helped make CyberLife into the giant company that it is. However, Dream soon gave up his employment due to the many restrictions they had placed on his creative vigor. Instead, he pursued his own android business, taking on the name Dream for both branding purposes and to embody his own "dreams." Teaming up with fellow ex-employees, Sapnap and George, the three were an ambitious trio that were talented enough to eventually become a threat to CyberLife’s growing industry and monopoly over the android market. When Dream realized that his life was being targeted by CyberLife, even being threatened to either come back into their company or give up on his current business, he became more determined to grow his industry. This even propelled him to start designing his most prized creation, DreamXD. However, his unbending will soon began to falter. CyberLife took a different approach when they realized that Dream did not hold his life more dear than his company. They began to threaten not just his life but also the lives of his most trusted partners and friends. This finally forced Dream to worry, eventually driving his friends away. Dream knew Sapnap and George like the back of his hand. He knew that the two would stick by him, through thick and thin, so he didn’t even give them that choice. Instead, his attitude towards them got worse and worse, until they eventually cut all ties with him. That was the only way he believed he could protect them. However, Dream underestimated the effects his friends had on his mental stability. Eventually, without their presence, he became more insane from the combined pressure, stress, and loneliness. Soon, he realized that it was getting too dangerous to stay still and was forced into hiding. With little time, Dream only took the incomplete DreamXD with him and shook off those tailing him. Then, he left his most prized possession to his dear ex-partner and friend, George. Dream intentionally left DreamXD incomplete. He had created the android in his image and left him unfinished to gather experience and human emotions on his own. This was the only android in existence that had been designed not only to be a deviant, but to be a human. Even with high expectations for his own future, Dream never could shake off the feeling of death following close at his heels. DreamXD was created to be his contingency plan. In the event that Dream died before his goals were achieved, DreamXD was programmed to take over Dream’s human life, or the life of Clay. Of course, Dream knew that free will was a part of humanity. That’s why he left DreamXD with a choice. While forced into hiding by CyberLife, the company spread rumors about his capture and imprisonment. CyberLife hoped that it could lure out his loved ones, baiting Dream to come out of hiding, but they had underestimated him. They had failed to realize just how severely Dream had cut out all his friends and loved ones from his life, leaving no one behind. No one to look back for him, or so the two thought... Surprisingly, even on the run Dream was fairly rich. He had planned out many things in the event CyberLife truly carried out their threats, and hidden many resources to one day come back to. However, he could not leave the city. Not while his goal was still left unfinished. So this left him with no place to stay for long periods of time, leaving him essentially homeless. That’s when he reached out to Technoblade, whose infamy had grown exponentially. The two had similar goals and so easily agreed to a partnership. Technoblade wanted to take down the tyranny of the government, while Dream wanted to end CyberLife’s influence over the android market and quiet down his chaotic life. Since CyberLife was a large reason for the power corruption, the two found working together to be simple. Techno would help Dream by providing him a place to stay, as well as offering man power when available and needed. Dream, on the other hand, would assist with supplies and android repairs, using his expertise in androids to even upgrade their parts. However, outside of these agreements they wouldn’t get in one another's way. They would only provide assistance if their plans overlapped. The two had a good understanding of the nature of their relationship. They were neither friends nor enemies. Just partners. Nothing more, nothing less.

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PREVIOUS PARTS: 1

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Note: I'm sorry, but after writing all this over again, nearly from scratch, three times... I really can't be bothered to go back and fix anything. I know I could have done better, but I'm kind of defeated right now and a bit tired. Please understand and I really do hope you enjoyed the read! Feel free to leave a comment on what you thought of it or maybe ways to improve the story! I'm all ears (when I have free time) ^^ And thank you so much for all the likes on my previous post! I'm really happy that you all enjoyed it <3

[booksbabybooks]

The Old Guard comic and killing what you love

I see so much excitement on here about the Old Guard comic coming out in April, that I kind of feel like a buzzkill bringing this up and I'm sure I'll get hate for this but: some of you at least are going to have to buy the damn thing.

Because we all know what's going to happen. Days after it comes out, the whole book will be scanned and online. Blogs will share the whole thing page by page. You'll know where you can download an illegal PDF. And most of this will be done from no more malicious reasons than love and enthusiasm. And in doing so, you pretty much guarantee that there won't be another comic after it.

There's a real culture online - especially on Tumblr - of feeling that all creative products should be free, and that by making them freely available you are doing an uncritical good, and sticking it to the system while you are at it.

Some of this comes from reasons it's hard not to have sympathy with: a screw you to the system, a 'fuck it, Disney can afford it', or genuine poverty / lack of access to a legal version of it.

Less attractively - not to be your salty aunt here, but it's true - it stems from an entitlement, a belief that you should be able to consume any art you want, free, immediately and without ads. (And often with no sense of irony or awareness: the same people who will RAGE against people liking but not reblogging fan art are happy to share a link where you can download books for free.)

But artists need to eat. They need to pay rent. And in almost every creative industry, the vast majority of people do not earn enough to live off. I don't have the exact figures to hand (you can get them from the BPI / Society of Authors websites if you are intetested) but something like 90% of musicians earned less than £200 from streaming last year. A similar percentage of authors earned less than £1000. This likely includes some of your favourites. Some people you view as successful. Some people that, if you took a moment, you'd be heartbroken were harmed by your actions.

(I work in the creative industries and I can tell you: they don't make many people rich. I have friends who are best-selling authors who survive on teaching gigs. And while it is about the money, it's not just about the money: I've seen comics artists deeply upset because a day after a book landed someone has uploaded the last five pages onto their blog as a "tribute".)

So pirating isn't a victimless crime, however easy it is it to pretend otherwise. (Also, it's not without risk: 'but I love them, your honour,' isn't actually a viable legal defence for copyright infringement).

But it also sends a message to the companies (including those who, yes, probably do deserve to be robbed) that IT'S NOT WORTH PUBLISHING THIS ART.

No publisher ever thought, it got a load of hype even though sales tanked, so let's publish another one. No film studio thought, ticket sales suck but illegal downloads were high so it's a win.

And it's especially important if the art you want to consume challenges the existing narrative of what sells. The companies that create these things - that pay the artists and writers and filmmakers - will continue to believe that nobody wants a queer superhero / Black romantic lead / disabled central character until the bottom line proves otherwise.

(Not to also point out that if you don't believe creatives should be paid, you encourage a system where only rich people get to make art, or at least get to decide who makes art).

So: if you possibly can, buy the damn book.

Club together with your mates to buy it.

If you can, double what your money does by buying from a comics store or indie bookshop.

If you are broke, order it from your library - most libraries stock graphic novels now and also offer digital lending. Remember, authors get paid for every loan out.

I'm sure there are some people for whom these are impossible options - this being Tumblr, I'm sure many people are already frothing to tell me how privileged my viewpoint is. And it's not like I don't know comics are expensive, or that not everyone has a local library.

But a lot of you do. So it's to those people I'm saying:

You want more of these books to come out? You have to support them.

EDIT: While I am here saying pay for your art I would remind people that my 2020 Kindness project is giving away my stitches to good homes for free so if anyone wants these Joe and Nicky stitches they are still available. HMU. (UK only due to postage, sorry)

[anthropwashere]

All That Describes a Joyful Heart

At last I can finally share this! \o/

This Trisha/Hohenheim fic was written for @fmacookbookzine which you should absolutely go follow because they’ll be announcing leftover sales soon! It’s perhaps the best quality physical zine I’ve ever gotten my hands on AND it comes with oodles of lovely art, oodles of lovely recipes, and three other fics besides mine!

Me being me I have research hole notes to share but I’ll stick them all at the end of the fic. I hope you enjoy!

=

Night fell hours ago, and with it came a cruel December wind that rattles the windows mercilessly in their painted frames. The old tree out front complains loudly, creaking and groaning its protests as it rakes its naked branches across the roof. But Hohenheim isn't worried. That tree had already been a proud specimen the year he bought the land he eventually built this house on. Its roots grow deep. It'll take a far more furious storm to bring it down than the one that threatens them on this, the longest night of the year.

There's still a part of him that falters over how the years are measured here in the West. Many, many parts of him, to be more accurate; many thousands of his friends who grew accustomed to how a year is measured in far-off Xing, while so many more still cling to the lost ways of Xerxes. Before, long decades ago now, he had no home to call his own. He'd slunk away from the unwanted fame and fortune at the then-Emperor's heel in order to find some semblance of peace amidst the ever-shifting sand dunes, and when that had only brought him renewed grief he'd traveled farther west, and farther still, all the while chasing....

Chasing dreams, he supposes. Dreams of peace and quiet, where half a million souls don't natter at him endlessly. Dreams where he's still human, still susceptible to the ravages of time as any other man. Bittersweet what-ifs and if-onlys.

But those dreams fell to dust, and less than dust, and eventually he came to a soot-blackened city of industry where people limped in on crutches and, after a time, strode out again on gleaming, impossible prosthetics. He met Pinako there in Rush Valley, some thirty-odd years ago now. Her raucous laughter and bawdy humor burrowed past all the walls he'd built around himself, and in the blink of an eye she'd grown dangerously dear to him. It came to pass that whatever she asked of him, he would do without question. It was in this way that she coaxed him time and time again to Resembool. For a funeral, for a wedding, for a birth, and once more to stay.

Well. He'd had no interest in returning to Xing, where they insisted on building ever-grander statues of him whenever he demonstrated an ounce of common sense. So why not buy a bit of land in the hometown of his friend, this mad inventor who dragged him over for a good meal and better drinks whenever she thought he'd been left to mope on his own for too long? Why not build a house there? Why not fill it with books, and shelves to organize them on? And even a monster like him would be wise to take care of himself, so why not fill the cupboards and pantry too while he was at it?

He'd never told Pinako the truth of himself. What he is, where he's really from. Any of it. It's not that he's ever thought such truths to be too heavy a burden for her; rather that he's always considered her a safe harbor away from such burdens. The Homunculus is out there, somewhere, and he's certain it has terrible plans for Amestris, but here in Resembool he can laugh loudly at the dark and feel brave for a few moments of his long, long life.

"Cenz for your thoughts?"

Hohenheim blinks, and finds himself stood stupidly in the middle of his kitchen. His friends titter and tease, directing his attention to the dining table where there sits nothing short of a miracle; a young woman of incomparable kindness, cleverness, and beauty. Stubbornness too, for all that she hides it behind a soft voice and bright eyes. She's refused time and again all his efforts to turn her away, to convince her to love anyone else but him. She's too stubborn by half, twice as determined as that in her efforts to know and understand him for all his faults, and forgive him for them too.

There's no other woman in the world like Trisha Elric. Of that, he's certain.

He meets her wry smile head on, feeling his heart melt anew. "Trisha," he says, enchanted by her very name. "I'm sorry—"

"How may times do I have to tell you to stop that?" She pats the table, drawing him over. "What are they saying?"

He's drawn to her helplessly, like iron filings to a magnet. Many of his friends suggest how he could tell her again all the ways he loves her; chastely, reverently, lustfully, and everything in-between. Many others scoff at him for being so besotted over a country girl without learning, reputation, or skill. He ignores all of them in favor of the few that tell him to mind the stockpot simmering gently on the stove. He prefers practicality to insults. It hasn't been long since he last stirred the pot, however; he can join Trisha at the table, for a little while.

He returns to the chair he'd been sitting in before he'd gone to check the stove and ended up lost in his thoughts. He reaches out to take her hand in his, and is charmed momentarily speechless when she reaches for him just as readily. The tangle of their fingers is a miracle he would never have dreamed of praying for.

"They're happy I'm doing this," he says, then hastily corrects himself. "That we are doing this."

Her smile gains a soft delight to its edges, her green eyes crinkling. "Me too. You were telling me about how tonight was practiced in Xerxes. Shab-e Chelleh?"

He has to pause in the wake of so many of his friends cheering to hear his native tongue spoken aloud by another. "شب چله," he corrects.

She pulls her hand from his long enough to pluck another almond from the bowl of mixed nuts on the table, unwilling to move her other hand from the full swell of her belly. "Well? Go on."

Hohenheim is certain he would have died of shock—if he were still capable of dying—the day she told him they were going to have a baby. A part of him—one all his own, and one that his friends all laugh readily at—can't help but think this is all a wonderful dream he's sure to wake from at any moment.

His friends clamor at him eagerly, shouting to be heard over each other, over suggestions of what he ought to say. Traditions kept, stories told, favorite dishes, and on, and on. He hums and chooses his own words. "We feared the darkness of winter, but we wanted to be stronger than it. So we came together on the last day of every autumn, most often in the homes of our elders. We stayed awake through the night, chasing away the dark and all its evils with fire and music, stories and laughter. We would eat the last of the summer fruits, though we prized watermelon and pomegranate most for the benefits we ascribed them. We knew the winter would be a little easier for our efforts."

"Watermelon? Pomegranate?"

It's still strange for him, to have someone wanting to learn his native tongue. But Trisha is an eager student, demanding translations at every turn. "Ah—هندوانه و انار."

She mouths the words carefully, testing their weight on her tongue with a sweet furrow to her brow. "Hendevâne? Anâr?"

"Yes. Well done."

"That's beautiful," she says. Sarcasm is a slippery thing, even harder to catch hold of in Amestrian. The loveliest thing about her is that he can trust her to mean exactly what she says. "And you?"

"Me?"

"How did you celebrate?"

He blinks. "Oh. Well. The royal family always held a grand feat, with attendees from as far east as—"

"Not the royal family," she interrupts. "Or the courtiers, or the foreign visitors. Not any of them. What did you do, Van?"

Not for the first time, he marvels to hear her call him that. Van, and only Van. Not even his friends address him so. It's still part of the name the Homunculus gave him, yes, but when she says it—with mischief in her eyes and an infectious smile on her lips—he likes it again. She makes his name sound like the gift it had been, so long ago.

"Ah," he says, stalling.

Memories are... difficult, sometimes, for him. The sheer number of years between Xerxes and here are daunting enough, but add to that all the stories his friends have shared with him of their own lives and he grows... confused. Easily so. It takes him a few moments to drum up a dusty etching of his youth to share with her.

"When I was a slave," he begins slowly, swallowing the natural flinch twined to those words. "Those of us who weren't needed would gather in the kitchens for our own celebration. I remember offering to help the cooks prepare ingredients so I could steal samples from the dishes on their way out to the feast."

"Naughty," she teases.

"Only if I'd been caught," he counters. He's had just enough wine—"You're drinking for two, after all," Trisha had joked earlier—to be brave enough to catch her hand as she reaches for another almond. He presses a triumphant kiss to the soft skin of her pale wrist. "And I was very quick."

Her laughter is a bright thing, warming him straight through.

He continues after that, telling her stories of the cusp of winter in long-ago Xerxes. He tells her all the patently untrue deeds he'd boasted of, his plans for mischief, his ploys to avoid work, his hopes a fine dish would turn out too ruined for the King's table so he could feast like a king instead. He tells her of the bards who would deign to sup with slaves, roughly translating their songs with help from his friends. He tells her some of the old superstitions; in believing that the natural coolness of a watermelon would preserve him from heatstroke all through the following summer, in going out to the stables to whisper a secret into a donkey's ear.

There are pauses in the telling, of course, to attend to the stove. His friends insist he do this right, or as right as he can in so small a village as Resembool. Half the needed ingredients are beyond his reach, so he had to get creative. Trisha's begun asking he cook the meals he'd enjoyed before coming to Amestris, and to teach her how to cook them in turn. There's a small but growing collection of recipe cards written in her neat hand, transliterated from Xerxesian, Xingese, and a half-dozen other languages as best as they can guess.

The centerpiece of tonight's meal is a hearty stew made with ground walnuts and pomegranate paste, accompanied by scorched rice flavored with sour cherries. Traditionally it was most commonly made with duck, but he can recall times when chicken or lamb were substituted well. But tonight is about tradition. Tradition, and memory. Only the good memories, if he has any say in it. Trisha only deserves to hear the good, now that she knows the very worst of him.

“How do you pronounce it again?” She asks. “Fesenjān?”

“فسنجون,” he corrects, and more slowly, “Fesenjoon. And the rice, prepared this way, is called ته دیگ.”

“Tahdig,” she echoes. “You’ve made that before, haven’t you? To go with the kabab koobideh you made for the fall sheep festival?”

He hums, thinking back. “Ah, so I did.”

“Good. I’m excited to have it again.” She eats another almond, covering her mouth as she chews. “If there’s any left we’ll have to bring it over to the Rockbells tomorrow. I think Yuriy just about cried, he liked it so much.”

“I’m not sure those were happy tears.”

“Oh, hush. No self-deprecating jokes in the house, remember?”

One of her many rules, enforced through rolled eyes and pointedly aggressive hugs. A lifeline cast across the chasm between then and now. Sometimes he forgets himself, but she is always there to coax him home again.

“Go on, then. I want to hear more.”

He stays by the stove, leaning against the counter with one eye on the simmering pot, as he continues his history. The scant collection of years after the Homunculus gave him the means and the tools to earn his freedom, when he was no longer a slave of the palace but an alchemist of the court. How each dish he had once seen crafted firsthand tasted all the richer for having earned his place at the table. How he'd marveled, quietly astonished, over how the nobles he had once envied could act as much the fool as any slave when they'd had too much to drink. How so much changed, yet how so much more remained the same.

He tells her of his very first شب چله as a free man, rubbing elbows with a merchant from Xing and an alchemist from Samskara. They'd both spoken Xerxesian atrociously, and only considered him their equal because he didn't share his past with them. One had spat at the eunuch boys serving at the King's table, while the other had leered hungrily at the slave girls as they'd danced. He remembers biting his tongue, afraid to cause upset, afraid his former master would change his mind if he caused a scene.

He sums up nearly 20 years in the time it takes to finish cooking, doling out two generous helpings of فسنجون و ته دیگ just as the clock on the mantel strikes eleven. 20 years. The same age Trisha is now. A mere slip of a woman with her whole life ahead of her. 20 years had been almost half his human lifetime, but it feels hardly more than a footnote compared to the centuries he's lived since. They don't have a thing in common, not really, but she's chosen him anyway.

As he rejoins her at the table, bowls in hand, he finds himself struck speechless for a second time tonight by the mere sight of her. He loves her. He loves her so much. He has cared for so many people in his life, but she is the first he has loved completely.

He has stood over so many graves. He doesn't want to outlive her too.

Her eyes light up with the first bite. It's the greatest compliment, the greatest achievement, to do something that makes her happy.

“Oh!” She exclaims, free hand jumping to her belly with a laugh. “I think he likes it too.”

He eyes the swell of her as if he might see the baby kicking from here. A father, he thinks wildly. He's going to be a father. His friends will never stop laughing at his first-time parenting jitters. Traitors, the lot of them.

“You’re sure it’s going to be a boy?” He asks, trying not to show his nervousness.

“I’m not certain,” she admits. “But it feels right. Does that make sense?”

He smiles helplessly. “Not at all. But I believe you.”

She'd said the same thing after he'd told her the truth of him. It feels right to say it to her in turn now.

"Are you sure you don't want to help pick a name?" She asks.

He shakes his head, adamant. “You’re the one doing all the work. It’s only right you get to choose.”

She hums, thoughtful.

Moments pass in that particular quality of silence found only in the wake of a good meal. He tries not to preen. It helps that a number of his friends are critiquing his cooking even as he tries to enjoy it. He should have added onions. He should have tried harder to find saffron. The rice isn't as caramelized as it could be. The duck is too tough. He didn't grind the walnuts fine enough. And on, and on.

Trisha's hand touches his wrist. He blinks at her, enamored and baffled equally. She smiles at him, enamored and exasperated equally.

“I asked what you were thinking,” she says.

It's not even midnight yet. Dawn is a long way off. For all that he's learned so much since he was a nameless slave, for all the centuries he's endured, there's still a part of him that doubts the sun will rise tomorrow. There's still a part of him, however small and smothered by his friends, that is the angry, empty-headed fool who willingly held out his arm when his master demanded he give up his blood. There is still a part of him that wishes desperately he recoiled from the knife, and in doing so saved his people. But there's no sense in wishing for what he cannot change.

“I’m thinking that I’m glad I’m here,” is what he tells her. “And that I love you.”

Outside the wind rages, surely full of devils with cruel fangs and crueler deeds in mind, but here in his home Hohenheim knows he's safe. Better still, the most wonderful woman in the world has chosen to take refuge with him here. More than that. She's chosen to forge a life with him here, to make and raise a family with him here. Out there, somewhere, the Homunculus is surely scheming. Inside him, over half a million souls roil restless, ceaselessly, and perhaps—God help him—even eternally.

But tonight? On this, the longest night of the year? Hohenheim chases jewel-bright pomegranate seeds with his spoon, warmed by just a hair too much wine, hand-in-hand with the love of his long, long life. Tonight, at least, Hohenheim finds himself content.

=

 And that’s the fic! I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope you also enjoy me vomiting some THOUGHTS at you too.

I am in a constant state of being emotionally overwrought about my favorite square anime dad, so I was delighted to have a chance to write something truly syrupy sweet about him and Trisha and have the ready-made excuse to get lost down a research hole. Xerxes is secretly my FAVORITE research hole to get lost down because I actually studied Persian Farsi for a year once upon a forever ago. While I never got any kind of fluent in it, that time of fervent study certainly got me hooked on learning about Iran's rich and fascinating history. This fic is centered around a loose approximation of Yaldā Night, Iran's winter solstice festival, and Hohenheim sharing some of the traditions Xerxes once held with Trisha. I was intentionally vague and/or handwave-y in some parts, but if anything seems too egregiously inaccurate please let me know!

I called it Chelleh within the fic as, per my understanding at least, Yaldā was borrowed from Syriac-speaking Christians, and since Christianity doesn't exist in mangahood it seemed the "more accurate" thing to do.

A common tradition at Yaldā and Nowruz (the Persian New Year) is to read excerpts from the Divān of Hafez, perhaps the most famous of Iran's poets. The title of this fic comes from (per my copy of Elizabeth T. Gray Jr.'s collected translations, Wine & Prayer) ghazal 35. I'd share the full thing with y'all, but she only has the original Persian on her website and my copy of her book is in storage atm. :(

Fesenjoon/fesenjān, the dish they're making, is incredible and I highly recommend it. Tahdig, or scorched rice, is also fantastic.

Thank you again for reading! <3

[thecandlesticksfromlesmis]

Hey sorry for spamming but I've been following you for years and somehow just realized you were in film school- so my little queer "I'm going to film school in a conservative area next fall" self was trying to find any knowledge or advice you might have. Thank you for all you do here, it genuinely has such a positive impact <3

Hi! CONGRATS ON FILM SCHOOL! More than anything, you’re going to have a really awesome time. Film school is full of collaboration, creativity, problem solving, and hands-on work, which, at least for me, was the exact right way to learn a skill set. Seriously oh my god I sucked shit at normal college RIP that one year of my life. 

Anyway, my undergrad was also spent at an arts school in a conservative area, which really scared me at first. But WOW was the school itself not conservative at all. I found my whole ass gender identity there because it was a school packed with other queer people who couldn’t really escape the south. 

HOWEVER, there were still a lot of conservative folks, mostly cis men, mostly cis “i’m gonna change film” men, and ooooh my god are they the worst. They will try to undermine you at every turn, because the film industry has told them that they are supreme leaders and that it won’t take much work for them to succeed. 

I once was at a Q&A for our second year films back in 2015, and someone asked all of us filmmakers what we’d like to see change in the industry.  I said “more opportunities for women and minorities. I’d love to see a day where more diverse filmmakers get to see their films up on screen, rather than us watching the 800th superhero film”. And the white guy next to me took the mic next and said “Well I like superhero films” and the whole auditorium laughed. I have never forgotten how that made me feel. He missed the point completely and turned my words into a joke. OF COURSE he liked superhero films. They were made for him!! Then next day my friend told me that her boyfriend “didn’t like what I said last night”??? What?? That there should be more diversity in the film industry?? 

The cis men (and sometimes cis women) in this field are brutal. They see every step towards diversity as a threat. I’m sure as a queer person yourself, you hope to make change in this field, STICK TO THAT. The more confident you are, the more scared they become.

INSIST on your pronouns, INSIST on your authentic stories about the queer experience being told, INSIST on minority students’ voices being heard. I promise, you’re going to slowly accumulate other queer students into your group at school. If you find that they are people who you want to be friends with STICK TOGETHER! Make shit together! And when you get out into the industry, help each other out! 

Also, this world is tough for queer people, but it’s even tougher for queer people of color ESPECIALLY in conservative areas. If you are white, please use your privilege to be sure they have space to create their authentic art. If it’s safe for you, call out the injustices you see. Find your people and do this together! 

Finally, and this is maybe the most important lesson I’ve learned in my now 6 years at film schools, stay humble. There’s a difference between confidence and arrogance. No one will want to work with you if you are arrogant, but confidence and humbleness will get you far. Confidence will allow you to speak out when something is wrong, and humbleness will keep your ego in check. It will make people more inclined to not only work with you, but to WANT to work with you. That’s huge. And also? It will make filmmaking so much more fun. 

Give and be open to notes, allow yourself to be called out, allow yourself to grow, and don’t ever let anyone tell you that your voice doesn’t matter. It does. There is only one you. 

Have fun! Make art! Show that conservative area that queer people are beautiful and that our voices are loud! 💖✨